The Best of Tomorrow-Chapter 1Vol 3. : Side Story - Spring

On the first day of the new semester, Baek In-hyeok, now in a different class than Seon-jae for their second year, looked like he was about to cry the moment he stepped through the school gate. Just before entering his classroom, he even let out a whimper like an animal being dragged into a pen.

“Hey, see you during break.”

In-hyeok said pitifully, standing at the classroom door, but Seon-jae just walked indifferently down the hallway into his classroom. When the bell rang to signal the end of first period, In-hyeok threw open the front door of Seon-jae’s classroom, shouting, “Ryu Seon-jae!”

“Ryu Seon-jae, let’s go to the snack bar.” 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Seon-jae, who had just closed his textbook, placed his palm on top of it and looked at In-hyeok. His shirt collar was loose—two buttons undone, no tie. In-hyeok, one hand stuffed in his pocket, knocked on Seon-jae’s desk with a fist and jerked his chin toward the hallway. It was like he was inviting him to walk the glorious road to the snack bar together. Seon-jae, silently staring at In-hyeok’s face, picked up his textbook and tucked it into his desk drawer.

“I’ve got PE next. Go by yourself.”

Seon-jae stood and headed toward his locker. In-hyeok pouted and shuffled out of the classroom.

Second period lasted a full fifty minutes. Seon-jae ran around the field chasing a soccer ball while In-hyeok sat in class, aimlessly underlining things in his textbook, waiting for the bell to ring.

When the bell finally rang, In-hyeok, who had been twirling his pen in his fingers, finally looked up at the blackboard. Students poured out the classroom door into the empty hallway, and In-hyeok joined the crowd. He came back with a corn bread roll in hand, having gone to the snack bar alone during break.

He loitered near Seon-jae’s classroom, now empty due to PE. When students in PE uniforms returned, In-hyeok seized the moment to sneak in and sit at Seon-jae’s desk. When Seon-jae returned and saw In-hyeok sprawled at his desk, he let out a breathy chuckle.

“Why do you keep showing up when you’ve got nothing to say?”

“When did we ever meet up because we had something to say?”

Seon-jae took off his PE jacket and laid it on the desk. Then he nudged In-hyeok’s shoulder. A silent demand to move out of his seat and go back to his own. In-hyeok pouted again but gave up the seat.

Seon-jae sat down and pulled a notebook from his drawer, fanning himself with it. His hair fluttered with each wave of air. He was flushed from playing soccer. In-hyeok turned his chair around and pointed at the crumpled PE jacket on the desk.

“Aren’t you going to write your name on it?”

“Why would I do that?”

“You keep losing it because you don’t.”

About a month after starting high school, both Seon-jae and In-hyeok had their PE uniforms stolen. At first, they thought someone had taken them by mistake, but even the replacements got stolen.

“Who the hell just takes someone else’s stuff?” In-hyeok had muttered as he scribbled his name all over his PE top and bottom—so much that there wasn’t a bare spot left. Since then, his uniform had stayed safe. But Seon-jae, who never labeled his clothes, lost his again.

Eventually, In-hyeok, unable to watch this anymore, took a marker and wrote Seon-jae’s name in huge letters on his PE jacket. That finally seemed to solve the problem—until winter break of first year. Seon-jae brought the uniform home to wash it, and when his mother saw the giant scribbles, she tossed it out, calling it an eyesore. Seon-jae had to buy a new one again when second year began.

In-hyeok turned around and looked over the desk. A fabric pencil case lay open—it belonged to the student who sat in front of Seon-jae. In-hyeok pulled out a black permanent marker and handed it to Seon-jae.

“Here. Write your name.”

Seon-jae stared at the marker for a moment before taking it and scrawling his name on the back of his PE jacket. In-hyeok propped up his elbow on Seon-jae’s desk and his chin on his hand, clucking his tongue at the messy, worm-like handwriting.

“Your handwriting seriously sucks.”

Just as Seon-jae was about to put the cap back on, he waved the marker close to In-hyeok’s face. In-hyeok scowled and bolted out of his seat.

After third period, In-hyeok popped into Seon-jae’s classroom with two green grape candies in his mouth. After fourth period, he opened the classroom window and shouted, “Ryu Seon-jae, let’s go eat!”

