Chapter 39: The Promise and the Path

The next day, Han Yurim studied beside Gajunsik as if nothing had happened.

However, her restless feet betrayed her unease. While she might fool others, she couldn’t hide it from Gajunsik’s keen eyes.

As soon as lunch break arrived, Gajunsik forcibly dragged Han Yurim, who had been determined to keep studying without moving an inch, to the rooftop.

“Sorry about yesterday,” Han Yurim muttered softly on the green-painted rooftop.

Gajunsik shrugged nonchalantly.

“It’s nothing. It was just an average incident for a repeat student. Don’t stress over it.”

“It was so absurd that it actually woke me up.

But don’t offer such comforting words elsewhere.

Also, for the record, I’m not a repeat student—I’m a minus-seven-year repeater.”

Looking back, Han Yurim was a bit unusual.

Her average score in the March mock exams was 4. For a fifth grader, that was impressive. But by the standards of a genius, it still fell short.

When Gajunsik saw her March scores, one question lingered in his mind:

What on earth had her parents seen in her to push her through such an unreasonable academic path?

A path where she had to abandon friends and a normal school life for something so unorthodox.

Han Yurim didn’t stand out in any particular way.

For instance, it wasn’t like she was already scoring top marks in math or excelling far beyond her peers.

Sure, given her learning ability, her scores would likely rise dramatically after a few years of study.

Han Yurim was undoubtedly intelligent; even Gajunsik acknowledged that.

But this realization came only now, with hindsight.

Claiming it was a good choice just because it yielded results was something he wanted to avoid.

After all, this wasn’t what Han Yurim truly wanted. She might insist it was, but Gajunsik doubted it.

“You look gloomy,” she commented.

“My skin tone’s always like this,” Gajunsik replied dryly.

“I dislike gloomy vibes,” Han Yurim stated firmly.

“Don’t worry. So do I.”

Even so, there wasn’t much Gajunsik could do to help.

This was a family matter, and outsiders meddling rarely ended well.

That’s why he had quietly apologized during yesterday’s phone call.

Getting angry or argumentative wouldn’t solve anything.

Gajunsik bent down to meet Han Yurim’s gaze and said, “If things ever get tough, talk to me anytime, okay?”

“Got it.”

With that, the issue between them was gently resolved. They stopped mentioning it and resumed their diligent study routines.

Time passed.

By June, as the weather began to heat up, Han Yurim said suddenly, “I want to see the ocean.”

It was a weekday morning, and they still had classes to attend.

Her statement came completely out of the blue. Yet, without any objections, Gajunsik borrowed a car from a friend.

Four hours later, they arrived at a beach on the eastern coast.

Wearing a pure white dress, Han Yurim strolled along the sandy shore as the wind played with her hem.

“Aren’t you hot?” Gajunsik asked.

“I am,” she admitted.

Perhaps growing bored quickly, Han Yurim soon sat beside Gajunsik, gazing blankly at the sea.

Gajunsik got up, walked to a nearby convenience store, and returned with plum-flavored ice cream.

As they ate the ice cream, a silence settled between them.

After a while, Han Yurim broke the quiet.

“I might not be able to see you again,” she said.

“Really?” Gajunsik responded casually.

“My scores didn’t meet expectations, it seems. I heard I’ll be moving to a completely controlled boarding academy where everything is monitored. No outings, no smartphones.”

“You don’t use a smartphone now, anyway,” Gajunsik remarked.

Gajunsik rubbed his forehead. He had expected this, but the predictability of it all made his head throb.

Perhaps Han Yurim felt this was her only chance to share her story, as she began calmly recounting her past.

Han Yurim had an older sister, six years her senior.

Her sister was a true genius.

Not a media-fabricated one, but a genuine prodigy.

She advanced rapidly, so quickly that the media barely had time to notice her.

Without anyone’s assistance, she independently decided to take the high school equivalency exam and secured admission to Korea University.

This happened when she was just a fifth grader.

It was a moment of celebration for Han Yurim’s family.

