[In Which I Fight Math, Meet My Doom, and Fall in Love Again (Unfortunately)]
---
I wish I could say the hardest thing I ever fought was that bear on the mountain.
But no.
It was Mrs. Choi.
Five-foot-one, ancient glasses, bob-cut that doubled as a warning sign, and a presence so powerful, it could silence a room faster than a sudden earthquake.
When she walked in, the atmosphere dropped ten degrees. The light bulbs flickered like they feared disappointing her. Somewhere in the distance, thunder cracked—and then apologized.
Even the class troublemaker, Minwoo—the guy who once tried to boil ramen using the heat from his tablet—snapped to attention.
Mrs. Choi stepped up to the teacher's desk like it was her command post.
She adjusted her glasses.
"Take your seats."
Her voice didn't need volume. It had weight. Like a guillotine descending toward your GPA.
And the reaction? Instant.
Chairs screeched across the floor like a chorus of tortured souls. Bags flew. Books landed with thuds. Someone knocked over their iced Americano and screamed as if they'd just lost a loved one.
"Good morning, ma'am!" the class chorused in a weird, panicked unison.
It wasn't sincere.
It was survival.
I was already seated, which gave me the luxury of observing my classmates like a war journalist. Honestly, the only thing missing was a helmet and background piano music.
Just minutes ago, I'd been on a mountaintop of dreams. Lush green trees. Sharp bamboo spear in hand. I was fighting a wild boar that looked like it had gym membership.
Now?
I was in Class 2-B, Guryong High School, Seoul. Surrounded by teenagers who wore neckties like nooses and behaved like Mrs. Choi's mere gaze could age them twenty years.
"Pop quiz," she announced like she was unveiling a surprise party. For torture.
There was a sound behind me. A small, tragic whimper.
I turned.
It was Daeho. Glasses fogged. Eyes wide. Paler than usual. He looked like a man who'd just seen his college dreams dissolve into smoke.
"Did she say pop quiz?" he mouthed.
I nodded solemnly. "No. She said we get free Wi-Fi for life. YES, she said pop quiz!"
"Yah! Why are you shouting?!"
I jerked my thumb toward Mrs. Choi's back. "Because the only thing scarier than her hearing us talk… is her not hearing us talk and then suddenly turning around like a boss fight."
Right on cue—like the universe heard me tempting fate—she spun around.
"What's so funny back there?"
My soul tried to evacuate my body.
"Uh—just Daeho realizing he loves math!" I blurted, pointing at my poor friend like a coward in a zombie movie.
Daeho turned to me, betrayed. His eyes screamed: Traitor. Backstabber. Ghosting you forever.
Mrs. Choi squinted. "Love math, do you, Daeho?"
"…Yes, ma'am."
"Good. You'll solve question ten on the board. Come."
Daeho stood like a soldier walking toward a firing squad. Each step heavier than the last.
I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms. Mountain warrior strikes again.
Then—
"Han Juno."
She said my name like she was reading it off a Most Wanted poster.
"You'll solve question nine."
I sat up like I'd been electrocuted.
"Wha—" I began, but she cut me off with a single eyebrow.
Just one.
No words.
That eyebrow had authority.
So I dragged my corpse forward and picked up the chalk. It was cold. Judging me. Probably muttering: 'You? Really?'
I faced the board.
Question nine looked less like math and more like a ritual summoning. Variables, parentheses, exponents, some Greek letter that may or may not have cursed me.
Why was π there? What did π have to do with any of this? This wasn't a dessert. This was suffering.
I turned toward Daeho.
He turned toward me.
We nodded in unison.
We die together, brother.
In that moment, I made a decision.
If I was going to go down… I'd go down with style.
I turned to the class.
Twirled the chalk like a mic.
And announced, "Let me tell you the philosophy behind this equation."
There was laughter.
Real laughter.
Minwoo even clapped.
Mrs. Choi?
Stone.
Absolute zero.
"Sit down."
I sat.
Fast.
So fast, I swear I left a chalk outline of my dignity on the board.
---
After the Execution
A.k.a. Recess
The hallway was buzzing like a vending machine filled with bees. Phones flashed. Loud conversations erupted. Someone was screaming about losing a pencil pouch like it was a national treasure.
I ducked behind the lockers.
And sighed.
The long, heroic kind of sigh.
"Why am I like this?" I whispered to the void.
A voice answered.
"You mean charming and idiotic?"
I turned.
It was Do Hana.
Not my Hana.
But the Hana.
Short hair that defied gravity and trends. Sharp eyes that saw through people like X-rays with attitude. Uniform worn just right. Socks rolled perfectly. Basically, if perfection was a person, it would apply to be her intern.
She leaned against the locker beside mine, holding a can of juice like it was part of her aesthetic.
"Didn't you just say yesterday that you were going to 'turn over a new leaf'?" she asked, eyebrow raised.
"I did," I said proudly. "But the leaf turned back. It said it missed me."
She stared.
I smiled.
She narrowed her eyes.
"…You'll die a fool," she declared.
"As long as it's a handsome fool," I grinned, raising two thumbs.
She rolled her eyes and walked off like she was allergic to nonsense.
But right before she turned the corner, she glanced over her shoulder—
And smirked.
Just for a second.
Barely noticeable.
But I saw it.
I stood there, frozen, toothpaste-free and full of emotions I wasn't ready to name.
Then I whispered the line that would echo in my soul forever:
"…she didn't say no."