Seon-jae had grown tired of responding to In-hyeok’s constant appearances during break, but today, hearing his voice felt oddly welcome—especially with a group of girls surrounding him. His head turned sharply toward the window. The girls, just about to confess something, grimaced in defeat.

“Oh! You’re having lunch with Seon-jae? Then I’ll step back. Don’t mind me, finish what you were saying. Our Seon-jae should start dating, too.”

In-hyeok waved his hands and shut the window, walking off quickly but gently, as if cheering Seon-jae on in love. Seon-jae, following him down the stairs, slung an arm around In-hyeok’s neck and tightened it.

“You show up every break, but you’re eating lunch without me?”

“Gack—hey, I can’t breathe!”

“Say one more dumb thing.”

“Mercy!”

In-hyeok slapped Seon-jae’s arm in a panic.

□ ◆ □

After returning their dinner trays, the two of them crossed the field. In-hyeok squinted and said his new desk partner kept glancing at him weirdly all day. Seon-jae laughed at that.

A ball someone had kicked rolled their way but didn’t go far—it landed right in front of them. Seon-jae looked up at the person who had kicked it. They weren’t running over to retrieve it, just standing still. His gaze dropped to the ball at his feet. He struck the center of the ball with the top of his foot. It flew far and slipped clean into the goal’s corner.

“...Huh?”

In-hyeok stared dumbfounded in the direction the ball had gone. The kid guarding the goal started clapping. Seon-jae, hands in his pockets, walked off expressionless, as if it was no big deal.

They left the school gate and strolled down a gentle slope. At a McDonald’s near the main road, they each grabbed an ice cream cone.

“I bought ice cream, so you’re paying for the arcade karaoke.”

Seon-jae scoffed at In-hyeok’s demand, exhaling with disbelief.

“That’s real generous of you.”

He shook the cone in his hand. Grinning, In-hyeok darted into the arcade.

The interior was dim, flickering with the glow of game machines. Past the arcade cabinets, a row of small square karaoke booths sat in the back. In-hyeok dragged Seon-jae into one with the door open.

Shoving the rest of his ice cream into his mouth, In-hyeok grabbed the remote with cheeks puffed like a squirrel. He typed in a number and hit the start button. The screen lit up with a title, and the intro music played.

Leaning against the wall, Seon-jae silently watched the lyrics scroll across the screen while finishing his ice cream. In-hyeok had chosen a sad ballad. But before even finishing the first verse, he hit cancel.

“Why? You were going full throttle just now.”

In-hyeok shook his head.

“I’m a hip-hop guy, after all.”

Seon-jae let out a snort of laughter. It was true that he preferred hip-hop to ballads, but Seon-jae figured the real reason he’d bailed on the song was because he’d missed the high note.

While Seon-jae quietly flipped through the karaoke songbook, muffled singing leaked through the wall from the next room. In-hyeok, twirling the mic in his hand, perked up his ears. A clear, soaring female voice rang out.

“Hey, isn’t this your go-to song?”

Seon-jae looked up. The voice was singing a song he’d practically lived with in first year. By fall, In-hyeok had begged him with clasped hands to please sing something else before his ears started bleeding. It was originally a male singer’s song, but the voice now was a girl’s—singing in a higher key.

“Hey, Ryu Seon-jae. This is that song you’re fucking good at. Come on, crush it. Huh? It’s a showdown.”

Before Seon-jae could even respond, Baek In-hyeok was already hyped up like someone had just thrown down a gauntlet. He grabbed the remote and punched in the number.

“I haven’t even picked a song yet,” Seon-jae mumbled, but his voice got buried under the instrumental intro. In-hyeok handed over the mic with a firm nod, like: Go beat the person singing that same song. Show them who’s boss.

“What are you even talking about? What do you mean, ‘crush’...”

In-hyeok shook the mic like he was ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ telling him to just shut up and take it already. So Seon-jae took it—though he still didn’t understand why he had to sing the same song the girl in the next room was singing. In-hyeok clenched his fist and gave a little pump in the air like he was cheering Seon-jae on from the sidelines.

Letting out a helpless laugh, Seon-jae looked up at the screen and waited.

“Ryu Seon-jae, show them what you’ve got.”

He leaned his head back against the wall and waited for the lyrics. As soon as the intro ended, he began the first verse.

