MCL Ch 1

Ki Yeonghan, 23 years old. Graduated from △△ Foreign Language High School, honorably discharged from the Air Force, second-year student in the Department of Political Science and Diplomacy at Korea University, with an average grade of 4.37 out of 4.5, two past relationships, no ideal type, notable characteristics…

“Well, Ki Yeonghan, you’re good in every way, but you know.”

It was the fourth consultation session with a full-time professor during his four years of university life. Ki Yeonghan sat across from the professor with an expressionless face. The professor, who had repeatedly asked in a nagging tone whether he had any plans to attend graduate school, failed to get the desired response and chose to nitpick instead.

“Your communication skills are lacking.”

Old geezer. If you’re old, just retire already.

Ki Yeonghan silently cursed in his head without responding.

Notable characteristics: complete jerk.

“How many of your university classmates do you keep in touch with?”

“Jeong Jeonui, Park Eunhyeon, and Lee Yoonhak.”

“Well, that’s right. But, you know, your seniors and juniors… the network of seniors and juniors in the Department of Political Science and Diplomacy is extremely important. Your classmates are great. They’ll welcome you warmly, Ki Yeonghan.”

“What a load of crap.”

Ki Yeonghan muttered to himself, shaping the words with his lips. However, the professor, who had launched into a grand speech as if he were some exceptional counselor, failed to catch Ki Yeonghan’s tongue-clicking or his low-quality insults.

The professor rattled off the countless talents who had brought glory to Korea University’s Department of Political Science and Diplomacy, only to end with self-praise. With thinning hair, the remaining strands already turned white, whether he had once been a shining star of the department or not, this professor, now a relic confined to a dusty office with just five years left until his honorary retirement, clung desperately to Ki Yeonghan in an attempt to extend his influence until the very end. But the outcome was far from what he hoped.

“For the past two years, you know, my former student, he’s been teaching as an associate professor, and the response has been phenomenal. It’s, well…”

Ki Yeonghan squeezed his eyes shut. Damn it, that incessant “well.” It was as if the professor couldn’t string a sentence together without saying “well.” He resolved that if the professor uttered “well” one more time, he’d kick his chair back and storm out. Just then, at that very moment…

“There’s a course called ‘Performance and Communication.’ Have you heard of it?”

Having made his resolution, Ki Yeonghan watched the professor finish his sentence smoothly without a single “well” and smirked, one corner of his mouth tilting upward. He was already leaning far back in his chair. Communication is great, huh? Then shouldn’t the professor pick up on the meaning of his actions right now? Even though Ki Yeonghan was radiating an aura of “I don’t want to talk to you” with his entire body, the professor showed no intention of letting him go. Maintaining his blank expression, Ki Yeonghan replied.

“No, I haven’t heard of it.”

“This course, it’s considered the best liberal arts course at Korea University. It’s gotten rave reviews… My student, who earned his master’s and doctorate under me… You’d probably know him if I mentioned his name. Professor Lee Hanwoo.”

Never heard of him, not even once.

Like most university students, Ki Yeonghan’s method for scheduling liberal arts courses was predictable. He’d first slot in his major courses, then fill the remaining time slots like a game of Tetris, picking subjects that somewhat matched his schedule and piqued his interest to some degree. True to the spirit of a 21st-century college student, he wanted to spend as little time on campus as possible and finish classes quickly.

“Anyway, for students like you, Ki Yeonghan, who are a bit awkward with interpersonal communication, taking this course would…”

Ki Yeonghan flashed a wide grin. He faced the professor with a bright, innocent smile.

“Professor, I have a liberal arts class to attend, so I’ll have to excuse myself.”

With that, he stood up, grabbed the bag he’d placed beside him, and left. The moment he escaped the professor’s musty, old-man-scented office, he muttered under his breath.

“What a load of bullshit. Seriously.”

Leaving the faculty building, he headed to the smoking area tucked away in a corner of the campus. Unbefitting a prestigious university, cigarette butts and trash were scattered about, left uncleaned. He didn’t care much and lit a cigarette in the corner.

He flicked the lighter’s wheel to spark a flame, bringing it to the tip of the cigarette. With a deep inhale, the smoke traveled from his mouth down his throat, only to be exhaled in a long stream. His breath mingled with the smoke.

It was cold enough to make his teeth chatter. Always full of complaints, Ki Yeonghan grumbled about the damn cold, cigarette still in his mouth, and shoved both hands into his pockets. Like a goldfish in a tank, he repeated the cycle of inhaling and exhaling. Just as he was thinking how nice it was to be alone, a group of students emerged from the faculty building, heading toward the smoking area.

“I’m so sick of that strict professor’s nagging.”

“Damn it! We’re paying to get lectured like this?”

Ki Yeonghan silently agreed a hundred times over with the nameless guys’ complaints.

“Hey, Yejun.”

The group was joking around among themselves when they called out to the guy in the middle. Ki Yeonghan, cigarette dangling from his lips, scanned the guy up and down. Compared to the others, who had a yellowish, jaundiced hue, this guy’s skin was slightly darker. Like cocoa mixed with plenty of milk. A mole under his eye was oddly striking. He held a vape in one hand.

“They only dote on Yejun. Is this the first or second time? Man, just go to grad school already.”

“What are you talking about?”

The guy smiled, his eyes curving gently. Leaning against the stair railing, he alternated between exhaling and inhaling vape clouds. Ki Yeonghan, who had been puffing smoke in a straight line, blew out a sharp stream.

“Why do the professors only dote on me? We’re all their students.”

What a goody-two-shoes act, Ki Yeonghan thought, eyeing the guy whose eyes crinkled as if folded inward.

“…”

“…”

The guy turned his head. Their eyes met. Ki Yeonghan didn’t flinch; he pulled the cigarette from his mouth, holding it between his index and middle fingers. With a flick, he tossed it into the grimy, ash-filled ashtray. The guy gave a slight nod, like a subtle greeting, then shifted his gaze back to his friends. Ki Yeonghan shoved his hands into his pockets.

Time to head home.

It was the last day of the second semester. The weather was dreary, and the cold was brutally unbearable. Walking toward the parking lot, Ki Yeonghan paused and looked back. The guys who had been sharing cigarettes were already gone. He stared blankly at the now-empty smoking area.

The impression of the guy who had locked eyes with him moments ago lingered vividly.

“Why do the professors only dote on me? We’re all their students.”

He absolutely despised that type of person. The kind who act all innocent, thinking they’re something special.

Soon, he resumed walking. Instead of heading to his studio apartment, he decided to go to his family home, where he could tease his only younger sibling, Ki Yeonghyeon, while cracking open a beer. That was the sole hobby of 23-year-old Ki Yeonghan.