An Unwanted Bond
I sought out my homeroom teacher half tense and half afraid, only to feel the wind go right out of my sails. It was all because of the way she reacted.
"You little rascal! Late to the entrance ceremony?"
She sat in her chair scolding me with a warm, easy smile, and she did not look angry in the slightest. The whole atmosphere said as much, and her eyes especially. What I saw there was curiosity and genuine interest. Curiosity and interest toward a student who had shown up more than an hour late to the entrance ceremony? I could not make sense of it. Getting angry was the normal response. Did she have some other angle? The kind that lets you drop your guard before she comes in swinging?
While I was busy reading every flicker of her expression, the homeroom teacher tilted her head and said out of nowhere,
"I think I smell alcohol."
"!"
Her stare was so piercing it was unbearable. I turned my head just enough to catch a whiff of myself, but there was no alcohol—only the sharp hit of perfume. Had I sprayed on so much that it looked suspicious? And it was a women's fragrance, no less. Even I had to admit this was a situation worth questioning. The pressure of being late had kept me from thinking it through. My fault. What kind of excuse would work here? If I came up with something halfway decent, she might just let it slide. She did not seem like the strict type.
I could not tell whether that smile was real or fake. Of course the eyes would give it away, but reading an adult's face was never as easy as it sounded. The camouflage they developed just to survive this rough world was no joke. A little more time would have been nice.
"Would you stop reading me already? I can tell exactly what you're thinking. No matter what you do or how you spin it, the fact that you were late doesn't change. Right?"
"Yes..."
"Ugh. It'd be nice if students thought about how the teacher feels when she has to scold them. I don't particularly enjoy yelling or handing out punishments either. But rules are rules, aren't they? You break them, you take the matching penalty."
"I'm sorry."
Everything she said was right. I had nothing to answer with.
"And I gave you a chance. I waited, and when you still didn't show, I called you over and over. You're the one who never picked up."
"Ah."
While I had been rushing around getting ready, an unknown number had kept ringing and I had simply ignored it. Of course it had been the homeroom teacher. This was one hundred percent on me. I might as well take the punishment cleanly. The real culprit behind all of this was my sister anyway; I could just pay her back for every inconvenience I suffered. Whether that would actually cool me down was another question.
"So why didn't you answer the phone?"
She asked it so simply that lying was impossible. I had no choice but to tell the truth.
"Something unfortunate hit me at dawn and I woke up late. I was rushing to get ready after that. I'm truly sorry."
"Hmm. The sweat on your forehead is proof you ran hard to get here. That effort alone is enough that I won't dig any further."
"!"
"But that's separate from giving you a punishment."
"...Excuse me?"
"What? You have a problem with that?"
"No. I know I was in the wrong. I'm ready to take whatever punishment you give me."
I might be the type who rarely moved unless there was something in it for me, but I had not thrown away my conscience entirely.
Still watching me with those eyes full of curiosity and interest, the homeroom teacher—whose delicate looks did not match the speed of her hands—quickly finished stacking a thick pile of handouts and said,
"I like seeing you reflect on your own. It's almost endearing. If something like this happens again, though, I really will chew you out. So be careful."
"I'll be careful from now on."
"Good. I'm going to trust you, so all you have to do is live up to that trust. We'll be seeing each other for a whole year. Without trust between us, things won't go well, will they? So this ends with you having reflected and giving me your word that you won't be late again. Done! Ah—but the punishment is still coming separately. No need to tense up or worry. I'll give you something that fits being late."
Did I show too much on my face?
The way she read me from start to finish and still made room for consideration felt different from every teacher I had known. Different not only as a teacher, but as an adult.
What exactly is different about her?
Why am I even paying attention to my homeroom teacher?
It had been so long since I last felt interest in another person that curiosity and expectation began to swell.
"There's a little time left before third period starts. I'd like you to tell me why you were late. Is that all right?"
"You probably won't believe it, but if that's what you want, I'll tell you. Still... why do you need the reason so badly?"
"Partly so I can give a fair punishment after hearing it. But more than that—there might have been circumstances beyond your control. If I just handed down a penalty without even listening, I figured you'd feel wronged."
"..."
The words were so unexpected I could not open my mouth.
I thought I finally understood why I had started paying attention to her, why she felt different from every teacher and adult I had met until now.
It was the small considerations. That was why even someone like me, who lived on reading people, had not caught it right away. It made sense—I could not even remember the last time anyone had shown me consideration.
She had not jumped to conclusions about why I was late. She had offered me real trust without pretense. She had given me a chance to tell the truth. Someone might say it was ridiculous to get emotional over something so small. But most teachers and adults never even offered a chance to explain; they just scolded based on assumptions. And even when you told the truth, they never tried to verify it—they simply decided it was a lie, an excuse.
Those were the only kinds of teachers and adults I had ever known.
But my homeroom teacher was different.
She was a good person.
She could easily have made the atmosphere harsh, yet she had not. Whether that was simply her nature or something else, it planted a little trust and a few questions in me. Of course there would be kids who tried to take advantage of a situation like this. I was not one of them.
Did she already sense that and decide to trust me anyway?
I did not know. We had only just met; there was still too much I could not read.
"Jo Yul?"
"Ah—yes?"
"Is there something you can't talk about?"
See that? The moment I looked a little off, her first move was concern. It put me at ease somehow. And there was something about her that made lying feel impossible. I figured it came from the pure trust and consideration—the sense of genuine goodwill. Meeting unconditional goodwill with malice was the kind of thing only trash did.
