CBR 27

Because it was rare to find a young master from a wealthy family who had his head screwed on straight, Jaewon had accumulated coping manuals through various hardships, but he had no protocol for drug offenders. However, birds of a feather flock together, as they say. While he was debating whether to start with marijuana, an employee dropped a snack tray on the desk.

“This is Queen Mary infused with top-grade Florida oranges.”

Inside the antique teacup, transparent orange slices as thin as raw blowfish sashimi floated about. The third party’s appearance disrupted the tense air. The boy, who had been glaring at Jaewon as if he would eat him alive, pulled back his hand and flopped down into his chair. His head remained tilted at an angle as before. A brief silence lingered while the employee placed the cup in front of him and withdrew. Soon after the sound of the guest room door closing was heard, the boy asked.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“You’re a hyung.”

“I’m the teacher.”

“Hyung.”

“Teacher.”

When Jaewon pressed down and spoke, the atmosphere turned subtle. As if this situation were familiar to him, the boy blew a puff of breath to flip up his bangs. Since he had been assigned a Pokémon, it was time for training.

Jaewon placed his bag on his lap and unzipped it. The inside of the bag was packed with liquor bottles, cigarette packs, and adult magazines. These were things he had specially selected and brought along as affinity boost items. Jaewon sighed and pulled out a workbook from among them.

Students could be broadly divided into good guys, bad guys, and strange guys. Good guys just need their grades raised and they serve you like royalty, so there’s no separate work to be done. In the case of bad guys, bravado and rebellious spirit came built-in by default, requiring caution, but since they invariably fell for at least one of three things—alcohol, cigarettes, or women—handling them wasn’t difficult.

The problem was the strange guys. Standard taming methods simply did not work on fellows who looked as if they were built from different homologous chromosomes. Customizing the carrot and the stick for each individual was no ordinary hassle for Jaewon, who had been drained and left frail after losing 2 billion won.

‘But complaining is for amateurs.’

Jaewon reconstructed his facial muscles and brought his alternate persona to the surface. It was a persona formed at the end of pandering to parents who wanted an exemplary educator—friendly enough to win the children’s affection, charismatic enough to firmly establish discipline, strict enough to produce results in a short period, yet never resorting to corporal punishment. Smiling benevolently, he neatly laid out the workbooks on the desk.

“This is the workbook that will be with us starting today. Not knowing what you might like, I prepared various kinds.”

“Aren’t you curious about how old I am?”

Without looking at the boy, Jaewon replied smoothly.

“Somewhere between 0 and 19, I suppose.”

“You’re awfully indifferent to your student.”

“An adult of a new country doesn’t wonder about a minor’s age. Now, let’s start with the diagnostic test. Open your workbook.”

“Where do you live?”

“In your heart. Open the book.”

“What’s your name?”

Feeling that his quota of kindness for the day was exhausted, Jaewon lifted his head. Just as he was about to show him what’s what with a single glare, he saw the boy’s face and caught his breath. The vaguely trembling eyes were desperately longing for something. Before he even had time to question that yearning, Jaewon had his wits stolen away again. A face that called for prayer coexisted with a naive innocence like a child’s and a worn-out jadedness like a courtesan’s. It was almost like…

‘The face of an angel abandoned in a red-light district, isn’t it?’

“Did your mother happen to practice prenatal education in Ibiza?”

Jaewon asked before he knew it. The boy widened his eyes slightly, then soon wore a faint smile and shook his head.

“Never mind then.”

Though he said that, Jaewon was engulfed in conflict. At this very moment, the expiration date on the lottery ticket was approaching, and the boy with a peerlessly devastating beauty was a strong protagonist candidate. While his daily bread was urgent right now, an anxiety gripped him that if he leisurely spent time teaching calculus, his own life might end up factorized. Racking his brain, Jaewon only regained his composure when he remembered the empty rice bin back home.

“What’s our friend’s name?”

“What do you think it is?”

Jaewon asked again, but the boy grinned and evaded the answer. The melancholic look was already gone, replaced by a relaxed expression.

“I wasn’t asking because I didn’t know, Hwi-hyeol.”

