Wise School Life
Hemingway once said the sun also rises. As long as the sun rises again, hope remains—so long as the sun exists, there’s no need to despair.
For me too, the sun had risen. But why was there no hope in my sun? Something about this sun felt wrong.
“…I don’t want to go to school.”
I yanked the blanket over my head. Half of it—no, almost all of it—was fueled by trauma, but I delivered a performance that would’ve stunned even veteran actors. After being praised as a genius by everyone on set and becoming a scene-stealer who dominated every frame, why was I still stuck as an elementary school student?
“Get up. Breakfast is ready.”
“…Five more minutes.”
Yoon Ji-ah mercilessly ripped the blanket away. This monster didn’t even suffer from morning drowsiness—she was already fully dressed and ready.
“Ten thousand won deducted from your allowance for every thirty seconds that pass.”
My weekly allowance was only ten thousand won, and she was threatening to take the whole thing? What kind of insane logic was that?
“You’re seriously a devil…”
I dragged myself up like a zombie and shuffled toward the bathroom. Washed up in a rush. Ate breakfast. Ate breakfast. Ate breakfast. Because galbijjim was divine and japchae was unbeatable. Then it was straight to school.
My popularity kept climbing. I was famous enough to be called a rising star. Yet the school gate was eerily peaceful—nothing like the swarm of reporters who had camped out after my brief appearance in episode three of Sapi-jeong. The security guards simply stood watch in silence. No cameras, no notebooks being shoved in my face. The reporters had stopped coming after Min-su’s mom scolded them. Had journalistic integrity completely dried up?
If it were me, I’d disguise myself as an elementary student and sneak in.
When I muttered that, Yoon Ji-ah shot me a look of pure disdain.
“Be realistic. How would that even work?”
Hmm. Couldn’t journalistic spirit bend common sense a little? I held back the retort. That kid was born just to argue with me. I wasn’t in the mood for a pointless debate this early.
Thanks to the lack of reporters, the walk to school felt almost pleasant. I opened the classroom door.
“Oh! Yoon Seo-ji-ah!”
“…Yoon Seo-ji-ah?”
“Yoon Seo-ah plus Yoon Ji-ah equals Yoon Seo-ji-ah!”
“Are you insane?”
The kids glanced at us, then immediately went back to their games—boys slapping ddakji cards, girls tossing gonggi stones. The only one who actually came over to talk was Min-su.
“Mom says she’s really enjoying the drama. You should come over sometime. Oh, right—you’re on milk duty today. Don’t forget.”
Min-su sniffled and beamed. I smirked and slung an arm around his shoulder. Strange stares prickled across the room. The sharp sounds of ddakji grew quieter. The excited shouts of “What floor!” faded away. The boys looked like they were dying to chant “Eolleri-kkolleri~ Kim Min-su and Yoon Seo-ah are dating~” but the ones who’d already been hit by me kept their mouths shut. Apparently every boy in class had taken a beating from me at some point. Not that it mattered right now.
I had serious business with Min-su. This wasn’t the time to worry about onlookers.
“Min-su-ya. Who am I?”
“Uh… Yoon Seo-ah?”
“Hey, separate public from private. Use my title.”
School was a miniature society. Fail to keep them straight and discipline collapsed.
“Uh… Class president?”
“Exactly. I’m the class president—the idol, mascot, and face of Class 3, Year 1. Does it make sense for someone like me to grunt and groan while hauling milk boxes?”
“Uh… I guess not?”
I jerked my chin toward Yoon Ji-ah.
“That kind of chore is for the vice president standing over there—the potential coup suspect who’s glaring at the president like she’s an idiot. You heard what I said during the election, right?”
“Uh… maybe?”
Wrapping Min-su around my finger was child’s play. Violence would’ve been faster, but the celebrity Yoon Seo-ah didn’t do schoolyard bullying. I mixed in words he wouldn’t understand, dazzled him, and finished with the classic Seo-ah rhetoric: “You heard it too, right? You agree, don’t you? Right?”
Just like that, Yoon Ji-ah—suddenly nominated for milk duty—shook her head and marched to the teacher’s desk. She flipped open the attendance book and banged the “love rod” against the wood. Thwack! Thwack!
“…You scared me!”
“What? I thought the teacher walked in.”
“From now on, we’ll pick milk duty fairly. And wouldn’t you know it—Min-su won! Congratulations.”
“…?”
“Min-su?”
Applause erupted without anyone knowing what was happening. The students cheered for Min-su, the milk-duty representative chosen through perfectly fair (completely rigged) democracy (dictatorship).
“…Huh?”
Min-su’s eyes widened. No lottery had even been drawn. This was blatant abuse of power—dictatorship so extreme even communists would be embarrassed. If I were Min-su, I’d start a revolution on the spot. But instead—
“…Ah, seriously, why did it have to be me?”
