“I...”
No words came easily.
To dodge a penalty, I couldn’t pretend my sister—the one who put my life back on the rails—didn’t exist.
But if I said I had a sister, I might nosebleed again and actually end up getting an MRI this time, and there’s a long road ahead.
Even trying to say I had a sister, my voice wouldn’t come out.
It felt like the system’s coercive force for the confidentiality clause.
While I gaped like a goldfish, the two watched my face.
Maybe they realized they’d poked something touchy, because they quickly steered the topic elsewhere. Thank god they’re quick on the uptake.
‘My sister was... a good one.’
We grew up without ever grabbing each other by the hair. Partly because we were both even-tempered, and partly because the age gap was big and she cut me a lot of slack.
I guess even with the same age gap, some households turn out like Choi Jeho’s.
My sister tried to be good to the family, too. Even to that bunch, she did what a decent human should.
To me, she nagged not to get mixed up with the adults, but she herself kept checking in on the family.
‘Can’t you just live without caring? They don’t care about us either.’
‘Firstborns aren’t good at that.’
I can still see that self-mocking smile.
Jeong Seongbin tugged me back to reality.
“Hyung, should I pre-unwrap the cheese too?”
“Just slit it a bit. They say fine-motor work is good for development.”
“Teachers, how’s prep coming?”
From across the room, Kang Giyeon—now blooming into a Tta-bot discussion—called over.
His face was lit up. I rarely see him that lively. Guess he really loves cartoon friends.
“Right away!”
I answered in my server voice from my waiting-table days.
Hard to believe I’ve adapted this much and it hasn’t even been half a day.
Objectively, Spark’s members are in good shape.
Dancing is daily life for Choi Jeho and Kang Giyeon—they’re another class—and even excluding Park Juu, both Jeong Seongbin and Lee Cheonghyeon had decent strength from practice hours and the gym.
‘If not for that injury, I’d still be number one.’
I’d slipped out of the rankings for the moment, but I believed I’d take my spot back soon. I’d shut off the accumulated-fatigue function and gone all-in on training; I figured I’d be back at full capacity any day now.
Amazingly, there was a new subspecies that easily outstripped young men who sing, dance, and train every day.
Children—owners of infinite energy who never tire.
“Teacher, I can’t do this one~.”
“Why do we have to put cucumber? I hate cucumber.”
“Teacher, I dropped mine on the floor!”
“My clothes got wet~. I want to change~.”
Their energy was endless. Everyone poured their souls into stacking eight-layer sandwiches. Breadcrumbs drifted like snowflakes.
Some insisted on making star-shaped sandwiches, mincing white bread with child-safe knives.
Dragged into it, kitchen assistant (?) Park Juu gave it his all slicing cheese and ham into stars.
“Kim Iwol, pass me those bananas.”
“Sure, but what’s that jam on your face?”
“...Huh? When did that get there.”
One kid scrubbed at Choi Jeho’s face with a dishcloth until it shone. His cleanliness stat ticked up a notch.
I hustled supplies for the guys with flocks of little ones hanging off them.
While I was mixing the third bowl of egg-mayo, someone approached.
A kid in a gray tee who rarely spoke to other teachers or kids.
“...Teacher, where’s your bread?”
“Mine?”
I glanced around. By now, everyone had a sandwich in hand.
Spark’s members were each sharing a handmade one with the kids. Choi Jeho had one in each hand.
Feeding the kids came first, so they’d barely gotten a few bites themselves, but at least they each had one. Looked like they’d even made one apiece for the camera directors nearby.
I double-checked that no one else was empty-handed and answered,
“I’m just about to make mine!”
The kid—his badge said “Jaeyun”—fell into deep thought.
Then he neatly picked up a slice of bread in each [N O V E L I G H T] hand.
Jaeyun made a sandwich all by himself.
No veggies at all, but two slices each of ham and cheese—good and thick.
He’d slathered on so much egg-mayo and strawberry jam that his plastic gloves were stained yellow and red.
Holding out a sandwich so overstuffed the filling was bursting out, Jaeyun said,
“Here.”
“You’re giving it to me?”
“Yes.”
I took it, stunned. Only after he watched me take a few bites did Jaeyun start on his own.
Because Spark was visiting, the daycare schedule shifted a bit.
Instead of the regular English storybook—Lee Cheonghyeon probably could’ve carried the class if we’d done it—free play was announced.
With legal permission to go wild, the kids bolted like unbridled colts.
“Teacher! Lift me up the slide too!”
“You can totally climb it.”
