Episode 10 – The Tutor and the Tornado

Episode 10 – The Tutor and the Tornado

Outside, the morning air was dry and strangely still, as though the world were waiting to breathe. Kim Do-hyun (김도현) stood at the bus stop in his plain sneakers, feeling the heat of the asphalt beneath his feet. He had two phones in his hands. One was the battered old Android he played games on, which now was the property of the clone. The other was his real phone. The actual one. His lifeline. His stress. His chain to the wild world beyond.

It buzzed.

He glanced at the screen and saw the name: Oh Deok-su (오덕수).

The warehouse manager. The person who gave him this insane tutoring job because he saw his so-called genius.

His thumb glided over the screen, and he responded with a sluggish, "Hello?"

["You free right now? Come and teach my daughter. She's home."]

Do-hyun paused. He looked up at the sun as though it had offended him. "Right now?"

["Yeah, right now. She's being difficult again. Come fix her."]

He heaved a sigh. He was tender after yesterday. His shoulders were made of bricks dipped in cement. However, when a man is out of cash and there is someone waving 200,000 won an hour in front of his face like candy, he does not get to complain.

"I will be there in twenty," he replied.

He came to a small, two-story house hidden between a row of silent houses. There were lace curtains in the windows, and little wind chimes tinkled on the porch. It was not rich-rich, but the sort of place where people had matching dishes and more than one type of shampoo in the bathroom.

He heard it as he walked up the steps.

Voices.

Loud ones.

"Why do I have to study? I don't even like this stuff! I told you, I want to focus on sword training instead!"

That was a girl. Young. Sharp. Angry.

A deeper voice—Deok-su's—tried to cut in, but it was like throwing water at a forest fire.

"You don't get it, Dad! I don't care if he's smart! I don't want some nerd babysitting me like I'm dumb!"

Then—

BAM.

The door flung open violently.

And straight into Do-hyun's face.

Pain exploded in his nose, blooming like a flower made of broken glass. He stumbled backward with a yelp, his hands flying to his face.

"Aaagggh—!"

He landed on his butt, knees folded weird, bag flopping beside him. His phone skidded across the porch tiles.

"Oops."

A soft voice now. Meek.

He looked up through watery eyes and saw her.

A girl crouched on the wooden floor, her hand covering her mouth in shock. She had shoulder-length black hair and eyes that couldn't decide whether to glare or apologize.

This was Oh Min-joo (오민주), the daughter. The storm.

"You okay?" she asked quietly, her face turning a shade of red that could rival a tomato.

Do-hyun sat up, wiped his nose, and winced. "Are you… Miss Ha-yeon?"

She blinked. "Huh? No, I'm Min-joo."

"…Right."

Behind her, a woman peeked out from the hallway—Min-joo's mother. She had that look all tired moms had. A permanent sigh etched into her eyebrows.

"I'm so sorry about that," she said, stepping over the chaos. "She's been acting out since morning. Wouldn't touch a book. But now? Ever since she heard you were coming…"

She leaned closer, a whisper laced with mischief. "She suddenly got very interested in studying."

Min-joo's ears turned red. "M-Mom!"

Do-hyun brushed dust off his pants and stood up slowly, his pride more injured than his face. He glanced over at the girl again. Still red-faced. Still looking anywhere but at him.

He cleared his throat. "Alright, let's get this over with."

He walked into the house, passed the family photos, the big fish tank bubbling quietly by the wall, and entered the living room.

Min-joo followed like a silent shadow.

They sat across from each other at a small table covered in books, pens, and some scribbled notes that looked like they were written by someone having a panic attack.

Do-hyun placed his hands flat on the table.

"Show me your grades," he said bluntly.

"Huh?"

"I want to see the disaster I'm supposed to fix."

Her jaw dropped.

Even her mom blinked in surprise.

Straight to the point. No sugar-coating. No baby talk.

Min-joo slowly pulled out her report card from her backpack and handed it over.

--