Ch.66. Quiet During Class

Far from being fun, I thought my heart was going to stop. I was so shocked that I momentarily thought I’d come to the wrong school.

Whether she understood my feelings or not, Hwa Nabi smiled broadly as she chattered away at me.

“What’s wrong? Are you surprised?”

“No, how can you even ask that…”

Put yourself in my shoes. I only found out yesterday that she had a fiancé, and now that fiancé has transferred to our school the very next day. Without any warning whatsoever.

It would be a lie to say I wasn’t surprised.

“Then my plan was a success.”

“Plan?”

“Operation Surprise Siwoo!”

If you’re going to pull off a surprise event like this, at least give me a hint first. It seems more like your goal wasn’t to surprise me but to assassinate me via heart attack. One more operation like this and I might drop dead even if I was perfectly healthy before. That’s my honest opinion, no exaggeration.

“…It really is surprising.”

Her oddly twisted personality that keeps things secret only to reveal them at the last minute is remarkable in many ways.

But what actually surprised me was something else entirely. It was the fact that someone like Hwa Nabi had transferred here at all.

To repeat myself, according to the setting, Chungha Highschool is an institution where only the top 1% of students in Korea can attend. The transfer process is equally rigorous. It’s not a place where just anyone can enroll simply because they live nearby, unlike regular high schools.

Perhaps reflecting this setting, the first transfer student doesn’t appear until after the nationwide mock exam in April.

I read in the book that Chungha Highschool’s policy is to only accept transfer students based on nationwide mock exam scores, claiming that middle school grades lack discriminatory power…

But that policy and principle…

No, not just a principle but something that could be considered part of the work’s fundamental setting, that secret rule…

“Right? Really surprising, isn’t it?”

Hwa Nabi broke it, smiling at me with inexplicable delight. This was exactly what had me so surprised.

I became extremely curious about how this female student, who was never even mentioned in the original story, could shake the very foundations of the work.

“Yeah, it’s really surprising. But…”

“Really? Are you really, truly surprised?”

“Yes, I said I’m surprised.”

“Really, really really really?”

“Yes, I told you I’m really really really surprised, okay?”

It’s not like I’m talking to a preschooler. My voice unconsciously rose as she kept asking the same question.

After I repeatedly told her I was surprised, Hwa Nabi finally nodded with satisfaction.

“That’s good then.”

Class hadn’t even started yet, and I already felt drained. I asked her something I’d been curious about since we first met.

“Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“You know, asking the same question multiple times, surprising people next to you… Do you do this with your other friends too?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure about that, but I think I’ve been told a few times that I seem like someone who likes to play pranks.”

“Ah…”

If a girl has heard comments like that, I can roughly guess what kind of life she’s led so far.

You know how there’s always at least one person like this around? The extroverted type who’s constantly high-energy and full of mischief, draining everyone around them. In MBTI terms, they’d be something like an ESFP.

“Alright, let’s save the chitchat for later. We’re short on time, so I’ll keep homeroom brief. You all received your schedules, so you know third period is Korean Literature, right? That’s when we’ll elect class representatives. We’ll choose one male and one female class president, for a total of two. The vice presidents will be appointed by each president. Any questions?”

The classroom remained silent as the homeroom teacher looked around. It seemed no one had any questions.

“If not, carry on with what you were doing. Oh, first period is math, right? Don’t fall asleep, everyone, and pay attention in class.”

With those routine words, the homeroom teacher’s session ended.

I let out a long sigh and checked the clock—it was already five minutes before first period.

The homeroom teacher glanced around once more before leaving the classroom, and as if she’d been waiting for this moment, Hwa Nabi turned to me.

“Siwoo, did you hear? There’s going to be a class president election during third period.”

“Are you planning to run?”

“No, I don’t want to be class president.”

“Really? Why?”

This was unexpected. Based on what I’d observed of Hwa Nabi’s character so far, I thought she would definitely volunteer to be class president.

“Being class president means teachers are always asking you to do this and that, calling you over—it’s annoying. If I had to choose, vice president would be better. You get the same extra credit points but with less work.”

It was such a cynical statement that I could hardly believe it came from the consistently bubbly Hwa Nabi.

I thought she was a girl whose head was full of rainbows and flowers, but apparently not. She seems to have a surprisingly calculating side too.

Hwa Nabi seemed to regret what she’d said, covering her mouth and laughing awkwardly.

“…Could you pretend you didn’t hear what I just said?”

It’s not like I had anyone to tell, and badmouthing my nominal fiancée would be like spitting while lying down. Besides, what she said wasn’t wrong.

Though Hwa Nabi probably didn’t know this, Chungha Highschool class presidents are destined to handle all sorts of menial tasks assigned by teachers of each subject.

And after all that work, the only benefit is one extra point on their school records and a few lines in their student profiles. Rather than becoming class president for such meager rewards, it would be a hundred times better to use that time studying to improve your grades.

That’s why at Chungha Highschool, only clueless first-years volunteer to be class president. Those who know better never do it.

“Yeah.”

“Um… really?”

When I responded with apparent disinterest, Hwa Nabi showed a rare look of confusion. Did she think she could use something this trivial as leverage against me?

“I have no intention of telling anyone, so you don’t need to keep asking.”

I preemptively cut her off, suspecting she might ask again if I stayed quiet.

At that, Hwa Nabi’s lips, which had been about to say something, snapped shut.

She remained motionless for about three seconds.

Then, blinking her large eyes, she murmured:

“Okay. I’ll trust you.”

I couldn’t understand why she would trust someone she’d only met twice.

