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“Alright class! Be quiet.”
The teacher called for attendance with the tone of a sergeant, holding a ruler that chipped at the chalkboard whenever a student went ‘out of line.’
Turning her head, Jihye hid her yawn, but it was big and long enough for the boy next to her to see it.
Namwoon made a gagging face when he caught her, mocked her yawn, and then yawned himself.
“Mr. Kim!”
The teacher’s ruler slammed the chalkboard this time, and the surrounding classmates chuckled.
She mumbled and moved on to the lesson plan.
As Ms. Choi droned on, Jihye looked at the empty seat across the room. Bori moved on to the accelerated literature class after she performed well for the first half of the year and aced her midterms.
And Jihye, well…, If only she was as smart as she was good with a sword.
Sighing, she leaned towards the back of the chair, thinking about kendo training, jogging, gaming, anything other than what Ms. Choi had to say. It was 7:30 am; every bone and fiber in her body wanted to sag like it should’ve been if she were at home sleeping .
“Stand up everybody, and get into your groups.”
Jihye leaned forward and squinted at the neatly drawn boxes on the chalkboard, each holding a name.
‘ Let’s see, Lee Jihye, Lee Gilyeong, Shin Yoosung, Kim Biyoo, and… oh lord.’
And ‘Kim Namwoon’. She swore his name was more solid than the rest, likely from the pressure.
‘Him? In my group? He’s an idiot and a troublemaker. ’
She pushed herself up, avoiding Namwoon’s noticeable stare.
The other classmates made their way over to her—or over to Namwoon, who was probably more recognizable.
“Hello.”
“Hi!”
“Hey.”
"Sup,” Jihye waved, and Namwoon just scoffed.
Gesturing with her hands, Ms. Choi directed the groups to align their desks in group formation.
‘What are we doing?’
Her eyes slid to Namwoon, and she quickly went to Yoosung because how would he know better than her.
Yoosung caught her uncertain gaze and responded quietly,
“Remember that biography we read of Yoo Joonghyuk last year? We’ve been assigned to the diary of his biography’s author. All we need to do is read the beginning and share our thoughts.”
“Ohhhh yeah- I thought that's what Ms. Choi said, Thanks.”
She lowered her voice but it was all in vain since, in the end, Namwoon heard and snickered.
The group took the chairs and desks and set up a small, cramped circle. Metal legs squeaked across the tiled floor, chatter rose as everyone else got paired up with their friends, and books were handed out by the Teacher (who was repeatedly asking the class to quiet down).
They settled, each looking at their own hands or journal. Well, except for Namwoon, who was ‘looking in her direction’ (obviously looking at her).
‘Is he picking on me?’
She ignored him, taking the book once Ms. Choi circled to them. She weighed it, smelled it, and looked at the cover and title. It looked as boring as she expected. Looking around, she saw that nobody, not even the smart ones like Yoosung, dove into the book straight away.
‘We could’ve read a fantasy series, like Jercy Packson.’
Reading about sea adventures sounded much more entertaining. Her fingers twiddled on the hardcover before reminding herself of the score she needed and forced herself to open the book. The others followed.
The font was small, and the beginning sentences were long and indecipherable. She pushed through, taking the meaning with slow eyes and pressing it into her brain. Then, slowly but surely, the words formed a picture in her head.
The reader’s diary: Excerpt from Biography of the Supreme King, Author’s preface
The Supreme King lived up to his title. There was no challenger undefeated, no opposing crown unclaimed. Some would say that he came down onto earth from the heavens, or crawled up from hell. Say that he came as a man, strong and indomitable, already full of malice and contempt. Bitter of the world. Then some would say that that was why he came: to rid the dirtied Earth of its filth. Regardless of what they say, they could only speak of him. They could never see, let alone know, who he truly was.
He was a man who lived in solitude. Someone who crushed with his foot and cut with his sword. He was indeed as beastly as the tales claimed, but they never accurately described how human it was for him to be so cruel.
