Chapter 14: Academy Heroine’s Right Diagonal Back Seat
Chapter 14
When I woke up, my eyes wouldn't open.
Barely managing to reach the bathroom by feeling my way along the wall, I washed my face and finally could see a bit better.
In the mirror, I saw a miserable frog rubbing its eyes.
Holy moly.
Because I had been crying my eyes out until just before I fell asleep last night, my eyes were really swollen.
I hadn’t seen my eyes this swollen since middle school.
...Another bad memory resurfaced.
Did you know?
On the last night of a training camp, there’s usually a campfire scheduled.
And if you remember, around the time that campfire ends, there’s a very terrifying program.
It’s the time to stimulate emotions.
A big bonfire that’s emotional enough to stir even those who are normally called stoic, and the children gathered around it in a circle.
The instructors, whose catchphrase is “Depending on what you do, we can be angels or devils,” demand the children lie down and look up at the sky.
The children resist internally, not wanting to get dirt on their clothes, but fearing that disobeying the order might cancel the wild night of sleepless play scheduled for tonight, they reluctantly comply.
As the bonfire blazes and sparks scatter high into the sky, the night sky, studded with stars they normally couldn’t see, shines beautifully.
As the children gaze at this landscape, which seems to inspire poetry in an instant, the instructors begin to speak in unnecessarily serious voices.
They tell the story of someone’s life, full of struggles yet special because it was ordinary.
A story about mothers, who, despite everything, loved their children more than anything.
This forced emotional experience is something that teenagers going through puberty can’t easily ignore.
When you unknowingly see your mother’s face in the sky and your vision becomes blurry as your chest tightens, the story reaches its climax, and the instructor shouts.
- Do you miss your mother?
- Yes!
- Is that all you miss your mother? Do you miss your mother?
- Yes!!
- Then shout as loud as you miss your mother! Mom!
- Mooooom!!
A cry you’d never utter alone.
But caught up in the shared emotion of the moment, the children scream for their mothers with all their might, and the instructor savors it as if it were a sweet opera.
They probably think to themselves.
I made these children scream! I can control emotions!
Truly a devilish thought.
When the cries gradually subside, the instructor gives the final word.
- I hope you can take the feelings you felt today back home with you.
Saying this with a satisfied smile, the instructor disappears.
Most of the children, having experienced a whirlwind of emotions, are busy handling the lingering feelings.
Girls can freely express these lingering emotions, as someone will come and comfort them when they cry.
But for the boys in their teenage years, that moment is a battle.
To them, ‘crying’ was almost synonymous with losing their masculinity.
Usually, the boys fell into three categories that day.
The first were the ones who didn’t show any emotion at all.
They puff out their chests and shout loudly that they weren’t moved, to boast that they were the most masculine.
The second were those who shed a few tears but lied about it.
Their eyes were red, obviously from crying, but they quickly wiped away the tears and loudly agreed with those who said they weren’t moved, searching for another scapegoat.
And lastly, there was always one boy who couldn’t resist the overwhelming emotion and sobbed loudly.
A poor lamb, unaware of the horrible future awaiting him.
And damn it, that was me.
I cried so loudly that everyone in my grade knew. Even when I got back to my room, I couldn’t stop crying and eventually collapsed from exhaustion, missing the night’s games, and the vicious adolescent boys didn’t leave me alone.
When I woke up, my eyes wouldn’t open, so I went to the bathroom to wash my face and saw my reflection in the mirror.
Underneath my swollen eyes, there were teardrop marks extending to my cheeks, drawn meticulously by a classmate who later majored in fine arts. And on my forehead was written “Undine,” elegantly in cursive, by another classmate who loved fantasy novels.
Of course, it was in permanent marker.
I sought out the two who had marked my face and punished them with pillows, but no matter how much I washed, the marks didn’t come off until the end of the camp. My crying face and the funny doodles left a lasting impression, and my middle school nickname was Undine.
I was also called ‘the Spirit of Tears.’
Whenever there were fights and crying, they would mockingly call me, “Spirit of Tears! Please stop this child’s tears!”
I should have half-killed those kids back then.
I thought I’d get back at them later, with interest, but as I started my social life, I had less time to see them, and before I knew it, we had completely lost contact.
It’s ironic that in my previous life I was Undine, and in this world, I have fire abilities.
I brushed my forehead and gave a bitter smile, then slightly dampened a towel with water and put it in the fridge.
With my eyes like this, I couldn’t eat breakfast even if I wanted to.
Not in the mood for it anyway, so I decided to sleep again.
I placed the chilled towel over my eyes and forced myself back to sleep.
When I woke up around lunchtime, the swelling had significantly subsided.
Now, my eyes were just red enough to hint that I had cried the previous day.
Fortunately, I didn’t need true love’s kiss to return from being a frog to a human.
Thinking about it now, a story about a frog and love was really ahead of its time.
But no matter what, amphibians are just a bit...
I took out some bean sprouts from the fridge and made bean sprout stir-fry for lunch.
Having eaten it yesterday, I’ve now built up a resistance to bean sprout stir-fry, so I can eat it without crying!
It tasted even better since I skipped breakfast.
