"…."
I stared blankly at the blackboard for a moment, then rubbed my temples. A sigh escaped my lips without me even realizing it.
It wasn’t because the English question was difficult. Of course, sixth-grade problems aren’t easy. But there was something in particular that felt a bit unsettling.
Question 3
Chulsoo: I like cat. Do you like cat?
Younghee: No. I like rabbit. The rabbit is softer.
…
It seemed like a minor oversight. Maybe the question was put together in a hurry. Otherwise, it was a bit alarming.
When “cat” and “rabbit” are used in the singular like that...
It implies interpreting the pets as food.
Chulsoo: I like cat meat. Do you like cat meat?
Younghee: No. I like rabbit meat. Rabbit meat is softer.
Chulsoo: I see. Mmm, my mouth’s watering. So, should we find out which of these would be the tenderest?
Younghee: Sure! I think that plump black one over there looks good! I’ll go with that one!
Chulsoo: Excellent choice.
The conversation seamlessly carried on, making it sound like Chulsoo and Younghee were planning which animal to catch and grill for dinner.
Like a conversation you might expect from people stranded on a deserted island for three years.
In any case, this didn’t seem like suitable reading material for elementary students.
I almost wrote down “Two people on their first visit to a dog meat restaurant” as the answer to question three, but barely managed to rephrase it to something like “A conversation at a pet shop.”
Since all the answers to the subjective questions were required to be written in English, I wrote my answers in English.
But maybe because of that, I began to hear groans here and there.
"Damn... This is the end of my life... In English, seriously?"
It seemed like my deskmate was among those struggling too.
As someone who’s been getting a lot of help from them recently, I really wanted to lend a hand. But I couldn't.
Thanks to my homeroom teacher staring intently at me from the front of the class, I didn’t dare do anything out of line.
Looking closely, my teacher wore an expression as if she knew something.
I fell into a brief moment of contemplation.
The things I’d done at school.
The intense gaze of my homeroom teacher.
Thinking it over roughly...
'Was I too focused on composing during class?'
It seemed like she might have caught on.
Come to think of it, it would be weird if the teacher didn't notice a student goofing off.
This test might even be some sort of warning.
From now on, I should probably make sure to balance my attention between class and composing.
And every so often, maybe I should ask, "Teacher... Have you ever tried rabbit meat? Is it tender, by any chance?"
I focused on answering according to the test maker’s intent. Although my thoughts were a bit scattered, it didn’t actually take that long to complete the test.
Fifteen minutes later.
Finally, the teacher raised her voice.
"Alright~ Pencils down and pass your answer sheets to the person in front~ I’ll grade them right away and let you know the results today~ Got it, everyone?"
The teacher had a triumphant expression.
She’s certainly a passionate person.
During the break, I quickly skimmed through the textbook to prepare in advance, at least out of courtesy. Most of the content was familiar to me, and since there wasn’t much material, I got through it quickly.
Before the sixth period began, the results of the pop quiz were announced.
One by one, each student was called up to receive their test paper.
The homeroom teacher, in a very soft voice, shared each student’s score, offering a bit of advice on how they could study better.
“Um... Seojin?”
It was my turn this time.
I walked past the few desks and made my way to the teacher’s desk.
For some reason, the teacher kept her head down, staring at the test paper.
‘Is that how my attitude in class seems?’
Hmm... I should probably work on that.
But as I looked closer, I noticed that the teacher’s ears were bright red. She muttered something, but it was too quiet to hear. When I asked her to repeat, she finally spoke in a shaky voice.
“So, uh... how did you know I made a mistake?”
The teacher was referring to the “dogs” and “rabbits” I had written in the margin, and I responded simply.
“I used to make that mistake a lot myself. Back then, I even said I wanted to eat raccoon meat.”
“R-Really? Well... I’m usually fine with singulars and plurals... but I was a bit scattered yesterday...”
“I know. Everyone makes mistakes, right?”
“...”
“Isn’t that right?”
“...”
The homeroom teacher cleared her throat a few times and then, in a slightly louder voice, told me I got a perfect score. It seemed like she was trying to praise me.
And once again, the teacher leans down and softly whispers to me.
"Seojin, thank you for telling me about this. But from now on, let’s try to pay a little more attention in class, alright?”
I nodded readily in agreement.
Now that I looked more closely, my homeroom teacher didn’t actually seem that old. Early thirties, maybe? She definitely looked younger than Lee Yeon hyung, so that should be about right.
The homeroom teacher, who once seemed so distant and towering, turned out to be around the same age as the *Daesunghaja* hyungs.
And occasionally, she even made mistakes.
You could say I glimpsed a more human side to her.
I felt a little sorry about my usual inattentiveness in class.
So, in sixth period, I decided to participate in class with a good attitude.
It was a theory class, building on the experiment we did last time where we lit a bulb with a battery.
I raised my hand high and enthusiastically asked a question.
“Teacher! According to Fleming’s left-hand rule, all the electric charges inside the conductor... So, aren’t the charges subject to Lorentz force? If so, wouldn’t the direction of magnetic field B affect not only A, as you mentioned, but also C...?”
The teacher responded with a faint smile.
But her eyes wavered slightly for some reason.
Of course, the lesson was very enjoyable.
* * *
School life was fun.
Thanks to the power of “Jetty,” unprecedented peace had come to Saebom Elementary, uniting everyone under one harmonious banner.
Handing two Jettys to someone surnamed Kim from Class 6-1, I asked,
"The password?”
"4560."
"Are you sure about this?"
"Of course. But remember, you absolutely can't say you heard this from me. This is a top-secret matter that no one in the Saebom crew knows about. If you leak it..."
