Becoming An Idol Wasn’T On My Plan [EN]: Chapter 189

How perceptive; it’s useful at times like this.

I felt a slight ache in my fingers and stood up. Chae Hamin lured the children away, leading them like the Pied Piper [a figure from folklore who led children away with his music]. Stamina—I lack stamina.

I leaned against the wall and slumped into a seat. Then, I heard the rustle of fabric next to me and sensed someone keeping their distance.

Ah, another murderer here.

However, unlike the other children, this one seemed to be my type. Perhaps shy, they silently pleaded for me not to approach, their eyes fixed on a book.

I averted my gaze and quietly watched Chae Hamin playing cheerfully with the children. It was admirable. He’s a completely different type of person from me—truly like the sun.

“…Aren’t you tired?”

A sudden, brutally honest attack. How sharp.

“…Yeah.”

Please understand the filth of adults. No adult here would admit to being tired.

“Liar.”

“…You’re smart.”

“I’m a little like that.”

He does seem smart, reading a book at that age. The book, labeled ‘Aesop’s Fables’ [a collection of moral stories attributed to Aesop, a Greek fabulist], seemed closer to prose than a children’s story. If he’s seeking out such books instead of fairy tales, he’s probably smarter than I was at that age.

“Would you like to read a book with me?”

“Sure, why not.”

The jukebox is over, so I might as well start Ji Donghwa’s reading discussion time. Hamin, I’m sorry. Please take care of the remaining five children; forgive my cowardice.

The classroom was divided into two areas: one, led by Chae Hamin, filled with laughter, and the other, where no one led and silence hung heavy, with only the sound of pages turning.

“…My name is Kim Bongju.”

“Yeah, I’m Ji Donghwa.”

Rustle. The sound of a page turning. Silence returned.

“…Don’t you smile?”

“Was that a joke?”

“Um, no.”

Wait, I’m too mentally exhausted, and I just spoke informally to this child whom I’m meeting for the first time. How rude of me.

After playing the piano for the other children, I ended up speaking informally because of the question ‘Why are you talking like that?’ and it seems to have become a habit. It would be strange to start using honorifics again now; what should I do?

Okay, there’s only one way to handle this. Originally, first encounters should start from a horizontal position [a playful reference to getting to know someone intimately].

“Bongju.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to speak informally too?”

“…Pardon?”

“I did it without getting your permission to speak informally.”

“Wow, teacher, you seem a little crazy.”

I know, but there wasn’t a more rational way other than this.

“You can speak informally.”

“Thanks.”

Rustle.

“Teacher, can I ask a question?”

He must have remembered that I said he was smart earlier. Is he trying to see if I’m qualified to say such things?

“Yeah.”

Bongju’s gaze pierced my face, so I also took my eyes off Chae Hamin. A bowl cut and clothes that seem several sizes too big—this is how you’d describe a naive country kid.

“Here, the fox doesn’t eat the sour grapes and says something, right?”

“Yeah.”

The fable where the fox, unable to reach the grapes hanging on the tree, convinces himself they must be sour and spits on them.

If applied to humans, it’s about not wanting to admit their own lack of ability, so they defensively rationalize that the goal wasn’t a big deal anyway.

It’s like a job seeker saying, ‘Eh, I didn’t really want to go anyway.’ Capturing a human aspect in such a simple story—it’s a masterpiece.

“Why did the fox do that?”

A subjective question—how direct.

“Bongju, why do you think he did it?”

Bongju tilted his head at my question, lowered it deeply, and tilted it again a few times before answering.

“I think he thought that’s the season when grapes grow sour. If you don’t pick them at the right time, they taste really sour.”

“That could be it. The fox was smart.”

I nodded a few times.

“But, the fox really wanted to eat the grapes at first. Maybe it wasn’t the season for them to be sour?”

“Oh, that’s true.”

Bongju finally smiled, 20 minutes after sitting next to me.

“Then why did he do that, hmm.”

I remained silent. Originally, these things are more fun when you find an answer you can accept yourself.

“…Ugh, it’s hard.”

“I know. It’s hard.”

At that moment, I felt someone’s presence on my right—a rabbit popping out over my shoulder. Get lost before I throw you to the fox for dinner tonight. We’re in the middle of a serious academic discussion.

“Maybe the fox needed a friend!”

Seriously, saying that to the two of us who seem to have the fewest friends here. Hamin, you’re not even an animal.

“Teacher also had things he couldn’t do alone before, but he was able to do them after making friends. If the fox had a friend, he could have ridden on their shoulders to pick them.”

Oh, a surprisingly rational analysis—an interpretation that seeks the reason for the fox’s twisted behavior.

