Lead Music Professor, creating a small stream...
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Writer 최고관리자 Date 26-10-27 20:07 Hit 4 Comment 0Body
The lead professor is giving a long explanation in front of us.
She grumbles about the process of assigning grades.
"In the end, no matter what I do, it’s always Mr. OO who ends up getting scolded..."
She uses an eraser to wipe away the pencil marks she had made on the grade sheet.
It turns out she is responsible for 1,102 students—these are music grade reports.
She seems to be venting to me and two or three friends standing nearby.
As I watch her, I see her face up close. She is beautiful.
My heart begins to race; I feel a strong attraction.
Before I know it, I’m no longer listening to her explanation—I’m captivated by her beauty.
Even though she is older than me, I find myself thinking about becoming her lover.
"Well, wouldn't it be better to be with someone who hasn't had to visit a psychiatrist?"
A friend standing next to me remarks.
Behind the professor, I see a door—an entrance. Wait, this is actually a male student’s off-campus room.
The professor is speaking to us from inside this room.
She looks like the actress Zhang Yuqi—the one who played a powerful, formidable character in *Swordsman II* (Dongfang Bubai).
I like her. I’m drawn to her immense capability, her maturity, and her beautiful face.
My heart is stirred with a deep sense of attraction.
...
There is a rock from which spring water flows.
It stands about chest-high;
the base is solid rock, while the upper part consists of loess (yellow soil) or some softer, more delicate material.
Water trickles across the surface and flows downward.
The water flows with a gentle, murmuring sound. I want to change the path of the flowing water.
Using a wooden stick, I press into the yellowish-brown soil about a hand’s span below the current flow, redirecting the water’s course.
The water, which had been spreading across the surface, now gathers at a single point—much like water flowing from a small, opened tap—and pours down in a steady stream, like a jet of urine.
"Wow... it worked!" I think to myself. "I could hold a bottle under this stream and collect the water."
I feel a small surge of joy. Just moments ago, I was watching the water flow across the surface, unable to capture it—but now, by shifting its path, I’ve created a concentrated stream.
"Did you touch this?"
My mother, who is standing nearby, asks.
The spot I altered was where a small figurine—a sculpture of an adult—had been placed.
That is why she asks, sounding surprised.
...
It is a house in the countryside, built of cement.
I am living here as a tenant.
Outside, a storm rages, and a flood is surging in.
Yet, the house I am in remains safe.
I check to see if rainwater is running down the walls from the roof.
Because the walls are made of cement, they remain perfectly intact.
Could the rainwater soak in and cause cracks later? I carefully inspect the corners of the walls and the floor.
To my surprise, both the floor and the walls are sturdy—completely sound.
...
I hand over five tasks—things I had been managing and focusing on—to someone else.
These tasks are represented as rectangular, box-like shapes.
I pass them on to a junior colleague—though this person holds a high-ranking position.
Now that I’ve handed these responsibilities over, I can step away completely.
And yet, I find myself still thinking about them. I really should just stop concerning myself with this...
...
It’s a veterinary clinic—the one I used to run.
A customer arrives to pick up a dog that had been left for grooming.
"Hmm... how much should I charge?"
I ask the customer, then glance at the ledger on the counter.
It’s packed with records of payments received.
These are from yesterday—or perhaps from some past operation.
I head to the grooming area in the back to check the groomer’s log; the costs should be noted there.
Not entirely sure what the fee ought to be,
I simply accept whatever the customer offers. Since we’re acquainted, it’s fine if it’s a little less.
A tall, young man walks in—a new customer, looking to buy some pet supplies.
I start searching for the items he needs.
It was a small clinic, and it never really did that well back in the day.
Now, after all these years, I’m running it again—but this time, I wonder: if I take a more aggressive approach—pushing for more surgeries—could I actually make some real money?
That old, hollow feeling—the one I used to get when there were hardly any customers—comes rushing back.
...
It’s getting dark; evening has set in.
I’ve been outside, and now I’m heading into a classroom.
It’s nearly 6:00 PM.
I must have been doing something else outdoors before coming in.
There are two long poles resting by the classroom entrance.
"What are these for?" I wonder, as I step through the doorway.
Two or three classmates from another group walk in behind me, moving down the darkened hallway.
They head off to their own classrooms.
I enter my own, where a lesson is already in full swing.
It’s math class, and everyone is completely absorbed in memorizing what’s written on the blackboard. Oh, wait—the position of the blackboard has changed.
It’s now mounted at the back of the room.
During this final session, my classmates are busy memorizing math formulas and other material.
I decide that, this time, I’m truly going to commit—I’ll buckle down and study math properly, using the *Jeongseok* (standard math textbook) series as my guide.
I follow my classmates up to the front, where the teacher is standing.
"Alright, listen up: memorize this stuff—all of it—and recite it back to me before you head out."
Ah... so this is how the teacher decides who gets to go home.
"A, B, C, D..."
The teacher writes a formula on the blackboard. Everyone around me seems to grasp it, but...
I’ve been outside for the entire duration of the lesson, so I have no idea what’s going on. I can’t make heads or tails of it.