"I know, I know. No need to be so dramatic. Anyway, thanks. I'll treat you to something tasty next time—if that number turns out to be right."
"Ahem! In that case, I won’t refuse. Let’s set a date. For the record, I like Pikachu cutlets."
"Got it."
Student Kim waved at me as he disappeared, and I hurriedly set off.
Saebom Elementary School is composed of three buildings: the old building, the new building, and the annex.
The place where Class 6-3 is located is the new building. The gym is in the annex. And the place I’m heading to right now is the old building.
On the way, I passed by the school store, which looked relatively empty, as lunch break had just started.
"Let’s see... One pizza bread and a Coolpis*, please. And that, is the Fire Burger good too?" (T/N: A popular Korean beverage that resembles a yogurt-flavored drink, often served in small juice boxes or bottles)
"That's one of our bestsellers here. We sell out fast these days."
"It’s not, like, pigeon meat, right? I heard a rumor about that from a friend yesterday."
"Oh, come on~ If it were, we'd all be arrested. It's pork."
"Alright, then one Fire Burger too, please."
"Should I heat both up for you?"
"Yes, please."
The hum of the microwave filled the air. I poked a straw into my Coolpis and looked out over the school playground.
During the lunch rush, most students were busy eating in the cafeteria.
The nearly empty playground had only the maintenance guy, hard at work tending to the trees.
Ding!-
The microwave chimed cheerfully.
Grabbing the edge of the warm bread bag, I hurried toward the old school building.
At the end of the first-floor hallway in the old building, there was a classroom secured with a combination lock. Turning the dial to 4, 5, 6, 0, it opened effortlessly.
“Definitely worth the price of two chocolate milk sticks.”
Inside the classroom stood a small upright piano.
It used to be the music room.
Now, since the well-equipped music room in the new building was the only one in use, this room was practically abandoned.
After quickly finishing off my pizza bread, spicy rice cake, and Coolpis drink, I wiped my hands on my pants.
Then, I opened the lid of the upright piano.
“Cough.”
I coughed involuntarily from the dust that had settled. Fortunately, the keys seemed to be in decent condition.
I played a quick scale.
Some notes were slightly out of tune, but it wasn’t bad enough to make it unplayable.
This place was perfect to visit occasionally during lunch to play the piano.
I felt an odd sense of satisfaction, as if I’d found a hidden space in the school that only I knew about.
“You must have been feeling lonely, abandoned like this. At least now you’ve got me, right?”
No response. It could just be that I’m the strange one here, expecting an answer from a piano.
Anyway.
I decided to try playing the piece I’d been composing recently.
A song I’d been working on using a MIDI app on my smartphone.
I’d even made some improvements here and there at school to boost its quality.
“It’s not a song I’m 100% satisfied with, but…”
The songs I made on the deserted island were impressive, especially considering they were practice pieces before I presented the final versions.
Of course, just because they were practice pieces doesn’t mean I didn’t put in my best effort.
Even Chopin’s études boast incredible quality, don’t they?
While they don’t quite reach that level, they have a similar feeling to them.
Since it was the first piece I made shortly after leaving the island and returning to Korea—a place that still feels less familiar than the island—I was simply calling it a practice piece.
I played the piano, reflecting on the experiences I had at Singapore General Hospital and the events that happened after I returned to Korea.
Recently, I’ve been going through a lot of emotional shifts.
Assistant director Yeo Jin-soo, who even came to my house.
The older hyungs I met in Hongdae.
Professor Kang Yoo-han, whom I met at Korea University.
My family, who are always warm and supportive.
My time at Sae-bom Elementary, where I’ve been enjoying a rare sense of excitement.
And even the performance last Saturday.
Each one felt like a kind of test for me.
These experiences seemed to ask whether I, just having come back from the island, could adapt to this world.
Uncle Miller once told me to be honest with my emotions, that it’s the only way to create good music. That’s what it means to be a musician.
I translated my feelings directly into musical notes, without paying attention to current trends or popular songs—not that I’m even familiar with them.
All I focused on was expressing my emotions.
With the piano, you can convey so much.
The left hand can become the bass or drums.
With my right hand, I play the melody line and chords.
Various instruments are brought to life through my ten fingers.
From the countless tunes swirling around in my head, I select a few and express them with my fingertips.
In the Korean music studio, I couldn’t play comfortably due to the watchful eyes of the part-time student noona. At home, concerns about noise to neighbors prevented me from truly immersing in my music. Gradually, however, my own melody took shape.
The MIDI sequences that flash before my eyes, along with a few notes, seem to speak to me. They ask if this is indeed the story I want to tell. At times, dissonant chords scream out, revealing the parts that need adjustment more clearly.
The song’s chord progression was a bit complex.
To express all the changes in my emotions, I took a somewhat experimental approach to the chord progression.
If Uncle Miller had heard it, he might have asked what it was, or perhaps, as an expert in the field, he might have offered some great advice.
The song transforms suddenly.
Softness turns bold, and coldness becomes warmth.
Each time the chorus repeats three times, it brings a different feeling.
The song, born from repeated contemplation, gradually took its correct form.
Even the limitations I felt when working on a smartphone app were somehow all resolved.
"Because this is right."
The answer had already been decided.
All I needed was time.
Without anyone telling me, I could find my direction.
I became someone capable of finding the right path.
An original song of mine, with a runtime of about 4 minutes and 10 seconds.
A song I created as practice on a MIDI app, simply titled "TEST."
In the empty school music room where no one visits,
my "TEST" was finally complete.
