Page 17 of The Last Tiger

I stifle the tears that are threatening to well up and nod one more time at her.

I wish that the moment could last forever, that somehow I could stop time here, standing with the sun rising at our backs and Mom’s two perfect pencils in my hand.

Then it’s over, and I’m already waving goodbye to her as I take my first steps down the path.

“Good luck, Seung,” Mom calls. She stands by the door, watching me until I’m out of sight.

I clamber down the path, barely feeling my feet as I go. I lose myself in my thoughts as I walk. I’m imagining Dad at my age, walking down this same path to take the Exam himself, years ago. How did he feel on that day? Just like I’m feeling now?

I swallow, gulping air. Dad. I can see his tired face, closed in sleep.

I shut my eyes, shake my head. Now isn’t the time. I will think about him later, when the Exam is over, and my fate in life has already been decided. For now I just raise my chin and square my shoulders. Today I’ll worry about just one thing: making him proud.

The dirt road is packed this morning with other students. Tense anxiety hangs in the air. I follow the trail, merging with the others, down the main path to the center of town. Eventually I pour out into the square with the rest of them.

As I enter the marketplace, my jaw slacks.

I look up. Hundreds of floating paper lanterns have been strung over the streets, hanging from lines running between the tops of the buildings.

Each colorful lantern bears a name on its surface.

They are blessings, well wishes from families for their students’ good luck on the Exam.

I know my own family couldn’t afford to purchase one of these beautiful lanterns—but I clutch the cloth in my hand, knowing that their blessings lie in those two pencils.

Packed against other students, I’m guided along in a human river through the town square. The area is filled from end to end with long rows of low desks. Each desk has a plain placard sitting on top with a single name written on it.

The line of students fans out as it reaches the square, each person roaming through the maze until they come to their own name.

I search for mine, guessing from the order where I’ll be situated.

I finally find it and sit down at the desk.

There’s a firm, wooden surface here with plenty of room to write.

I will be here for the next several hours.

I look around, searching for Eunji, until I spot her sitting at her desk with an intense expression, biting her lip and staring forward into space.

A lump forms in my throat. I haven’t seen her since my dad died; I heard the news of her engagement just a couple of days later.

It started a strange, heated feeling in my chest—one that I had to brush away.

One that I don’t have time to think about right now.

As she catches my eye, I wave at her. Eunji flashes a tight smile at me, nodding.

Eunji. It’s because of her alone that I have this shot today.

Thank you, I mouth.

She shakes her head and points back at me. I’m not entirely sure what she means by it.

Unless something goes terribly wrong, she’s going to pass. But I feel for her, deep inside, knowing now just how constricting her apparently prosperous life really is from the inside.

Silently I send her wishes for good luck. Whatever happens today, I want her to be happy.

The town square suddenly hushes. A Dragon administrator steps out to the front. He holds up an enormous, ceremonial golden gong, which he hits in the center with a red mallet. The booming sound reverberates through the square. The last stragglers hurry to their desks and sit.

Finally, there is stillness. My tongue goes dry in my mouth.

I look at the students around me. Most of them have worn, threadbare clothes like me and hold maybe one or two good pencils their families saved up to buy for them.

A few are from wealthier families, opening up expensive pens and setting up proper inkwells at the corners of their desks, looking well rested and confident.

They’ve been preparing for this day for years and know exactly what to expect. The yangban yawn, bored.

I feel a stab of resentment. I’ve given everything I have for this shot today, my whole life hanging in the balance—while they’re bored enough to yawn? But I sweep it away.

They aren’t any better than I am. And today I’m going to show everyone just how true that is.

For a moment I see Dad’s paper-white face flicker before my mind. Then I shake my head vigorously, pushing the thought away.

A series of volunteers streams down the rows, handing out stacks of paper. When they get to my desk, I watch, wide-eyed, as the papers that will decide my fate are placed face down on my desk with a soft thump. My hand itches to touch them.

“Students,” the administrator at the front cries out. He has a thin, reedy voice that cracks as he speaks. “You have prepared well for this day. And what good fortune!

“Your poor, backward nation—think how you would be without us!

No ki powers, no technology, no education, no culture.

But by the generosity of the Dragon Emperor, you have been granted this opportunity to compete for a chance to raise yourselves up!

The very best of you will learn our Dragon ki and bring civilization and prosperity to your country.

“Sing your praises to the Dragon Emperor for this great opportunity, and let the cries of gratitude never die from your lips!

“Now: On my word, turn your papers over and begin the Exam. Ready…begin!”

Adrenaline races through my veins. I grab at the heavy stack of papers and turn them over.

Section 1:

History of the Dragon Empire

1. In what year did Dragon Empire forces liberate the Tiger Colonies?

I grin. Easy. I pencil in the answer: 43 years ago. The 21st year of the 122nd Dragon Emperor.

Mom’s pencils feel new and light in my hand. I scratch away at the first few problems, having to read some of them several times over, I’m so jumpy with excitement. Then I settle into a better groove.

As the minutes pass, my confidence grows. Eunji prepared me well. I’m familiar with these problems and knock them back easily. I brush aside one page, then another.

I’m really doing it. Thank you, Eunji.

The minutes extend into an hour, the hour into two.

I become glad for the towel Mom lent me; I use it to wipe my forehead clean as the sun rises high into the sky.

The test is going well. All those hours memorizing a mountain of the most banal material one could imagine—they’re really paying off.

I feel confident in most of the answers I’ve put down and have only been stumped by a few of the hardest ones.

I’m deep into the second section, Classical Literature, when something happens…

At first I don’t recognize what it is. I see something passing before my eyes quickly, and then it’s gone. I blink, confused, but there seems to be nothing there. All that’s in front of me is the paper.

I wrinkle my nose and blink a few more times, then forget about it, returning to the test.