They sang a few more songs and then stepped out of the arcade. On the stairs, Baek In-hyeok bounced down like a kid and suddenly said, “Hey, doesn’t it smell like rain?” And just as they reached the last step—there it was: pouring rain drenching everything in sight.

“You jinxed it, Baek In-hyeok.”

Seon-jae, one hand in the pocket of his uniform slacks, tilted his head up toward the sky. The clouds were dark and low, a perfect setup for a sudden downpour. Raindrops blown by the wind stung their faces, and In-hyeok grimaced.

“Did you bring an umbrella?”

“Nope.”

“Dude, why do you walk around with no umbrella?”

“Do you have one?”

“Of course not.”

In-hyeok looked way too proud about that.

“Then why are you giving me shit?”

“I just figured perfect Ryu Seon-jae would have everything on him—including an umbrella. Oh, wait. That’s right. You don’t even have a girlfriend.”

“You’ve been talking a lot more crap since second year started.”

Grinning, In-hyeok lifted his shoulders in a smug shrug. Seon-jae shook his head and glanced around to see if there was anywhere nearby where they could buy an umbrella.

Just then, two girls in uniforms from another school were standing under a short, stretched-out canvas awning. One of the girls, her long hair tied high, was facing Seon-jae. Their eyes met for a second, and she quickly turned her head away.

The smell of rain hung thick in the air. The pounding of raindrops on the pavement was loud and heavy. The wet leaves drooped under their own weight, barely hanging onto branches. Water pooled in the spaces between sidewalk tiles, and when the wind blew, the slanting rain scattered in all directions, drifting toward the four of them huddled against the wall.

“Oh man, what if it doesn’t stop raining?”

“Looks like it might let up soon. You’ve got academy today, right?”

The girl with the paint kit slung over her shoulder gave a nod. In her right hand was a canvas wrapped in cotton. The name tag on her chest read: Lee Hyeon-joo. Beside her, another girl stared up at the sky while chewing nervously on her lip. Then she yanked her hoodie up and pulled the drawstrings tight.

“What, you’re just gonna run for it?”

Hyeon-joo asked, and the girl with the hood gave a nod.

“I’ll go buy an umbrella. Wait here.”

“Hey, don’t—!”

Before she could grab her bag, the girl darted out from under the awning. Watching her go, Baek In-hyeok reached for Seon-jae’s neck.

“What, why.”

“I was just wondering if you’re not wearing a hoodie.”

Seon-jae shoved In-hyeok with his elbow. In-hyeok shrank back, pressing in close to Seon-jae like he was trying to avoid the rain.

A few moments later, the girl reappeared, walking through the heavy rain with an umbrella over her head. Her gray hoodie was soaked dark with rain. Just then, a motorcycle zipped past, hitting a huge puddle dead-on. Seon-jae’s mouth opened.

“Oh—”

The motorcycle’s wheels rolled right through the puddle, and the splash rose like a wave, soaking the girl from head to toe. Her pink socks, pulled up to the ankle, and her shoes and uniform were all drenched. In-hyeok muttered, “God, that biker’s a total asshole.”

Hyeon-joo shouted, “Sol-ah!”

The girl—now under the umbrella—flashed a tight-lipped grin and kept walking.

“Hey, Im Sol. You’re soaked.”

Hyeon-joo brushed at the wet fabric of her uniform with her hand.

“Umbrellas are stupid expensive. I couldn’t afford two, so I just got one.”

“And that’s why you ran into the rain?”

Sol tilted the umbrella toward Hyeon-joo, who stepped under it and slipped her arm through Sol’s. She clutched the canvas tight to her chest. Seon-jae stared silently at Im Sol’s face beneath the umbrella. She glanced at him briefly as she turned to walk, but when their eyes met, she quickly looked away.

Her gaze fixed downward, Sol caught sight of Seon-jae’s shoes in the edge of her vision. The hem of his gray school pants—cut neatly to his ankles—was slightly damp with splashes from the wet pavement. As the two under the umbrella passed by the two standing near the building, Sol thought she caught the faint scent of lilacs.

“Wait, Sol—hold up. My shoelace came undone.”

Hyeon-joo handed her the canvas. Sol took it and stood still, waiting while Hyeon-joo crouched down. Standing right beside them were two tall boys, and her eyes flicked toward them before she even realized it.

Baek In-hyeok looked around, wondering if they should grab a newspaper or something to cover their heads. The rain had started to lighten. Seon-jae extended his hand, gauging the rain by how the drops landed in his palm. Plop. Plop. The drops hit gently.

