Chapter 3
The morning of the transfer.
Yeo-reum waved off her older sister’s offer to accompany her and made her way toward school alone. Her steps, steady as they carried her toward the front gate, showed that she was already getting used to the neighborhood.
Humming lightly, buoyed by anticipation, she arrived at the gate—only then realizing that her clothes weren’t quite right.
“Will they notice I’m still in my middle school uniform?”
Trying her best to walk as if nothing were wrong, she felt the stares prickling her skin. Embarrassment quickened her pace, and she slipped inside the grounds. She spotted the teachers’ office almost immediately and hurried in.
By chance, a passing teacher asked, “Transfer? First year?” and kindly pointed her the way. Thanks to that, she didn’t have to wander long before finding her homeroom teacher.
In the middle of a short conversation, a few boys came over to the teacher and briefly met Yeo-reum’s eyes. They kept sneaking curious glances at her even as they spoke, and when they left, their chatter about the “transfer student” drifted back up the stairs. Yeo-reum didn’t hear them. Her attention was locked on the attendance book the teacher carried.
“Class 2. So I’m in Class 2.”
Seeing it in print made her face flush—half nerves, half excitement.
The teacher was blunt in tone and expression, but his dry remarks carried a wry humor, and there was a quiet charisma about him that Yeo-reum instantly liked. With her expectations rising, she followed him toward her new classroom.
“Only three first-year classes?”
As she looked around, intrigued by the building’s unusual layout, the teacher—without even turning to her—answered,
“The structure’s odd, right? Up to here’s the general track. Class 4 is downstairs with the vocational track.”
“…Yes,” she replied softly, nodding.
Across from Class 2, she spotted the broadcasting club’s room.
“The broadcasting club!”
Her eyes lit up. A moment later, turning her head, she glimpsed the second-year classrooms.
“This layout really is unique.”
At last, they stopped before Class 2.
Through the closed door came the muffled buzz of students’ voices. Yeo-reum swallowed nervously. She started toward the front door, but the teacher motioned for her to wait. Puzzled, she paused, and he pushed his glasses up with an offhand remark:
“Surprise entrance. I’ll call you in.”
“…Oh. Yes.”
The unexpectedly playful phrase tugged a smile from her lips. The teacher stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, as if she had never been there. Alone in the empty hallway, Yeo-reum fiddled with the hem of her ill-fitting uniform.
“First stop after school: the uniform shop.”
She recalled the directions the teacher had given her, and then her eyes landed on the broadcasting room’s half-hidden sign across the hall.
“If I ever get lost, I’ll just look for that. Then I’ll always find my way back.”
Inside the classroom, whispers rose.
“Teacher! What about the transfer student? Aren’t you going to introduce her?”
“Oh, right. The transfer. How’d you know?”
“She saw her in the office earlier!”
The students burst into playful complaints—“Aw, come on, teacher!”—their voices bright with mischief. Before long, every gaze was fixed on the door, waiting.
“Alright, come on in.”
“But teacher, the door’s shut—she probably can’t hear you!”
“Ah.”
The teacher walked to the door. A ripple of laughter followed, but as soon as Yeo-reum stepped inside, the room fell silent.
Every eye turned to her. Heat rose in her cheeks, and her lips parted in a small, awkward smile. At the teacher’s nod, she stepped forward.
“Hello. My name is Han Yeo-reum. Nice to meet you all. I hope we get along.”
Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind: “Always greet people with a bright smile.” So Yeo-reum smiled wide, her eyes curving like crescent moons.
A spring breeze swept in through the open windows, tossing her black hair, cut just to her chest. Still smiling, she tucked the strands neatly behind her ear.
“…Uh.”
The quiet sound made her glance toward the back of the room. There, by the window, a boy sat—his light brown hair catching the sunlight, his dark eyes unexpectedly vivid.
Had he been startled by her? Or distracted by the curtains fluttering in the breeze? Whatever it was, Yeo-reum found herself caught in his gaze. The teacher’s voice broke the spell, pulling her attention back.
“Now, as you can see, we don’t have assigned desk partners. Boys in one row, girls in the other. You’ll sit at the very back for now. Someone nearby, help her out tomorrow. Also, we rotate—back one row every Monday, one seat sideways every month. If you can’t see the board, switch around as you like. That’s all.”
Dismissed, Yeo-reum turned to leave. Students called out:
“Why does she get to leave first? What about us?”
“You’ll go soon too. Doesn’t make much difference.”
“Bye!”
Their cheerful voices softened her awkwardness, and she ducked out with a bashful grin.
“Bright, lively… warm-hearted, even. I think I’m going to like this class.”
Later, at the uniform shop.
While her measurements were taken, Yeo-reum examined the uniforms she’d soon wear.
Summer: white blouse, black skirt.
Winter: long-sleeved blouse, navy vest, skirt, and jacket. Without the jacket, it doubled as a fall uniform.
A zip-up tie was included as well. Somehow, it struck her as stylish.
Best of all, girls were allowed to choose pants. Thinking of the cold months ahead, she ordered two pairs.
“First-year, right?” the shop owner asked.
“Yes.”
“Name?”
“Han Yeo-reum.”
As he stitched her name onto a yellow badge—first-years wore yellow, second-years green, third-years red—she watched with fascinated eyes.
On the way home, her heart lifted. Tomorrow, she’d wear the same uniform as the students passing her now.
A sudden shout startled her.
“Hey, that’s the girl who left earlier!”
“Where? Oh—it’s the transfer student from our class!”
Turning at the voices, Yeo-reum saw four girls hurrying over.
“…You’re Han Yeo-reum, right?”
She nodded lightly, and one of them grinned in triumph. They began introducing themselves in turn.
“Oh, you bought your uniform already? The shop owner’s super nice, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, really friendly.”
In the middle of the chatter, a small, short-haired girl suddenly exclaimed:
“Right! The boys were saying you were pretty.”
“…Huh? M-me?”
“Yeah, yeah. Someone said it… Can’t remember who, though. They said the transfer student was pretty—long hair, pale skin, not that tall…”
“Right! Who was it again? Ugh, I can’t remember. But they saw you in the office.”
Yeo-reum searched her memory, but the faces blurred together. Just as everyone was straining to recall—
“What’re you all doing here?”
The voice came from behind. A boy’s voice—low, steady.
It struck Yeo-reum’s ears like a chord. Slowly, she turned to face the shadow that had fallen over her.
“…Oh.”
It was him. The boy by the window.
Recognizing him, Yeo-reum’s lips curved in the faintest of smiles.
His eyes flickered, briefly unsettled. Then, looking down at her, he spoke:
“Don’t you really remember me?”
