Episode 8
The source of the money wasn’t something she wanted to know. It wasn’t something she needed to. Whatever it was, she should at least do this much. If she gave birth without a plan, the least she could do was raise her better than this. If she had no skills, she should’ve sold her body or even her organs—anything to raise her less miserably than this. That was the extent of Junyoung’s thoughts.
If she was going to pass down clear skin, sleek black hair, enviable features, and enough brains to be top of the class even in this backwater school, then at least the environment should have been better than this. If only she’d been born so dull and simple that she couldn’t even comprehend desire— Then maybe she would’ve been satisfied living like that neighborhood girl who, after a chance fling with the hardware store owner’s son, got pregnant and married at twenty-one.
But the past she’d tried so hard to ignore—Oh Hyesu had touched it. “It’s not your fault your mom is that kind of person.” …What did Oh Hyesu know about her mom?
Gripping her pen, Junyoung bit her lip as her thoughts wandered. Suddenly, a hand slapped her head. A red line streaked across her notebook.
“Hey. Enough already. Just because your grades are good, you think you can daydream in my class?”
His face flushed slightly, but Junyoung felt her head go cold. The math teacher still reeked of alcohol even in the afternoon.
He’d never gone easy on her. If anything, Junyoung knew he considered her a thorn in his side.
He once tried recruiting her for the math club, impressed by her aptitude. But he always smelled like booze and ogled the girls with murky eyes.
He’d brush girls’ arms or waists for no reason, and sometimes lift up their skirts with a stick labeled “rod of love.” Not enough to expose much, but still disturbing. The girls all avoided him.
He once suggested private tutoring, clearly hoping to get her drunk and take advantage. She declined three times. Since then, he’d randomly pick fights with her.
She tasted blood—she must have bitten her lip. Some kids giggled. Junyoung clenched her fist.
If he’d at least given her a math problem to solve, she could’ve easily shut him up. But he was smart enough not to do that. He never gave her the upper hand.
“Do you think you’re better than teachers just because you’re smart? You think you can ignore what we say ’cause you’re off to Seoul anyway? Damn kid. Where’s your respect?”
He thumped her head again. Her brow twitched. Seeing that, he grinned and jabbed her head with the stick.
“Look at that face. And I’m supposed to guide kids like you? I’m only doing this for your own good, you know.”
If someone offered to kill him in exchange for half her life, she’d kneel without hesitation.
Sometimes, Junyoung cursed her overly rational mind. If only she’d been the type to act first and think later, maybe no one would dare mess with her.
“Still scowling, huh? Hey, Yoon Jun—”
“Teacher.”
Just as Junyoung reached to grab the stick, a voice rang out. Everyone turned toward Seungwoon, who had raised his hand.
“Junyoung collapsed yesterday because of me. So if she’s distracted, it’s probably my fault. I’m sorry.”
He bowed deeply. The teacher crossed his arms.
People considered Seungwoon a prince of sorts. Even this teacher, who argued with the principal, treated him differently.
“Why? Did she get love-sick ’cause she likes you? Can’t sleep at night or something?”
He jabbed the stick at Junyoung. Seungwoon’s ears turned red.
“N-no, that’s not—”
Then came a loud bang. Everyone flinched—even the teacher.
A basketball had slammed into the chalkboard. It bounced once or twice.
Everyone saw who threw it. Beomjin, hair still a mess, stretched his shoulder lazily.
“Some jerk threw it like that. You’re not supposed to aim at people.”
“You, you—”
“Even I don’t do that. Not to people.”
His sleepy eyes now sharp, Beomjin stared down the teacher.
A tense triangle formed between the three: Junyoung, Seungwoon, and Beomjin. The teacher’s stick trembled.
The bell rang.
“All three of you! Reflection papers! Today!”
He stormed out. The students buzzed.
Hyesu tugged on Seungwoon’s sleeve.
“Why’d you step in? It would’ve passed if you’d stayed quiet.”
“It was my fault.”
He smiled and looked at Junyoung and Beomjin.
Beomjin yawned, tousled his hair, and walked out like a wild animal taking a stroll.
Junyoung exhaled and picked up her pen. Her face was blank.
“Are you and Beomjin—”
“Hm?”
Hyesu leaned in. But Seungwoon shook his head.
“Nothing. Never mind.”
He sat back down. Junyoung’s earlier words echoed in his mind.
Don’t worry about me.
Easier said than done.
He scratched his neck and started writing too. The girls kept chatting, but his mind was elsewhere.
Usually, the classroom was empty during self-study. But today, it buzzed with kids eyeing the three of them.
Junyoung scribbled her reflection easily. But when a chair scraped loudly, she turned.
Beomjin was leaving.
He hadn’t written anything. She frowned.
The teacher wouldn’t punish him physically. He lacked the guts. But he’d find subtler ways.
Rules still existed here. And the teacher knew how to use them.
She didn’t want Beomjin getting dragged into that. Not over her.
She quietly stood. Eyes followed. Everyone must’ve been wondering.
This was the second time Beomjin had intervened. First was the bathroom. But this time, it was more direct.
They had something unspoken between them, and she liked it that way. No prying eyes. Because in front of them, Beomjin would never say something like “menstrual cramps.”
…If this breaks, it’s all your fault.
She slipped out and saw Beomjin striding down the hallway.
“Kwon Beomjin.”
Dragging him somewhere private would only stoke rumors. She took a step toward him.
“Give me your reflection paper.”
If not, the teacher really will make your life miserable.
She held out her hand.
Beomjin glanced at her, then turned away.
“Hey.”
She grabbed his wrist, but he shook her off—hard.
Her eyes widened. Whispers stirred behind her. But more than shame, she felt shock.
Beomjin looked at her like she was a bother.
“Who do you think you are?”
His low voice was as cold as ice. Before she could respond, he walked away.
Her head throbbed like she’d been slapped. She stood there, stunned.
TO be continued…
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