Tenacious Ties

Racing through the rain-slicked streets, I finally arrived at the auditorium. As expected, it was packed with freshmen, and up at the podium stood an elderly teacher droning on with a tedious speech.

"Um, so, to sum it up one last time, the word 'last' doesn't actually mean the end..."

...The principal's address dragging on like this seemed to be a universal school tradition. But thanks to it, I hadn't missed my turn. Feeling a quiet relief, I headed backstage, where the anxious teachers spotted me and greeted me warmly.

"Ah, you're Kim Manbung, right?"

"Sorry I'm late."

"No worries—students have their reasons. We get it; you're an excellent student, so you wouldn't waste time."

Luckily, my high grades made them view most things positively. Indeed, as they said, I'd dominated the entrance exam, earning the honor of speaking as the freshman representative in front of everyone. For the top high school in the capital region, it was prestigious—but I wasn't entirely satisfied. The reason was simple: even giving it my all with my second-life knowledge, I couldn't claim the very top spot.

"Of course, coming in second in your grade isn't something just anyone can do."

"Keep those scores up, and you'll never worry about college. You've got every reason to be confident, Manbung."

Sigh. I'd taken the exam seriously, but hearing "second place" so bluntly stung a little. I'd have to study even harder after enrolling here. Glancing around backstage, I voiced a question that occurred to me.

"By the way, I don't see the one who was supposed to speak before me."

"Ah, you mean the top student."

Right— if I was second, there had to be a first. Someone who'd outdone even me, with my second chance at life, by nailing one more question I missed, acing every subject perfectly. The undisputed genius of this elite school.

"It's a problem for us too. The top student hasn't shown up yet."

"So... they might be even later than me?"

"It's tricky. The top student's speech is a must-have at every freshman ceremony."

Second place tardy was one thing, but the top student too? The teachers must be panicking. I had no solution either, so I fidgeted awkwardly—until footsteps approached from backstage.

The teachers reacted immediately, calling out a name.

"Ah, Yoo Soeun!"

The ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠warmth in their voices confirmed it: she was the top student. I turned to get a look—and my jaw dropped at the familiar face. It was the short-haired girl I'd ridden to school with earlier.

What? So that means I've basically done a favor for my arch-nemesis.

"Phew, I'm soaked. Whatever happened, she must've rushed here since she was late."

"Well..."

"Anyway, she made it on time—no need to scold her. Here, Yoo Soeun, take the speech script and wait there. Show everyone the pride of the top student!"

Maybe her voice was too soft. The teachers didn't notice her trying to speak, shoving her toward the stage entrance. Just then, the principal wrapped up and stepped down, leaving the podium empty. The MC teacher checked and announced energetically to the freshmen:

"Yes, thank you for the principal's address. Next up, the speech from our freshman representative, first-place first-year Yoo Soeun. Let's welcome her with applause!"

*Clap clap clap clap!*

The students applauded on cue. More than half had tuned out from the boring speech, but I was riveted on this Yoo Soeun girl. Smart kids usually had great public speaking skills too. Who knew? The timid girl I'd seen might reveal charisma and leadership at the mic.

"......"

But contrary to expectations, Yoo Soeun just stood silently at the microphone. As the quiet stretched from seconds to nearly a minute, the crowd grew restless, sensing something off.

"What's going on? Why isn't she saying anything?"

"Is she nervous?"

Realizing the situation was turning serious, the teachers backstage whispered urgently to her.

"Um, Yoo Soeun? Just read the script as written for now..."

*Screeeeech!!*

A piercing noise echoed through the auditorium. Everyone winced, and I knew instantly: this was bad. If the freshman rep bombed, the ceremony would be a funeral.

"Y-Yoo Soeun! That's not how you work the mic... Huh? Kim Manbung?"

I didn't want my monumental second youth ruined either. Rushing onstage, I gripped what I assumed were her tense shoulders and whispered in her ear:

"If it's too much, you don't have to push yourself."

