My head felt like it had been stuffed with wet cotton and spun in a centrifuge.
For the first period, I was less of a student and more of a decorative vegetable. During Math, Mrs. Smith looked at my slumped form, sighed, and—miraculously—decided that waking the foreign exchange student wasn't worth it.
I drifted in and out of consciousness, dreaming of musical notes and non-Euclidean geometry.
Click.
The soft, artificial shutter sound of a smartphone camera pierced my nap.
I cracked one eye open. Kang Min-ah was leaning over the aisle, her pink phone aimed directly at my drooling face. She giggled, tapping the screen.
"Delete that," I croaked, my voice sounding like I'd swallowed sandpaper.
"No way," Min-ah whispered, her eyes sparkling. "Title: 'The Sleeping Prince of Kyiv.' Hashtag: #Exhausted #Drool #KirinLife. It's already got ten likes."
She thought for a second and added one more hashtag.
#Didn'twashmyhairforaweek
"I will destroy you," I mumbled, sitting up and reaching for my pocket. "I'm going to take a picture of your double chin and post it to the school forum."
I patted my blazer pocket. Empty. I patted my pants pocket. Empty. I checked the inside pocket. Nothing but a lint ball.
The memory hit me. In the rush to escape Ji-hoon and the shirtless shower incident, I had left my phone charging on my desk next to Ha-neul's paper.
"Aish!" I slammed my hand on the desk. "Dovboyob Motuz!" (Stupid Motuz!)
Min-ah blinked. "What does that mean? Dov-bo-yob?"
"It means... handsome genius," I lied, rubbing my face. "'m hyping myself up."
"Weirdo," she muttered, turning back to her phone.
The bell rang.
The brief reprieve was over. Next up: Korean History.
Ms. Choi marched into the room like a general inspecting the troops. The class fell silent instantly. Even Min-ah hid her phone.
Ms. Choi slammed her textbook onto the podium. She scanned the room, her gaze lingering on the empty seat next to me (Myung-dae was skipping, naturally), and then landed on me.
"Today we discuss the Joseon Dynasty's bureaucratic structure," she announced sharply. "But first. A notification."
She adjusted her glasses.
"I will be personally attending Professor Kim's Applied Performance class to evaluate the... demo."
My stomach dropped through the floor.
She's coming.
I needed to call Jin-hyun. I needed to tell him it was a Code Red.
"Min-ah," I hissed, leaning over. "Phone. Now."
"What? No," she whispered back.
"Emergency. Life or death."
She rolled her eyes and slid the pink device under the desk. I grabbed it with trembling hands. I unlocked it (passcode: 1234, seriously?) and opened the dialer.
My thumb hovered over the keypad.
Wait.
I didn't know Park Jin-hyun's number. I didn't know Leo's number. Myung-dae blocked everyone. I checked any possible contact.
"Hey! Min-ah you don't have a number of Jin-hyun?!"
She side-eyed me with a disgusted expression.
"Mwo? Why would I?"
"He's your cousin!"
"Mwo?" her tone was even more disgusted. "This piece of..."
I was cut off. Isolated. A soldier without a radio.
"Blyat," I exhaled, the word slipping out loud in the silent classroom.
Twenty heads turned toward me. Ms. Choi stopped writing on the chalkboard.
"Mr. Motuzenko?" Ms. Choi asked, her voice dangerously calm. "Is there a contribution you would like to make?"
Min-ah nudged me hard in the ribs. "Again that word? What does that one mean?"
I stood up slowly, sweat beading on my forehead.
"It means... 'Good Luck,' Ms. Choi," I said, flashing a terrified smile. "In Ukrainian. It is a traditional blessing. Blyat to you too, Teacher."
The class stared.
"I see," Ms. Choi said, narrowing her eyes. "Well, you will need all the 'luck' you can get. Sit down."
"Actually," I said, grabbing my backpack strap. "I cannot sit down. I have... a biological emergency. Stomach. Bad kimchi. Very explosive."
I didn't wait for permission. I bowed deeply—too deeply—and bolted for the door.
"San-ssi! Sit back down!"
I slammed the classroom door behind me and broke into a sprint.
As I tore down the hallway, I passed Ha-neul's classroom. The door was open. Her deskmate, a girl with pigtails, nudged Ha-neul and pointed at the blur of a foreign student sprinting past the window clutching his bag.
"Why is he taking his bag to the bathroom?" the girl asked.
Ha-neul looked up from her textbook. She saw me run past. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples.
"It is so difficult," she sighed, "to calculate the variables of an idiot's mind."
I burst out of the main building and into the courtyard. The fresh air hit me, but I didn't stop.
"HEY! YOU! STOP!"
I glanced back. It was Mr. Kang, the discipline teacher, wielding his infamous yellow wooden ruler like a sword. He was surprisingly fast for a man in a cardigan.
"STUDENT! STOP RIGHT THERE!"
"Blyat!" I yelled back. "Joesonghabnida!"
I reached the main school gate. It was massive, iron, and—crucially—locked tight during school hours. The security guard was dozing in his booth, but Mr. Kang was closing in, his ruler cutting through the air.
I didn't slow down. I sped up.
"Don't you dare!" Mr. Kang shouted.
I channeled every ounce of my morning workout routine. I planted my left foot on the decorative stonework of the pillar, launched myself upward, grabbed the iron spikes at the top (carefully avoiding the sharp bits), and swung my legs over in one fluid motion.
Parkour. Thank you game of tag and hide-and-seek games back in the yard!
I landed in a crouch on the sidewalk outside, the impact jarring my teeth.
"YAH! COME BACK HERE!" Mr. Kang was shaking the gate, his face purple.
I stood up, adjusted my tie, and looked at the road. A taxi was cruising by, its "Empty" light glowing like a beacon of hope.
"Taxi! Taxi!" I waved my arms frantically.
The car screeched to a halt. I dove into the back seat.
"Go! Go! Go!" I shouted, slamming the door.
The driver, an older man with white gloves, looked at me in the rearview mirror. I was sweating, panting, and wearing a Kirin Arts uniform.
"Where are we going, student?" he asked slowly. "Internet cafe? Karaoke?"
I looked back at the school gate, then forward. I took a deep breath.
"No," I said. "Take me to Hanyeong Arts High School."
The driver raised an eyebrow. A Kirin student going to Hanyeong?
"Step on it, Ajusshi."