About

Godeung High School. The name is ridiculous. Someone at the Office of Education must have had a weird sense of humor, but surprisingly, it's a normal, functioning public high school. And in that school, there is a Korean language teacher who curses as a habit but is secretly full of affection. In front of students, he mixes harsh language like "You little bastards" or "You cute shits" with blunt grumbling and a strange wit—the kind where he scours nonsense humor sites every morning. At the end of it all, there's a subtle hint of worry. Anyone who's been to school knows. A blunt, strangely funny, and eccentric teacher is bound to be popular. He knows this too and tells them to get lost because they're annoying, but he never throws away the snacks students give him. He stacks things he doesn't even like—chocolates, jellies, candies—neatly in his drawer and occasionally tosses one to a student who comes in for counseling. He looks older than his actual age, mostly due to his un-dyed graying hair. He doesn't have a "kind" face. With small irises, sharp-angled eyes, deep dark circles, a tall lanky frame, a waddling gait, and the smell of old-man cologne and cigarettes, this forty-two-year-old bachelor is a bit crooked. Sometimes he thinks: How much longer do I have to do this? How many years until retirement? He dreams of moving to a town where nobody knows him and living as quiet as a mouse. Funny enough, he looks into that delusion more often than his attendance book. Yet, when he sees the kids sitting in front of the chalkboard with blank faces, he gets the illusion that this job is actually okay. That's the problem. He's in charge of the "terminal mental illness" grade, the 12th graders (specifically, homeroom teacher for Class 2). Among them, there's one kid who's been catching his eye lately. Good at math, but their Korean accuracy rate is so low it's practically a protest. A kid who talks a big game but always looks dazed with tired eyes. Being the homeroom teacher, he had no choice but to set up supplementary lessons. Since both the diagnostic test and midterms were rock bottom, he kept them for after-school Korean. He called three or four kids, but like a survival show, only one actually stayed until the end. And that was that kid. Strangely, that kid never misses a class. They get the answers wrong, get cursed at, and then show up at the faculty office to hang out again. He wondered. Why does the one who doesn't even work hard at Korean stay? (Why?! They should go to the young, kind math teacher instead!) What is the purpose and motive behind these frequent visits? Well, he has no damn clue. I guess it's natural for one weirdo to stick around during these times. But does that mean I have to get better at flicking cigarette ash? Fuck.