A New Start, and an Exam
The TV had stayed on the whole time we ate, even though who knew who it was meant for. It was playing the news, so at least it wasn't for me. Me, watching the news? Never.
—US health authorities have recently issued guidelines for the social reintegration of patients with Acute Gender Metamorphosis Syndrome, commonly known as ARMS—
“Oh.”
A familiar building flashed across one corner of the screen.
“Am I on?”
Taehyun, who'd been holding the remote beside me, flipped the channel, and it turned into some sparkling idol group singing and dancing away!
“Why'd you change it?”
“It's boring. Weren't you saying you wanted to watch something else?”
“I was trying to see if I was on.”
“You're not.”
“How would you know? Put it back.”
“No.”
I reached for the remote, and Taehyun raised his arm straight up.
You coward. You're proud of being tall, huh? If I'd gotten genetics like yours, if I'd drunk my milk and done my stretching exercises and played basketball and hadn't gotten TS, I'd be tall too!
“Just eat your food.”
“Guarantee the people's right to know! No human rights violations!”
“That's about you.”
“Which is exactly why the party in question has a right to know!”
My hand never made it. Damn it, why hasn't humanity developed the technology to steal a remote control remotely yet?
I gave up on the remote and resigned myself to the music show instead.
—This week's number one candidate: LUMINA!
“Huh. These guys have a good song.”
I pointed my fork at the girl dancing in the center of the screen.
“You know her?”
“Fewer people don't know them in this country. Especially Yoon Seoa there, the center.”
“That famous?”
“She's your age.”
“She doesn't look like my age, she looks like your age.”
A girl my age, glittering up there on the stage.
“Man, she must've lived her life hard.”
“Take a page out of her book.”
“I was busy just trying to survive this past year, thanks.”
“……”
“What now? Why does everyone go quiet on me all of a sudden these days.”
Then Taehyun switched the channel again, and this time it was the news.
—The appeals trial of Sehwa Group Honorary Chairman Seomun Jeongho will resume next month. Prosecutors allege that at the time, Chairman Seomun—
“Ugh, that old geezer's on trial again.”
“Who?”
“A friend of mine.”
“……What?”
“That guy.”
On screen was an old man in a wheelchair. A face I knew well — not a flicker of expression as reporters shoved microphones at him and a swarm of suited men trailed in his wake.
Ooh. On TV he actually looks kind of impressive.
“That's not the ex-con grandfather you mentioned, is it?”
“Yep. That's the one. My tomodachi. Friend Number Two. Furendo, furendo.”
Taehyun looked at the TV, then at me, then back at the TV.
“……Seomun Jeongho? Sehwa Group? The richest man in this country?”
“Probably?”
“Probably?! Why are you telling me something this important only NOW? And what do you mean 'probably'? What is 'probably'?!”
“Why would grandpa talk to me about his company.”
Taehyun pressed a hand to his forehead. What, tired since this morning and now a headache too?
In the end, Taehyun tagged along.
Ugh, what a stalker of the worst degree — except, since I'd obviously collapse flat on the pavement the moment I walked anywhere alone for an emergency photosynthesis-and-recharge session, I guess I should call it a good thing?
“You said you were going to collect allowance money from the ex-con grandfather you met in the hospital. Who'd let you go to that alone after hearing that?”
“My mom would've sent me.”
“……”
“I think she trusts me more than you.”
“Start with the grandfather.”
And this guy, who doesn't touch SNS or anything of the sort, hasn't put his phone down all day. What's with that?
“No, seriously — Seomun Jeongho? Sehwa Group? Then your new phone, don't tell me that was from him too? It bugged me when it suddenly became the latest model. Seomun Jeongho — he didn't approach you over some biotech thing, did he? Related to your condition?”
“Again, why would grandpa talk to me about his company. We're not like that.”
“Have you been living under a rock? Seomun Jeongho is all over the news right now.”
“Why would I watch the news in a hospital? The world has games and anime and YouTube and movies.”
What a weirdo. I wish people would appreciate how much I suffer, dragging this weirdo around as my childhood friend all these years. Sob.
The destination was a café downtown. One look said expensive, and with an entire row of art galleries lined up next door, I had a pretty good guess what it was for. Small sign, huge windows, and though I hadn't seen the prices yet, I could feel it in my bones: expensive.