“My feet don’t reach!”
“I’ll spot you. Try it.”
Choi Jeho switched jobs to attraction safety guard.
“MiniPang’s stronger, right, teacher? If it uses Majesty Power nobody can win, right?”
“If Tta-bot evolves to stage fifteen, MiniPang loses in one hit. Stage fifteen is fusing fifteen Tta-bots.”
“Hmm... that demands serious deliberation.”
Kang Giyeon had become the supreme court handing down verdicts: MiniPang vs Tta-bot.
“Teacher, obviously Berserk BitterPang is the strongest, right?”
“Well, I’m not sure...”
“Teacher, look here. I’ll put a sticker on you.”
And Park Juu was basically... the fully awakened Mini-MiniPangPang of the MiniPang kingdom.
The countless hairpins in his hair, the gauzy stole draped on his shoulders, and the magic wand in his hand radiated power. He still fought tooth and nail to keep stickers off his face.
The good news was that Jeong Seongbin’s trademark warmth finally won the kids over.
He took on the role of relay—picking out the pitches of the children’s songs with uncanny accuracy and passing them to Lee Cheonghyeon.
Thanks to that, piano accompaniment at last flowed through the Flower Buds room.
And I was still the only one left alone.
“This is the first time I’ve felt rejected by humanity.”
The writers stifled their laughter at my mutter.
Charging right at the kids might look good on camera, but I didn’t want to spook them under the pretext of boosting production quality.
Instead of joining the swarm, I changed course toward the strewn toys and started gathering them up.
As I filled the basket with blocks, more blocks clinked in from the other side.
Jaeyun was helping, scooping blocks with his tiny hands.
“Jaeyun?”
Even at my surprised call, he quietly kept tidying.
What a good kid. But when you’re little, you should just play. I was both proud and oddly heartsore.
He stayed with me to the end, helping with the blocks. Cleanup wasn’t lonely.
“Okay, everyone, time to get ready for nap!”
“Nooo!”
“No, it’s nap time now!”
The kids rebelled loudly, but the teacher was firm.
We hid behind her like cowards and cheered in silence. Dark circles were draping Spark’s pretty faces like curtains.
“Split into threes—three pick up the floor, three lay out the mats.”
“Mm...”
Park Juu nodded. The jewel clip-ons dangling from his ears bobbed along.
“I don’t wanna sleep.”
“Really? I’m sleeping because I want to get taller.”
“Sleeping makes you taller?”
“Of course. Look at those teachers.”
Talking down a fussy kid, Choi Jeho pointed at us. The child, eyes on the five human lampposts, obediently pulled a blanket over themselves and lay down.
“How long do I have to sleep to be as tall as teacher?”
“You have to sleep when Mom says sleep.”
“Then can I be as tall as the ceiling too?”
“Yup. But if you stay up gaming instead of sleeping, your under-eyes go dark like that teacher over there.”
This time he pointed at me. The kid placed both hands under their eyes. Did you just call me a panda?
Before the mats were even down, love calls poured in for Kang Giyeon. Everyone dragged their blankets to his side. I guess his hot saga of MiniPang and Tta-bot really was a hit.
Once Jeong Seongbin and I lowered the blinds and turned off the lights, the room went quiet in an instant.
“What should we do now?”
“Just keep watch while they sleep!”
The teacher softly laid out the daycare’s next steps. You never know what might happen during nap time, so someone had to watch; we’d also need to get afternoon snacks ready—things like that.
Looking at the kids lined up asleep, two by two, I couldn’t help but chuckle.
I didn’t have to look far—there was also one adult nodding off right next to me.
“Juu, sleepy? Wanna go grab a nap?”
“No, I’m fine...”
“Climb up on the slide and sleep. Jeho’s already out cold, you know.”
At the end of the line, Choi Jeho was sprawled out, sleeping like a lord. I don’t know why he sleeps like that.
Once we’d tucked Park Juu on the slide and set Jeong Seongbin and Kang Giyeon down in the ball pit, we finally got a breather.
“Cheonghyeon, you’re not sleeping?”
“I have to memorize the songbook.”
The children’s-song scorebook the teacher handed over trembled between his fingers. Not knowing a piece—his pride was a little bruised.
‘What do I do now...’
Padding around, I spotted a few who’d kicked their blankets off.
Kids really do run hot. Must be the warmth.
I crouched carefully at their feet.
Then I brushed a fingertip over their foreheads, just in case there was sweat, and tucked the blankets snug again.
A peaceful afternoon.
