“The third Class Engraving?”
“Yes.”
“…You’re going to do a Class Engraving?”
The teacher asked back as if he had misheard. Meeting the gazes that clearly didn’t understand him, Sihyeon reached to the back of his neck and dug his nails in. His eyes rolled, briefly scanning the ship before returning. Despite that fleeting hesitation, the eyes he met again hadn’t changed.
No—if anything, there was something else mixed in besides surprise.
Something like guilt.
“…Do you think, perhaps, that you were dragged into the sea because you were weak?”
The question was heavy with remorse. It wasn’t entirely wrong, but that wasn’t the real reason he wanted to do this.
Facing their lowered gazes, Sihyeon pressed his lips together, choosing his words carefully. People take criticism deeper than praise.
“No.”
“Then…?”
“Because I don’t like it.”
“…What?”
The teacher looked momentarily shocked, as if unsure how to interpret that. Seeing the confusion spread across his stiff expression, Sihyeon realized he hadn’t included a subject in his sentence.
Maybe that omission had been unconscious. Like a form of self-defense. Because if he said it out loud, certain memories would surface.
“…….”
His blue eyes sank deeply, like something drowning.
It felt like being submerged in the ocean. As if a noose were tightening around his throat, his breathing slowly became constricted. Sihyeon raised a hand and touched his neck.
There was no way he wouldn’t know what trauma felt like.
It was something that clung to his life like a leech, refusing to fall away. Something utterly exhausting.
Just when he thought he had overcome one, another appeared. He would flinch at the sight of a truck, and now, water.
How long had he even lived? Not even 24 years, and yet it felt like he had gone through everything.
Drawing in a breath through his nose, Sihyeon finally felt like he could breathe again.
“…I don’t want to develop more trauma.”
Even though he tried to say it as calmly as possible, the teachers let out soft sighs. As if they had all agreed beforehand, they wore similar expressions.
Seeing the pity in their eyes, Sihyeon swallowed a sigh. The uncomfortable atmosphere made him fidget with his hands, until one of the teachers who had been silent for a while finally spoke.
“Then… are you planning to engrave a mental-type class?”
“No.”
“…Hm?”
They had naturally assumed it would be mental-type, so they tilted their heads in confusion at his firm denial.
Sihyeon turned his gaze toward the window—then frowned. At some point, the blinds had been drawn, blocking the view of the sea.
Whoever had done that must have been worried.
No—everyone here seemed to be.
Suddenly becoming someone fragile who needed constant care, Sihyeon let out a hollow laugh. It reminded him of the first day of Class Engraving, when he had told the Principal that he had a weak body.
He had thought he was fairly healthy—just a bit thin from not eating properly. But somehow, he felt like he was becoming more and more frail.
Words really do have power.
Muttering to himself after that brief thought, Sihyeon stared at the covered window before slowly speaking.
“I want to engrave an Elemental class.”
“…….”
“Water.”
In the silence that fell over the cabin, Sihyeon drove the point home.
A moment later, the teachers, startled, tried to dissuade him. Haru joined in as well. As if he thought Sihyeon was made of paper, he worried out loud—what if Sihyeon kept collapsing every other day after engraving an Elemental class?
Calming Haru’s ridiculous concern, Sihyeon looked back at the flustered teachers. He didn’t think he needed to calm them too.
“…Sihyeon, Class Engraving is something you have to think very carefully about. If you engrave incorrectly and end up unable to use one of your abilities, it would be a huge loss.”
“I’ve thought it through.”
“You could also receive treatment through counseling, you know?”
Their voices were full of concern, clearly dissatisfied with his decision. Perhaps it was because someone with a Quadruple choosing a class he might not even be able to use felt like a waste.
It was his class, yet they seemed more greedy about it than he was.
After considering the suggestion, Sihyeon shook his head. If he had wanted counseling, he wouldn’t have suggested engraving in the first place.
“I don’t want counseling.”
“Then—”
“Just let him do it.”
A voice cut through the drawn-out discussion.
It was Luce, now seated as if he had claimed a spot. He spoke briskly, then smiled with curved eyes as he looked at Sihyeon.
The gaze practically came with a subtext: Well, would you look at this one?
“He looks stubborn enough. Why not just let him?”
“…….”
“It’s not your life anyway—it’s the sprout’s life.”
Where did he even get that nickname?
They hadn’t even known each other long—why was he handing out pet names?
Though grateful for the support, Sihyeon shot him a look asking him to fix the nickname. Luce, still talking to the teachers while watching Sihyeon, let out a chuckle.
“If it works out or if he regrets it—that’s on him. Not something you all should be arguing over.”
After all, you’re partly the reason.
At that blunt remark, the teachers fell silent.
Sihyeon parted his lips, watching Luce take over the persuasion in a way that pressed down on them with guilt. His way of speaking was truly awful.
Even Lee Hamin had at least a shred of tact compared to this.
Maybe he’s what Hamin will be like as an adult.
Thinking that, Sihyeon turned to look at Hamin. For a moment, Luce’s face overlapped with his.
He frowned.
As if mirrored, Hamin frowned back at the same time.
After exchanging glances among themselves, the teachers finally let out reluctant sighs.
“You won’t regret this?”
“No.”
“And you’ve thought it through carefully?”
