MYFL | Chapter 1.1

“Master, tell us about your first love!”

Among the group of upper-grade elementary students, Boyoon, who was especially curious, didn’t miss the perfect chance to satisfy her curiosity. Her high, clear voice rang out, drawing everyone’s attention to the front of the dojo. Even the kids who had been secretly distracted turned their gaze toward Beomchan, their eyes now gleaming with the same curiosity as Boyoon’s.

Since today’s class had been replaced with recreational activities, the excited energy still hadn’t settled down even after it ended. So, in the middle of their end-of-class gathering, this completely unexpected question popped out.

Kids around this age usually had similar interests, but who would have thought he’d get such an old-fashioned question in a taekwondo dojo, of all places? Beomchan quietly took in the eager, expectant gazes locked onto him. The silence stretched for a moment, but the kids, unable to endure it, started chiming in one by one.

“Tell us about your first love!”

“We’re curious!”

Not to brag, but he’d been teaching kids for nearly ten years now. Since high school, he’d been helping out at his father’s dojo, so of course, he was good at handling kids. A question like this wasn’t nearly enough to fluster him.

“Quiet.”

With a firm voice and some strength in his core, he gave a low warning. Instantly, the noisy dojo fell silent.

He wasn’t flustered. No, he wasn’t.

“You’re really poking at an old wound here.”

The real problem was that the kids’ innocent question had dug up a painful memory he’d long forgotten.

“Stand—up!”

He gave the command, pulling the kids out of their scattered chatter. They immediately jumped to their feet, standing straight as if they’d never been noisy in the first place.

“Daeun, give the closing command.”

Beomchan turned his gaze to the short-haired girl standing in the front row.

“Everyone, attention!”

Daeun shouted at the top of her lungs, putting so much force into it that she nearly stumbled backward. Her bright, clear voice echoed throughout the large taekwondo dojo.

The air, thick with the lingering sweat of their training, carried her voice through the room, bringing all the kids’ attention into focus. Standing in front of them, Beomchan watched as the small children, barely reaching his chest, lined up in formation with disciplined movements.

“Taekwon!”

The kids, except for Daeun, shouted in unison.

“Bow to the master!”

“Taekwon! Thank you for your guidance!”

Even the same greeting they did every day was different for each kid. Some, trying to uphold the martial artist’s discipline that Beomchan always emphasized, stiffened their bodies like boards and bowed so deeply that the back of their necks was visible. Others, with disinterested faces, gave half-hearted bows aimed somewhere between the front and the side. Some shouted with strong, clear voices, while others just mimicked the mouth movements without actually making a sound. Beomchan saw this level of individuality as just part of their personalities.

As soon as class ended, the kids rushed toward the shoe rack all at once. The reason was obvious—they were scrambling to secure the best seats in the taekwondo van. Their movements were hurried as they shoved their feet into sneakers and yanked open the door.

“No running. Go down the stairs properly. No running.”

At Beomchan’s stern voice, they at least made a show of slowing down. He locked up the dojo and followed them down the stairs. Outside, the kids were already lined up in two neat rows in front of the taekwondo van.

Of course, they hadn’t always been this orderly. In the past, there were kids who tried to cut in line, threw tantrums, or refused to queue at all. But after enforcing a strict rule—anyone who didn’t line up properly would be the last to get on—they quickly learned to behave. Even now, the kids in the front were bickering a little, but compared to before, this was a huge improvement.

Once all the kids were inside, Beomchan shut the door, and the split lettering on the side of the yellow multi-passenger vehicle finally connected to form the full name: “Beomchan Taekwondo.”

His father, the dojo’s headmaster, had named it after him when he was a child. Actually, Beomchan had an older brother, but when their father first suggested naming the dojo after him, his elementary school-aged brother had strongly objected, saying it was embarrassing. So, the honor had fallen to Beomchan, who was too young at the time to protest. And somehow, it was him—not his brother—who had ended up inheriting the dojo.

He often thought it must have been fate.

On the drive back after dropping the kids off, Beomchan absentmindedly hummed along to the latest idol song. It was the song all the kids at the dojo wouldn’t stop singing whenever they got the chance. He bobbed his head back and forth like a pigeon, then finally gave in and turned on the music. The large van filled with the familiar tune.

Next taekwondo exercise routine? Definitely using this song.