*

Chungha Highschool’s curriculum is simple.

Study after breakfast, study after lunch, study after dinner. It’s entirely focused on studying, at least on the surface.

Of course, Chungha isn’t the only school obsessed with studying. Any high school that aims primarily at getting students into universities would have a similar curriculum.

A school’s image is ultimately determined by its college admission results. No matter how good the facilities are, it’s all for nothing if students don’t get into good universities.

Yes. If students’ performance is graded on a scale, schools are graded by their students’ college admission results.

So what should a school do to get good “grades” in terms of college admissions? The answer is simple: have high-quality teachers and students.

Chungha Highschool was founded on this principle.

“Hmm.”

Chungha is an elite group composed of only the top 1%. Naturally, the teaching staff consists of high-caliber educators who can meet the students’ level. Rumor has it that even university professors want to teach at Chungha.

When I first heard this, I thought it was nonsense, but after learning about Chungha teachers’ salaries through various channels, I realized it might actually be true.

High school teachers earning millions—unbelievable.

“…And that’s how you solve it.”

While I was lost in thought, the teacher, who spoke like a college professor I once had, finished his explanation.

I heard Chungha has many former university professors on staff, and it seems that rumor is true. How can someone teach in such a sleep-inducing tone? That’s a talent in itself.

“Any questions?”

The problem on the blackboard was about the shape of logarithmic functions and the principles of tangent lines.

When no one spoke up, the teacher briefly scanned the room and waited. He was giving us time to try solving the problem ourselves.

I scribbled in my notebook following what we’d just learned. As I flowed through the equation, an arbitrary ‘a’ soon appeared.

This was a type of problem I’d solved countless times during my school days, so it was easy. I was about to copy another problem from the blackboard into my notebook.

That’s when it happened.

Hwa Nabi nudged the mechanical pencil I was holding.

Glancing to the side, I saw her lips twitching as if she wanted to tell me something. But the classroom was too quiet right now. If we talked, everyone would hear.

I placed my notebook in the center of the desk. Hwa Nabi stared at me intently, as if wondering what I was doing.

If verbal communication isn’t possible, we should use written notes. With that in mind, I wrote [What?] at the bottom of the page and tapped it with my pencil.

“Ah.”

Hwa Nabi seemed to finally understand my intention. After a small exclamation, she immediately began writing something in the notebook.

[Do you understand the lesson?]

[Why, are you having trouble?]

[Yes]

The problems on the blackboard weren’t particularly difficult. As evidence, at least half the students were scribbling something in their notebooks.

[These problems were on the diagnostic test too.]

[I didn’t take the test though?]

[Oh]

Right, I’d forgotten. She acted so naturally that I forgot she just transferred today.

[Still, you should know this stuff, it’s all material you should have previewed.]

[What middle school student would preview this?]

While it’s not common for middle school students to have completed high school math, things are different at Chungha. At minimum, students here typically have studied ahead through at least Math 1.

[Ask around. You’re probably the only one who doesn’t know it.]

[Haven’t you heard of the law against advanced learning? You’re saying dangerous things.]

[You mean that ineffective law?]

[Laws exist to be followed.]

[Laws exist to be cleverly avoided.]

“Seriously, how can you follow school lessons if you don’t study ahead at academies?”

“You two over there, be quiet.”

Perhaps getting emotional during our written exchange, Hwa Nabi spoke out loud. As a result, I got scolded along with her since I was sitting next to her.

[If you have something to say, write it down. Don’t speak out loud.]

[Sorry. Anyway, I think there’s a major problem with our country’s entrance exam education system.]

[I agree with that, but what can we do? Everyone else goes to academies for advanced learning, so you’re only hurting yourself if you don’t.]

[That’s exactly the problem. This is a chicken game where everyone loses.]

[If we’re being precise, it’s more like a zero-sum game. But what are you trying to say? That you don’t want to study?]

[It’s not that I don’t want to study, but it’s too difficult. I don’t understand, and the teacher’s voice sounds like a lullaby.]

“Hmm.”

While I might not agree with everything, I certainly concurred that the teacher’s lecture sounded like a lullaby.

[Indeed, a true educator’s virtue is the ability to make listeners inevitably drowsy.]

[What’s that supposed to be, you’re not Jigglypuff.]

I sat up straight and looked at Hwa Nabi. Despite her lengthy message, what she really wanted to say boiled down to “The class is too difficult and boring, I can’t follow it.”

I understand how Hwa Nabi feels. Probably not just me, but any high school student in Korea would sympathize. Teachers like this exist everywhere.

But what can we do? Unless it’s an online lecture, we can’t change a school teacher. Enduring it is entirely the student’s responsibility.

[Then, should I help you?]

[With what?]

[Studying.]

[…Are you good at studying?]

Hwa Nabi looked at me with obvious doubt. That’s understandable—objectively speaking, Han Siwoo’s appearance doesn’t give the impression of someone who excels academically.

His face seems more suited to someone who’s good at having fun rather than studying, so if I were Hwa Nabi, I wouldn’t have trusted him either.

[Are you discriminating based on my appearance now?]

[No, that’s not it.]

Despite what she wrote, Hwa Nabi’s face clearly said, “Yes, that’s exactly it.”

Well, even without judging by appearance, Hwa Nabi’s intuition would probably be correct. Han Siwoo was someone who had given up on studying.

But the current me—that is, the current Han Siwoo—is different from before. I smiled confidently.

[If I tell you my diagnostic test score, you’ll be shocked.]

[Why, what place did you get?]

[First place.]

[?!]

At that moment, Hwa Nabi’s eyes grew as wide as saucers.