I,A Gangster, Became a High School Student

Back in the classroom, Kim opened his locker against the far back wall. The numbered lockers were long and wide enough to hold a basketball. Dropping the basketball on top of the pile of textbooks, workbooks, and gym clothes, he thought to himself,

“I’m sure there’s a spirit who should have used this locker, but I have no way of knowing where it is.”

If you’re returning, come after graduation.

School is too much for Song Yi-heon to handle. Even Kim Deuk-pal’s heart sank for a moment as he washed his hands in the restroom and was suddenly confronted with a gay slur. Kids with less experience are just as cruel. They didn’t realize how much they hurt the other person, so they didn’t adjust their behavior. In the end, it was the weaker one who got hurt.

‘It was better for Song Yi-heon’s spirit to return after I graduated, when I was old enough to decide for myself who I wanted’

Kim Deuk-pal threw away the tie tucked into his shirt breast pocket and slammed his locker shut. He grabbed the collar of his shirt and fluttered it to cool the heat pooling beneath his shirt. When it refused to go away, he called out to the group of girls gathered in the corner of the classroom.

“Yeon-ji is a fan.”

Kim Yeon-ji, who chattered away in the group, didn’t even look up at the fan request in March.

“My locker~ Take it out.”

To make sure he hadn’t borrowed it for a day or two, Kim Deuk-pal opened Yeon-ji’s locker, took out a handheld fan, and held it under his chin. During the flight, the engine revved and a cold breeze blew through the blades. His sunburned skin cooled in the breeze, returning to a faint reflection of his blood.

The girls’ lockers were outfitted with everything from hot packs to fans, especially palm trees. After witnessing one girl who claimed to love coffee and even set up a cafe in her locker, complete with branded coffee mixes, he gave up trying to understand.

Instead, he borrowed heavily from his father, and when a girl from his class walked by with a tumbler, he asked her about it.

“Is that water?”

“Yes.”

“Just a sip.”

The girl hesitated for a moment, then took the tumbler from him and quenched his thirst. One sip quenched his thirst, but he couldn’t stop himself and handed the empty tumbler back.

“Uh… sorry. I’m done.”

“It’s okay.”

The girl replied, smiling sheepishly. Before Kim Deuk-pal could continue with the awkwardness of the situation, a group of boys burst through the classroom door, looking for Nada Song.

“Hey, Song Yi-heon!”

It was his classmates. The boys, still buzzing from the basketball game that had just taken place, spotted Song Yi-heon in front of his locker and swarmed him.

“I heard you dumped Lee Jae-woon!”

“Well, I did.”

The original Song Yi-heon would have been embarrassed to receive so much attention, but Kim Deuk Pal didn’t deny it or be modest. With a laid-back demeanor, he relaxed and enjoyed the fact that a group of misfit boys had gathered to praise Song Yi-heon while undermining his hater, Lee Jae Woon.

‘They say the enemy of my enemy is my ally.’

The physically fit Lee Jae-woon, who is normally a athlete, was not happy to see Song Yi-heon beat him in basketball, the sport he was most confident in, and he celebrated like it was his job.

“Hey, Song Yi-heon. If you’re so talented, why did you do nothing?”

“Did you see Lee Jae-woon’s look? He’s killing it in class. It’s like he’s a portrait of the class.”

“Of course he did. He brragged about that basketball accident and it got taken away.”

“This?”

Kim opened his locker and pulled out a basketball. Boys oohed and aahed and politely took the ball with both hands like they were receiving their first shirt. The students may have looked at it with envy because of the price tag, but to the former gangster, it was nothing. So was Song’s card, which still didn’t know its limits.

“We’ll play again tomorrow, but if you want to join in, join in.”

“Will I?”

The boys were eager. They’d heard that Song Yi-heon was flying on the basketball court. If they played on the same side, they could press Lee Jae-woon’s nose flat. When they hesitated because of their unfair prejudices about Song Yi-heon, they offered a prize that Kim couldn’t resist.

“Whoever gets the most balls tomorrow wins the basketball.”

“Song Yi-heon is absolutely hot!”

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One of the cheering boys joked, waving his uncapped Ionic drink excitedly. Kim Deuk-pal pulled his hand out of his pants pocket and pointed to the drink.

“You didn’t drink that?”

“This? Ugh.”

“Give it to me. I’ll buy you another one later.”

Kim Deuk-pal stretched out his palm and waved it, and the boy complied. He looked for the girl who had given him the water, who was nearby with her friends. When he made eye contact, he waved the ionized drink in front of him. The girl took the drink and blushed slightly.

“What are you trying to hit it off?”

The other girl whistled and hooted, but it was shrugged off.

“Shut up. Don’t you guys play soccer?”

To be honest, basketball was a boredom sport, and soccer was his true love. Sure, he’d flock to the ballpark during the inaugural professional baseball season, but no sport could match the emotional impact of the 2002 World Cup, which united the nation behind the Red Devils.

During his gangster days, he organized an early soccer club under Kim Deuk-pal. When Kim Deuk-pal entered Song Yi-heon’s body and walked out for morning exercises, there was only a soccer team at the Yaksu River, so he couldn’t play soccer for a while.

“Are you proficient at soccer?”

“I play quite a bit.”

