Read Just Twilight Novel Translation Chapter 8

(Just Dawn | 그저 여명일 뿐 )

Romance, Drama, Slice-of-life, Josei, Mature

Original: Woo Jihye | Translation: Genie

---

She never sought to know where the money came from. It wasn’t something she needed to know.

*Whatever she does, this is the least she owes me. If she had me without permission, the least she could do is provide better than this. If she doesn’t have the means, she should sell her body or even her organs—do whatever it takes to raise me in less misery than this!*

That was the extent of Junyoung’s thoughts.

If her mother had passed down smooth skin, glossy black hair, striking features that invited envy and admiration, and the kind of intelligence that could make her top of her class even in a rural school, then she should have at least provided a better environment than this.

If only Junyoung had been born so ignorant that she didn’t even know what desires to have.

In that case, she might have lived a content life, wasting her days without thought, eventually settling down with the son of a hardware store owner and becoming pregnant, like the neighbourhood girl who married at twenty-one.

But Oh Hyesoo had dredged up those buried thoughts.

*”It’s not your fault your mom is that kind of person.”*

…What does Oh Hyesoo know about her mother?

Lost in thought, Junyoung clutched her pen tightly. Her hand trembled as she bit her lip, and a red line streaked across her textbook.

“Hey, knock it off. You’re so full of yourself just because you get good grades, zoning out like that during class.”

The voice belonged to the math teacher, his tone dripping with disdain. Junyoung’s face felt like it was flushing red, but her mind cooled sharply.

It was already afternoon, but the teacher still reeked of the alcohol he had consumed the night before.

The widowed math teacher had never shown Junyoung any special favour. In fact, she was well aware he saw her as a thorn in his side.

At one point, he suggested that she join the math club, impressed by her aptitude and love for the subject. But Junyoung had always refused. The teacher had a habit of reeking alcohol, scanning girls’ legs with his murky eyes, and finding excuses to touch their arms or waists.

He would occasionally use a long stick labelled “Love’s Rod” to flip up the hems of the girls’ skirts, never far enough to fully expose them but enough to accompany the act with crude jokes. The girls at the school all avoided him.

It wasn’t hard to imagine that his real intent in inviting her to the math club was to get her onto his lap under the pretence of teaching or, worse, ply her with drinks and take advantage of her.

She had rejected his offer three times. And since then, whenever he found the chance, he would pick fights with her, often for no reason.

Junyoung clenched her fist tightly, tasting blood on her lips from biting them too hard. Laughter rippled quietly through the classroom, but she stayed silent.

If he had simply asked her to solve a problem, she could have easily put him in his place. But the teacher wasn’t foolish enough to give her that kind of opportunity. He never allowed her to assert her superiority in class.

Instead, he chose to belittle her in ways that made her feel helpless.
“Do you think teachers are a joke to you? Just because you know a bit about studying, does that mean you think it’s not even worth listening to what teachers have to say? What, you think you can look down on people because once you get into a university in Seoul, you won’t have to deal with us folks in this town anymore? You little punk! A person needs to have some character!”

Another thump landed on Junyoung’s head. Her brows shot up sharply as she was pushed sideways. Seeing this, the math teacher eagerly lifted his so-called *Rod of Love* and poked her head with it.

“Look at that scowl on your face. How is a teacher supposed to guide students with attitudes like this? Everything I say is for your own good, kid. When adults speak, you’re supposed to think, ‘They must mean well,’ and listen obediently!”

If someone offered to take half her life in exchange for killing this man, Junyoung would have gladly knelt and agreed.

At times, she cursed her own overly developed-sense of reason. What if she were the type to act recklessly without thinking? Would no one dare mess with her then?

“Oh, still scowling, huh? Hey, Yoon Junyo—”

“Teacher.”

As Junyoung’s hand moved to grab the stick pressing against her head, a hurried voice rang out.

All eyes in the classroom turned toward Seungwoon, who had stood up with his hand raised, wearing an awkward expression as he glanced toward her.

“Junyoung wasn’t feeling well yesterday because of me. She fainted because of it. So, if she’s having trouble focusing in class, I think it’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

He bowed deeply, and the math teacher folded his arms, watching him with a blank expression. Seungwoon’s status as the class’s “prince” was partly due to the fact that even this particular teacher, a known alcoholic and openly disrespectful, treated him with unusual leniency.

“Why’s it your fault she was unwell? Did Yoon Junyoung fall for you and get love-sick or something? Couldn’t sleep at night?”

The teacher’s stick jabbed in Junyoung’s direction as he asked, causing Seungwoon’s ears to flush red. Casting a sideways glance at Junyoung, who sat stiffly with her eyes lowered, he shook his head.

“No, sir, it’s nothing like that…”

Suddenly, a loud *bang* reverberated through the classroom, startling everyone. The math teacher was the most shocked. Something had flown dangerously close to him and struck the blackboard with force, creating the noise.