Until it happens again.

A few problems later, there it is—that same trick of the light.

Is something wrong with my vision? I shut my lids and rub them a few times.

Then I look up—and gasp.

Around me, the other students are sitting at their desks, working away. But something has gone deeply wrong with my eyes. It looks almost like the other students are… glowing .

I scooch back in my chair, alarmed. I look up and around me—but no one else seems to notice anything wrong.

What’s going on?

Something that looks like a light red aura is surrounding the students around me—a soft glow emanating from each of them. The students keep working as before; I’m definitely the only one who has noticed anything. I blink several times and rub my eyes again, but when I open them, it’s still there.

What am I seeing?

It’s not just what I’m seeing either. I feel something bizarre in my chest…

The kid in front of me is growing increasingly anxious as he struggles with a problem. The girl next to me is feeling confident, writing furiously. Someone two rows behind me just had a major realization and is flipping a few pages back to correct their error.

How do I know this? I can’t explain it. But I’m certain that my intuition is correct.

I can almost feel how nervous they are, as if that nervousness were my own; the cumulative adrenaline in the square is overwhelming. A wave of excitement, worry, anxiety pours out from the others.

I can feel exactly what the other students are feeling.

I’ve completely stopped writing. Realizing suddenly that my time’s running out, I struggle to draw my attention back to the Exam.

Whatever’s happening, I don’t have time to think about it.

I must be imagining things, or perhaps I’ve caught some strange illness…

either way, right now, I need to just power through and focus. I won’t get another chance.

I get back to work, struggling now to pay attention.

My head feels crowded suddenly—I can’t help but shake the emotions pressing in on me from everywhere.

Countless frames of mind, some contradicting one another.

The courtyard, packed full with row upon row of students, is sloshing with pent-up emotions, passing back and forth in waves—

Someone shakes me awake. I look up blearily at the monitor.

“Are you all right?” he asks. “You passed out just now.”

Nodding, confused, I thank him and wave him off.

Shaking, I try desperately to return to the Exam. My pencil slides as I move it against the paper.

What’s wrong with me?

From here on, I do my best to tune out whatever it is that’s going on. The vision doesn’t let up for a minute, even as I work through the test as best I can; I must be really sick, because the effect doesn’t go away. I stifle a rising feeling of panic.

Not now, Seung. Focus. FOCUS.

The hours pass, one after the other. I lose track of time.

My writing hand screams from how tightly I’ve been gripping the pencil.

I move painfully through the rest of the papers. Mathematics was always my tough section on a good day; I just do the best I can and pray desperately that it will be enough. Finally, I come to my favorite section, Philosophical Foundations of Ki.

Slowly the stack of papers dwindles, until I approach and then finally come to the end. As I write down my best guess on the last problem, I can hardly believe it’s over. I turn the paper over, looking for more. Was that it?

I exhale. That’s the end of the Exam.

Well, I think blearily, I did my best.

I look up into the sky, where the sun has passed now through a full day’s arc and is lowering toward the afternoon. Then I collapse back in my seat.

What in the world was that?

One thing’s for sure. The Exam is over.

Whatever happens now is out of my control.

It only takes one week before the results are released.

Just as before, the students rush down the hills from their homes into the square.

This time, the desks and chairs, the lanterns hanging from lines over the streets, have been removed.

Left standing in the faded plot of dirt is a single, wide wooden board stretching to a man’s full height and several times as wide.

Long white rolls of paper have been attached to it, inscribed with students’ names.

There’s a commotion going on when I arrive. A large crowd of teenagers has gathered in front, pushing and shoving their way to get to where they can read the names. As they make their way forward, students reach out with their fingers to touch the paper, scanning frantically with their eyes.

Some groan or drop their heads; others simply frown and lower their shoulders, dejected, as if unsurprised with the result. Occasionally someone leaps into the air with their fists raised, punching toward the sky with joy, and everyone turns to whisper with excitement and jealousy.

One of the guys, who has a particularly triumphant reaction—he jumps up and down, crying with relief—gets chased off by an angry group who clearly didn’t pass the Exam.

The others catch up with him and begin raining blows down on his head and back.

Then somebody trips him, and the circle of guys starts kicking, raising a cloud of dust.

A Dragon policeman standing off to one side blows his whistle shrilly and starts walking toward the scuffle with his arm raised.

The aggressors scatter, leaving the one boy behind them bent over, holding his head.

He moans and touches his nose, which is bleeding profusely.

The policeman only grunts and returns to his post.

I stand watching helplessly at the edge of the crowd. I crane my neck to try to catch a glimpse of the board, but it’s no use. I’ll have to make my way to the front.

“Excuse me.” I gulp and clear my throat. No one pays any attention.

“Excuse me,” I say, louder and with more authority this time. Still no one budges.

I grimace and steel myself, then tromp forward, pushing through the crowd. Finally, I make it to the front.

The board stands over me, sending a long shadow over my head. I begin scanning the names frantically, searching for my own.

This is it. The moment of truth.

Right away, I find one I recognize at the very top of the list: Choi Eunji . She passed—with the top score in Kidoh! I pump my fist, about to leap into the air, then quickly think better of it. Inside, though, I feel a leap of joy for her. Then I keep on scanning the board, looking for my own name.

A minute passes, then two.

A sharp stab of dread suddenly pierces me. I feel the hair rise on my neck. Something isn’t right.

As a third terrible minute stretches on without seeing my name, I realize that I might not be looking at the right board.

I go over to the other side then, to look through the names of those who failed. A horrible wave is rising up from my stomach, threatening to spill over. I can feel the taste of acid in my throat.

There it is, on the long, wide board of the students who failed. Written in clear, precise script is my name: Lee Seung .

I’ve failed the Exam.