Even without being forceful, she was hard to push against. That made her strangely appealing.
I found myself thinking that this first year of high school at seventeen might actually go fairly smoothly.
"No. I was just sorting my thoughts for a moment."
"Looking at how deep in thought you are, it must have been something unavoidable. I've finished with the handouts, so go ahead and start."
I looked into those eyes still full of curiosity and interest and laid out the truth without adding a single lie.
She listened quietly from beginning to end, then said one thing.
"Like you said earlier, it's a hard story to believe."
"It might be. But it's true."
A little anxiety was inevitable. Honestly, who would believe this? Even I would have trouble accepting it. But it had actually happened, so what was I supposed to do? I had already steeled myself. The choice was hers now.
I had prepared myself, yet the moment the situation arrived I found myself staring at her with eyes full of unease and tension while she sat lost in thought.
"Hmm..."
"..."
Time kept moving. Every second felt like a full minute.
What will she decide?
Will she believe me at all?
And if she doesn't, what do I do next?
A flood of thoughts filled my head. I kept checking her reactions the way I always did, but I could not read a thing. Adults really were not easy. Proof of how rough the world outside was, I supposed. Just thinking about having to live in that world someday already made me want to sigh. But worrying about the future before the present was not wise, so I set that aside.
At last the homeroom teacher, who had been slow to speak, opened her mouth.
"I've decided, so stop reading me like that. You've been doing it since the moment we met. Is that just a habit of yours? Why does a kid your age need to read people so hard? What's there to think about so much? Too much thinking puts wrinkles on your face, you know. So quit it and hold these for me, would you?"
When does that smile ever leave her face? Does it ever leave at all? Following her words, I took the stack of handouts in both hands and asked,
"So... about the punishment...?"
"I'll tell you once we get to the classroom."
Wearing a meaningful smile, she led the way. I hurried after her.
Class 1-3 was on the same first floor as the teachers' office, so it did not take long to arrive.
I followed her through the front door of the classroom and naturally over to the teacher's desk. I set the handouts down and was about to look for an empty seat when—
"Thanks for the help. Ah—could you stay standing right there for a second?"
"?"
Not knowing what was about to happen, I let her gentle hand guide me to the center of the desk. Then I heard my future.
"I'd like to introduce our Temporary Class President for Class 1-3. Everyone, please give him your attention. The student standing here is one of ours. He was late for personal reasons, but from now on he'll work hard representing all of Class 1-3. Isn't that right, Jo Yul?"
"..."
Wait. Temporary Class President? Completely unexpected. Of course it was—I was the kid who showed up late.
The result was so far outside anything I had imagined that my thoughts refused to turn properly. The homeroom teacher, on the other hand, never lost that signature smile. And the rest of the class was the same. Even though it was only temporary, they were handing a real responsibility to a latecomer, and not a single voice of protest. Just how little motivation and interest did these people have?
I had said I would take any punishment, but this was not it.
"Um... Teacher?"
"What is it, Temporary Class President?"
The moment I called her with a troubled look, she was already using the title. I wished she would not talk as if it were already settled.
I clung to my composure and continued.
"Temporary Class President? This is the first I've heard of it."
"Of course it is. I never told you. And this is the fitting punishment I'm giving you. What do you think? Doesn't it suit you perfectly?"
"..."
I was left speechless.
I could not think of anything else.
I wanted to argue.
I wanted to refuse.
But I could not. Because I was carrying the spectacular crime of having been late on entrance day.
Even so—Temporary Class President? It was the absolute worst position, the one that would draw every eye and every scrap of attention in the room. And now I was standing in it. Fine. Any other punishment would do; I just had to get out of this one somehow. No matter how I looked at it, Temporary Class President did not fit me. Honestly, I was not confident I could even do the job well.
So I spoke in a small voice.
"No matter how I think about it, this doesn't seem right."
"Why?"
The way she tilted her head made it clear she had no intention of backing down easily.
In other words, from this moment on it was a war between me and the homeroom teacher—a psychological battle. And only by winning that battle could I step down from the cumbersome position of Temporary Class President.
To win a psychological battle, you needed to know the victory conditions. Those were simple: how deeply and how thoroughly you could read the other person's intentions. From the short experience I already had, reading hers was close to impossible. So I finished calculating another approach.
Appointing me Temporary Class President was basically a public execution. An example.
She believed that serving as the representative of all of Class 1-3 was a fitting punishment. But if the point was simply to make me serve, there was no need to put me in the cumbersome seat of Temporary Class President. The only reason I could think of for doing it anyway was consideration. Nothing else made sense.
Honestly, who cared about a Temporary Class President who was not even the real one? It was temporary by definition; most kids would not care who held the title. That was why no one had spoken up in protest. But I could not assume everyone felt that way. There had to be at least one person who saw Temporary Class President as a shortcut to the real position. And how would that person feel looking at the current situation? Resentment, of course.
A latecomer who had appeared out of nowhere had just taken the Temporary Class President seat that could lead to class president. To that person, the punishment handed to me would look more like a reward. Exactly. I planned to use those kids. They might have been swept along by the class atmosphere and unable to speak up, but if I created an opening for them, they would.
The method was to provoke them.
It was a heavy gamble. But the odds came out highest of anything I calculated.
Telling myself that luck would bring the win, I raised the curtain on the psychological battle in a quiet voice.