Home Visit (2)

‘No, wait... this is kinda not cool...’

The words I sent purely through my thoughts didn't reach Lee Dojin, and oblivious to my desperate feelings, he asked in a perfectly calm tone.

"What’s the name of the class you’re all taking?"

"Magic Dynamics!"

"Magic Dynamics..."

Nearly two hundred students answered in unison, but the energy in their voices split dramatically into two extremes. The majority—over two-thirds—shouted with genuine enthusiasm. The rest, including me, sounded utterly devoid of motivation.

"Hmm..."

Lee Dojin seemed to notice, but he brazenly ignored it.

"The goal of this group practical is to develop your ability to smoothly adjust mana constructs while collaborating with external mana—specifically, other people. Mastering this will enable more practical—"

As he continued his explanation, the classroom atmosphere shifted noticeably, and I muttered to myself once more, inaudibly.

‘Smooth talker, aren’t you...’

But the tide had already turned. Even the students who’d initially seemed reluctant started nodding along as if they got it. Professor Seo Sang-wook, as usual, lounged comfortably, merely "observing" the lecture without any self-awareness that he was the actual professor. Only a tiny fraction of students hadn’t fallen for Lee Dojin’s fluid rhetoric.

First, me. And then a dozen or so others who either hated group work on principle or instinctively sensed they’d end up doing most of it. Of course, I was worried about both.

‘Group ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠practical my ass. Just call it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a personality test.’

Those who’ll do it will, and those who won’t, absolutely won’t. The reason was simple: because there were other people ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who could do it.

It’d definitely play out that way... yet here was Lee Dojin, unflinchingly preaching "responsibility."

"Improving your teamwork skills will be far more meaningful than just cramming knowledge—it’ll actually help with what you’ll do after graduation."

I shook my head coldly.

‘Yeah, right.’

All that flowery talk about building responsibility was bullshit. After living nearly twenty years, was one group assignment really going to change anyone? At least if he’d said it was to gauge individual responsibility, it wouldn’t be a total lie.

‘In the end, just one or two people will suffer...’

But as a mere student, refusing outright wasn’t feasible. So at that moment, I thought:

‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, right?’

I couldn’t opt out of the group work entirely. So wasn’t it better to at least position myself on the "won’t do it" side? Because...

‘There’ll be others who’ll step up besides me.’

This was basically a game of chicken. Whoever blinked first would end up doing the work. Except for the group leader, who’d inevitably have the highest participation no matter what.

‘Let’s see... if I don’t want to be leader...’

Sitting in the very back, I scanned the entire classroom. My eyes immediately locked on the front row. The girl who’d returned to her original seat at some point—and gone further, claiming the spot right in front of where Lee Dojin usually stood as her designated throne. Her name: Jin Yu-ri.

She stared up at him without blinking, pen flying across her notebook as she took furious notes. Taking in that transparent display of her intentions—truly exasperating—I muttered to myself.

‘If only I end up in her group...’

Then the great Jin Yu-ri would handle everything herself, right? Research, PPT, presentation, actual construct creation, report submission—everything, perfectly, until she was satisfied. Such an outstanding friend.

And then I glanced at the seat next to me. There was Lee Sea, spinning her ballpoint pen clumsily with zero enthusiasm on her face.

‘Not her.’

She was my close friend, sure, and my future sister-in-law, yeah—but a no-go all the same. We’d done plenty of group projects at National Academy 1, and I’d been grouped with her multiple times. From what I knew, she barely pulled her weight—you’d have to bow in gratitude if she did a full share.

‘She’s great when she tries, but she just has no motivation.’

She didn’t completely slack, but she didn’t care about each individual task. When I’d asked why once, she’d said: "I only bother with midterms and finals practicals. Everything else is too annoying."

So for this one, I planned to judge coldly.

‘Convince Lee Sea to properly compete against Jin Yu-ri for once, get in their group, round it out with a dream team...’

And enjoy a smooth ride. Sorry, but I couldn’t carry Lee Sea too. One free ride was enough.

And... that’s when Lee Dojin chimed in with more unnecessary meddling.