The culprit was a basketball, part of the communal equipment the students used during lunch breaks. Realising this, the teacher scowled and turned his head.

It wasn’t hard to find the culprit. Rubbing his shoulder, looking mussed as if he had just woken up, stood Beomjin. Letting out a long yawn, he spoke in a raspy voice.

“That jerk threw a ball like this. You’re not supposed to do that to people.”

“You, you…”

“Even I don’t do that. To people.”

Beomjin’s dark, tousled hair still sported a messy bird’s nest, but no one dared to mock it. His eyes, initially drowsy, had sharpened into a piercing glare directed at the teacher. It wasn’t hard to imagine him crouching low before pouncing on the teacher like a predator.

A tense atmosphere filled the triangle formed by the three standing figures. The teacher’s *Rod of Love* trembled in his grasp as he stood between the two tall students.

At that moment, the bell rang, offering the teacher a much-needed lifeline. Raising his voice with newfound vigour, he shouted, “All three of you! Reflection letters on my desk by the end of the day!”

He left the classroom with hurried strides, almost as if escaping, and the room erupted into murmurs as the students glanced around at each other. Hyesoo tugged on Seungwoon’s sleeve, who was standing in front of her, and spoke.

“Why did you step in? If you’d stayed quiet, it would’ve blown over.”

“It’s my fault,” Seungwoon said with a light smile, glancing at Junyoung and Beomjin.

Beomjin scratched the back of his head, yawned dramatically as if nothing had happened, and sauntered out of the classroom like a predator on a stroll. Left behind under the gaze of her classmates, Junyoung let out a single sigh, her expression stoic, and picked up her pen again.

Her cold attitude betrayed nothing but exhaustion.

“Do you think Beomjin and…”

“Huh?”

Hyesoo, who had been pricking up her ears, asked curiously, but Seungwoon quickly shut his mouth and smiled.

“Never mind. It’s nothing.”

He almost approached Junyoung to say something but hesitated, eventually sitting back down. Her words from earlier that morning replayed in his mind.

Maybe it’s the reverse psychology at work—being told not to worry only makes me worry more.

No, I was already worried from the start.

Scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, Seungwoon gripped his pen, following Junyoung’s lead. While Hyesoo and others chattered nearby, his mind was entirely preoccupied with other thoughts.

***

During self-study sessions, a few chatty students usually took over the classroom, but today was different. More students than usual stayed behind, stealing curious glances at the three individuals at the centre of attention.

Junyoung, who was effortlessly scribbling down a predictable reflection letter, turned her head at the sound of a chair scraping across the floor. Normally, she wouldn’t have reacted, but she had a feeling about this one.

Her intuition was spot on. Beomjin, with his bag slung over one shoulder, was about to leave the classroom.

There was no way he had written a reflection letter. Junyoung frowned.

The math teacher wouldn’t dare punish Beomjin physically—he didn’t have the guts for it. Instead, he would resort to more persistent and underhanded methods of harassment.

Not that Beomjin would care much, but even this school had rules, and the math teacher knew how to wield them effectively.

She didn’t want Beomjin to face any consequences because of this incident.

Unless he had a personal grudge against the math teacher, throwing that basketball so aggressively earlier must’ve been for her sake.

She hadn’t expected him to take her side so openly. It was annoying, but she also felt a small swell of pride. That made it all the more difficult to just let it slide.

Quietly standing up, she noticed the other students immediately turning to look at her. Even though they didn’t say anything, it was clear they all shared the same curiosity.

This was the second time Beomjin had interfered in her affairs at school. The first time could be dismissed as him needing to use the restroom, but this instance was more direct. Naturally, people would be curious about the circumstances.

Junyoung clicked her tongue.

She preferred things with Beomjin the way they were—an unspoken, isolated camaraderie between the two of them. As long as others didn’t get involved, Beomjin wouldn’t go around saying things like *period cramps.*

If that delicate balance breaks, it’s all your fault.

Pressing her lips together, she quietly stepped into the hallway. Beomjin was striding ahead with his usual long steps.

“Beomjin.”

For a moment, she thought about pulling him aside somewhere quiet, but that would only fuel the other students’ curiosity. Taking a step closer, she called out to him as he glanced back with a furrowed brow.

“Hand in your reflection letter.”

If you don’t, the math teacher will really make your life difficult.

She extended her hand, hoping her unspoken message would get through. Beomjin glanced at her briefly before turning away, expressionless.

“Hey.”

She managed to grab his wrist, but only for a fleeting moment. Beomjin wrenched his arm free with startling force.

Junyoung’s eyes widened in shock. She could hear murmurs from behind her, but her surprise far outweighed any embarrassment. Beomjin was looking at her with an expression that could only be described as utter irritation.

“Who do you think you are?”

His deep voice, cold and detached, reverberated like a striking chord. Junyoung opened her mouth, searching for words, but Beomjin turned away and continued walking.

Her head buzzed as if she had been physically struck, leaving her standing there, stunned.