Chapter 14
When I woke up, my eyes wouldn’t open.
After struggling to hold onto the wall, I finally made it to the bathroom to wash my face, and thankfully, I could see a little better.
In the mirror, a woeful little frog was rubbing its eyes.
Holy moly…
Maybe it was because I had cried like a waterfall right before going to sleep yesterday, but my eyes were genuinely swollen.
I hadn’t seen my eyes this puffy since middle school.
…And that made me recall another unpleasant memory.
Do you know?
On the last night of a training camp, there’s usually a campfire planned.
And if you remember, there’s a terrifying program that happens right around the end of that campfire.
It’s the emotional awakening time.
A massive campfire that’s so full of sentiment it can stir feelings even in the most stoic of people, who gather in a circle around it.
With their catchphrase, “Depending on what you do, we can be angels or demons,” the instructors ask the children to lie back and look at the sky.
The kids, internally resisting because they hate getting dust on their clothes, reluctantly comply with the order, fearing that disobedience might cancel the scheduled all-night play.
As the campfire blazes, sparks rise high into the sky, and the stars that can rarely be seen sparkle beautifully in the night sky.
Gazing at this landscape that seems capable of inspiring a poem, the instructor—who is a two-faced character by the name of ‘instructor’—begins to speak in an unnecessarily serious tone.
He talks about someone’s life, which, although not extraordinary, was filled with struggles like everyone else’s.
But despite that, it’s a story about the mothers, who loved their children more than anyone else.
This forced emotional experience is certainly not something teenagers, who are knee-deep in puberty, can easily brush off.
When, without realizing it, the face of your mother paints itself in the sky, and your vision blurs while your chest tightens, that’s when the story hits its peak, and the instructor shouts.
– Do you miss your mother?!
– Yes!
– Is that all you feel? Do you miss her?!
– Yes!!!
– Then shout as loud as you want, “Mom!”
– Mooooooom!!!!!
A cry that you would never dare to voice alone.
But swept up in the collective madness of shared emotion, the children call out for their mothers with all their strength, while the instructor savors it like a sweet opera.
Surely, he must think to himself.
I made these kids wail! I can control emotions!
What a truly diabolical thought.
As the cries gradually subside, the instructor says one last thing.
– I hope you can carry the feelings you experienced today back home.
After saying this with a satisfied smile, he disappears.
Most of the children, having gone through a whirlwind of emotions, are busy trying to manage the residual feelings.
The girls can express this residual emotion without a care.
When they cry, someone will comfort them from beside.
But for the adolescent boys, that moment is like a war.
For them, ‘crying’ felt like a loss of masculinity.
On a typical day, the boys fall into one of three categories.
First, those who don’t show any emotion at all.
They puff up their chests, shout loudly that they weren’t moved at all, trying to flaunt their manliness.
Second, those who actually shed a few tears but lie about it.
With their eyes red and clearly having cried, they quickly wipe away their tears and loudly agree that it wasn’t moving, searching for another scapegoat.
And lastly, among the boys, there’s always at least one kid who, unable to resist the flood of emotion that day, bursts into heartbreaking sobs.
A poor little lamb who doesn’t even fathom the horrific future that awaits.
And damn, that was me.
I cried so loudly that every kid in my grade knew. Even when I entered my room, I couldn’t stop crying and ended up collapsing from exhaustion. Those wicked pubescent boys didn’t let me be abandoned in the playground.
Waking up, my eyes stubbornly wouldn’t open, so I went to wash my face in the bathroom and glanced at my reflection in the mirror.
Under my swollen eyes, there were meticulously drawn tear marks leading down to my cheeks, crafted by a buddy who later entered art school. And across my forehead was the elegantly written word “Undine” in cursive by another friend who loved fantasy novels.
Of course, it was with a permanent marker.
I did seek revenge on those two who had scribbled on my face with pillows, but no matter how much I washed my face, the doodles wouldn’t come off until I returned from the training camp. My tear-stained face and those funny doodles lingered in everyone’s memory, and my middle school nickname ended up being Undine.
I was sometimes referred to as the ‘Spirit of Tears’ as well.
Every time there were fights or crying, they would call out, “Spirit of Tears! Please stop this child’s tears!”
I should have half-killed them back then.
I thought I’d get my chance to pay them back later, with interests, but as I started my social life, I found myself with less and less time to bump into them. Before I knew it, I could barely meet them at all.
