Chapter 34

Cha Gyuhan transferred to the school when they were twelve years old, in fifth grade.

It was a conviction that remained unchanged even now. Children at that exact age were the most disobedient and utterly insufferable. Insufferable in more ways than one.

In any case, fifth grade. The sixth graders were so busy acting cynical—strutting about as though they were practically adults about to graduate elementary school—making it the prime age for fifth graders to run wild in their place. An age where kids awkwardly knew just enough to think they understood everything while remaining clueless enough to be recklessly cruel. A reckless age where one’s clique of friends felt like the entire universe, where whose side you were on seemed like an immutable law, and where everyone believed they would never drift apart.

Cha Gyuhan arrived right then.

And in the middle of a semester, no less. It was a small provincial town, the kind of place where kids who attended the same elementary school were practically guaranteed to go to the exact same middle school, and with any luck, high school too. A claustrophobically insular town that could nonetheless become comfortable if one simply kept their eyes and ears shut to everything—and Cha Gyuhan had blended into it in the blink of an eye the moment he arrived.

Or rather, ‘blended in’ hardly did it justice. Cha Gyuhan had become the absolute center of it all. Every single recess, he would grab a soccer ball and urge everyone outside. He did it even during the fifteen-minute breaks between classes, to say nothing of lunchtime. Gyuhan never discriminated between friends; with the kids who hated running, he sat in the back of the classroom playing ddang-ttameokgi—claiming territory on desks. Before long, the entire student body knew Cha Gyuhan, and the number of kids hailing him in the hallway even though they weren’t in his class was beyond counting.

Cha Gyuhan became famous. Everyone knew him. He was cheerful, possessed an easygoing personality, never picked and chose who to befriend, treated everyone kindly, and on top of it all, was good-looking. Even with the baby fat still clinging to his plump cheeks, it was obvious in his distinct, vivid eyes, high-bridged nose unswallowed by youthful chub, and lips that were perpetually curled into a grin. Word was that his family was wealthy, too. No one knew what his parents did for a living, but rumors that they were well-off spread far and wide.

Gyuhan grew so famous that, inevitably, even Gong Jio came to know about him.

Which meant, before long, Cha Gyuhan would inevitably come to know him as well.

Gong Jio was famous.

In every possible way the exact opposite of Cha Gyuhan.

Ah, there was just one thing they had in common.

Gong Jio was good-looking. To the point where people said his pretty face, unbefitting a child, was made for seducing and leading others astray.

That was by no means a compliment.

Which ultimately proved the proposition true. He was famous in every way opposite to Cha Gyuhan.

It wasn’t just Gong Jio who was notorious. More precisely, his entire family was. Just as the notoriety surrounding Jio’s precocious good looks was hardly favorable, the town’s gossip about his household followed the same dismal pattern. His mother had run off, and the father who chased after her never returned—such things were surprisingly not unheard of in towns like this, so put that aside—the primary fuel for the rumors was the family troublemaker, an uncle who had returned to look after Jio in his parents’ stead, still living the life of an incorrigible prodigal.

The unfortunate truth was that it would have been nice if it were merely a rumor, but it wasn’t.

“…”

Gong Jio furrowed his brow, staring at the two pairs of shoes kicked aside haphazardly outside the front door.

Moans were already leaking from within.

At least today it was a woman’s moans. Before, it had been a man’s. Last year, the sounds had alternated between male and female on alternating days, until it was discovered that a married couple had both been sleeping with his uncle, Gong Seongju, and the pair ended up fleeing the neighborhood in the dead of night.

With a stony expression, Gong Jio picked up one of the stray shoes lying there and hurled it away with a flick of his wrist.

Only after hearing it clatter over the yard wall did he turn and walk away.

This was precisely why Gong Jio’s handsome face never received a kind word. Jio’s uncle was a notorious whore, a male prostitute, a gigolo, and a lecher.

Jio rummaged through his pockets, scraping together every last coin he had before stepping into Oseong Supermarket. The stern old grandmother behind the counter, who never cracked a smile, was infamous for detesting children, yet she was ever so slightly lenient toward Gong Jio. At first, Jio had wondered if his uncle had actually gone and slept with the old woman too, but before long, he realized his mistake. His uncle often helped unpack shipments for free and ran errands for her.

That was the problem.

There was no malice in Gong Seongju’s nature.

“You’re here, Jio.”

“One Yukgaejang cup ramyeon, please.”

“You’re short a hundred won.”

“Get it from my uncle.”

“Hold on a second.”

Replying in her characteristically gruff tone, the Oseong grandmother hauled herself up. In the meantime, Jio peeled open the lid and emptied the powdered soup packet over the noodles. A moment later, the old woman returned holding a dented kettle in one hand and a small condiment dish filled with kimchi in the other.