You might think that eating the same thing the next day would get tiresome, but not at all.
When it comes to bean sprout stir-fry, I’m the captain.
I could eat it all day long.
After lunch, I lay down on the bed and suddenly felt like taking a walk.
I opened the wardrobe to change clothes to go outside.
There were only a few casual clothes, and I shed a tear internally upon realizing I didn’t have any pants. I put on the longest skirt I had and a shirt that looked the most neutral, added a cardigan, and stepped outside.
The weather was perfect.
Not too hot, not too cold, just an ideal spring day that brought a gentle smile to my face.
People walking down the street seemed to share the same mood, all wearing pleasant smiles.
While wandering without a set destination, I saw an elderly woman balancing a heavy load on her head.
I had time to spare, so I approached her and offered help.
“May I help you with that, ma'am?”
“It’s quite heavy. Are you sure you can handle it?”
When I smiled and easily lifted the load with one hand, she looked slightly surprised but soon gave me a bright, girlish smile.
“You must be a hero, young lady.”
Matching her pace, I walked slowly alongside her.
The energetic running of children and the passionate strides of young people all passed us by, but the elderly woman’s leisurely steps exuded a sense of calm from someone who had experienced all those speeds in life.
The world must surely flow slowly for someone at a stage in life where they are tidying up the achievements of their past.
As we walked, the woman shared her stories.
She talked about how her son had grown up and introduced a woman he wanted to marry.
How her daughter-in-law gave birth, and now that child was already in high school.
Her stories were always told in polite speech.
They say that the wrinkles on the faces of the elderly reflect the lives they’ve lived.
There’s a clear difference between a face marked by arrogance and stubbornness and one marked by wisdom and experience.
The kind smile and stories of this woman made me think that I’d like to grow old like her, with a lifetime of respect for others etched into my face.
When we reached her destination and I handed back her load, she tried to give me money from her purse, but I waved it away, saying I hadn’t helped for a reward.
Though I was short on money, I couldn’t accept it.
Putting the money away, she took my hand and blessed me.
“May your future be filled with blessings, young lady.”
I thanked her and turned towards the park I had seen earlier.
When I glanced back, she was still smiling and waving at me.
At the park, I sat on a bench and listened to the sounds of children playing nearby.
Couples sat and watched their children with warm eyes.
It was peaceful.
I felt oddly disconnected from this peaceful scene, probably because I knew this peace wouldn’t last.
Perhaps it was because I cried last night, or because I had remembered old memories this morning. I felt strangely sentimental, so I stretched my hand out towards the sky, blocking the sunlight, and spoke to myself as I looked at my hand.
“Maybe I’m someone who doesn’t belong in this world…”
Just then, a gust of wind blew dust into my eyes.
Already sensitive from earlier, my eyes began to water, and I rubbed them, feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment.
What was I doing, spouting such middle-school-level angst?
Worried that someone might have seen, I quickly looked around and spotted a familiar head of white hair in the distance.
Like a random encounter monster, why do I keep running into him?
I quickly fled to avoid bumping into Yoon Si-woo.
Back home, I took a shower, ate dinner, and lay down on the bed.
I tried to sleep, but kept thinking about my embarrassing moment earlier, kicking off the blanket about three times before finally drifting off.
Man, these meetings with Yoon Si-woo feels so forced. I hope mc doesn’t fall for him as it would be kinda boring
ReplyDeleteThey live on same neighborhood. And they all touch grass, have same holiday, and enjoy life. Its easier to encounter each other with all this box checked.
DeleteI will never again question a random encounter after what happened when I was in Busan with my friends a week ago. One of my friends downloaded tinder for the first time in his life and the next morning he bumped into a girl that he got matched with while boarding a train. Then, the very same day in the evening we went into a random 7 11 in Seomyeon and that girl was working there.
DeleteEverything can happen.
Heck I discord friend of mine turned out to be my schoolmate, then that schoolmate turned out to be cousins with my childhood friend....
DeleteLooks like whatever brought MC here wants to force romance.
ReplyDeleteHonestly, if that's the route it's going to suck.
I don't see them matching, personality-wise.
Maybe as friends but as a partner? Nope.
MC needs some help in the mental health department, last year.
One has to realize that we all are human. Being born on one body or another makes no difference in terms of capability of expressing emotions.
These stereotypes are what makes men be the highest successful suicide rate by far. Check it out, is scary.
One has to stop strugglimg and accept when things feel like too much.
It doesn't help to keep it in, it's going to overflow in some way or another.
This much is clear here.
MC needs to realize that fixating on just one person, especially one that clearly doesn't care is not the way.
It's sad but also infuriating to see for me.
Steps to make it better can be taken, but MC has to want to do it.
And for that i guess it's needed to realize what's wrong here first.
Please no romance with that dood
ReplyDeleteMC is too relatable sometimes. Also, the previous comments complaining about romance, sorry to tell you this but the genres and tags plastered on the NU website have already decided what route this story about to go into.
ReplyDeleteI do hope there's another love interest than OG MC though
DeleteI do hope there's another love interest than OG MC though
DeletePlot is stagnating and going nowhere, protagonist seems more intent on moping and avoiding other characters
ReplyDelete