I was ripped from the deepest, most dreamless sleep of my life by the sound of a piano. It wasn't a recording. It was real. Someone was playing scales, fast and perfect, somewhere in the house. C-major, A-minor, arpeggios... My eyes snapped open.
For a full, disorienting second, I had no idea where I was. This wasn't my room. The walls weren't covered in posters (except for the two they'd put up ). The ceiling was high and white. Sunlight, bright and sharp, was slicing through the blinds, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Then it all came flooding back. The house. The school. The giraffe.
I groaned and rolled over, my body aching from basketball and sleeping in my jeans. It was... 7:00 AM. My new Samsung phone, which I'd apparently plugged in before passing out, was fully charged. The piano scales stopped, replaced by the opening bars of a complex Chopin piece. It was played with a furious, precise energy. That had to be Ha-neul. Of course the princess was a concert pianist.
I dragged my protesting body out of bed. My first full day. I fumbled through the clothes Mrs. Lee had so helpfully hung up. I pulled on a clean black t-shirt and my other pair of jeans. I still didn't have a uniform until Friday. I was the traffic cone again, but in civilian clothes. I splashed water on my face in the sleek, marble-and-glass bathroom that will apparently be mine for the next ten month, and stared at my reflection. I looked... wrecked.
Okay, Motuzenko. Global ambassador. Try not to get in trouble.
I padded downstairs, drawn by the smell of coffee and toast.
The scene in the kitchen was one of calm, efficient chaos. Mrs. Lee, already impeccably dressed, was placing gimbap slices onto a plate, her phone pressed to her ear as she had a rapid-fire, low-voiced conversation. Mr. Lee was at the table, dressed in a suit, reading a financial newspaper and looking... defeated. The wooden giraffe was gone from the foyer. In its place stood two massive, elegant flower arrangements. Ji-hoon's seat was empty. He'd probably already left. Ha-neul was sitting at the table, in her perfect Kirin uniform, reviewing flashcards, her piano-playing apparently finished. She didn't look up when I came in.
"Ah, San-gun. You're awake," Mrs. Lee said, ending her call. "Good morning. Sleep well? Eat. Ppalli. You'll be late." She slid a plate of toast and a bowl of fruit in front of me. It was all very... civilized.
"Good morning, Eomeonim, Abeonim," I mumbled, sitting down. "Thank you for the food."
Mr. Lee just grunted from behind his paper. He looked like he'd lost a battle. Probably with a giraffe.
I ate in silence, the only sounds being the clink of Mrs. Lee's coffee cup and the shush of Ha-neul's flashcards.
"Ha-neul-ah," Mrs. Lee said. "You're taking the bus with Jun-seo today?"
"Yes, Omma," Ha-neul said, not looking up. "We have to finish the council report."
"Good." Mrs. Lee looked at me. "San-gun, you'll go with Ha-neul. She will show you the bus stop. It's... easier. I have the committee meeting today, I can't drive you."
"Oh, yes, of course," I said. "And here." She handed me a pre-loaded T-money card (the universal transit card).
"For the bus. Don't lose it." Ha-neul slid her flashcards into her bag and stood up.
"I'm going. He's waiting."
"I'm... I'm coming," I said, shoving the last piece of toast in my mouth. I grabbed my backpack, bowed awkwardly to Mr. and Mrs. Lee, and scrambled after her.
We stepped out into the bright, cool morning.
The neighborhood was just as quiet as it had been at night.
"So," I said, jogging to keep up with her brisk, determined pace.
"So, what?" she said, not looking at me.
"So... the bus. With Jun-seo. Is this... a thing you do every morning?"
"He doesn't live two streets over and run the student council for his health, San," she said, her voice flat. "We have work to do. And we've already got used it. Anyways, he doesn't mind so..." We turned the corner, and there he was, standing at the pristine neighborhood bus stop.
Park Jun-seo. He was in his perfect uniform, his bag slung over one shoulder, his cut lip from yesterday the only sign that he wasn't a flawless mannequin. He saw us and smiled, though it looked a little strained.
"Good morning, Ha-neul-ah. San-ssi." He looked me up and down. "You look... better than yesterday."
"I feel... worse," I admitted. Ha-neul just rolled her eyes.
"Let's just go. The 143 bus is never late."
The bus, a bright green-and-white Seoul city bus, pulled up at that exact moment. Of course it did. I stepped on behind them, tapping my new card, bracing myself for Day Two.