Jungle Juice: Bug God

I was sitting on a desk at the back of the class when the protagonist came to the group talking about human bugs and took one of their phones.

Too far away to hear what he was saying, but of course I already knew. Jungle Juice was popular, after all.

I shifted on my seat. My bottom was getting cramps from the hard wooden surface. Seriously, installing cushioned seats couldn't hurt them, right?

Whatever. I'll just put my legs on top of my desk. At least the change of position would relieve some of the stress on my buttock muscles.

Hmm? Why don't I just get up and join the discussion with the protagonist, you ask?

Well, for one thing, I felt too lazy to even get to my feet. Another thing, I don't want to join in the plot yet. I'll shadow the protagonist's progress from afar. No real reason, really, just a feeling.

No one showed any reaction to my impoliteness. Not that I was hoping, but shouldn't there be a discipline committee? Oh, okay, truthfully, I was quite hoping to be scolded by a smart student. Preferably some new heroine of the story. Alas, there was no hint (or glint) of a four-eyed female class leader's glasses.

And I was also thinking, did the students think of me as a delinquent? No one seemed to get close to me. I even once saw a small student with glasses circle the class to get to the door instead of passing by my desk, even though he was two seats beside me. Such horrors could only have come from this kind of school, where class delinquents and school thugs were common. Stereotypical. For Korean manhwa, that is.

How did I even get sucked into this manhwa in the first place? Well, if we were to start on that, we would go a long way back to when-

"Hae-jin! Manners, please! Class will start in five minutes, so you better be looking decent when the teacher comes in, else I'll report you again and you're gonna get detention for two weeks this time!"

And . . . she's shouting from the front row again. Honestly, why don't she just shut up? It doesn't half get to my nerves.

Lots of snickers and whispering from her fangirls (and fan boys) crowding around her seat. They may think I'm some kind of delinquent, but they also think I'm harmless, and that they're safe from me because they're friends with Jin-ah, the daughter of the conglomerate, Ah-jin Group. Plus the fact that I never actually act like a thug. Just my humble appearance. There's even her bodyguard there, eyeing me like I'm some kind of filth that he couldn't wait to flick off his clothes. Maybe he's searching my face for any sign of malice. Best not to show it then. As they say, what you feel is best kept in your heart.

I pretended I didn't hear and even whistled. Brave move from me actually, since her personal still-student bodyguard beside her can beat me to a pulp, and I wouldn't even be able to sue him to the school. Before I could complain with my instinct, sweat formed on my scalp. Hahaha, I'm actually scared.

I forced myself to see their reactions from the corner of my eyes. Those around Jin-ah had wide eyes, while her bodyguard looked like he had been holding his breath for an hour (red hot, likely training for the Olympic breath-holding record.) Jin-ah wasn't your typical 'Ojou-sama'. She had an unnerving smile on her lips like she knew something I didn't. Usually spoilt brats would be puffing up by now. Honestly, that would have been easier to deal with. I don't have any idea where this was going to lead to. And apparently, you always obey what she tells you to do. Or there will be dire consequences. I decided to lower my legs. Oh . . . and button up my collar. And my pants. And fix my tie. My hair too?

Oh my god, had I been going around looking like this? No wonder they think of me as some kind of member from a gang of the black market! Dammit! And all the while I thought I had looked like the protagonist. Handsome. Sleek. Fashionistic. While I had actually been ogling around looking like . . . well, an ogling ogre.

This is bad for my self-esteem. I think I won't be able to look anyone in the eye anymore, let alone hold a conversation. Being too self-conscious is never good for you. I've learnt that in the hard way. Years of bullying would do that to you. Trauma, I mean. It piled up deep in my soul without me realizing, and before I knew it, I became an outcast in society. A loner. Otaku? Wibu? Perhaps all those terms. I can't speak to anyone, young or old (or of similar age) without becoming a stuttering wreck. The worst thing? I was content in being myself. I was used to it.

I slumped down on my desk. Where was the teacher? Five minutes passed yet? I don't care. The protagonist? What is he doing now? I peeked at the group . . . and they were still talking. There should have been a time skip by now, according to the manhwa, but it doesn't work that way if you get 'Isekai-ed'. Also, the protagonist should presently be introducing himself to the readers. His current condition, history, past, worries, stepbacks and whatnot. They show up in speech bubbles. But here I think he only thinks it in his mind. The author portrayed his thoughts in the manhwa, but beyond that, there's an entirely different world whooshing and chugging along like the cosmos. Author-nim couldn't possibly tell them all in a single manhwa. It only follows one person's story in that world.

"Right! Everyone," boomed the teacher bursting into the classroom like some kind of artificial gale, "Sorry for being late! I had an appointment with the head teacher, who also had been late, well, you know, she cycles to school every day. But- ahem! Okay, let's begin immediately shall we? Come one! Chop-chop! Seats everyone!

And with a reasonable amount of grumbling, we settled down in our seats.

***

I said we'd be getting no time-skips, but forgive me for this once. And Author-nim, I'll be using your method of story-pacing.

We're already out in the grounds. The protagonist was being surrounded by his three friends. Before this, he had received an e-mail from some of his fangirls asking if he wanted to go to karaoke with them. After a brief lapse of pondering he gravely accepted, thinking of the dragonfly wings on his back. Hidden in the folds of his shirt. Like mine. Though a bit different.

He had a little over five-thousand followers on Instagram. Very popular. His decision to change his appearance was cunning. He styled his haircut and put on a confident bright-eyed look on his face. He followed the trending fashion and began to take care of his looks. Finally, one girl asked for his number. They're friends now, I think. Come to think of it, she'll be here shortly too.

I kept myself behind a column, my silhouette being overlapped by the canopy and the swaying of trees in the constant breeze. The sunlight flickering through the leaves pattered on the grass, their straight beams bearing patterns that was reverently distorted by moving branches. I inhaled the fresh air. I absorbed the scenic vista of this haven. I had never felt like this before.