“Yes.”
“…Class Engraving can be conducted at the school, so think it over until then.”
“Thank you.”
In the end, the teachers raised the white flag. Letting out a breath, Sihyeon leaned back against the bed—then felt a pillow slip behind his lower back. He lifted his head.
“If you just sit like that, your back will hurt.”
Seowoo spoke gently, smiling as he sat on the bed.
The teachers left to finish their work, and Luce stretched out on the sofa, settling in as if he belonged there. Watching him, Sihyeon soon felt the intense stares of Class A focused entirely on him.
His eyes rolled slightly.
He had already apologized for everything earlier—did he seriously have to do it again?
As the silence dragged on and the others continued staring, Sihyeon finally opened his mouth—
Just as the teachers reentered.
“We’ve sorted the cabins into usable and unusable ones. They’ve been divided into male and female rooms. Except for Student Dawoon and Student Jihye, the remaining six can sleep in this room, so the two of you, please gather your belongings and move.”
It seemed the situation had finally been resolved. At the teacher’s words, Dawoon and Jihye, who had been watching Sihyeon until the very end, turned and slowly left the room.
Sihyeon watched them briefly, then shifted his gaze to someone who clearly wasn’t included among the six staying.
“Why?”
“You’re sleeping here?”
“Then where else would I sleep?”
“How would I know?”
Why are you asking me? I’m not in charge.
Muttering under his breath, Sihyeon calmly looked at Luce as if he hadn’t said anything. Luce laughed incredulously, propping his feet on the armrest of the sofa and waving his hand dismissively.
“I’ll sleep wherever. Worry about your friends instead. Looks like one of the girls wants to kill me.”
“…….”
He didn’t need to name her.
Sihyeon could guess exactly who he meant.
With an ambiguous expression, Sihyeon nodded, staring at the door Dawoon had exited through before looking back around him.
Before, only Seowoo had been sitting on the bed.
Now, four more had joined.
They sat in a circle around him, their gazes pressing in from all sides. Sihyeon slouched slightly. The pillow behind his back was soft, but the stares were not.
“What is it, seriously?”
“A humanoid Irregular that lives in the sea.”
“…….”
“How did you know about it?”
Haeun smiled brightly as he asked in a cheerful tone.
But the question itself was sharp.
The mismatch between expression and intent made Sihyeon’s face stiffen slightly. Meeting Haeun’s gaze—which clearly said he wouldn’t stop until he got an answer—Sihyeon ran a hand through his hair.
It wasn’t really a secret. He just hadn’t said anything because he wasn’t certain. But now, there was no reason to hide it.
Coming to that conclusion, Sihyeon pressed his tired eyes and spoke.
“Before we came, I had a dream. And it played out exactly like what happened today.”
“A dream?”
“Yeah. The day you asked if I had a nightmare.”
“…So you’re saying it was a prophetic dream?”
“Guess so.”
Sihyeon shrugged.
His expression was calm, his tone steady.
Hamin scrunched his nose slightly, thinking how casually he was talking about something where he nearly died.
“So you got scared when you saw the ship?”
“I was just surprised.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“What was I supposed to say? ‘I had a nightmare, and this ship looks exactly like the one in it’? ‘In the dream, the ship was rocking like it would flip over, and some hand dragged me away’?”
If he had said that, he would’ve ruined the whole field trip mood.
As Sihyeon spoke faster in exasperation, Hamin, who had been listening quietly, raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
He asked roughly.
The others fell silent, and the atmosphere suddenly turned heavy. Sensing the shift, Sihyeon blinked in confusion.
What more was there to be surprised about?
Then Seowoo, who had been silent the whole time, leaned toward him.
“You got taken?”
“…….”
“You saw that in your dream—and even knowing that, you still ran in there?”
“…Yeah.”
Silence pressed down on his shoulders.
Though Seowoo’s voice was gentle, it carried a chill. Realizing he had said too much, Sihyeon pressed his lips inward.
There were five pairs of eyes on him. And all five looked dangerous.
“You’re saying you went and got yourself taken?”
No—six.
Glancing at Luce, who looked ready to say that a Quadruple didn’t even value his own life, Sihyeon let out a low groan.
If they asked whether he had knowingly done it—well, he had his reasons. But it didn’t seem like anyone would listen.
Sihyeon looked at Haru, who might’ve been on his side—but even Haru seemed sharper than usual, so he looked away.
“…Mm.”
He pulled the blanket up slightly, inch by inch—but with five boys sitting on the bed, there was no way he could move it.
It didn’t budge.
A sigh slipped out.
Honestly, it felt unfair. Just a moment ago, their reactions hadn’t been like this.
What was the difference between dying while trying to save someone and saving someone knowing you might die?
Either way, the result was death. And he had lived. Wasn’t that enough?
As he looked at them, Luce let out a sigh and spoke.
“They say all lives are equal, but for Awakened, that’s not true, kid.”
“…I figured.”
“If you die, the people you would’ve saved in the future die too. Do you think losing one D-rank and losing one S-rank can be put on the same level?”
“…No.”
Sihyeon answered obediently, without protest, as the lecture continued.
At his calm replies, everyone except Sihyeon let out sighs.
Having answered properly to avoid an argument, Sihyeon only felt more wronged.