It was sincere comfort, understanding her feelings. She turned, eyes wide, finally noticing me—but I handed her off to the approaching teachers and prepared to fill the empty spot.

"She got caught in the rain; she doesn't look well. Can you let her rest a bit?"

"Ah, sure. But what about you, Manbung...?"

"Someone has to do it."

Suddenly shouldering both top and second speeches... Well, silver lining: the teachers would rate it highly, padding my record nicely.

"Ahem. Testing, one-two."

Accepting the situation, I leaned into the mic, aiming to lighten the awkward mood with a casual start.

"Aigoo~ Haha! Sorry about this. Looks like our class's top student caught a cold rushing through the rain with me."

*Murmurs.*

Noise rippled through the silent crowd. Some eyed me resentfully for stepping in, others were intrigued by the drama, a few just wanted it over. And some probably wondered: Top and second biking to school together in the rain? How does that even happen?

"It started by chance, but commuting with her was a good experience. Felt like one of those 'youthful moments' adults always talk about."

Youth. The word for life's freshest, most beautiful phase. Uttering it, I introduced myself confidently, affirming this place as where I'd live an even more meaningful youth than my first life.

"Anyway, nice to meet you, fellow Hyoeun High freshmen. I'm Kim Manbung, your second-place freshman rep."

*Pfft!*

Laughter erupted everywhere. It was enough to reignite their flagging interest.

"Kim Manbung?"

"Sounds like a comic book fan."

"Total otaku vibe~"

...Right, new school, same old teasing about my name. But if they were dishing it out, I'd face it head-on.

"Yes, Kim Manbung—three precious syllables. A name my loving parents thoughtfully gave me."

I ad-libbed beyond the script, and the freshmen gradually quieted. It meant even these kids had the conscience to hold back on fat jokes after that.

"My father said: 'Make friends— the more, the better. Surround yourself with people.' True to the 'Manbung (萬朋)' in my name, I've built ties with all sorts."

In the sobering atmosphere, I shared my honest thoughts without filter.

"Some became friends as intended, some rivals, some started rocky but grew precious. What made it happen? Persistent meetings and talks. I know communication and understanding are key to bonding."

A bit cheesy, but no lies there. My words carried the weight of a life relived—transparent advice that ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could teach these kids something valuable.

"Over the next three years, we'll connect with everyone here, good or bad. No walls, because just being here qualifies us to embrace all, regardless of grades, build, background, or family."

Ten or twenty years from now, they'd look back on this fondly. Like me, they'd romanticize these memories.

"If my words resonate, turn to the student next to you. Hold ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hands if you want."

A few timidly complied, convinced by my earnest tone. Just a fraction ‍‍‌‌⁠⁠‌‍‍‌⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠‌‌‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for now, but enough.

"Memorize that face, that hand's feel. They might become the partner who makes your life's best moments even brighter."

Small starts, if sustained, would bring fulfillment at graduation. Hoping for that future, I wrapped my adult advice to them:

"I sincerely hope everyone here savors these three years of youth without regrets."

Bowing ended the freshman rep's speech.

*Clap clap clap!*

The applause suggested my effort hadn't been wasted, whether genuine or polite. Some might've felt my sincerity, looking forward to school life.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

After my improvised speech, the auditorium dismissed us. Students headed to their assigned classes to meet classmates and homeroom teachers. Seating arrangements were crucial—once set, they stuck for a while, so I cared deeply.

Front row was worst: teachers' spotlight. Best was window seat for space, especially back row for some class freedom.

"Everyone settled in your seats?"

Luckily, I got the back window. Great start—until I noticed the girl beside me. The one who'd been staring before was eyeing me again. I froze.

"I won't meddle in friendships, but get along with your seatmate. You'll pair up for PE or activities often~"

Yeah, sure. Seatmates matter ideally. But isn't this connection overkill? Same school, biked together on day one, top and second, now same class, adjacent seats...

Damn, this is straight out of a romcom—total forced plot.