My left eye was swollen shut. I looked like I had gone twelve rounds with a heavyweight boxer, except my opponent had been a fermented radish.
I stood at the sink in the boys' bathroom—my second home today—splashing cold water on my face. The burning sensation was subsiding, but the shame was eternal. The bathroom door opened.
"San-ssi?"
It was Jun-seo. He walked in, took one look at my red, puffy eye, my wet, cologne-drenched shirt, and the kimchi stain on my collar.
He didn't ask. He just sighed, reached into his pocket, and handed me a clean handkerchief.
"You should go to the nurse, San," he said gently.
"I can't," I mumbled into the handkerchief. "We have PE."
"Your lesson right now is to stop smelling like a duty-free shop accident," he said, patting my shoulder. "Go. I'll tell Coach Hong."
I entered a usual nurse office from K-dramas(not taking into account the fact that it was probably a mini-high-end hospital).
Nurse looked like a caring korean grandma.
"Ah? Young man, how can I help you?" she peeked from behind the white curtain, looks like there were some students feeling sick. Well, it would be a surprise if at this thousand-student school wouldn't be at least two to three students visiting at least once in an hour.
She gasped.
"Oh, my god! What happened," she pressed on my swollen eye, "Does it hurt?"
"Not at all, it just itches a little."
"Did you rinse it?"
I nodded.
"Okay, wait a second."
After some time, she appeared holding an ice bag.
"Here, hold it on your eye."
She pulled the white curtain.
When the bell rang, my eye felt better. I could even get a short nap.
"Still red," nurse concluded, "Your eye will be okay, don't worry."
She also gave me a coffee cup with ice.
I thanked her from the bottom of my heart and left for my next period.
Applied Performance.
Luckily, Yoo Chae-rin was nowhere to be found.
Or, I'd rather say unfortunately.
"Class, attention," Professor clapped her hands, she had a usual elegant posture and a bun(that looked decent unlike mine), "Don't forget that your combined performances test will start next week."
She smiled at me and continued walking between the tables of different groups.
In the same situation were only two more people, Jun-seo and Myung-dae, who seemed to be completely indifferent.
Ten minutes before the end, Eun Ga-hwa from the second group said loudly:
"Excuse me, group leaders please come to our table to book your order in the upcoming test."
I had no choice but to be stuck at the table surrounded by group leaders. They argued for a spot. When I tried to speak up my voice just lost in the wave of discussion.
I cleared my throat.
"EXCUSE ME!" my palm hit the table, "Why don't we just ask the teacher to shuffle the order?"
"What a brilliant idea, San."
It was Professor, her hand was on my shoulder.
"If no one minds of course."
A boy raised his hand. He had glasses, his face looked like a dumpling. What was his name? Kim Min-jun? I barely managed to memorize everyone's names by now.
"I agree. We won't come to a common decision through arguments."
"Me too," that was Kang Min-hyuk from my class, he was the leader of group 9.
...
I sighed, thanking gods that there was only one more period left.
Kang Min-ah kept glaring at me throughout the entire Korean language lesson.
"If you want to say something just say it."
"Nothing," she giggled and continued drawing in her notebook.
I walked toward the Music Wing, my left eye throbbing in rhythm with my heartbeat. The nurse's ice pack had helped, but I still looked like I had a mild allergic reaction to life in general.
I pushed open the door to the School Bands Club room, bracing myself for the usual cacophony of sound—the clashing warm-ups of "The Blue Notes" jazz saxophones against "Red Siren's" electric guitars.
Silence.
The room was dead quiet.
I stepped inside. The late afternoon sun filtered through the dusty windows, illuminating the trophies in the glass cabinet.
Usually, this room was a battlefield of competing noise. Today, it was a vacuum.
In the back corner, sitting on his usual busted amp, was Lee Myung-Dae. He didn't have his headphones on for once. He was staring at the floor, spinning a drumstick between his fingers.
Standing near the window, looking like he was waiting for a firing squad, was Park Jun-seo.
And sitting on the edge of the stage, swinging his legs and looking thoroughly confused, was Han Leo.
"You're late," Jun-seo said, his voice echoing too loudly in the empty room. He looked at my face.
"Where is everyone?" I asked, dropping my bag. "The jazz guys? The couple?"
"Hyung," Leo said in English, his voice tight with frustration. "Why did you get me involved me?"
"I told you," Leo stood up, his frustration spilling over. "I play the guitar, violin at max. I don't hit things with sticks. Do you know how stupid I'm going to look?"
"We'll figure it out."
"Figure it out?" Myung-Dae scoffed. He stood up slowly, kicking his amp. The sound was a harsh crack in the silence.
He walked toward us, his hands in his pockets, the white plaster on his nose catching the light. He stopped in front of me, ignoring Leo and Jun-seo entirely.
"You think this is a joke, don't you, Mountain?" Myung-Dae said, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you can just grab a random freshman, grab the President, and play 'band' for a grade?"
"It's not a joke," I said, holding my ground.
Myung-Dae shouted, his cool facade finally cracking. "We were fine!"
He took a step closer, invading my personal space.
"You don't know what this band was. You don't know what we did. You're just a tourist!"
"I'm trying to help!"
"Help?" Myung-Dae laughed, a bitter, ugly sound. "You're ruining everything!"
He pulled his hand out of his pocket. He made a fist.
"I should fix that other eye for you."
He swung.
It wasn't a feint. It was a real punch, aimed right at my face. I flinched, bracing for the impact.
Thwack.
The impact never came.
I opened my eyes.
A hand had shot out from the side, catching Myung-Dae's wrist in a grip of steel.
Park Jun-seo stood between us. He hadn't moved a muscle in his face. He looked calm, almost bored, but his grip on Myung-Dae's arm was white-knuckled.
"That's enough, Myung-Dae," Jun-seo said softly.
Myung-Dae stared at him, breathing hard, his fist still clenched. He yanked his arm back, shaking off Jun-seo's grip.
"Don't touch me, shibal," Myung-Dae spat, "If Jin-woo..." he stopped mid-sentence, "AISH!"
He stormed out.
Jun-seo didn't look at him. He turned his head slowly to look at me.
His eyes were cold. There was no "President" warmth in them now. Just a deep, exhausted anger.
"Myung-Dae is right," Jun-seo said, his voice quiet but heavy in the silent room.
"Jun-seo, I—"
"You had no right, San," he cut me off. "You had no right to get us involved. To get W-Naut involved."
He looked at the empty stage, then back at me.