The shrill giggles of her female classmates grate on Renka's ears as she sits rigidly at her desk, her delicate hands clenched into tight fists beneath the table. Next to her, a group of girls huddle around a smartphone, their eyes glued to the screen as they watch the latest music video from some Korean boy band.
"Oppa is so handsome!" one girl squeals, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
Another chimes in, "I wish I could marry a Korean guy someday!"
Their vapid chatter fades into white noise as Renka's vision blurs, the sterile classroom giving way to vivid memories of a different time, a different life. The scent of gunpowder and blood fills her nostrils, replacing the sickly-sweet perfume of her classmates.
She sees herself - no, him - Major Tsuchiya Bunji, astride his midnight-black steed. The streets of Keijō stretch before him, littered with the broken bodies of Chosenjin rebels. Their screams echo in her ears, a symphony of terror and despair that brings a twisted smile to her lips.
The taste of victory is metallic on her tongue, mingling with the acrid smoke that hangs in the air. She remembers the weight of her katana, slick with blood, as it cleaved through flesh and bone with practiced ease. The terrified eyes of the Chosenjin women and children as they cowered before her, begging for mercy in their guttural tongue.
A particularly loud squeal from one of the girls snaps Renka back to the present. She blinks, her dark eyes focusing on the phone screen where a pretty Korean boy dances and sings. The contrast between these soft, effeminate idols and the broken, subjugated Chosenjin of her memories makes her stomach churn with disgust.
