The first meeting with the student I was tutoring went like this.
“What’s this? I told them to bring a handsome male teacher to flirt with and date.”
This punk… not an easy one.
I had once thought, even as a temporary teacher, that I’d guide kids with a leadership style full of praise, helping them uncover their talents and aptitudes.
No way in hell.
I mentally whipped myself for the foolish mistakes of my past.
Kids like this were exactly why I should’ve gone in with a battle of wills from the start.
Not as a kind, pushover teacher.
Even without corporal punishment, I should’ve shown up with a bat, claiming it was for baseball practice.
‘I’m ready to knock your jaws out with this bat anytime.’
Me?
I should’ve shown them I was a complete lunatic, but how could a rookie temp teacher pull that off?
Of course, I had that lunatic hidden inside me, but in the midst of navigating social life, could I really let it out?
As with all contract jobs, a temp teacher has to play it safe until a permanent position opens up.
I couldn’t act recklessly.
But now? I don’t care.
CatMan is bringing in some pocket change, after all.
And then there’s the rice drink with a whopping +100 intelligence buff.
In my eyes, if I hit it big with this one thing, I’m making bank.
I’ll save up, buy that studio apartment, and smash it to bits as I please.
“I’m not gonna force you to study. What’s the point of tutoring anyway?”
“Do whatever you want. You don’t have to study.”
“What? Are you really a tutor?”
I just sat down and shut up.
“I’m here to kill time. I don’t care. So, spill the beans.”
“What? Spill what?”
“Your mom’s gossip, your struggles in life, your love troubles—I’ll listen to it all. Talk.”
“No way, I need to get into college!”
“Didn’t you just say you don’t want to study?”
“I didn’t say I don’t want to…!”
“Then open your textbook.”
“Then what’s the point of a tutor? Huh?”
She’d at least put out a glass of water for me, but I chugged it down in one go.
“What? That was mine!”
“Oh, was it?”
I chugged my own glass of water too.
Young-sook’s daughter, Nabit, looked utterly appalled.
“Did you come here to pee or something?”
“You go to a cram school too, right? Do you really need a tutor?”
“No, I don’t. Yeah. But this is ridiculous!”
I pulled out the rice drink from my bag.
Then I poured it glug glug into Nabit’s now-empty water glass.
“There, drink. They say sugar’s good for your brain.”
“Is this guy a complete nutcase?”
A nutcase? I like that.
There are ways to dominate someone’s spirit—like intimidation or coercion.
But how could I do that to my mom’s friend’s daughter?
So, being a nutcase is better.
Especially since a nutcase’s character and unpredictability draw attention.
I’ve learned that much in just four months of dealing with people.
“Yeah, thanks for the compliment.”
“What are you even saying… You think that’s a compliment?”
“To a nutcase, being called a nutcase is just acknowledgment. And being acknowledged by someone is a joyful thing. Drink.”
“What is this stuff you keep telling me to drink?!”
“It’s really good stuff.”
“I’m not drinking it.”
I expected that level of resistance.
It’s not like this has a brand label—it’s just no-name PET bottle rice drink, isn’t it?
The only person who’d chug this without hesitation is the girl in Room 202.
I’ve never even given it to anyone else.
So, I added a twist to the recipe.
“It’s dongdongju brewed with rice drink. Booze. Here.”
“There’s every kind of lunatic out there. A tutor comes to teach and tries to get a student drunk?”
“You’re a repeater, aren’t you? I wouldn’t give it to kids.”
“Why, why do I have to drink this?”
“Teaching and learning are ultimately about the interaction between the teacher and the student. To make that interaction effective, you need to break down the walls of etiquette and boundaries. Without that, smooth communication isn’t possible.”
“You… sound like a teacher.”
“You’re a repeater, but instead of studying, you go out drinking? Why won’t you drink what’s offered? You don’t study, you don’t drink. Puberty much?”
“It’s suspicious, that’s why! You drink it first.”
Well, no helping it.
Normally, offering a drink raises suspicions in this day and age.
But booze? Surprisingly, if you act like a drunkard, an alcoholic, or a nutcase, it doesn’t seem too out of character to offer it.
Sorry, pancreas. You’ll regenerate, right?
“Here, how’s that? Sweet, sweet.”
“I’ll keep watching you. The world’s a dangerous place.”
“Do as you please. So, why were you trying to flirt with your tutor and date?”
“It was a joke! And I’m not trying to flirt!”
Oh?
With my intelligence boosted, I suddenly started seeing Nabit’s converted stats.
But this kid’s intelligence stat…
“Intelligence 27.”
“Huh?”
Lower than mine?
To be precise, lower than when I leveled up to 50.
Now, with boosts from swordsmanship and leveling up, I’m probably over 60.
When I first checked, my intelligence was 40.
