Chapter 6.2
The word felt foreign. Homeroom teacher? I graduated high school thirteen years ago—what the hell was I talking about? Besides, I was scouted by R&M before November, so I never even took the college entrance exam.
“Anyway, I woke you up, okay?”
The girl in a school uniform turned away with a haughty shrug. That’s when I finally took in my surroundings. I was in a classroom. I hadn’t woken up in a hospital or a funeral home. There was no sasaeng with a knife, no bloodied Cheon Tae Rim beside me.
“Wait, wait—hey….”
I instinctively grabbed the girl before she could walk away. Whether it was lunchtime or whatever, she was the only one I could ask right now.
“Would you happen to know what date it is today?”
“What do you mean? It’s September 6th.”
“No, I mean the year.”
“Are you seriously not awake yet?”
If a classmate suddenly woke up and started asking for the date and year, I’d react the same way. But considering I had nearly been killed by a sasaeng only to wake up in a classroom, anyone in my position would be acting like this.
Then she said a number that I couldn’t believe. A year that made no sense.
Just moments ago, when that sasaeng barged into my house, I was thirty-two. And now, I was supposedly nineteen again?
“…Is this some kind of hidden camera prank?”
“What?”
“Which variety show is this?”
“Hey, Sun Ye Jin. Get a grip. Hidden camera prank? A variety show? What are you even talking about? If you’re not gonna eat lunch, just go back to sleep.”
Watching her turn and walk away, I realized—this wasn’t some kind of TV show.
I sat there, dumbfounded, before slapping my own cheek. If this was a dream or a hallucination, I had to wake myself up.
But even after another slap, my cheek stung, and the girl who had already distanced herself turned back to stare at me like I had lost my mind.
“I’m in my senior year [1] again?”
For real?
Does it make any sense to pass out in front of a knife-wielding sasaeng and wake up back in high school? I’m almost certain this should be impossible.
But no matter how I looked at it, I had somehow gone back in time—to the exact point when the September mock exams were coming up, and my homeroom teacher was furious at me for not preparing for the college entrance exam.
After my family was ruined in middle school, I was practically forced to move in with my grandmother. My mother had died, and my father had been arrested for murder, so, as a minor, I had no choice.
My grandmother was strict and cold. She never treated me badly, but she never took care of her remaining grandchild.
To put it nicely, it was an environment that fostered independence. I was constantly aware that if I didn’t act carefully, I could be kicked out at any moment.
“You handle it yourself. At your age, you should be able to take care of yourself.”
Technically, my grandmother was my legal guardian, but in return for living in her house, I was responsible for all the household chores. She had trouble moving due to her bad back, so it was only natural that I took care of everything.
Even so, no matter how much housework I did or how well I took care of her, her attitude never changed. Sometimes, I even felt like she was wary of me.
My mother—the woman who tore our family apart by falling for a cult—bore a striking resemblance to me. Of course, my grandmother wouldn’t see me in a good light.
But still, living with her wasn’t the worst. She was quiet for the most part and even gave me a small allowance now and then.
That was it, though. We never talked. We both knew that if we opened our mouths, we’d just end up arguing, so we maintained a deliberate silence.
Hoping for good grades in a situation like that was wishful thinking. Even before moving in with my grandmother, my grades weren’t particularly great. Unfortunately, I had no talent for studying.
A teenager convinced they had the worst life in the world goes through storm after storm of puberty. Just keeping my sanity intact was a miracle. I never once thought about working hard or doing my best—I was just resigned to living and dying like this.
Without a proper guardian to steer me straight, I skipped school whenever I felt like it.
It was a miracle I never got into delinquent behavior or picked up smoking. At least I’d never have to deal with some scandal about being a former troublemaker after debuting.
But it wasn’t like I avoided all that because I planned to become an idol. I simply didn’t have any friends. School bullying and delinquency require some level of participation in school life, and I barely showed up. Naturally, I had no close classmates.
My middle school homeroom teacher, who knew about my family situation, must have made some kind of decision, because they covered up all my unexcused absences as sick leave. With just one flu diagnosis, I could maintain my attendance record.
The more that happened, the less I cared about school.
Fitting in with my peers was difficult.
“So, what do your parents do?”
“One’s dead, and the other’s in prison.”
…Obviously, I couldn’t just say that out loud. If word got out, people would either pity me or avoid me altogether.
Still, I made it to high school without much trouble. Compulsory education was over, but my middle school homeroom teacher had shoved me into high school, telling me to get my act together. I didn’t really have anything better to do, so I went.
Then, in my senior year, right before the September mock exams, I got caught sneaking over a wall—by an R&M casting manager. That day was today. September 6th.
Translator’s Notes:
Note/s:
This is actually supposed to be translated to ‘3rd year of high school’ but I translated it as it might be confusing to some. In Korea, their educational system is 6 years of elementary school, 3 years of middle school, 3 years of high school.