The meaningful laugh was not “a little bit,” and the wide-eyed children threw their arms around Kim and shouted as soon as they understood what he meant by being better at soccer than basketball.

“Why are you hiding that? We got crushed last week!”

Forgetting that we hadn’t included them, they threw a tantrum, recalling bitter memories of the previous week’s defeat.

The third-grade boys, in their peak physicality, ate each other’s teams to get their bodies moving. Although he got along well with the girls, he was still awkward with the boys, so he couldn’t join the competition.

It wasn’t a big deal because it was just a group of kids who knew each other and who liked soccer. Even if they won, the only prize was a chance to make fun of their injuries and to make money from their noses. However, kids that age are always having fun and risking their lives for everything but their studies.

“Se-kyung!”

Suddenly, the boys, who had been running in circles with Kim Deuk-pal in the center, looked for Choi Se-kyung. Craning their necks to look around the classroom, they found him leaning against the front door. She was waving her arms wildly as if to announce the location of a gold mine.

“We won the Loser’s Revival!”

Se-kyung responds with a picture-perfect smile as the kids shout out that they’ve already won next week’s loser’s bracket. he gave a thumbs up to join in the excitement, but his eyes remained cold as he watched Song Yi-heon, the center of the class.

The boys, who were still embarrassed about being gay and bitter about losing the class competition, played soccer. They asked Song Yi-heon what position he was proficient at. This helped him fit in with the boys.

One month. That’s how long it took for a revised Song to become the center of the class.

Choi Se-kyung leaned against the wall, his short body tilted to follow Song Yi-heon through the crowd of boys. When he leaned his head against the wall, his dark hair fell past his eyebrows. His eyes followed him relentlessly, his pupils burning into his.

Song Yi-heon’s scruffy, hairy, and unassuming demeanor made him a natural among the excited boys. With the girls, he was cautious and charming with his body language. However, with the boys, he didn’t shy away from showing off his skills to gain the upper hand. When Song Yi-heon said something, the boys left the classroom in droves.

In the classroom, Se-kyung was lost in thought.

It’s not a matter of Song Yi-heon becoming the center of the class. His goal was to find the original Song Yi-heon safely, and he didn’t care what the changed Song Yi-heon did. But there was another problem.

A chill radiated from the wall, and Se-kyung pressed her forehead against it to cool her feverish head.

The real problem, he realized, was that he was attracted to the changed Song Yi-heon.

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***

Waiting for the garage under the wall to open, the sedan pulled into the garage, parked, and turned off the engine. Se-Kyung, who was sitting in the back seat, greeted him with a polite smile.

“Thank you for the late hour.”

“Oh, Se-kyung, you’ve been studying late.”

Se-kyung got out of the car, not expressing her annoyance at the middle-aged driver who spoke to her as if he were her son. As he climbed the stairs leading from the garage to the living room, his face became numb, surprised and exhausted when he found the man sitting on the living room couch, reading a newspaper, and only then did he manage to smile as a mask.

“There you are.”

Prosecutor Choi Myung-hyun put down the newspaper he was reading and greeted his son. He had just returned home and was wearing a shirt without a suit jacket. His hair was disheveled over his forehead, and the black stubble on his thick lower lip gave him gravitas.

At the sight of his son, his wrinkled eyes curved into crescents. They didn’t look alike, but their eyes looked alike.

“You’re late.”

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Se-kyung replied to his father’s question with a curt response, as if he knew where he was, what he was doing, and how he was doing it.

“I’m palm reading at school.”

“I thought school was noisy.”

“It’s like a last hurrah before I graduate, because once I graduate, I won’t have a chance to get to know people.”

It was what his father wanted, and he wasn’t lying. Though it was a trap, if only because there was only one person he wanted to be close to. He wasn’t approaching them for the sake of being close.

“You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”

“I don’t know.”

Se-kyung’s smile deepened, and she returned a similar smile to his father, who asked him a ridiculous question. After mulling over Se-kyung’s enigmatic answer, Choi Myung-hyun shrugged and asked.

“Are you in the same class?”

“We’re in the same class, but it’s not easy to get along.”

Song Yi-heon, who didn’t like him but wanted to get to know him, didn’t trust Choi Se-kyung easily.

“You?”

“Do I have anything?”

Choi Myung-hyun asked in surprise, and Se-kyung said nothing.

“He must have peculiar tastes.”

Se-kyung’s tight lips twitched as he tried to hold back laughter as he looked at the liver to inform the curious Choi Myung-hyun. Choi Myung-hyun laughed out loud when he realized his son was playful.

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As long as Choi Myung-hyun didn’t stifle his son, their relationship wasn’t problematic. The leisure that comes with a high education and an overflowing fortune taught him to respect his son as an individual from an early age. He worked tirelessly on his emotions, education, and connection to his parents.

Se-kyung swung the bag over one shoulder.

“I’ll go up there first.”

“Yeah, you must be tired. Get some rest.”

Choi Myung-hyun got up, too, because he’d been waiting to see if his son had returned home. Se-kyung watched him for a long time as he walked back into the bedroom, his large hands clutching the folded newspaper and briefcase at his feet. As a child, and now, his stiff, unruffled back was an insurmountable mountain for Se-kyung.