Now, with the boost pushing me over 150, it seems I can peek at the stats of beings with very low levels.
“You really don’t seem cut out for studying. Even repeating a year, you’re half-assing it.”
“Honestly, I know most of what I need to know, but I don’t get why I need to study more.”
“Then get a perfect score.”
“You think getting a perfect score is easy?”
“The reason you need to study more just came up.”
“…”
Knowing her intelligence stat was more surprising than expected.
I heard she studied diligently in school.
Her school grades were good, they say.
But she couldn’t perform well on the college entrance exam or mock tests.
It’s a very common case.
Her school grades aren’t enough to get her into a good college, and her botched entrance exam is holding her back.
“And I’m going to tell my mom everything.”
“Go ahead.”
“You’ll get fired on the spot.”
“Nope, I won’t.”
“You tried to make a student drink on the first day!”
“You didn’t drink, did you?”
“You still tried to make me!”
“Doesn’t matter.”
There was a secret to this tutoring gig.
Apparently, when my mom was doing well with stocks, she played the money game a bit.
Young-sook must’ve borrowed some money from her, and while my mom was lenient with her situation, she still wanted the debt repaid.
Honestly, my academic credentials aren’t that impressive, and I’m not teaching core subjects like Korean, English, or math that students struggle with.
So why hire me as a tutor? At 50,000 won per hour, no less?
And even if she’s a repeater, hiring a young male tutor who’s not much older than the female student?
I had my suspicions.
‘Young-sook must feel guilty and is trying to repay the debt this way. Just take whatever she gives.’
‘Oh, really? Should I collect interest too?’
‘You better.’
In short, my mom sent me to collect the debt under the guise of tutoring.
She told Young-sook not to feel too burdened by the debt and just pay what she could through tutoring fees.
As expected, my mom’s tough on her son and husband but kind to acquaintances.
‘Wait, so you’re saying you’re pocketing all my tutoring fees?’
‘Do you know how much it cost to raise you?’
‘Is there no worse debt collector in this world?’
So, I rebelled a bit.
I thought she was telling me to collect her money through tutoring.
‘Use it yourself.’
Of course, that wasn’t entirely the case.
Honestly, if my mom has money, she gives me an allowance.
‘Forgetting all my real struggles, ah, I won’t repay. Guh!’
‘You gonna sing like that?’
‘Ah, I’ll repay moderately. Guh!’
Anyway, that’s how it happened.
What kind of jab did that aunt throw at my face? I almost lost my front teeth.
My mom grew up watching Crayon Shin-chan(?), so she’s merciless.
I didn’t even watch it much myself.
“What? Ugh, this is ridiculous.”
“No, I’m the one who’s dumbfounded. This tutoring is payment for the debt your family owes mine. That’s why I’m acting so shameless.”
When the debt came up, her pupils trembled.
“Huh?”
“Want me to say it again? Young-sook told my mom she’d repay the debt by having me tutor you. Got it?”
Apparently, Young-sook went through a divorce and had a lot of problems.
She didn’t get much in the settlement and was on the verge of being homeless, so my mom lent her enough to cover the deposit for a place for her and her daughter.
A few years ago, she met a motel owner who’s pretty wealthy, and her side dish shop took off when a celebrity eating kimchi went viral.
Only then did she start focusing on her daughter’s education and tried to repay my mom, leading to this situation.
Honestly, it feels like my mom schemed a bit, but she’s not the type to admit it, so I let it slide.
Anyway, I’m tutoring as a debt collector.
Since the money I collect is mine, not a commission, it’s not bad.
“Uh… ugh, Mom, why borrow money?”
“Exactly. Tell her to hurry up and send you to college or a factory when she has the money…!”
“Ugh, give me that.”
She said she wouldn’t drink, but now she’s chugging it.
The debt talk must’ve hit a nerve.
It took a long time to build up to her drinking the rice drink.
But this is a rice drink that boosts intelligence by a whopping 100.
It’s the only way to improve this punk’s grades.
“Drink as much as you want.”
“Mm, it’s tasty… Wait, this isn’t booze, is it?”
“Even water becomes booze if you want to get drunk. Even booze is just water if it doesn’t make you forget.”
“What’s with the 50-year-old Chinese literature teacher vibe… No, really, it’s not alcohol?”
At my school, it was a 30-year-old Chinese literature teacher who said that.
And did she think I was really crazy? It’s just an act.
Would a teacher actually give a student alcohol?
Since offering alcohol is the most universally acceptable way to offer a drink while acting like a nutcase, it just masks my antics.
“What, you think I’d really give you booze?”
“Then why act like you’re giving me alcohol?”
“Because that’s the only way you’d drink it.”
“This is suspicious… You’re not trying to do something weird to me with some shady drink, are you? Ack!”
I hit her with a rolled-up test paper, and she’s screaming like it’s the end of the world.