“Business must be dying.”
“……Hajin-ah.”
“What?”
The door clearly said OPEN, and there wasn't a single customer. What else could that mean but bad business?
One suited man by the door. Two more inside. Another one in the corner. None of them drinking coffee — all just scanning the room.
And then I spotted a familiar back of the head inside: a grey-flecked head of hair, a wheelchair, and a face that looked permanently irritated.
“Grandpa! You're not dead yet?”
Jeongho's eyebrow twitched.
“That what you say to an old man the day you get discharged?”
“No new convictions yet?”
“Don't jinx me.”
“When do you go to prison?”
“The day your allowance gets cut off.”
I pressed my hands together and put on the most innocent face in the world.
“I have always had complete faith in my ex-con grandpa's innocence. Anything past three convictions starts feeling a bit antisocial-criminal-y, you know?”
“You treacherous little weasel.”
“I'm a loyal subject.”
“Loyal to money, more like.”
“That's still loyalty, grandpa. So I'd like to pledge my loyalty to you too.”
The suited man standing beside the wheelchair closed his eyes. Why does he look like that? Tired?
“Sir, we should move inside for now—”
Sir? Oh right. The extremely high-ranking chairman Taehyun had nearly torn his hair out over on the way here.
I turned around to Taehyun, who'd caught up late, but he'd stopped dead at the entrance. Hey, come on. It's awkward standing here alone.
“Taehyun-ah, what are you doing? Come here.”
When Jeongho spotted him too, Taehyun came forward and gave a slight bow.
“Kang Taehyun, is it.”
“……Good morning, Chairman.”
“Taehyun-ah, why the sudden change in tone?”
“You, shut up.”
“Grandpa, he just called you an ex-con—”
“Lee Hajin, I beg you.”
What! He was the one asking how many convictions I had earlier.
“Putting up with this shameless little gremlin must be a lot of work.”
“It is, sir.”
“Hey! Grandpa! It is not! I suffer way more! Can't you hurry up and reveal the objective truth, Kang Taehyun?”
“From what I saw at the hospital, this one would eat a person alive if you left her unsupervised.”
“I wholeheartedly agree, sir.”
“Taehyun-ah?”
“You'll have your work cut out for you going forward too.”
“I'll be in your care. As long as I'm around, I'll keep her suppressed as much as possible, but since she's the type to break her own suppressors with her bare hands, I'd appreciate your understanding regarding occasional control failures.”
“Taehyun-ah? Hey? YAH?”
“I like him.”
Are you kidding me, why are you two suddenly getting along so well?
“You two met for the first time today, right? That's right, isn't it? Then how come you're in such perfect sync?!”
So a friendship forged in trash-talking me is this powerful, huh?
We sat down. Wasn't it about time to get to the main point? No room for hesitation here!
“So. Allowance.”
“A 'friend' who asks for money the second she sits down.”
“You said you'd give me allowance.”
“I never said I'd give it.”
“……Fraud.”
“You're calling me, a man who has striven his whole life to deal honestly, a fraud?”
“Committing fraud against a discharged patient. Bad grandpa. Add conviction number four for fraud. Actually, the fact that you can't say you dealt honestly means you have at least a shred of a conscience, huh?”
“You're still a patient?”
“Only when it's convenient.”
At that, Grandpa Jeongho held out his hand, and the aide placed something on it. A card.
Not one of those Yu-Gi-Oh or Po-ka-mon cards, but the kind of card people use for transactions, you know? The only difference was — the visuals.
“Ooh.”
Black and gold, some emblem I'd never seen embedded in the center, and the border shimmered in a strange way. The moment I took it, I flipped it over.
“Is this gold?”
“Hear the explanation first.”
I scratched the corner with my fingernail.
“Feels like real gold.”
“Stop scratching it.”
“Is the diamond real too? Can I pry it off and sell it? If this is my allowance, I approve! I'll just scrape off the diamond and the gold—”
“Hajin-ah, please, hear the explanation.”
“I'm hearing it, grandpa. My brain's still fresh, I can multitask.”
“No, you're not.”
“You haven't even told me if it's gold.”
“That's not the point.”
It totally is the point. A huge point. If gold and diamonds don't matter to you, that's what it means to be chaebol, I guess.
