Legend [YEONBIN] ✓

two ; yeonjun

The PC room was hot with thirty running computers, though only three stations were occupied. It was stuffy and dark and smelled like the shrimp chips and instant noodles sold as snacks.

I loved it. I clicked with nimble fingers, my left hand glued to the hot keys, my right hand sweeping the mouse over the screen.

“If we don’t leave now, we’ll be late,” Huening Kai said, his hands waving like anxious butterflies with nowhere to land. He’d long since logged off after losing his own game.

“Then we’ll be late.” Digital armies marched across my screen.

“I can’t be late again.” Huening Kai frowned. It highlighted his exaggerated features.

I knew being late wasn’t Huening Kai’s problem. His problem was being timid and having a family rich enough to care. As the only son in the family of five, he held the weight of the his surname on his shoulders, which was only doubled by wealth. It didn’t sit well on Huening Kai, who was prone to anxiety and merely mediocre at anything he tried. It made me grateful I’d been born poor.

“Ning, you always worry about the future instead of enjoying what’s happening now. You need to learn that life isn’t worth living if you’re not having fun.” I narrowed my eyes, searching for the final tower on my opponent’s base. I found it with a triumphant grunt, and the screen announced victory in bold green letters hovering over my Protoss army.

“Great, you won. Time to go?” Huening Kai asked.

I stood and shrugged on my navy-blue uniform blazer.

“Huening, no one likes a nag.”

He scowled and I added a friendly smile. One that said O meant no harm but knew I spoke the truth. I wielded my grin like a weapon, a crooked tilt of my lips. When I used it, few could stay mad. It worked, as Huening gave a reluctant smile.

Outside, I took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of car exhaust and simmering oxtail from the seolleongtang restaurant down the street. I swung an arm around Huening’s shoulder as we walked in and out of the sun that peeked between the tall buildings.

“Is it me, or does the morning always smell fresher after the thrill of victory?”

“It smells like someone needs to clean their fish tanks.” Huening scrunched his face at the seafood store. I followed his gaze to one of the giant glass aquariums, the bulging eyes of a flounder stared back.

The city bus pulled up, and I slapped Huening’s shoulder cheerfully. “Come on, don’t want to be late.”

We were late.

By the time we reached the school, the front gate sat closed, a signal that class had started without us. I helped boost Huening over the side wall before climbing up myself. I miscalculated the distance and my pant leg caught.

“Aissi!” I grimaced at the long rip in the calf of my beige pants.

The school was a U-shaped building with long narrow hallways, lined on one side by classrooms and on the other by wide windows facing the inner courtyard and sports fields. The building was old, and there was no central heat to warm the halls in the brisk fall chill.

We snuck into the back of the classroom with ten minutes left in homeroom. The teacher, Miss Kang, was still addressing the class.

“I’d like to remind everyone that now is not the time to slack off.” She zeroed in on me. “Next year is your third and final year of high school. It’s our job to prepare you. And your job to learn.”

“Yes, Sunsaengnim,” we chorused.

“That’s it for today,” Miss Kang said.

Our class president stood. “Attention. Salute.”