“You’ve got a mouth for everything.”
“Ugh, why’d you hit me? You could be here to flirt with me!”
“I wouldn’t feed weird stuff to someone I’m attracted to, and my type is someone with high intelligence, so you don’t need to worry.”
“What did you say?”
I’m not exactly a genius myself, but for the sake of my descendants, I’d prefer someone smarter.
I’d lose to a Snapdragon and even get outdone by an Exynos.
“You don’t see anything, right?”
“Is something really in this!?”
When I look at Room 202, drinking this doesn’t seem to show a status window.
But just in case, I asked.
“Shut up and you said you bombed the June mock test, right? Here.”
I brought a printed copy of the new June mock test.
“Shut up and solve it. You’ve got 180 minutes.”
“Ugh, what a lunatic.”
Her stats didn’t rise enough. She didn’t drink it all.
Seems like there’s a set dosage.
“Finish that drink. Sugar’s the best for brain work.”
“It’s tasty. But you’re just telling me to solve a test?”
“I only know my major. Should we memorize the official titles of Choi Chung-heon, who started the military regime in the Goryeo era?”
“No, ugh. Fine, I’ll do it.”
“Can I use the computer then?”
“No, don’t!”
“Then I’ll just stare at you creepily.”
“Do whatever.”
Just in case she tries an open-book test, I took her phone and textbook but kept an eye on her.
Watching her is kind of fun.
“Going well?”
“I’ve solved it before.”
“Didn’t you say you didn’t even look at it after grading it? Couldn’t bear to.”
I talked to Young-sook on the phone, and she badmouthed her daughter for an hour and a half.
It was exhausting.
One of her complaints was that Nabit doesn’t reflect on her failures.
For me, failures are painful and wrong, so why bother reflecting on them to improve? Life’s short.
That’s her mindset.
You’ll make the same mistakes again anyway, no matter how much you reflect.
Even if you solve a wrong problem multiple times, you’ll still get it wrong.
But ignoring her bad grades is a flaw in the eyes of parents who expect her to study hard.
And right now, I’m pointing it out as a flaw too.
“Hmm?”
Her reading speed increased, so she got through the Korean section faster.
The issue of slow reading, typical of kids who perform poorly on tests, was gone.
“What?”
“Not going well? Look, exactly 60 minutes.”
“No, I’ve done it before.”
“Would doing it again make this much of a difference? Be honest.”
“…”
“Here’s the answer. Either I watched you closely for 60 minutes and you did well, option 1. Or the rice drink made your brain work better, option 2. No other options.”
I’m probably annoying, so it’s option 2.
I’m cornering her into thinking her choice was the right answer with this multiple-choice setup.
“I don’t know!”
Well, up to this point, it could be her own skill. Maybe.
“Fine, if you don’t know, keep solving until you do. Do the next one too.”
But math? That’s different.
“Huh, uh?”
She stared at a math problem she was stuck on, took a sip of the rice drink, and solved it quickly.
Then, unconsciously, she looked at the rice grains in the drink.
Her expression screamed she needed a spoon.
“Is it really because of the rice drink?”
“I’ll give you rice drink in front of your cram school during the September mock test. Drink it and go.”
They do mock tests at the cram school with timed conditions, I heard.
“No, this makes no sense. What is this?”
“A special rice drink packed with DHA and tons of nutrients. You’ll feel the difference between the days you drink it and the days you don’t. You’ll come looking for it soon.”
“Are you selling drugs?”
I’m ready to be a medicine peddler. I’ve got Burn Treatment Medicine ready.
I didn’t start because I was scared of the Ministry of Food and Drug Safety, though.
Nabit doesn’t slack off and keeps up with her studies.
It’s just that her low intelligence makes it inefficient.
Even repeating a year feels tedious, but she still sets aside time to focus and study diligently.
She locks her phone in a drawer as much as possible.
“OOOOO.”
The meeting with her mom’s friend’s son, the tutor, was… odd.
He was funny enough to make her chuckle, and he seemed to know how to handle students, but he was stubbornly set in his own pace.
But the next day, thinking back, something kept making her crave it and reflect.
“This isn’t working. Ugh.”
Feeling tired, Nabit thought about making a strong Americano in the kitchen.
Near the sink, she saw the cup from yesterday.
It was the cup with the rice drink she’d enjoyed.
She’d drunk all the liquid, but the rice grains had settled at the bottom.
There was no spoon to scoop them out, and eating all those rice grains felt like it’d make her gain weight.
It’s basically rice soaked in sugar and oligosaccharides, after all.
But without realizing it, Nabit grabbed a teaspoon and ate the leftover rice grains from yesterday, which might’ve gone bad in the summer heat.
“…at… 104.”
As that crazy tutor said, she somehow felt like she’d study better.