He’s never lived. Was never allowed to be soft, slow, and unknowing like a child. Before he was known as the ‘Supreme King,’ the sword he had to wield was like fangs to his boyish, small hands, sucking away the life he could’ve had. But the onlookers, detached and empathetic, felt awe at the idea of a child knight. Their judgment was shallow, like an arrow in armor.
Growing up, not only under peering eyes, but also under alert ears and sciolus mouths, he was exhausted of being idolized. Desperate enough to come to me.
Although I am not the most renowned author, I still have a way with words, with art. To my surprise, the King had an eye for literary beauty as well.
He came in request for a biography, of all things. A book made entirely about him, and I would have perceived him as a narcissist if I hadn’t realized that a true, unbiased biography would dilute his glorified image.
When he came more docile than I thought, more thoughtful than I expected, his abrupt request was easier to accept. Interacting with him after hearing only rumors also reminded me that regardless of the fact that I’ve known him before, tales weren’t an accurate way to keep tabs. They couldn’t come close to a single conversation with the real man.
I began to worry that when we first met eyes, I too had the same unsettling awe on my face.
I hope that the book I wrote for him was enough to make up for all of our lost memories, and the new, unfamiliar ones.
Namwoon blew another small ball of crumpled paper, hunched over his seat and barely holding onto the book.
“That told us a whole bunch’a nothin’.”
‘I doubt you were even paying attention.’
But Jihye kept it to herself cause she wasn’t petty or sour like him.
Yoosung straightened her paper, examined it, and scribbled something down on her cute notebook with her decorated mechanical pencil.
Gilyeong and Jihye followed right after, but when they were both lost, the boy just looked over Yoosung’s shoulder, and Jihye just put down the journal.
‘I should do my best to lead the discussion. I’m the oldest.”
By 2 to 10 months depending on the classmate, but that didn’t matter.
She cleared her throat,
“Why don’t we keep reading?”
“You’re right.” Biyoo agreed, and everyone but Namwoon nodded.
He said, “Hey, hey, you should read it out loud.” And grinned.
Yoosung turned to him sternly,
“You need to be able to read it yourself. Then we discuss. That’s the whole point of reading circles.”
The edgy boy waved his hands and leaned back comfortably in an exaggerated manspread.
“Use your soothing voice for everyone in the group to hear. That way, we can all be reading at the same pace.”
“That’s cause you’re so damn slow—Fine!“ she yelled and then, with furrowed brows and scrunched up eyes, sibilated, “I’ll read for everyone, but you better carry your own weight in the discussion.”
Jihye heard the teacher nagging her from her desk but she ignored it, taking on the challenge, letting four almost strangers hear her read aloud for an entire chapter.
The reader’s diary: Entry XXVIII
It was winter, and I had just closed the bookshop. The wind blew against the walls and rattled the tupperware on the shelves. I continued to count my earnings; I needed to know what I could and couldn’t buy this season. There were enough runes to last me through winter, and then I would have to tirelessly write critiques once again.
I hummed and carefully put away the money into my coat pocket. Midway through my shuffling, a hard knock came at my door. It was distinctly human, but because I’ve flipped the ‘open’ sign to ‘close’ and because the winds were strong, I failed to recognize it as such and resumed buttoning my coat.
Then came another, and it dawned on me that it was possibly an illiterate customer.
I hurried to the door and opened it with tense arms to keep both the wind and passersby outside. Although, I doubt it would have done anything to stop the customer.
Before me was a six-foot-tall man clad in black armor and armed with an unsheathed, wicked blade.
Though the dim lighting failed to define his features, I saw him sheathe his katana after noticing my wariness. It was then that I realized I should let the stranger in; I moved aside.
“Do you need anything?”
I kept my mind on the weapon, but my eyes lingered on the face that revealed itself every step the man took toward the hanging lantern inside.
“Water.”
Turning around, I went to the cupboards in the corner storing all of the food.
“And your services.” His words came out stunted, as if the temperature outside froze his voice.
I stilled, continued walking when I deduced my hesitance could aggravate him, then returned with a cup of water and concealed trepidation.
I cleared my throat,
“My services? I’m closed for the night, but I can take requests as early as dawn.”