Min-su trudged out to fetch the milk like the perfect little comrade. Watching his back, I thought, So this is the taste of power. I finally understood why Yoon Ji-ah chased success with fire in her eyes.
Just then the back door opened and the teacher walked in.
“…What are you kids doing?”
She’d come unusually early. She only ever appeared this fast when something was up—there had to be hidden cameras or microphones somewhere.
“As class president, I felt it would look bad if I did nothing, so I was teaching everyone about democracy.”
“Quiet, Seo-ah.”
“…Eeh?”
“Ji-ah, would you like to explain?”
Yoon Ji-ah’s expression shifted. It was the same look I’d seen in kindergarten—the face she made right before arguing back. First time I’d seen it since we started first grade. She must really hate milk duty too.
“For the public good, I selected the milk-duty student so every classmate could participate equally, and I oversaw the process myself.”
“…?”
The teacher’s eyebrows twitched. Public good? Anyone could see this was for our benefit. The teacher wasn’t fooled. The only student who had “fairly” participated was Min-su.
“And the chosen Min-su was more enthusiastic and delighted than anyone. He was genuinely satisfied to serve. Thanks to your excellent teaching philosophy, our class’s sense of duty is truly exemplary.”
“…Min-su was enthusiastic? Satisfied? That doesn’t sound right.”
The teacher stared at the door Min-su had left through, then looked back and forth between us with deep suspicion. I felt guilty and pretended to rearrange my bag, but Yoon Ji-ah met the teacher’s gaze without blinking.
“…Sigh.”
The teacher finally exhaled and nodded.
“Fine. I’ll pretend you two handle milk duty among yourselves. Next time… put the love rod down first, all right?”
“Yes, Teacher.”
If I had been the one spinning the story, the teacher wouldn’t have let it slide so easily. The fact that she accepted Ji-ah’s ridiculous explanation proved there was definitely some kind of connection between them.
…It’s a bribe. It has to be a bribe.
What era were we living in that bribes were still being exchanged? This should be reported to the education office, but I couldn’t. It would only cause trouble for Mom, Dad, and Yoon Ji-ah. I’d lost my conscience today.
When I get home, I’m asking for my share too.
I’d discovered our class’s greatest secret, yet no one else seemed to notice. The kids chattered about the drama, new ddakji cards, and how Cheol-su from the next class had pooped in the bathroom—completely ordinary, peaceful first-grade conversation. I still didn’t understand why bathroom accidents were such a big deal even in my second life. If you eat, waste has to come out. Did these kids survive on morning dew alone?
…I could really go for some soju.
School life felt strangely sentimental today. Boring. A languid feeling completely unlike the intensity of drama shoots or variety show recordings settled over me.
First period—Korean (Reading). I yawned and opened my textbook. The blackboard read in large letters: Let’s read with correct posture. The teacher stood at the podium and launched into an enthusiastic explanation.
“Now, everyone. When reading, sit up straight, hold the book about thirty centimeters from your eyes…”
Sleepy. I rested my chin on my hand and stared blankly out the window. On the playground, students were having PE. Soccer balls flew back and forth, reminding me of the World Cup.
Hope the World Cup hurries up…
I pulled a mechanical pencil from my case and started doodling in the textbook. Drew a mustache on Cheol-su, slapped sunglasses on Young-hee, and gave Ba-dook-i a ripped bodybuilder physique. A gym-rat Ba-dook-i destined for first place in any dog-fighting tournament had been born. The textbook title “Korean (Reading)” had long since become “Starving.”
Glancing sideways, Min-su’s textbook had turned into “Dried Pollack.” While I was giggling and pouring my artistic soul into the page—
“Yoon Seo-ah.”
“…!”
I looked up to find the homeroom teacher smiling kindly down at me.
“Let me see your textbook.”
“…That might be difficult.”
I tried to keep it, but the teacher’s hand was faster. She found the illustrated page and opened it. Sunglasses-wearing Young-hee, mustached Cheol-su, and muscle-bound Ba-dook-i.
“Pfft!”
“Whoa, look at Ba-dook-i’s body.”
The class erupted in laughter. Min-su was practically face-down on his desk, wheezing. The teacher’s eyebrows twitched.
“Seo-ah-ya, what is this?”
Crisis. But I, Yoon Seo-ah—master of quick thinking, social genius, veteran of adult life, peak cunning—was ready.
“Ah, well, Teacher, I wanted to express the solitude of modern society through this drawing.”
“…What?”
The teacher sounded incredulous. I jumped to my feet and pointed at the page.
“Look. Young-hee is smiling brightly, yet her eyes are hidden behind sunglasses. This represents modern people who live while concealing their true feelings…”
“Go stand in the back.”
“Yes.”
The teacher was still too young to understand my art.