Teacher, Is This Your First Time?

The east and west buildings, as their names suggested, were in opposite directions from the staff room. So once we left the staff room, we would immediately have to go our separate ways.

Even so, I dawdled, trying to match my senior’s pace. I moved cautiously, looking around carefully to hide my small desire to at least leave together.

Just then, the bell signaling the start of the third period rang, and teachers, including my senior, began to stand up sporadically. Having achieved another small success today, I quietly laughed to myself and followed behind my senior.

As I crossed the threshold of the faculty office during this time of farewell, feeling regretful all alone, my senior suddenly grabbed my hand.

“Please take good care of our kids. I confidently agreed to be their homeroom teacher, but I’d lose face if they fail their first entrance exam.”

My senior and I were standing in the hallway in front of the faculty office. I tried to quickly pull my hand away, but my senior’s sincere yet playful grip wouldn’t let me go so easily.

To be honest, I didn’t try that hard to pull away either.

“This kind of favor isn’t difficult between us, right?”

“Okay, okay.”

“That’s why I only trust Teacher Song. I like you because you’re so kind.”

I nodded as if I had no choice but to accept my senior’s persistence, but truthfully, even if my senior hadn’t asked, I would have been eager to help. I could pretend to be doing a favor for my senior whom I desperately wanted to help with all my might, thanks to my senior’s kind habit of asking anything in a friendly manner.

That’s why, despite harboring an impossible, one-sided love for a long time, I could avoid making hasty mistakes or ridiculous errors out of desperation over trivial matters.

As long as I didn’t get greedy for my senior, as long as I knew my place, things were fine. So I was in the midst of a comfortable one-sided love.

Class 3-5. Before opening the front door, my eyes immediately fell on a horizontally long notice board hanging at the height of the sliding door. The phrase my senior had chosen after more than a week of deliberation was actually the first candidate considered.

[Fighting, our sons! ♡^^♡]

I could almost hear a voice saying, “Fighting, our Jae-yun!” Even though it was just my imagination, it made me feel good.

“Everyone, take your seats.”

The murmuring voices quieted down at the sound of me tapping the podium with the rigid attendance book. One student stood up distinctly among the children filling the classroom.

Unlike other students who would unbutton the top buttons of their shirts claiming discomfort, or who wouldn’t even bother to wear their uniform shirts and just wore a t-shirt, his shirt buttons were neatly fastened all the way to his neck. A navy blue knit vest covering half of his white shirt. A matching tie neatly wrapped around his neck with its tail hanging down obediently.

“Attention.”

As I followed his voice with my gaze, my head naturally tilted back slightly. His brown hair caught my eye first. The calmly falling hair swayed lightly whenever he looked around. His light-colored eyes returned to the center. And our clear gazes met.

“Bow to the teacher.”

His voice was like a clear autumn sky amidst the rough, metallic voices of the others. The soft yet low voice I couldn’t detect in those brief two syllables had quite a good resonance. I thought it matched his appearance well.

“Good morning.”

The silence that followed was so brief it could hardly be called short, and his small face quickly returned to the sea of students, so our gazes broke quickly.

I was the one who couldn’t let go of our already broken gaze, but there was no special meaning to it. Probably anyone in my position would have been drawn to look at him.

I’d heard he was already famous not just in the faculty office but throughout the school and even beyond. Watching people go beyond admiration to almost worship-like fawning, I couldn’t help but wonder, “Really? That much?” But hilariously, I knew immediately when I saw him.

So it’s him.

His distinctly striking appearance never felt familiar no matter how many times I saw him. Perhaps it was because this was an ordinary high school, not a broadcasting station or movie set. So even when I tried to look away, my gaze kept returning to him, and not just because his face stood about half a span higher than those around him, making it impossible for him to be completely hidden among the crowd of students.

He really is handsome.

I chuckled to myself while having such thoughts. Now that a month had passed, I was even having other thoughts during class time.

Without realizing it, I must have become somewhat accustomed to it, or perhaps I’d gained some composure. It was clearly different from my first week when I couldn’t remember a single word I’d said during the entire 50 minutes from entering through the front door until closing it on my way out.

I held back a proud smile that was trying to escape.

“Alright, open to page 25.”

This was less about asking them to concentrate now that class was starting, and more about telling myself to end the idle thoughts running through my mind.

As I opened the textbook on the podium, the sound of turning pages continued irregularly from all directions, not following any particular order. The problem I had marked with a small Post-it was number 15. I started the class with the next problem after the last one we had solved in the previous session.