They boasted about her to the neighborhood, and relatives observed her with a mix of envy and high expectations.

Then came the car accident.

A common tragedy.

From this point, the rest was easy to imagine.

With no outlet for their misplaced hopes, her family redirected all those expectations onto Han Yurim.

To meet those expectations, Han Yurim worked tirelessly, without rest.

Fortunately, she too had a gifted mind, but unfortunately, she wasn’t as extraordinary as her sister.

The expectations, already sky-high, were simply too much for her young, short legs to reach.

“My sister was a peculiar person,” Han Yurim said softly.

Her sister disliked playing and was solely dedicated to academics.

Their parents, inspired by her sister, naturally imposed a rigid and controlled lifestyle on Han Yurim, caring little about whether it suited her or not.

“I see.”

After hearing her story, Gajunsik had nothing to say.

He had too much to say, yet nothing at all.

It wasn’t as if anything he said would matter. His words wouldn’t change a thing.

Still, he asked, “Wasn’t it hard for you?”

At the very least, he felt he could ask this much, as her friend.

Instead of answering, Han Yurim leaned her head gently against his side.

Then, she spoke slowly.

“You feel like you’re thirty years old, Gajunsik.”

“That’s just your imagination.”

“If you got married early, you’d have a daughter my age by now.”

“Even if I were thirty, that’d be impossible. I’d have to marry at twenty to even come close.”

“A little extra effort might have made it happen.”

“Speeding isn’t allowed.”

As Gajunsik attempted to lighten the mood with their banter, Han Yurim added quietly, “… I wish you were my dad.”

Tears streamed down her face.

Unable to hold back, Gajunsik suddenly stood up and extended his pinky finger toward her.

“Let’s make a promise.”

“A promise?”

“Let’s be real. If you go to university as you are now, you’ll end up with no friends. Am I wrong?”

“I can always make new friends.”

“Do you really think that’ll be easy? Instead of taking the hard way, listen to me and take the easier path.”

Han Yurim tilted her head in confusion. Where had the sharp, perceptive girl gone? All that was left was a puzzled child.

Gajunsik declared firmly, “I’m going to get into Korea University this time. Let’s go there together.”

“Do you really think that’s possible?”

“Once you’re a university student, you’ll finally have freedom. If you’re already at Korea University, what can your parents do? Sure, you might have to come home early because you’re still young, but they won’t be able to control your life as a college student. What can they say if you spend your free time playing games or watching anime?”

Looking at her parents, he suspected they might still try to force her into some intense civil service exam prep. But that wasn’t important right now.

What mattered was giving Han Yurim a spark of hope.

“Scared?”

“Daring to provoke me? You’re 100 years too early for that.”

Han Yurim stood abruptly and hooked her pinky finger with his.

“If you don’t make it this time, I’ll graduate ahead of you. Don’t forget that.”

“That’s my line.”

After returning from the beach, Gajunsik narrowly avoided a heated argument with Han Yurim’s father.

The situation was resolved with Yurim’s intervention, speaking in the cold, detached tone likely inherited from her late sister.

From then on, Gajunsik poured everything he had into studying.

He threw his entire soul into it, pushing himself to the point of wondering if he’d ever study this hard again in his life.

July passed, then August, September, and October.

Finally, November arrived—the day of the national college entrance exam.

Gajunsik tackled the exam with all his might. By the time he finished the last subject, he returned home utterly exhausted.

Soon, the answer key was posted online.

With trembling hands, he calculated his estimated score.

There was no need to look at the predicted cutoff scores.

Gajunsik bit his lip.

If he had thought a single year of intense study could make up for 18 years of slacking off, he was terribly mistaken.

Still, his score had improved significantly.

Another year—just one more year of studying—and he could realistically aim for Korea University.

“I can’t support you anymore,” his father said.

“Dad, look at my score improvement! Just one more year, and I can get into Korea University!”

“It’s not happening.”

Asking for his parents’ help was a failure.

His savings were also depleted.

…In the end, reality often turns out this way.

Even determination alone couldn’t solve everything.

Sorry, Yurim.

