Instead of a "tragedy" or "revenge" that would make gentle Cha Do-hee break down in tears, why not try creating a lighter, sweet romantic comic? Maybe then, even if someone leaves, it would hurt a little less. Maybe it wouldn't trample the heart so much.
There were, well, those two guys who were supposed to be the male leads.
Why not even try being friends with them? Thinking about it, it seemed like a pretty good idea. A heart-fluttering romance with her brother's friends—an unchanging classic of a sweet romance comic. That way, I live, you're happy, and all would be perfect.
When I looked at her, as if asking, "What do you think?" Do-hee's eyes went wide, completely clueless.
Then, when I smiled gently, her face lit up in a rosy glow.
Yes. That kind of story suited Cha Do-hee far better.
After all the fuss of completing the discharge process and planning to return to school the next day, another commotion arose.
"Are you really allowed to be discharged?"
"Shouldn't someone take you to school?"
"What if you collapse on the way back?"
The place was in an uproar.
From the side effects of being forcibly "shut down" three times, Cha Do-hee seemed to see Cha Do-young as a delicate paper doll that could crumble in a light breeze.
"I'm fine now. Really."
Not a shred of trust came back—only skeptical eyes.
'If I'm careful, I'm probably not that weak. Probably…'
His fragile body, which he could not fully trust, made him sad.
Perhaps because the original story required Cha Do-hee to disguise herself as Cha Do-young, their faces were identical, and even their builds were similar. Wasn't that a bit much? Cha Do-young was male, after all.
Yoon-jae, who had grown tall in the military and had often been joked about as "a bean sprout," swallowed bitter tears.
'Hopefully my growth plates are still okay.'
Being just the right age to have entered high school was his only hope.
Standing again in front of the full-length mirror, Yoon-jae—or rather, Do-young—looked more determined than before.
This time, he was dressed neatly in his school uniform.
The three tidy characters of "Cha Do-young" were now etched across his chest.
"…Cha Do-young is going to change now."
If those bullies had died, fine—but I will never carry everything alone and die.
Of course, I don't mean literally die. I live, and those guys… I'll deal with them.
Do-young reached out his hand to his reflection. He had to get used to it now.
This is my face.
Now, I am Cha Do-young.
Now, the real story begins.
After repeating phrases like, "It's okay," "That's the wrong direction," "You'll be late," and "You can go alone" about twenty times each like a rap, Do-young finally got out of the taxi, looking noticeably tired.
'I haven't even passed through the school gate yet, and I already want to go home. What do I do?'
He would normally have taken the bus, but after recently being mistaken for a fragile "paper human," he had no choice but to promise to take a taxi for a while. At least he didn't have to worry about finding the school, and his body was more comfortable… but his mind was in turmoil.
The problem was Cha Do-hee.
She insisted on taking him all the way to school.
When he jumped and protested, telling her it was just school, she looked at him with the devastated face of someone sending a brother into a battlefield alone.
Well, if it's a battlefield, maybe it's understandable… so he gave her a pinky promise: "I'll contact you as soon as I arrive."
The taxi driver, witnessing this, probably thought of Do-young as a first-grader going to school for the first time.
Cha Do-hee being sweet was nice, but it was a little embarrassing.
Flushed with shame, Do-young briefly covered his face with his hands. He resolved firmly that he would prove his healthiness soon. Even after this firm resolution, his face still burned slightly, and his small palms flapped repeatedly to calm it.
Then, he suddenly wondered, 'She didn't follow me, did she?' and looked back sharply. No? No? She didn't sneak along, right?
After looking around anxiously and coughing awkwardly a few times because of the stares from passersby, Do-young finally steeled himself and faced the school gate.
"…Now, it really begins."
His hand tightened instinctively on the bag strap.
Distracted by Do-hee's fuss, he hadn't realized it, but now that he arrived at the school and stood before the gate, he noticed those sly, judgmental glances.
If it were the original Cha Do-young, he might have shrunk back under those cutting looks—but I'm here to deal with the ruffians in this place. They're just ticklish, little lambs to me.
He smiled silently and stepped in.
'Class 1-3, right?'
Confidently entering the school, the first challenge of finding his classroom proved unexpectedly tricky. Not knowing the exact location, he had to subtly roll his eyes around while avoiding drawing attention.
Every student he passed wasn't just glancing—some whispered in groups, which annoyed him.
'Was something weird? Can they already tell I'm different?'
'Is my vision restricted because I asked Do-hee last night to quickly trim my bangs?'
Do-hee had fussed before going to bed, calling them pretty… or was he just satisfied because he did it himself? Or maybe they were trying to hide how messed up they were?
Suppressing a rising sense of betrayal and the urge to touch his face, Do-young caught a strange word from nearby students: "school refusal."
School refusal? Who? Me?
Now he understood the reaction, and the tension drained. How imaginative these kids were! Only a few days into high school, and the atmosphere was already this hostile. Actually, his absence due to a few days in the hospital had probably fueled the strange rumors.
'Sorry if it's such a false lead that you're disappointed…'
Embarrassed, Do-young used their expressions as a guide and found his classroom without much difficulty. A slight turn in the wrong direction would have elicited questioning looks, but they were surprisingly helpful.
He looked briefly at the "1-3" sign.
Finally, he reached for the door handle of the closed door.
The sliding door made a smooth "drreeek" sound. As it opened and revealed Do-young, the previously noisy hallway suddenly fell silent. Then, fast, sharp glances rained on him like arrows.
Despite this, Do-young stood with an impassive expression.
In truth, he was deeply flustered.
He couldn't step forward recklessly.
He realized he had overlooked something.
Last night, he had searched through Cha Do-young's desk and even figured out the classroom, but now that he was inside, he forgot the exact seat. Why did he remember this only now?
'Do they usually put it in front of the teacher's desk?'
Would it be weird to ask someone? Could I naturally say I'm confused because I haven't been here in a while?
As his eyes scanned the classroom, he almost laughed at how easy it was to spot Do-young's desk—far easier than he'd feared.
In the back corner, one desk was especially messy, drawing his attention.
Piles of trash and unclaimed belongings lay scattered.
Watching silently, a few students hesitantly got up to clear their things. Seeing this confirmed his guess, and he moved forward.
The desk, once cleared, was even more of a mess. It was almost a lost cause. Carved insults littered its surface:
"Idiot, loser, fool, weakling, bastard, creepy, annoying, why live like this…"
'Child of darkness'? Seriously?
Even so, it was a bit classic. He paused, unsure what to say.
Then, amidst the silence, came a small, stifled laugh.
That laugh triggered the previously stiff classroom into sudden, chaotic life—giggling and whispering. Kids could be cruel.
Do-young glared briefly at their ugly backs, put down his bag, and took out his phone.
In a world where you could photograph the surface of the moon, he was amazed at the surprisingly decent camera quality on a flip phone. He planned to collect as much evidence as possible for the battles ahead.
"Say cheese, you little brats."
Do-young smiled wickedly and aimed his camera at the desk.