Number 16, 17, 18, 19.

When I looked up after reading the last problem on the page, I suddenly met the eyes that were staring at me. To be precise, his gaze was directed slightly below my eyes. If it was a little below my eyes, it would be the teacher’s mouth explaining the solution to the problem.

With my mouth explaining the solution, my eyes secretly watching him, and my mind secretly admiring him. Wow, how could someone look like that?

The thick eyebrows that stretched horizontally along their natural line, beneath which protruded brow bones, could be considered the starting point of his distinct features. From there, the straight, high bridge of his nose created deep-set eyes that cast shadows on his eyelids, and perhaps because his thick double eyelids half-covered his eyes, there was a curious atmosphere to his gaze.

I also thought his appearance possessed a duality, not just uniqueness. His light-colored irises matching his hair color felt warm, yet there was a coolness to his sharp nose bridge and jawline. His red lips, slightly upturned as if smiling yet firmly closed, were like that too.

So he was a handsome young man with soft lines yet an overall strong, dignified impression.

Maybe it was his build. Judging by his sturdy shoulders, they would probably take up most of the width of the desk he was sitting at. He seemed like he wouldn’t lose to even the sports team members, let alone average students.

It seemed a bit unfair that not only was he remarkably, neatly handsome, but as a high school student, he already had the appearance of a proper adult. Of course, I couldn’t tell whether this was already his completed form or still a work in progress.

The class time, which focused more on solving problems together and explaining which formulas to apply rather than explaining new concepts, tended to be quite silent for long periods. So rather than standing idly at the podium, I often slowly walked along the paths between the desks.

“Number 17. Come up and solve the problem.”

The class president stood up from his seat. It happened to be when I was brushing past him as I circled around the classroom.

Even when sitting, he had seemed quite tall, but now that he was standing, and moreover, standing next to me side by side, his towering height really hit me.

I turned around and headed to the exact opposite side of the classroom, circling behind it. Since we were the only two standing in a classroom where everyone else was seated, and standing side by side would inevitably invite comparisons.

Standing in the back corner of the classroom, I watched the direction in which the class president’s hand moved. Following his hand, a white line extended neatly across the blackboard.

Tap, tap. Even his fingers holding the white chalk were long and beautiful. The handsome guy has pretty hands and writes neat letters too. Thinking such thoughts, I observed the characters being left on the blackboard.

‘Ah, teacher. I can’t tell what you’re writing.’

It was a month ago, the first day I officially held chalk. That was the first time I realized my handwriting was that bad… well, actually, I knew to some extent, but I hadn’t realized it was that severe.

There was probably some intention to tease the young, inexperienced teacher, but it wasn’t entirely untrue. I don’t know if they found my flustered appearance funny or if they complained because they couldn’t stand it anymore, but as a result, thanks to the chorus of protests from the students, I had to buy a mini blackboard.

I hung it in my room and wrote all day long, but I’m not sure if it helped much. However, I was certain that my handwriting, which seemed ready to fly off in all directions next to neat handwriting, was nonetheless my best effort.

How can a student write so well? It was amazing. Even from a distance, the letters maintained their balance without leaning up or down at all. Of course, if I stood close, I would see the faint grid lines drawn on the blackboard, but even with those to guide me, my writing would typically end up leaning to one side by the time I finished.

Fortunately, my subject wasn’t Korean or social studies, which would require a lot of Hangul writing. Mathematics was a relatively easy subject for board work. What I mainly had to write on the board was a combination of numbers and English.

“…finished.”

“…huh?”

“I’m done, teacher.”

“Oh.”

I finally snapped out of my useless thoughts. The class president had turned around and was staring at me. Our first properly connected gaze was quite persistent. I had kept him standing there for quite a while, so I couldn’t blame anyone but myself.

How can a student have such deep eyes? It was like watching a movie screen close-up of an actor conveying emotions through their eyes. I thought it might be because his irises were as light as if they had caught the sunlight. Because they were pretty eyes. Well, his features were as handsome as an actor’s too. That must be why.

“Hmm, well done. That’s correct. Go back to your seat.”

The class president, who had turned his gaze away from me, put down the chalk on the blackboard and returned to his place. Only my gaze remained on his head, slightly higher than the other students around him.

* * *

There was actually one more reason why I liked my seat, besides it being next to my senior. It was because a large window replaced the wall that should have been on my right.