Having to memorize all of this... it feels completely overwhelming. I don’t even know where to begin.
She grumbles about the process of assigning grades.
"In the end, no matter what I do, it’s always Mr. OO who ends up getting scolded..."
She uses an eraser to wipe away the pencil marks she had made on the grade sheet.
It turns out she is responsible for 1,102 students—these are music grade reports.
She seems to be venting to me and two or three friends standing nearby.
As I watch her, I see her face up close. She is beautiful.
My heart begins to race; I feel a strong attraction.
Before I know it, I’m no longer listening to her explanation—I’m captivated by her beauty.
Even though she is older than me, I find myself thinking about becoming her lover.
"Well, wouldn't it be better to be with someone who hasn't had to visit a psychiatrist?"
A friend standing next to me remarks.
Behind the professor, I see a door—an entrance. Wait, this is actually a male student’s off-campus room.
The professor is speaking to us from inside this room.
She looks like the actress Zhang Yuqi—the one who played a powerful, formidable character in *Swordsman II* (Dongfang Bubai).
I like her. I’m drawn to her immense capability, her maturity, and her beautiful face.
My heart is stirred with a deep sense of attraction.
...
There is a rock from which spring water flows.
It stands about chest-high;
the base is solid rock, while the upper part consists of loess (yellow soil) or some softer, more delicate material.
Water trickles across the surface and flows downward.
The water flows with a gentle, murmuring sound. I want to change the path of the flowing water.
Using a wooden stick, I press into the yellowish-brown soil about a hand’s span below the current flow, redirecting the water’s course.
The water, which had been spreading across the surface, now gathers at a single point—much like water flowing from a small, opened tap—and pours down in a steady stream, like a jet of urine.
"Wow... it worked!" I think to myself. "I could hold a bottle under this stream and collect the water."
I feel a small surge of joy. Just moments ago, I was watching the water flow across the surface, unable to capture it—but now, by shifting its path, I’ve created a concentrated stream.
"Did you touch this?"
My mother, who is standing nearby, asks.
The spot I altered was where a small figurine—a sculpture of an adult—had been placed.
That is why she asks, sounding surprised.
...
It is a house in the countryside, built of cement.
I am living here as a tenant.
Outside, a storm rages, and a flood is surging in.
Yet, the house I am in remains safe.
I check to see if rainwater is running down the walls from the roof.
Because the walls are made of cement, they remain perfectly intact.
Could the rainwater soak in and cause cracks later? I carefully inspect the corners of the walls and the floor.
To my surprise, both the floor and the walls are sturdy—completely sound.
...
I hand over five tasks—things I had been managing and focusing on—to someone else.
These tasks are represented as rectangular, box-like shapes.
I pass them on to a junior colleague—though this person holds a high-ranking position.
Now that I’ve handed these responsibilities over, I can step away completely.
And yet, I find myself still thinking about them. I really should just stop concerning myself with this...
...
It’s a veterinary clinic—the one I used to run.
A customer arrives to pick up a dog that had been left for grooming.
"Hmm... how much should I charge?"
I ask the customer, then glance at the ledger on the counter.
It’s packed with records of payments received.
These are from yesterday—or perhaps from some past operation.
I head to the grooming area in the back to check the groomer’s log; the costs should be noted there.
Not entirely sure what the fee ought to be,
I simply accept whatever the customer offers. Since we’re acquainted, it’s fine if it’s a little less.
A tall, young man walks in—a new customer, looking to buy some pet supplies.
I start searching for the items he needs.
It was a small clinic, and it never really did that well back in the day.
Now, after all these years, I’m running it again—but this time, I wonder: if I take a more aggressive approach—pushing for more surgeries—could I actually make some real money?
That old, hollow feeling—the one I used to get when there were hardly any customers—comes rushing back.
...
It’s getting dark; evening has set in.
I’ve been outside, and now I’m heading into a classroom.
It’s nearly 6:00 PM.
I must have been doing something else outdoors before coming in.
There are two long poles resting by the classroom entrance.
"What are these for?" I wonder, as I step through the doorway.
Two or three classmates from another group walk in behind me, moving down the darkened hallway.
They head off to their own classrooms.
I enter my own, where a lesson is already in full swing.
It’s math class, and everyone is completely absorbed in memorizing what’s written on the blackboard. Oh, wait—the position of the blackboard has changed.
It’s now mounted at the back of the room.
During this final session, my classmates are busy memorizing math formulas and other material.
I decide that, this time, I’m truly going to commit—I’ll buckle down and study math properly, using the *Jeongseok* (standard math textbook) series as my guide.
I follow my classmates up to the front, where the teacher is standing.
"Alright, listen up: memorize this stuff—all of it—and recite it back to me before you head out."
Ah... so this is how the teacher decides who gets to go home.
"A, B, C, D..."
The teacher writes a formula on the blackboard. Everyone around me seems to grasp it, but...
I’ve been outside for the entire duration of the lesson, so I have no idea what’s going on. I can’t make heads or tails of it.
Having to memorize all of this... it feels completely overwhelming. I don’t even know where to begin.
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