I couldn’t keep our promise.

Feeling suffocated, Gajunsik let out a deep sigh and began researching the fastest way to enlist in the military. Shortly afterward, he left for his service.

[END?]

Spring came.

Gajunsik, looking noticeably older, stepped onto Gwanak Road.

“So, this actually worked.”

Fueled by determination, he had even managed to improve his scores while in the military.

He used to think only lunatics could pull off such a feat, but now he had become one of them. Life really was full of surprises.

Two years late.

But hey, it wasn’t four years, so maybe this was still within the acceptable range?

Scratching his cheek awkwardly, he felt a bit like a tardy student.

Then he heard it—a now slightly more mature voice that still carried a familiar playfulness.

“You’ve become an old man already. Did you at least go to the military?”

He turned his head to see Han Yurim standing there.

Overcome with joy, Gajunsik shouted, “Hey! You could’ve left me your contact info!”

“I didn’t have a phone. How could I leave anything? If anything, you should’ve left it. Judging by your face, there’s no way you passed. You must be here just to look around.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t passed! What about you?”

“I passed, too.”

Hmm.

Crossing his arms, Gajunsik felt something was off.

“Hey.”

“Spit it out,” Gajunsik prompted.

“If you had passed two years ago, you’d be rubbing it in my face right now about how late I am. But you’re oddly quiet, which means you only passed this time, too, didn’t you?”

“…I’ll have you know that I’m in my second year of middle school this year. Even with this delay, I’m still years ahead of you.”

“You really have a knack for turning my failure into an unnecessarily long speech.”

The thought of being able to watch this little troublemaker navigate university life made him inexplicably happy.

Smiling, Gajunsik asked, “So, how does it feel? Getting into university.”

“Are you asking me?”

“Who else would I be talking to?”

At that, Han Yurim grinned brightly.

“It does feel like life is worth living now.”

[END]

[NO.99: Paternal Love is Still Love]

Gajunsik removed his VR headset and burst into tears.

At the same time, a donation notification appeared:

<User XX donated 10,000 won>

• “Did this guy just return from inside the game?”

The chatroom was abuzz with agreement.

<User YY>: “Thought he was crazy for a second.”
<User ZZ>: “When he tasted that imaginary tteokbokki, I was genuinely thrown off.”
<User WW>: “The immersion in this game is insane. This is the first time I’ve seen a visual novel adapt so naturally to the player’s actions. It felt like stepping into reality LOL.”

“She’s not an NPC… She’s my daughter,” Gajunsik muttered, still unable to distinguish between the game and reality.

Watching this, Han Yurim nodded sagely. “Guess he’s in his 30s now. Makes sense for the tears to start flowing—it’s the age when estrogen levels begin to rise.”

The fact that he had chosen the “Han Yurim” route was remarkable.

The route had been intentionally designed to have a high difficulty level, ensuring only the most dedicated players would achieve it.

Gajunsik, somehow, had managed to clear it on his first try.

To unlock the “Han Yurim” route, one had to build her affection meter while avoiding raising any other heroine’s interest.

Any odd actions, such as recklessly confronting Han Yurim’s parents to demand her freedom, would result in immediate failure.

Somehow, Gajunsik navigated this minefield flawlessly.

For a top-tier streamer at the pinnacle of the industry, this level of gameplay skill wasn’t surprising.

Not only did he complete the route, but he also managed to keep Yurim so immersed that she questioned if there was a glitch in the system and conducted three inspections.

This was a beta test that exceeded expectations. Though it was a shame he didn’t experience any of the bad endings due to his impeccable choices, Yurim was impressed enough to send him a generous donation.

<Han Yurim donated 100,000 won>

• “Your skills are remarkable. Though there’s still one more ‘Han Yurim’ route left. To unlock it, you’ll have to clear the other 98 routes first. I recommend pacing yourself and taking your time.”

The donation also included a note of concern.

It was hard not to worry about someone who played the game nonstop for 16 hours without even taking a bathroom break.

“Please take care of your health while gaming. Thank you.”