He looked up. The clouds were slowly thinning, and the gloomy sky was beginning to shift to blue.

“This much? We can walk through it.”

Hyeon-joo stood up, finished tying her laces, and held out her hand. Sol returned the canvas to her and looked at the sky. The storm clouds were drifting away, the sunlight breaking through. A faint smile spread across Sol’s face. Then she turned to Hyeon-joo and murmured softly:

“Let’s go.”

Raindrops clung to the petals of roadside daffodils. The blooming forsythia, shaking in a sudden spring breeze, trembled as though waving toward the coming season.

When they reached the bus stop, Im Sol realized she’d left her MP3 player in the karaoke booth. Ah, shit. Hyeon-joo’s bus pulled in, and Sol waved her off. As soon as the bus departed, she spun around and rushed back toward the arcade.

Thankfully, the karaoke booth they’d used—after pouring in a heap of coins and singing their hearts out—was empty. The MP3, its earbuds tightly wound around it, was sitting right where they’d left it on the chair against the wall. Sol stepped in, picked it up, and turned to leave—only to be bumped by the sudden appearance of other students outside, their backpacks slamming into the door as it shut with a bang.

“...Huh, what the—”

A few students had stopped directly in front of the booth she was in. One of them was leaning back against the door, so she couldn’t open it. She could’ve shoved hard enough to force it open, but something about the mood outside made her hesitate.

One of the girls blocking the door was short, and over her head Sol could see a tall boy—one of the two who had been standing under the arcade awning earlier. He looked awkward, like he was stuck trying to leave but couldn’t.

Seon-jae had come back to the arcade after realizing he’d left his phone in his pocket, but not on him. He’d said they could just walk through the rain, but the rain had picked up again, and In-hyeok, soaked and irritable, told him he’d wait at the convenience store, so go quickly and come back.

Unfortunately, the booth they’d sung in was now occupied—by girls wearing Jagam High School uniforms. One of them had confessed to Baek In-hyeok three times last year and got rejected all three times. The other had recently dug around asking Seon-jae’s friends for his number and started texting him constantly.

“Seon-jae, why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“I don’t pick up numbers I don’t know.”

“You didn’t save my number?”

“...No, I didn’t.”

“Why? Why not?”

“...Didn’t think I’d need to.”

“That’s harsh, Seon-jae. We go to the same school.”

Sol hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but with the booths mostly empty, the conversation from just outside filtered through. If she stayed put, it’d look like she was deliberately listening in. She quietly curled her fingers into a fist and knocked on the door.

Knock knock. No response from the back pressed against the door. But then, Seon-jae caught sight of the movement and spoke up.

“There’s someone behind you.”

The girl standing at the door glanced behind her. She gave Sol a sharp once-over through the glass, then stepped aside. Sol shrank under the weight of that look, lowered her head, and slipped out quickly. Gripping the MP3 tightly in her hand, she hurried away. But as she took a few steps down the stairs and saw the rain still pouring outside, her heart sank.

“...Shit. I left my umbrella.”

Her face immediately twisted into a grimace. Should I just walk through it? No way I’m going back in there. She sighed and slumped her shoulders—only for an umbrella to suddenly nudge into her line of vision.

Wide-eyed, she turned her head. It was the boy from earlier.

“...Oh. Th-thank you.”

Sol accepted the umbrella that Seon-jae handed her and bowed her head slightly. He gave a small nod and started walking ahead.

She stood there in a daze, watching his back retreat into the drizzling rain. Then, belatedly, she opened the umbrella and stepped out into the downpour. A glance at her watch widened her eyes. Crap, I’m going to be late. She adjusted her grip on the umbrella and broke into a jog.

As her quickening footsteps splashed through puddles, Seon-jae saw her from behind. Her figure filled his field of vision—her back moving farther ahead of him. Each step she took kicked up water, a rhythm of small, determined leaps forward.

On that single road, Seon-jae and Im Sol walked side by side in parallel. On the same line. A straight line, unbent and unwavering.

Someday, time would tilt. The world would unravel into something unpredictable. But in that future, one person’s blind devotion would become a variable—a catalyst that would turn a fleeting emotion into inevitable fate.

Toward that day.

Toward the tomorrow where they’d meet.