His friends always said they envied him. “You start work in the afternoon, play around with kids, and get paid for it.”

If only they could spend a single day in his shoes, they’d take those words back in an instant.

Even for someone like him, who prided himself on his stamina, dealing with over a dozen kids back-to-back left him desperate to go home as soon as possible. Their energy was on a whole other level. Even after screeching several octaves too high and bouncing around the dojo like monkeys, even after he physically lifted them and tossed them onto the soft mats, they’d just spring right back up and start spinning in circles again.

Following the kindergarteners to the bathroom to help clean up after them was just the norm. On top of that, he had to stay updated on whatever songs, games, and trends the kids were into, just to keep up with them.

Being a taekwondo master wasn’t as easy as it looked.

And yet, there was something about their endless energy that he genuinely liked. That was why he kept doing this, following in his father’s footsteps. Watching the kindergarteners grow into lower elementary students, and then move up to the upper grades—it was rewarding.

Seeing the once wild, reckless kids gradually mature, slowly learning discipline and thoughtfulness, made him feel like he was glimpsing the perspective of a parent, even though he didn’t have kids of his own.

No matter how exhausting it got, there was no denying it.

He loved this job.

Beomchan parked his car in the lot. As he stepped out of the driver’s seat and made his way into the shopping complex, his gaze lingered on the empty storefront on the first floor.

It had been four months since the little snack shop had closed down due to the owner’s knee problems. It wasn’t even in some hidden corner, so it was strange that no one had taken over the space yet.

Since this was a building filled with academies, it wouldn’t look good to parents if the surroundings stayed this deserted for too long. But it wasn’t something he could control. All he could do was hope that a new tenant moved in soon.

Climbing the stairs back up to the dojo, Beomchan fell into his usual routine—cleaning. Sweeping and mopping the floor, wiping down the mirrors that covered one side of the wall, scrubbing the shoe rack and bathroom—only when everything was spotless did he feel like the day had come to a proper end.

After finishing up a parent notice he’d started writing yesterday, he glanced at the clock. It was already past 8 PM.

With the dojo now empty, he did one final check before turning off the lights. Out of habit, he pulled on the locked glass door a couple of times to make sure it was secure, then finally turned away.

The taekwondo dojo was on the top floor of a small three-story commercial building. At the end of the third-floor hallway, there was a door. Beyond that door was an old external staircase—narrow, just wide enough for one adult to squeeze through, made of stone.

Even though he had climbed up and down these stairs countless times and knew they were sturdy, the fact that they were attached to the outer wall always made them feel a little nerve-wracking. At the top of those stairs, a spacious rooftop and a rooftop room came into view.

That was where Beomchan lived.

After finishing dinner and his usual household chores, he got ready for bed and lay down. His stomach had been feeling uneasy for a while, and at first, he thought he was just bloated. But as soon as he lay down, he realized the real reason.

“Why did they have to ask that question…”

He mumbled to himself, covering his eyes with the back of his hand.

The upper-grade elementary class was always the last class of the day. He was relieved that it had been the final one—if he’d had another class after that, he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate.

His mind had been unsettled the entire time he was dropping the kids off, while he was cleaning, and even now.

First love.

Even though he had long passed adolescence, those words still made something stir inside him.

Maybe it was because those kids had unintentionally made him dig up an old memory he had buried away. That night, for the first time in a long while, Beomchan dreamed of his first love.

It was a dream about a day in April, eight years ago.

Just one of the many days he had spent in private tutoring.

There was nothing particularly special about that day—yet, for some reason, Beomchan remembered it vividly.

That brief period when spring was about to give way to summer—the cool, cozy weather—it was one of those things that pushed and pulled at people’s emotions like an invisible stimulant.

It made you excited over the smallest things.

It made your heart restless.

Maybe he had simply fallen victim to the mischievous tricks of the weather, or maybe it was just the belated arrival of puberty, creeping up on him even with an adult standing right in front of him.

But back then, he had been completely drowning in his first-ever experience of love, unable to think straight.

He often had tutoring sessions at home when no one else was around.

His parents both worked full-time, and his only brother had moved out to live near his university. So, naturally, he was often home alone with his teacher.

In March, he had done surprisingly well on his practice exams, which gave him a huge boost of confidence. He was at that age when kids liked to act more grown-up than they really were—caught up in that immature sense of self-importance.