"We’ll evaluate from multiple angles. It’s not just about how impressive the construct is— we’ll consider overall member participation, logical consistency, creativity, efficiency, and effort. The last one’s obvious when you see it. Big bonus points for students who give their absolute maximum."

"Ah..."

Participation as a major criterion? Now I couldn’t slack even if I wanted to. The group wouldn’t let me.

I felt a bit down, but it was still okay. If I could just get in Jin Yu-ri’s group, it’d be fine.

But...

Damn Lee Dojin ruined it completely.

"With 175 students, we’ll make twenty-five groups of seven. For selection: I’ll call twenty-five students up now to determine order by rock-paper-scissors. Then they’ll pick one by one. Second round reverse order, third round flips again."

"Ah, aaaah..."

Lee Dojin flawlessly called out twenty-five names. Jin Yu-ri was among them, and so was mine. Soon, the twenty-five of us stood at the front, deciding order with rock-paper-scissors.

And Jin Yu-ri proudly claimed first pick, calling out her choice without hesitation.

"I’ll take Lee Sea."

Lee Sea accepted without a second thought. And that’s when I realized.

‘The one abandoned... was me...’

All groups of seven were set, and Lee Dojin announced:

"You have one week until next Thursday, May 20th. All groups submit by then, and starting that day, five groups present for ten minutes each day. Use the rest of today’s class to discuss, and by end of class, decide on a leader and let me know."

Scrape, drag.

Students rose en masse, heading to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠their presumed group spots. Even I, who’d stepped up for selection, trudged sadly to where Group 5 had gathered.

The other six were already seated. And then they all looked at me in unison.

"Uh... Hae-bin should be leader, right?"

Before I could react, politics had screwed me. I couldn’t argue.

I just stared toward the front of the classroom, endlessly repeating one name.

‘Lee Dojin... Lee Dojin...!’

After heading home with Sea and taking a short walk, messages suddenly started pouring in. The weird name and resentful tone got a mere question mark out of me, and Yoo Hae-bin fired back.

Of course, I didn’t reply and pocketed my phone. She’d lost it completely over becoming group leader...

Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do. I wasn’t the one who decided on group work—the school did.

Bzzz— bzzzz—

Ignoring them, my phone kept vibrating. Curious what nonsense she was spouting now, I checked.

A screenshot of my phone screen. A post on National Academy 1’s anonymous community, Zeta.

"..."

I stared silently at the photo for a moment, then did a few things on my phone. And replied to Yoo Hae-bin.

A read receipt popped up seconds later, followed by her reply.

I had an account on Zeta too, which is why Yoo Hae-bin only sent the body—she knew I’d check. The comments were the total opposite.

This wasn’t working. I did a few more things on my phone and messaged her.

The photo I sent was her screenshot with a mark added at the top.

[Writer: Anonymous (OP) (Edit / Delete)]

The (Edit / Delete) was visible only to the poster, probably.

Bzzz, bzzzz—

My phone rang immediately. Yoo Hae-bin calling. I picked up, and her frantic voice burst through.

"..."

I had little to say to this pitiful kid. Just one thing, as her teacher.

So, as gently and kindly as possible, I told Yoo Hae-bin:

"Hae-bin, repeat after me from now on. Got it?"

"‘I, Yoo Hae-bin,’"

"‘will live just a tiny bit more’"

"‘as a good, upright high schooler.’"

"Huh? You stopped?"

"‘swear it.’"

"Good job."

I clapped lightly in satisfaction, and silence fell on the other end. Then, her voice came through, half resentment, half embarrassment.

"Honest about what?"

"Huh?"

A baffling sigh followed my puzzled question. Then Yoo Hae-bin said curtly.

"Right, might call you in this weekend."

"Not sure yet—tell you at school tomorrow."

"You too."

Just before the call ended, I heard some mumbling, but I let it slide. Seo Yeon-hee was waving from afar, approaching. Dressed for a walk like me, she naturally fell in step, and after a few minutes, she asked:

"So why’d you want to meet now? Something up?"

"Not sure on the exact date, but... something big might go down soon."

"Like what?"

Her quiet question. I shared my hunch.

"S-rank rift or higher. Gotta assume that level."