How ironic that in my past life I was Undine, but in this world, I’m a fire user.
I rubbed my forehead and smiled bitterly, then lightly dampened a towel with water and put it in the refrigerator.
With my eyes like this, I didn’t think I could eat breakfast.
I didn’t even feel like it, so I decided to sleep again.
I covered my eyes with the chilled towel and forced myself back to sleep.
By lunchtime, when I woke up, the swelling had significantly reduced.
Now just the area around my eyes was red enough to signal that I had cried yesterday.
Fortunately, there was no need for true love’s kiss to turn back from frog to human.
Looking back, how far ahead of its time was a story about a frog and love?
But nevertheless, amphibians… just a bit…
I took bean sprouts out of the refrigerator and made stir-fried bean sprouts for lunch.
Since I had eaten that yesterday, I had now developed a resistance to stir-fried bean sprouts, so I could eat it without crying!
It felt even tastier since I had skipped breakfast.
While some might say eating the same thing again would get old, that wasn’t the case at all.
When it comes to stir-fried bean sprouts, I can be the captain.
I could eat it all day long.
After lunch, I lay down on my bed and suddenly felt like taking a walk.
I opened my closet to change clothes to go outside.
There were only a few casual clothes, and realizing there weren’t any pants made me tear up inside. I put on the longest skirt I had, the most neutral-looking shirt, and a cardigan before heading out.
The weather was perfect.
Not too hot, not too cold, just an ideal spring day, causing a gentle smile to settle on my face.
People walking down the street also seemed to share this same good vibe, wearing pleasant smiles.
While wandering without a destination, I spotted an elderly lady carrying a heavy load on her head.
Since I had plenty of time, I approached her to offer my help.
“May I assist you, ma’am?”
“It must be quite heavy. Are you sure you can handle it?”
With a worried expression, the grandmother asked me. I smiled and effortlessly lifted the load with one hand. She seemed a bit surprised, but then she smiled brightly like a young girl.
“You must be a hero, dear.”
I walked slowly in rhythm with her pace, matching her leisurely speed.
As we walked, we passed by the lively races of children and the eager steps of young people, but the elderly woman’s relaxed stride emanated a calmness of someone who had experienced all that speed in her lifetime.
The world, from the perspective of someone organizing their past achievements, must surely flow much more slowly like this.
As we walked, the grandmother shared her stories.
She told me about her son, who had grown and wanted to introduce his fiancée to her.
How her daughter-in-law had given birth, and that child was already a high school student.
Her stories were always accompanied by respectful language.
It’s said that the wrinkles on the faces of older people reflect the life they’ve lived.
There surely is a marked difference between a face filled with arrogance and stubbornness and one radiating wisdom and experience.
With a kind smile and words of storytelling, her face seemed to hold a lifetime of respect for others, making me think that if I aged, I’d want to become like her.
When we reached her destination, I handed her back the burden, and she tried to offer me some money, but I waved my hand, saying I hadn’t helped for a reward.
Even though I was low on money, how could I accept that?
After putting the money away, the grandmother took my hand and said,
“May your future be filled with blessings.”
After thanking her, I turned and walked toward the park I had seen earlier.
Looking back slightly, the grandmother kept smiling at me, waving goodbye for quite some time.
When I arrived at the park and sat on a bench, I heard the voices of children playing nearby.
Couples, who looked like they were parents, were watching the kids with warm eyes.
It was peaceful.
In this serene scene, I felt strangely detached, surely because I alone knew that this peace wouldn’t last long.
Perhaps it was because I cried last night or because I was reminiscent of old times this morning that I felt oddly sentimental. I stretched my hand toward the sky, blocking the sunlight, and looking at my hand, I said.
“Maybe I’m not a person who should exist in this world…”
At that moment, wind suddenly blew, sending dust into my eyes.
With my eyes already sensitive, the dust made me rub them, and a wave of embarrassment washed over me.
Damn it, what the heck am I doing, acting like a middle schooler?
I wondered if anyone had seen it, quickly glancing around before I spotted a familiar white-haired figure in the distance.
It’s not like it’s a random encounter monster; why do I keep running into them?
I hurriedly fled, hoping to avoid bumping into Yoon Si-woo.
After returning home, I took a shower, had dinner, and lay down on my bed.
Though I lay down to sleep, the embarrassing moment kept replaying in my mind, so I kicked off the blanket about three times before finally getting to sleep.
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