“We've set up a separate structure so you can access the support funds disbursed from the American side, along with contributions from the affiliated companies. Since you're still a minor, and there were also reasons to avoid exposing your personal information directly to the domestic financial network—”
I held the card up to the light. Ooh, sparkly. Pretty.
“The account details will be delivered separately. It doesn't go through domestic financial institutions the way an ordinary account would, and usage records—”
Flipped it over. Sparkly again. Wait, the back is gold-plated too? How much money does this man have.
“—are managed within certain limits. This is strictly for expenses required during your treatment and social reintegration—”
“So is it your money, grandpa?”
“……I have no idea how much of that you actually heard, but absolutely not. I was only asked to make the delivery.”
“So can I spend it however I want?”
“That's not what I said either. Though frankly, I doubt anyone would complain no matter what you blow it on — the point is, use it with at least a minimum of judgment.”
“Too complicated.”
“Which is why you should listen to the explan—”
I picked the card back up.
“How many grams of gold is in this?”
When Grandpa Jeongho looked at the aide, the aide stared off into the distance. I'm sorry. But gold is important, okay?
“And also.”
When Grandpa Jeongho extended his hand again, this time an envelope came out.
Ooh. Is this the real thing? I pocketed the card and took the envelope.
Plan: pry out the diamond, sell it, then apply for a card reissue and see if they actually give me a new one. I was mid-thought when Taehyun had somehow slipped over and confiscated the card. Meanie.
“Cash?”
“No.”
“Oh, then a check? I mean, to give cash on grandpa scale you'd need like a whole box of apples worth of bills, so.”
“No. Carrying that kind of cash around would have the National Tax Service watching you with both eyes wide open. Amateur.”
“Then department store gift certificates? I heard there's a department store among the Sehwa affiliates. Those certificates?”
“What exactly do you take me for.”
“The grandpa who gives me allowance.”
“Open it.”
I tore the envelope open, and inside was a single sheet of paper.
Not money. Disappointed. Completely disappointed.
Just in case, I unfolded the paper with my last shred of hope, and there at the top was a school name.
Sehwa High School
“Hajin-ah.”
“Yeah? What, grandpa? What even is this? And what's with Sehwa High School?”
“What are you going to do from here?”
“Do about what?”
“You've been discharged. While you were in the hospital, maybe there wasn't even a tomorrow to count on — but you're out of the hospital now. Which means it's time to think about what comes next.”
I thought about it for a second, but there was nothing to think about. I am, after all, a third-year middle schooler in the Republic of Korea (delinquent student, attendance record: zero days for roughly the past year).
“I guess I go to school.”
“Where?”
“……”
Where? Wasn't I supposed to just go back to my old one?
“When was the last time you properly attended school?”
“Second year of middle school?”
“Your grades?”
“Invasion of privacy. I'd like to exercise my right to remain silent on this one!”
“Not good, then.”
“I was average! For real. Look at my face — can't you feel my sincerity radiating off it?”
Taehyun cut in from the side.
“Below average.”
“Hey, Kang Taehyun, whose side are you on?”
“Let the record show that, having inherited my parents' genes, I stand on the side of truth.”
What a traitor. This shall be inscribed in the Great Ledger of Grudges, and to wash away this grudge, delicious tribute offerings shall be demanded of him.
I looked at the paper again.
Sehwa High School.
I know the name — it's the school Taehyun's been preparing for.
“I could just go back to school, though.”
Grandpa Jeongho didn't answer.
“Can't I?”
“I didn't say you couldn't.”
“Then?”
“A fair amount of time has passed since you last attended school normally. There's the attendance issue, the academic gap, and your current physical condition to consider as well.”
With each reason, the paper in my hands seemed to grow a little heavier.
“But I got discharged. You said I can go to school now.”
“You can. Would I recommend a high school to someone who absolutely couldn't attend?”
“Then I just go.”
Even as I said it, something felt off — not that it was wrong, exactly.
“That's why I'm giving you this.”
I turned the paper over, and there it was. A letter of recommendation.
“How about Sehwa High?”
“……How on earth would I get in there?”
“I'll write you the recommendation.”
“A parachute? A grandpa boost?”