“That’s my dad’s name.”

‘Is he an orthodox seonggol right down to the genealogy?’

Jaewon felt his heart thump. With trembling hands, he pulled out his notebook and added a new profile.

“Then your name is.”

“Guess.”

“The teacher is old and lacks patience… No, creativity. Hurry up and tell me before a change occurs in my personal safety.”

“If I tell you my birthday?”

“What school do you go to?”

“Teacher, you’re type O, right?”

“Isn’t there someone around you who clearly seems ordinary with nothing special about them, yet keeps coming to mind, worrying you, and completely dominating your brain?”

“Do you have an ideal type?”

‘What a truly obnoxious little brat.’

Just as a collective monologue continued, Jaewon swallowed a curse, lifted his head, and the boy spoke.

“It’s Haeyul. Ban Haeyul.”

The boy said it slowly and distinctly, as if to imprint his own name. A voice that was slow yet not dull, calm yet possessing subtle ups and downs, left a lingering resonance in the ears.

“Pretty, isn’t it? The name.”

“Yeah.”

“So you mustn’t forget it.”

Some kind of emotion bled through his calm tone. As Jaewon scribbled fiercely in his notebook, he raised his head. The moment his eyes met the boy’s, he forgot what he was about to say and went blank. He felt as though he were being sucked into iris pupils as transparent as glass marbles. Staring at a face that looked as though it had been chiseled out of marble, Jaewon said with a hazy expression.

“You know, you really are drop-dead gorgeous.”

By the time he realized his thoughts had slipped out past his lips, it was already far too late. At the unfiltered, raw remark, a crack formed on Haeyul’s well-composed face, and he wore an amused expression.

“Are you hitting on me right now?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“You totally are.”

“What are you even saying? I was just stating what I see…”

“Ah, I’m hard.”

It was a casual tone of voice, as if he were talking about someone else’s business. Being so nonchalant, Jaewon momentarily doubted his ears, then hastily raised both hands.

“Calm down. I’m a guy.”

“I don’t discriminate between guys and girls.”

“This is driving me crazy.”

“Why? Because you like it?”

As he stuttered, finally grasping the situation, Haeyul raised a smiling eye and pushed himself up. Only a single person had risen from his seat, yet he got the illusion that a massive tidal wave was crashing over him.

‘A total spoiled brat. Perfect.’

At a disaster-of-natural-proportions situation like this, Jaewon felt a dizzy thrill. With a genius-level handsome face and a rotten personality to boot, his investment appeal was explosive. Not only was he faultless as one of the top 5 stocks in the portfolio, but if handled right, he could become a one-decision stock guaranteeing a high-speed ending.

“Oh! What’s that?”

“You’ve got a mole right here. Cute.”

“To state the obvious, I like women.”

“I like both.”

“Damn it, do your parents even know you walk around acting like this?”

“Your cheeks look like glutinous rice cakes. I love rice cakes.”

When communication failed, Jaewon rolled his eyes to look for something that could serve as a weapon. The fellow was a precious investment item, but that didn’t mean he could turn this novel into You’re Telling Me My Asshole is Yours. However, the area around the desk was as clean as a skating rink for flies, and about the only thing usable was the liquor bottle inside his bag. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes wide.

“Sit down, you little punk. I said you were pretty, I didn’t say I wanted to have sex with you.”

A mad dog calls for a beating stick, but in Joseon, if a commoner even touched a single hair of an yangban, they were bound to get rolled up in a straw mat. When Jaewon—forced into a stance of non-violence—snapped venomously, Haeyul widened his eyes in surprise.

“I’m probably the first one to reject you, but if you fall for me, you’re dead.”

With a face full of annoyance, he pulled out the level test paper from his bag and tossed it. The thick bundle of papers dropped onto the desk with a smack.

“Solve every single one of these by next time. I’m going to make you go over the problem-solving, so don’t try any funny business.”

“What happens if I don’t solve them?”

As Jaewon issued a stern warning, Haeyul asked in a soft voice. The half-deranged look had vanished, and he was smiling lazily with a languid expression.

“If you don’t study, I’m the only one who loses, and it’s not going to go down like that.”