He stayed silent, taking a seat at my chair behind the counter (admittedly the closest chair to him) then scrutinized, sniffed, and sipped at the water.
My fingers twitched, and I clasped my hands together tightly, politely rephrasing,
“You look like you’ve traveled a long way. I can give you shelter until the morning, and when you’re well rested I can take on your commission.”
He nodded, instantly lightening most of my stress.
“Your name,” he demanded, or said in his naturally curt tone.
I didn’t respond at first, unaware of the question from his lack of intonation and curiosity , but quickly shared,
“Kim Dokja, sir. And yours?”
“A Korean?”
“…”
Few bold nobles strolled by occasionally, but even they had enough class.
The man let down his hood, revealing jet-black hair and sharp dark eyes that were staring right at me.
It was as if the man had an invisible force compelling me, and I thought it was more tolerable when I couldn’t see him watching.
“Yoo Joonghyuk.” He said.
I couldn’t stop myself from jolting at the infamous name, though I prevented myself from immediately asking irrelevant questions.
My eyes focused on his appearance, reassessing him. It all made sense .
“…Alright then. If it’s a request from you, then it must be urgent. What do you need me to write?”
“I need to read your works first. I can ask you in the morning.”
“Of course?”
‘Did he hear about me or did he simply enter the nearest bookstore expecting an author?’
Gesturing to the journals on the table, I showed him different volumes of a story I’d been writing.
He looked over the titles quickly with no real contemplation and picked out the most recent book.
Opening the first page, his eyes sped over the words, this time with more focus—reading as he leaned closer to the book.
I figured I could return to the back closet, and headed for bed. The outside hut I lived in was inaccessible in this weather, and I’ve always used the large closet as a backup resting area.
Retreating for the night, I wished a goodnight upon my visitor, and my worries about him faded. The rapid but far away pitter-patter made for a lovely soothing noise, and so did the careful flipping of pages from far at the front of the store.
My eyes fell slowly, vaguely feeling, as I dozed, an unfamiliar comfort in the presence of another soul.
“This guy is a total loser and a nerd.”
“Don’t be disrespectful.”
“Yeah, he must’ve been lonely.” Yoosung sympathized.
Jihye set the book down, grabbed her water bottle, and drank while listening to Biyoo and Yoosung converse.
“I think this is where we can write down how their initial dynamic was, and we can compare it to when we get further into the book.” Biyoo explained, facing just Yoosung like she was the only one who could understand.
Yoosung looked at her, smiling, but also set her gaze around the desks,
“Yes. And what we think of their current living conditions? Occupations?… I think it’s cool that he’s a writer.”
“Me too,” Gilyeong mumbled, watching Yoosung as well.
Jihye added, while staring at Namwoon, “The preface definitely helped us understand who these two are. Otherwise, I would’ve been confused.”
He rolled his eyes, “Nah. I still don’t understand. Why did he just let ‘em in? If he’s an author, where’s his typewriter or whatever they used in the olden days?”
“The olden days?”
“Do you even know the context?” Jihye pointed at him.
He shrugged his shoulders, widening his eyes and raising his eyebrows for her to share her knowledge.
'To be fair, I also didn’t do the prerequisite reading assigned over the weekend.’
Yoosung looked at him squarely, and she quickly praised him for his “questions,” but moved on to tell him all he needed to know passive-aggressively, making Gilyeong and Biyoo giggle.
“Yeah Yeah.” He dismissed, suddenly disinterested.
Everyone went on to write down what the others said along their own opinion. Jihye got two sentences in before reaching a writer's block, and Namwoon had given up after his first word.
The other two girls kept on sharing what they thought, abandoning their journals, and Jihye could catch Gilyeong doodling a dinosaur on the corner of his packet.
She sighed, looking down at her not-so-neat, not-so-wanky handwriting. Her commentary was the kind of thing Ms. Choi would hand back with a C, or a B if she was feeling merciful; she doubted the book would get any more interesting or any less confusing for her to improve the quality.
How do people write better? What even is writing? Were partners any better?
Jihye pressed her head in her hand, wondering
‘Is an ‘A’ even possible for this project?’
Jihye needed it desperately.