So, after that mind-blowing first encounter with the protagonist (no spoilers, but let's just say it was more dramatic than a K-drama climax), I decided to yeet myself as far away from my old middle school life as possible. My grand plan?
Enroll in a fancy private high school so far from my old stomping grounds that nobody would know the old Kim Yuseong, the nerdy otaku with a room full of samurai manga posters.
Sure, there was a perfectly good public high school ten minutes from my house, but that place was crawling with people who knew the old me. Hard pass.
The private high school I picked, though? Oh boy, it's the kind of place that screams "rich kids only" with tuition fees that could make your wallet cry.
Plus, the academic bar was set so high you'd need a rocket to clear it. Sounds like a terrible idea, right? Well, hold my protein shake, because I aced the entrance exam and snagged a full scholarship as the top entrant.
That's right, your boy Kim Yuseong rolled up to the admissions office like a K-pop star and said, "Tuition? What's that?"
When I told my parents, their faces lit up like they'd just won the lottery. Apparently, they had no idea their slacker son, who spent most of his time gaming and reading manga, was secretly a study machine. I didn't have the heart to tell them I was mostly fueled by spite and instant ramen.
To prep for my high school glow-up, I decided to ditch the otaku aesthetic. My room used to look like a shrine to Samurai Saga by Kishimoto Musashi—think posters, figurines, and enough merch to open a store. I didn't toss everything (I'm not a monster), but I peeled off the wall bromides and sold the figurines on a secondhand site.
Gotta respect the legacy of Kim Yuseong 1.0, you know? Besides, I'd spent six months obsessively studying that kid's life to impersonate him, and I kinda got attached.
That Samurai Saga manga? Chef's kiss. I'm low-key a stan now.
With my room decluttered, I filled the empty space with workout equipment. Grad school taught me one thing: stamina is power. Start young, and you won't be wheezing through your forties.
The old Kim Yuseong's body was, let's be honest, a bit of a twig, so I decided to bulk up. Bigger muscles = fewer bullies picking on me for being a Zainichi Korean. Plus, who doesn't love a good montage of a scrawny kid turning into a chiseled Adonis?
So, for the last semester of middle school, I went full Beast Mode, transforming Kim Yuseong's noodle arms into something that could at least flex in a mirror without embarrassment.
Enter Ichijo Academy, the kind of elite private high school in Tokyo where the kids probably bathe in gold flakes.
This was my new home for the next three years, and I was ready to slay. It was April, cherry blossoms were popping off, and I strutted onto campus as the top freshman, thanks to my entrance exam domination.
That shiny title landed me the honor of giving the freshman speech. Yay me.
Standing on stage, gripping the mic, I felt the weight of a hundred eyes staring at me. Was I nervous? Maybe a little.
Okay, fine, I was sweating like I'd just run a marathon.
Public speaking isn't exactly my vibe, but I powered through the pre-written speech about "new beginnings" and "blooming flowers" like a pro, then bolted back to my seat, heart pounding like I'd just escaped a rom-com misunderstanding.
Luckily, that speech made me a bit of a campus celebrity.
People started chatting me up—mostly to ask for study tips, but I'll take it. Back in middle school, I was too busy playing the role of Old Yuseong to make new friends, so this was a nice change. I settled into high school life faster than you can say "teen drama."
Six months later, my hard work paid off. Daily workouts turned me into a tall, buff legend—think less "twig" and more "tree trunk."
My growth spurt was so wild I could probably dunk on my middle school self. And then, out of nowhere, the student council president scouted me to be the council's secretary. I was already chilling in the board game club, so I tried to politely decline, but this president?
Oh, she was a force of nature. Picture a black-haired, hime-cut queen brandishing a fan like a sword, cackling, "A commoner daring to refuse me? How bold! I like it! OHOHOHO!"
Yeah, she forcibly transferred me to the student council. I was stunned, but honestly? It wasn't so bad.
This president, some fancy aristocrat type, was a bit extra, but she took care of her people. I got some sweet perks, and I could still pop by the board game club whenever I wanted, so no harm done.
Plus, being the council secretary meant I got access to the school's student roster. That's when I made a horrifying discovery:
Sakamoto Ryuji, the protagonist of Scramble Love, and his childhood friend Yaguchi Maiya were freshmen at Ichijo Academy. My whole reason for picking a school 30 minutes away by train was to avoid the main characters, and now I'm stuck in the same school as them? Universe, why you gotta do me like this?
From that moment, my mission was clear: steer clear of Sakamoto Ryuji at all costs. My goal? Graduate quietly, get a normal job, and live a peaceful life for both myself and the original Kim Yuseong.
Getting tangled up with a rom-com protagonist is a one-way ticket to chaos. Have you seen what happens in love comedies? It's all misunderstandings, love triangles, and random beach episodes. No thanks.
To prepare for the inevitable chaos of this manga world, I doubled my workout time.
My parents, who used to cheer my fitness obsession, started worrying I was overdoing it, but they didn't understand. In a rom-com universe, you need muscles to survive the wacky hijinks.
I was chugging protein shakes and sacrificing chickens (well, eating them) like a bodybuilding monk. Half a year of intense training later, I was looking like a K-pop idol who moonlights as a pro wrestler.
And then, my friends, a ghost decided to haunt my back. Yes, you read that right. A ghost. In my back. I don't know what's going on either, but this is a rom-com, so I'm just rolling with it.
Looking back, my first year of high school was probably the best year of my life. I shot up to 186 cm, my muscles were popping, and I was basically a walking glow-up.
Sure, I might've gone a bit overboard with the training, but in a world where aliens, ghosts, or yakuza could pop up at any moment, you can never be too prepared.
I hadn't read Scramble Love (whoops), but if it's anything like other shonen rom-coms, I'm ready for anything—except maybe the ghost currently squatting in my spine.
I kept my top-of-the-class status into my second year, despite everyone wondering how a gym rat like me had time to study. Pro tip: memorize ten vocab words, and if you mess up, do ten squats.
Fear of exercise is a great motivator. I aced my memorization subjects with this method, and my thighs were thriving.
But then, disaster struck. In my second year, I got put in the same class as Sakamoto Ryuji. The guy's got that classic protagonist energy, sitting by the window in the back row like he's posing for the manga cover.
Our desks? A measly three meters apart. My growth spurt betrayed me, landing me in the back row too. If I'd known this would happen, I would've skipped a few protein shakes.
"Ryuji! We're in the same class again!" chirped Yaguchi Maiya, the ultimate childhood friend heroine.
She's got that wholesome, slightly plain-but-cute vibe, complete with a checkered headband that screams "I'm not trendy, and I'm proud of it."
They bantered like the rom-com leads they are, and I just sat there, sweating, trying not to get sucked into their orbit.
The first day of school was just some light icebreaker games, so I dodged any major plot points.
But the very next day? A blonde transfer student burst onto the scene, radiating Main Heroine Energy.
That's when I knew: Scramble Love had officially kicked off, and I was dangerously close to being a side character in this chaotic love story.