The principal's rant ended not with a bang, but with a defeated, wheezing sigh. He looked like he'd just run a marathon.
"Detention! All of you! For a week!" he finally declared.
The boy with the beanie, Myung-Dae, just nodded, as if the principal had just given him the weather report. "Yes, seonsaengnim. Understood." His tone was polite, but his eyes were completely dead.
"Now get out! All of you! Go to class!"
As one, the eight boys bowed, a lazy, uncoordinated gesture. They turned and sauntered out of the faculty office, Myung-Dae in the lead. As he passed me, he didn't slow down, but his sharp, cat-like eyes flicked over to me. He looked at my "Mountain" tag, then at my face, and then... he just looked away, as if I was too boring to even register. They disappeared into the hall, taking all the energy in the room with them.
The principal stormed off into his private office, slamming the door.
The sudden quiet was deafening.
"Well," Ms. Choi said, letting out a long breath. She took a sip of her coffee. "Welcome to Class 2-B, San-ssi."
She turned to the boy who had been standing patiently by her desk this entire time. "Jun-seo-ssi. This is Oleksandr, 'San-ssi.' He's in your class. He'll need... everything. The schedule, the tailor, the locker... can you handle it?"
Park Jun-seo finally turned his full attention to me. It was like being hit by a spotlight, but a warm one. He was even more ridiculously handsome up close. His smile was perfect—sincere, bright, and radiating a kind of calm authority. He gave me a polite, 90-degree bow.
"San-ssi, bangabseubnida," he said. (It's nice to meet you.) His voice was exactly as I remembered from the stage—rich and clear. His Korean was the "Seoul standard," the kind news anchors use, and he spoke just a fraction slower, as if he instinctively knew I'd need the help. "I'm Park Jun-seo, your class president. Welcome to Kirin. I'll take good care of you."
"Ah, ye... kamsahamnida," I fumbled, bowing back way too low and nearly knocking my head on a filing cabinet. Smooth, Motuzenko. Real smooth.
"Don't worry about them," Jun-seo said, gesturing to the door where the rebels had left. "They're... passionate. But harmless." He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Shall we?"
We stepped out into the grand hall. It was like walking next to the sun. Everyone—everyone—who passed us bowed and greeted him. "Good morning, Jun-seo-ssi!" "Jun-seo, your speech was amazing!" He'd nod, smile, and greet each one by name. "Good morning, Ji-young. Thanks, Min-ho, study hard." I was completely invisible. I was just the weird, un-uniformed shadow trailing in his wake.
"First, the tailor," he said, leading me down a basement-level hallway. "We need to get you into uniform as soon as possible. It's better to blend in."
He said it kindly, but the message was clear: You stick out, and it's not a good look.
We entered a small, brightly-lit room that smelled of chalk and hot irons. An old, severe-looking woman with pins in her collar came at me with a measuring tape. "Aigoo, a foreigner," she muttered, grabbing my arm. "Broad shoulders. Skinny waist. This will be difficult." "He needs the full set, halmeoni," Jun-seo said, his voice laced with charm. "Two blazers, two tracksuits and a suit please. He's the new representative." The woman's expression softened instantly. "Ah, for you, Jun-seo? Of course." She measured me with terrifying efficiency, her hands moving in a blur, calling out numbers in Korean that I couldn't follow. I just stood there like a mannequin, my face burning.
"Done," she announced, scribbling on a pad. "Come back Friday."
We were back in the hall. Jun-seo handed me a plastic-coated card. "This is your schedule. Our homeroom, 2-B, is in the music wing. First class is Modern Music History. I'm... unfortunately, I have a student council meeting now." He looked genuinely apologetic.
"Oh, no, that's fine," I said, trying to sound casual. "Your Korean is very good, by the way," he said, as we stopped at a large junction in the hallway. "Where did you learn?" "Ah... the internet. K-dramas. Music," I admitted. He smiled again, that polite, perfect smile. "Of course. That's how many people start. Well, your pronunciation is excellent." It felt like a pat on the head.
He pointed down a long hallway, this one lined with sound-proofed doors. "That's the music wing. Our class is at the end, 2-B. Just show the teacher your schedule. I'll see you in homeroom this afternoon." "Jun-seo-ssi!" a teacher called from across the hall. "We're ready!" "Coming!" he called back. He gave me one last, encouraging nod. "Good luck, San-ssi. Hwaiting."
And then he was gone, jogging lightly toward the staff room, already absorbed in his next important task.
I was alone again. In a hallway that I didn't know, holding a schedule I could barely read, about to walk into a class I was already late for. I looked down the long, quiet hall. From behind one of the doors, I could hear a piano. From another, the thud of a heavy bass. I took a deep breath. Okay. Hwaiting. I started walking toward Room 2-B.