Here is the refined and optimized chapter, fully adapted to a South Korean context with improved flow, dialogue, and immersion:
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...Sodium, Magnesium, Aluminum, Silicon, Phosphorus...
One element, five, ten… At first, Mr. Gong listened with dismissive scorn. But as the list grew longer and more precise, each word from Song Eun-woo's mouth made his heart thump harder against his ribs.
Two minutes later, Mr. Gong was utterly dumbfounded. He could never have imagined that Song Eun-woo—the student whose chemistry scores had never breached the 40th percentile—could recite the entire periodic table flawlessly.
One hundred and eighteen elements! How could anyone memorize them all from a single glance?
"Heh. Sorry about that, Seonsaeng-nim. I'll be looking forward to your performance later."
Mr. Gong's mouth opened, then closed. He wanted to argue, to find a flaw, but not a single element, atomic number, or symbol had been out of place. Still, his stubborn pride refused to accept it. He must have known it beforehand, Mr. Gong thought. I just didn't realize.
"Hmph. Don't think reciting the periodic table makes you special. The Suneung isn't a memory contest for elements," Mr. Gong scoffed, his face flushed with embarrassment. He stood up abruptly, gathered his papers, and strode toward the door without another glance.
"Seonsaeng-nim, would you like me to print out the lyrics for you?" Eun-woo called after him, his tone deceptively light.
Mr. Gong, who had made a habit of calling Eun-woo's parents for every minor transgression, stumbled slightly at the words but didn't turn back. Watching the teacher's hurried exit, a faint, victorious smile touched Eun-woo's lips.
"You rascal, where are your manners?" Teacher Park Mi-jung scolded, though her eyes held more curiosity than anger. "Now tell me the truth. Is your memory really that good, or did you already know the table?"
Even she found it hard to believe. Photographic memory existed, but this level was almost mythical.
"It's the truth, Seonsaeng-nim. I didn't even know how many elements were on the table before today."
Teacher Park studied him, caught between disbelief and dawning hope. "Then… let's test it properly. I'll pick a random book, a random page. You memorize it as fast as you can."
Eun-woo simply nodded. It was a childish test, but it would serve its purpose.
Five minutes later, Teacher Park was speechless. It was all true. The boy could absorb a page of dense text with a single, sweeping glance.
A wave of shock washed over her, followed immediately by a surge of frustration. This boy… with a gift like this… why did he waste all his time before? Her thoughts raced. The Suneung is in four days. How much can he possibly cover now? If he'd applied himself, getting into Seoul National University wouldn't have been a dream!
"No," she muttered to herself, resolve hardening. "I can't let this talent go to waste. Four days… he has to try. And if it's not enough… I'll personally convince his parents to have him repeat the year. A mind like this must not be wasted!"
Aloud, she said, "Wait here." She began rummaging through her shelves and cabinets. Moments later, a tall stack of books, binders, and her own meticulously prepared lesson plans thudded onto the desk.
"Take these. Read everything. If there's a single thing you don't understand, you come find me immediately. I'll get you materials for the other subjects too. For the next few days, you study. Sleep if you must, but prioritize this."
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Ding-dong-dong-ding…
The bell for the next period rang just as Eun-woo walked into the classroom, arms laden with books. Mr. Gong, already standing at the podium, pointedly ignored him and turned to Kim Do-hyun.
"Kim Do-hyun, distribute these test papers."
Eun-woo, however, was not one to let things slide. Just before he reached his seat, he paused and said clearly, "Seonsaeng-nim, a promise is a promise, right?"
Then, without waiting for a reply, he swaggered to his desk and immediately lost himself in a book.
On the podium, Mr. Gong inwardly cursed the boy a hundred times over. But with the entire class watching, he forced a stiff smile.
"Ahem. As you all know, the Suneung is upon us. Your future hinges on this moment." He cleared his throat, his voice taking on an unnatural, theatrical tone. "To… to motivate you all, I will now sing a song of conquest! I will show you…~" he began, launching into a painfully off-key rendition of Ailee's powerful ballad.
A few students snickered, others stared in bewildered silence. Eun-woo merely smirked and shook his head, then tuned out the noise. Typical, he thought. Too proud to just admit the bet. He had more important things to do than dwell on Mr. Gong's wounded pride.
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Back in the staff room, Teacher Park was on the phone, her voice a mixture of excitement and urgency.
"Yes, I couldn't believe it either… He finished a perfect-score English paper in five minutes, right under my nose… No, he didn't cheat… I tested him myself. His memory is… phenomenal."
She paused, listening. "That's why I'm calling. I want you to seriously consider having him repeat his senior year. With this ability, if he applies himself for a full year, getting into KAIST or POSTECH is within reach! I guarantee it!"
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Across the city, Mrs. Song, Eun-woo's mother, stood frozen in the break room of the department store where she worked. She had just hung up the phone. Slowly, she pinched her own cheek.
"Ouch… I'm not dreaming?"
Her hands trembled slightly as she quickly dialed her husband. "Yeobo! Yeobo! It was the homeroom teacher! She wasn't calling because of trouble… she was praising him! She said our Eun-woo is a genius!"
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The day passed in a blur for Eun-woo, a whirlwind of turning pages and absorbing knowledge. By the final bell, he had internalized most of the high school curriculum. At this rate, he'd be done by tomorrow evening.
He arrived home, the stack of Teacher Park's books heavy in his arms. His parents weren't home yet from their shifts. The apartment was quiet.
Feeling unusually energized and in a good mood, he decided to cook dinner—a rare treat for his hardworking parents. He set the books down on the living room coffee table.
As he did, his gaze fell on a small, unassuming cardboard box tucked beside a pile of magazines. It was filled with ceramic shards—jagged pieces of white and blue porcelain.
These weren't from a broken dish. They were his father's "treasures," fragments of what he believed were joseon baekja (white porcelain) or buncheong ware, painstakingly picked up from the Insadong antique flea market for a few thousand won apiece. Apart from an occasional drink, this was his father's only indulgence—a humble man's connection to history.
Eun-woo had never paid them any mind before. But now, everything was different. He now possessed the Decomposition and Reconstruction System.
His eyes locked onto the pile of broken ceramics, and a spark of thrilling realization ignited within him.
"This…," he whispered to the silent room, a slow smile spreading across his face. "This could definitely be a way to make money."
[To be continued…]