Tuesday morning arrived with the crisp, unforgiving chill of late October. It was the 20th, and the sun was barely slicing through the blinds when I rolled over to confront my phone.
The first order of business was checking KakaoTalk.
As expected, my screen was completely buried under a torrential flood of notifications from the secret group chat dedicated to Myung-dae's birthday surprise. I had muted the chat days ago because the sheer volume of text-attacks was too much, so I didn't bother scrolling through the endless sticker spam. Instead, I clicked directly onto my private chat with Kang Min-ah.
Ninety percent of the log was just Min-ah typing a mile a minute.
I wasn't a fan of texting, meaning my contributions to our "best friendship" usually consisted of blunt, one-word answers.
Min-ah: San-ah, we are planning a going-out with the part of our class later this week, don't you wanna come?
San: No.
In Ukrainian culture, our social etiquette is pretty simple: if you decline an invitation once, it means you're genuinely busy; if you do it a second time, it means you just don't want to go. After that, any further discussion or relentless inviting is considered entirely unnecessary. But Kang Min-ah was a completely different breed of restless. She took the "best friend" contract incredibly seriously, which was an absolute endurance test for my rapidly depleting social battery.
I let out a heavy sigh.
I couldn't afford to skip today's specific occasion—the cake projectile project was too perfect to miss.
San: pls catch me up on today.
I dropped the phone onto the mattress, closing my eyes and silently wishing the sun would just reverse its orbit so the school day wouldn't come.
Bzzt.
The phone immediately vibrated against the sheets with a rapid response from Min-ah.
Sighing, I rolled out of bed and dropped straight onto the floor to knock out a grueling set of push-ups and core exercises.
The physical burn helped clear the fog.
I mentally mapped out the evening: I needed to ask Ji-hoon about hitting the gym later to burn off the nervous energy, and more importantly, I had to confront the academic monster.
I actually had to talk to Ha-neul.
Aish, what a total trouble all of this intensive studying is going to be.
I stood up, marched to the bathroom mirror, and slapped my own cheeks hard with both palms.
"OLEKSANDR MOTUZENKO, GET YOURSELF TOGETHER!" I yelled at my reflection.
My hair was a sweaty, tangled nest, and as any Kirin student knew, first looks were everything. I hopped into the shower, washed the stress away, and began the meticulous process of styling my hair. While inspecting the hairline, I discovered a small, angry red pimple blooming on the right side of my forehead. I chuckled to myself, pivoting my entire strategy. I intentionally parted and styled my "Comma" hair heavily to the right side today, completely draping the blemish in a tactical swoop of dark bangs.
Camouflage: maximized.
When I finally stepped out of my room, the house was buzzing with a rare sight—the entire family was actually home at the same time.
The domestic choreography was in full swing.
Mrs. Lee was running around the living room wielding an iron for her broadcasting blazers, Maid Choi was in the kitchen sending waves of delicious, savory steam into the air, and Mr. Lee was leisurely sprawled on the sofa, completely absorbed in a game on his phone.
Meanwhile, Ha-neul was pacing the hallway, looking thoroughly annoyed.
"Has anyone seen my calligraphy painting brushes?" she demanded to the empty air, her voice tight with her usual morning intensity. "The fine-tip ones for the traditional arts showcase?"
"Good morning, San-gun," Mrs. Lee called out as I descended the stairs, not breaking her rhythmic ironing stroke. "Maid Choi will be finished with breakfast in just a minute. She made your absolute favorite side dishes today."
The scent of rich, sweet Galbi-jjim hit my nose, a welcome reminder that life wasn't entirely a tragedy. We all gathered around the heavy marble dining table, digging into the feast.
"San-gun," Mrs. Lee said, peering at me over her coffee cup. "Don't forget you have evening cram school today."
"Omeonim, I remember," I mumbled around a mouthful of short ribs.
"Good," she nodded, setting her cup down. "Because of your mid-term rankings, I've officially started looking into high-end private tutors to get you through the winter finals. We need a strict regime."
I swallowed hard, glancing sideways at the girl sitting across from me.
This was the moment.
"Ah... talking about that, Eomeonim... I actually wanted to ask Ha-neul to help me instead."
Pfft!
Ha-neul instantly choked, spitting her water right back into her glass.
She slammed the cup down, coughing violently as her glasses slid down her nose.
Before she could launch a verbal missile across the table, Mr. Lee finally lowered his phone, looking up with genuine interest.
"Oh? That's actually a wonderful idea. Ha-neul-ah, remember how much Ji-hoon helped you when you were struggling with your middle school entrance exams? Surprisingly, your marks became so much better after that!"
Ha-neul wiped her chin with a napkin, glaring at her older brother.
"Of course they became better! He literally beat me up with a rolled-up law textbook every time I got a formula wrong!!!"
She snapped her head back toward me.
Slowly, a terrifying, intensely malicious smile crept across her face—the kind of look that sent a cold, violent shiver straight through my spine.
"But sure," she purred, her eyes gleaming behind her lenses. "I'll do it. I'd love to help my new brother study."
My stomach did a nervous somersault.
I was happy... but profoundly terrified at the exact same time. Why on earth did the dictator agree so easily? What kind of academic torture weapon was she planning to wield?
Mrs. Lee shook her head, a soft, maternal laugh escaping her. "Well, if that's the case, we'll do a hybrid system. Ha-neul-ah, give San your complete tutor schedule today. From this time on, he will sit in on your sessions and do duo lessons with the private instructors. You two will study together."
I looked desperately across the table.
Ha-neul was currently pressing a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking violently as she tried—and failed—to suffocate a massive laugh with a mouth completely full of spicy kimchi.
"Ne, Eomeonim," I croaked out, realizing I had just walked right into a premium, double-layered trap.
Ji-hoon, entirely unbothered by my impending doom, took a slow sip of his soup and leaned back.
"You know, it's been far too long since we visited Grandma and Grandpa at the island estate. They must be incredibly happy to see us, and they've been dying to properly get to know their new grandson. I've already told them all about you, San-ah, and they are very eager to meet."
He gestured toward the glass cabinet in the dining room wall.
"Besides," Ji-hoon added with a relaxed grin, "we never fully celebrated your big win at the Autumn Festival. Why don't we all pack up and head down to the detached mansion for the weekend? A little fresh air before the winter grind begins."
My eyes drifted past the table to the glass shelf. There, catching the morning light, stood the shiny golden trophy from the festival—a reminder of the chaotic, impossible life I was building here.
"An island trip..." I muttered, a genuine smile finally pushing through my academic panic. "Yeah. I'd like that."
But as I pulled on my tailored navy school blazer and checked the Kakao notifications one last time, my focus shifted back to the present.
Min-ah: Annyeong! San! Don't tell me you're not reading the messages again. Do you want to die? Ah, anyways, yeah, we are...
The bassist was still out there, entirely oblivious to the calendar.
Today was Tuesday.
Myung-dae's birthday.
A slow, thoroughly ominous smile curved onto my lips as I grabbed my backpack. The Prince of Darkness had no idea what kind of sweet, whipped-cream retribution was waiting for him in Class 2-B.