Chapter 95: Poetry composition class (1)

Part 1

[Jeokranun’s been streaming a lot lately] – Anonymous

• Anyone know what’s up?

┕ Anonymous: If you don’t know Jeokranun’s job situation, why even post on the streaming board lolol

┕ Anonymous: Oops, wrong board.

┕ Anonymous (OP): Been busy a few days, missed the streams ;

┕ Anonymous: Got a pay cut at her job.

┕ Anonymous (OP): ???? So she quit?

┕ Anonymous: Just working Fri-Sat-Sun now. Said she’s streaming this afternoon too.

Part 2

“You quit your part-time job and now you’re just holed up at home all day. Go out and exercise or something,” Dad said.

“I’d cause a scene if I went to a gym,” I replied.

My weekend spent indoors—aside from a hospital visit—must’ve looked lazy to Dad. Monday morning, barely a few seconds after picking up my spoon at breakfast, his sudden scolding caught me off guard. My absurd retort slipped out before I could think. Cause a scene? More like a few curious glances, that’s all.

“…Well, that’s true,” he conceded.

“You agreeing makes me feel weird,” I said.

“The older you get, the more you’re like your mom. Say no, you’re unhappy. Say yes, you’re still unhappy,” he grumbled, squinting.

Mom’s hand flew toward Dad’s back with a sharp thwack—less a slap, more a crisp smack. He didn’t yelp, but his face crumpled briefly, suggesting it stung.

“Don’t say pointless things when she’s right here,” Mom said.

“You are picky,” Dad muttered.

“Not me, and definitely not our Yoonseo. Where do you find a kid who listens so well? Right?” Mom said.

Since I started helping with cooking, Mom’s blatant favoritism had been obvious, even to Dad. He gave up arguing, letting out a low groan and resuming eating.

Mom always took our side over Dad’s, but lately, it might sting him a bit. Maybe I’ll make him a snack later. For now, siding with him seemed right, even if a bit late.

“Still, compared to when I was busy with the bakery, I might be getting too lazy. Youngjin’s parents said they’d teach me to make cookies even if I’m not working, so maybe I’ll visit,” I said.

“Making bread?” Dad asked.

“Haha… confectionery’s a bit different from baking,” I clarified.

My attempt to change the subject was obvious, but neither seemed to mind. Mom’s happy with anything I say, and Dad’s probably grateful for the help. Sorry, Dad, I’m a useless daughter or son.

“School’s starting soon. Do what you want before then. You’re a third-year now, right?” Dad said.

“…I’m starting to think I won’t have much time to goof off,” I admitted.

“You’re going to grad school, right? This break might be your last,” he said.

“You never went to grad school,” I pointed out.

“Heard stories from friends who did,” he replied.

Dad seemed grateful I’d cut off Mom’s potential nagging. The conversation felt off-track, but I listened quietly with a small smile.

“You start by sucking up to the professor to secure a lab spot, then deal with grunt work, and once you’re marked as someone’s subordinate, their attitude changes,” he said.

“I heard it’s not that bad in the first semester of third year,” I said.

“Once you’re in a lab, third or fourth year doesn’t matter. It’s earlier and blunter than you think,” he warned.

“Why scare her like that?” Mom snapped, followed by another thwack. Hope he’s not bruising. I’ll put some ointment on him tonight.

“Our professor’s not that bad. It’ll be fine,” I reassured.

“Ugh, knowing how you are makes me worry more,” Dad said, rubbing his back against the chair.

I could guess what he meant, so I managed an awkward smile. Maybe I’d been worrying my parents even before becoming a woman.

“…But, honestly, I’m worried too. You don’t speak up outside, just like at home, bottling things up,” Mom said.

“Not really…” I mumbled.

“When you were a guy, at least you were healthy. Now you’re so frail, it worries me more,” she added.

With school starting soon, registering for classes meant returning to my old life in this new body. No one would recognize the old me, and aside from telling my professor, there shouldn’t be issues. Still…

“I don’t want to give up just because I look different,” I said.

It might be harder than I think to keep up with—or exceed—my old pace. My parents’ worries made sense: my noticeable appearance, frail body, and passive nature, restarting relationships from scratch after two years. Each was a headache, but I didn’t want to use my changed self as an excuse to burden others. I wanted to show I was okay, even if shakily.

“You know the professor’s always loved me. I’ll ask them to watch out for me. They’re senior enough to have influence,” I said.

“A female professor won’t favor you just because you’re prettier now,” Dad teased.

“If I say, ‘I’ll slave away in the lab!’ they’ll probably hook me up with grades and a career,” I joked.

“Ridiculous,” Dad said.

“Hehe.”

Part 3

“For that reason, what should we do today?” I asked.

• Swan?!?!?!
• Streaming on a weekday morning with less than 1% revenue… This is the life of a swan…?

“Feels like I’m unemployed,” I said.

Half-joking, half-serious. As I opened the familiar streaming program and read the chat, I realized my once-fulfilling life felt like a jobless one just because my part-time hours were cut. Streaming on a weekday morning with no revenue… is this a leisurely life? It felt unfair to call it that. If this was my hobby, wasn’t I just like an unemployed gamer playing in broad daylight?

“…But I’m still a college student. Not quite unemployed, right?” I said.

• Next-door Cheolsu’s working part-time to pay tuition… Meanwhile, our Ranun…
• Lolllll

Ugh, no comeback. Can’t even use “it’s summer break” as an excuse as an adult college student.

“Should I end the stream?” I teased.

• Mercy, milady!
• No, it’s his fault! Just sit there with the cam on, that’s enough, don’t go!
• Yoonseo… You used to love and respect your viewers…

Experience taught me my best weapon as a streamer doing this for fun, not money: my presence. Logic wasn’t my strength, but this was power. Watching the chat’s tone shift, I couldn’t help but laugh. Cute people.

“Ahem. Well, I turned it on because I was bored and wanted to chat. Shall we do something?” I asked.

Dad’s voice, urging me to do what I want, echoed faintly. A weekday morning stream with no profit—would he be mad if I said this was my “want”? Smiling, I pondered.