“Uh, that, uh.”

However, Bongju seemed flustered by the sudden appearance of the strange beast, shaking his pupils back and forth before grabbing his book and quickly running to take a seat in another corner.

“…Do, Donghwa.”

Chae Hamin’s voice trembled slightly. He may not have had friends, but he’d never experienced someone rejecting him upon first meeting, so he must have been hurt. Behind Chae Hamin, the other children put their hands over their mouths and muttered, ‘What to do.’

“Teacher, it’s okay! We’ll play with you!”

“That’s right! He’s always alone! We will!”

I patted Chae Hamin, who was surrounded by children and being comforted, twice on the shoulder and stood up, sitting about three steps away from Bongju.

Again, I heard someone’s presence and turned around, and unlike before, he wasn’t sitting far away but rather close. As expected, he’s so opposite of Chae Hamin that it’s hard to become friends.

As more time passed, I felt Bongju, who was sitting next to me, glancing at me repeatedly. He seems to have something to say, so I should wait without saying anything.

“…It’s strange, isn’t it.”

“What is?”

“Being on the outside.”

Your vocabulary certainly doesn’t seem to be at your age level, Bongju.

“Do you think it’s strange?”

“You keep asking me back.”

“Your thoughts are much more important than mine.”

“I see……”

Bongju scratched his bowl cut a few times.

“I think I know what the fox is thinking.”

“Really? What do you think he was thinking?”

“He’s lying that he doesn’t want what he wants.”

He’s really smart.

“I don’t know why the fox lied. What do you think, Bongju?”

“Maybe…, it’s because it makes him feel better, I think.”

I looked at Bongju and slowly patted his shoulder. It feels like I’m looking at myself when I was young. Is this what they call mirror therapy?

“I guess so. That seems right.”

I raised my hand slightly and stroked Bongju’s head a few times. Hmm, cute.

“Then, Bongju, if you were the fox, what would you want to do?”

“…I don’t really know.”

“That’s okay.”

That’s enough for now. At least he knows what he wants. He’s several times more amazing than I was at that age.

* * *

“Donghwaaaaa, Donghwaaaaa, I’ll give you an old houseeee, give me a new houseee.”

Are you a gangster? How much difference is there in price between old and new, what.

During a short 10-minute break, Chae Hamin clung to my shoulder and sobbed.

“Bongju doesn’t like me, and I don’t know why, so I’m even sadder.”

“It’s more surprising that all the kids like you.”

“But Donghwa likes me.”

“The other kids like you more.”

“Hwaaaa, empathize with me, Donghwaaa. I’m sad.”

You can’t force empathy, Hamin. I have the attitude to empathize, but what can I do if I don’t empathize at all?

“Okay.”

As I patted Chae Hamin’s shoulder, the image of a child came to mind.

A child with a bowl cut, wearing clothes several sizes too big, and somewhat worn, always alone and wanting to have friends. Yet, that child didn’t know how to approach people and thought of them as sour grapes.

‘Damn it, that’s totally me.’

To encounter a mirror of my childhood at the place I came to work—how cruel. It’s not a precious memory I want to remember, but rather one I want to forget.

“What is life, really.”

I muttered, burning a few books in my mental library.

“Right, Donghwaaa. I’m sad toooo!”

Shut up, you rabbit. I can’t concentrate. Do you know how hard it is to tinker with memories?

At that moment, the sound of shoes dragging echoed from the opposite hallway. It was like the atmosphere created right before a zombie-like monster appears in a horror movie.

“…Ugh, eee.”

What is it? What kind of animal sound is that? Why did the world suddenly change to a zombie apocalypse? Chae Hamin and I both froze, staring at the other side, which was slightly dark and hard to see.

“Wh, what is that, Do, Donghwa.”

Well, if it’s a zombie apocalypse, the probability of Chae Hamin and I surviving is 0. Zombies aside, if I gather food, he’ll probably share it with others because of his kind nature and we’ll starve together. But I can’t abandon him as a friend; this is a big problem.

Of course, that won’t happen. More than that, what on earth did those guys go through to end up like that?

“Ugh, ughhh. (Hey guys, you were here first.)”

Did he become like that?

Ryu Ideun spoke, but I thought he was imitating the cry of some animal, not a dog.

“Uh, yeah. Hyung [older brother/male friend, term of endearment], are you okay?”

Ryu Ideun collapsed into a seat. Next to him, Lee Hyunjoo lay down, using Ryu Ideun’s lap as a pillow, groaning.

“I, I’m an airplane.”

What nonsense; you’re a dog, Ideun. Don’t forget your essence.

“I’m a train, an airplane, a jungle gym, a horizontal bar…….”