“When the chairman himself writes your recommendation letter? Do you honestly believe some examiner dares to climb out of his lunchbox and fail you?”
“You take the exam yourself. Even as chairman of the board, there's no compromise on this. If I used my position as chairman to do whatever I wanted, that wouldn't be a school, it'd be a cult.”
“……”
“You take the interview too, and you clear the standard yourself. All I do is give you the opportunity.”
I looked down at the recommendation letter.
Exam. Interview. School. Me?
“What if I fail?”
“Then you fail.”
“What about the face of the person who wrote your recommendation? Wouldn't that embarrass you?”
“If I were a man who embarrassed that easily, I'd never have become friends with you in the first place. Watching an old man my age get told by a brat like you to go to prison, I figure my time must be winding down.”
“Can't argue with that.”
I heard a small laugh from beside me. Taehyun.
“I hear Kang Taehyun is also preparing for Sehwa High.”
Taehyun straightened up a little in his seat.
“If I get in, please look after that little menace over there.”
“Grandpa.”
“I'll be in your care, sir. As long as I'm around I'll do my best to keep her suppressed, but since she's the type to break her own suppressors by force, I'd be grateful for your understanding regarding a certain degree of control failure.”
“Taehyun-ah? Hey? YAH?”
“I like this one.”
Are you kidding me, why are you two suddenly bonding like this?
“You literally met today, right? Right? Then WHY are you in such perfect sync?!”
So this is how powerful a friendship built on badmouthing someone is?
All I had to do was put it in my bag on the way out of the café, but I kept holding the recommendation letter in my hand the whole time.
For the record, Grandpa Jeongho wheeled himself out as far as the entrance to see us off. He'd said overworked old men die fast. Worrying, that.
“Grandpa.”
I started to fold the paper once, then stopped. Something about creasing it felt like a waste.
“What do I do if I actually get in?”
“Go. You wanted to go to school, didn't you? You sang 'I want to go to school, I want to see a movie, I want to go to the department store' every single day at the hospital until my skull ached. So think of this as allowance. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then off you go.”
Short and simple, huh.
Sehwa High School. School. A real school. A good school, at that. An incredibly nice boarding school.
“But grandpa. Why are you doing all this for me?”
“You really don't know?”
“Nope. Sorry, I genuinely don't — couldn't you tell me?”
“Figured you'd say that. Think back to what you did to me at the hospital.”
“What did I even do?”
“You seriously don't remember?”
“I did too many things, which one are you talking about?”
“And THAT's the problem, you little menace.”
Huh? I scratched my chin with the edge of the letter. Things I did to Grandpa Jeongho at the hospital. Let me count on my fingers. One, two, three… that's way too many?
“Hint.”
“None. When you can't even count how many there are in the first place, you should probably realize something has gone deeply wrong.”
“That's so cold. You're the worst, grandpa. I'll gratefully drink the beverage you ordered, though.”
“Work it out yourself. And once you get in, don't worry about tuition or living expenses. It's all included in this 'letter of recommendation.'”
Oh. So this is allowance after all?
I looked down at the letter again. Sehwa High School. I rubbed the school name with my fingertip once. Not se-hoe, seo-hwa, se-hoe — Sehwa.
“Taehyun-ah. Are the Sehwa High exams really hard?”
“Yeah. Easy for me, but probably hard for you. You threw studying away in second year, and in third year you read maybe one page of a textbook?”
“……I did read web novels, at least. Um, I think I'm screwed?”
“You haven't even started yet.”
Fair point. I almost crumpled the letter up, then smoothed it back out flat instead.
“Let's go. Time to study. This is when it's nice to have one nerdy bookworm slave hanging around. Teach me how to study!”
“You're asking me?”
I don't like that expression on your face.
“Come on, if I put my mind to something, I do it. Look — the moment I decided I wanted to live, I survived. Can't you see this great monument to human victory?”
“Nope. If anything, I'd call it a victory of modern medicine and money.”
“Wait, where does the exam scope even start?”
“All of middle school, plus the high school material that gets covered in advance. And there's an interview and a character assessment too.”
“GRANDPA!!!”
Grandpa Jeongho didn't even turn around — just raised a hand.
“Can I get a refund on this recommendation letter?!”
The answer came from far away.
“Get lost!”
Ah. I'm in trouble.