“What about your uncle? Out fishing?”

“No. He’s home today.”

Jio replied flatly. Her face seemed to furrow slightly at his words, though he couldn’t be certain. Her brow, forehead, and cheeks were already a dense web of wrinkles anyway.

Carrying the cup ramyeon filled with hot water and the small dish of kimchi, Jio walked over to the parasol table outside the storefront. Behind him, he could hear the old woman cranking up the TV volume again. Being hard of hearing, she always blasted it so loud that even sitting outside, one could tell exactly what show was on.

Jio slumped in his plastic chair while waiting for the three minutes to tick by.

Summer was approaching, which was a disaster. How hot would it be this year? And how pungent would the smell of sweat be in the house? His face twisted in distaste just thinking about the mold.

It wasn’t as if he had ever lived in a spotless, pristine home before moving here, but Jio had always found the stench of mold and dampness utterly unbearable. The smell of strangers’ bodily musk lingering in the air was even worse. He almost wished his uncle were a chain smoker so the room would at least reek of stale cigarettes instead. Jio was sick and tired. sometimes wondered if the Ji in his name had been lifted straight from the Korean word for being sick and tired of everything.

Three minutes were up.

He quickly peeled back the lid, caught a large clump of noodles between his chopsticks, and blew on them. Whoo, whoo. It wasn’t as if he would actually taste anything while eating it. Not because his taste buds were dull, or because he was injured or ill, but simply because he had eaten it to absolute death. The Ji of sick-and-tired, the Jii of sick-to-death. Gong Jio.

Jio chewed the tiresome noodles, accompanying them with a piece of kimchi that carried a sharp taste of fermented salted fish[1]. His face was drenched in a world-weary ennui that ill-suited an elementary schooler.

The blazing summer sunshine would arrive soon. A season when it would become difficult even to space out in the shade of a parasol staring at the ground. Jio shifted his eyes just as they began to sting with glare, only to spot someone staring fixedly at him.

It was Cha Gyuhan.

“Did you buy that here?”

The moment their eyes met, the boy strode over and addressed him out of the blue, as if they were old acquaintances.

Jio chewed as slowly as an ox, looking up at Cha Gyuhan.

The way the kid kept gulping down his saliva was ridiculous. At an hour when all the other kids were at hagwons, what was a rich boy doing here?

Jio gave a slight chin nod toward the supermarket entrance, figuring that would be more than enough for him to understand. But as he bent his head again to pick up some noodles, Cha Gyuhan showed no sign of leaving.

Jio lowered his chopsticks and looked at Cha Gyuhan, only to find him staring intently at the cup of ramyeon.

“What are you staring at?”

“I want to eat some too.”

“Then go buy some.”

“I asked if you bought it here, but you didn’t answer.”

“I did.”

“When?”

“I nodded toward the door like this.”

“Ah, you should’ve said it with words! I thought you were acting cute.” Cha Gyuhan grinned. It wasn’t an embarrassed smile, but one of utter, unvarnished confidence.

Act… cute?

Jio was so dumbfounded he couldn’t even manage a scoff.

“Wait a sec. I’ll go buy one too!”

Showing Jio his open palm as a gesture to wait right there, Gyuhan bolted inside.

Even if you buy one, what are you going to do? The Oseong grandma never gave out boiling water to kids. It was a privilege granted exclusively to him.

Yet a moment later, Cha Gyuhan emerged carrying a piping hot Yukgaejang filled with boiling water. And without stopping there, he even took the seat right beside Gong Jio.

“…”

Watching Gyuhan make a fuss muttering, “Ouch, hot, hot,” Jio felt a subtle twinge of betrayal toward the Oseong grandma. Then he glared at Cha Gyuhan. How the hell did this bastard win that old lady over? Even the son of the Taeguk Taekwondo dojang master—chubby, affable, polite, and universally adored by neighborhood adults—had never gotten anywhere with her.

“By the way, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. What’s your name?”

Cha Gyuhan certainly seemed to use his time efficiently. The three-minute relay of questions kicked off with asking for his name.

“…”

“Which class are you in? What grade?”

“…”

“I’m in Grade 5, Class 3. Man, your face is really small.”

“…”

“Why aren’t you eating? Ah, because I’m talking to you? But you’re not answering me anyway, so you might as well eat.”

His persistence in asking questions without getting discouraged despite receiving zero answers was frankly impressive. Jio counted down the seconds, wishing the three minutes would hurry up and pass. Even so, he didn’t move his chopsticks.

Was he nervous?

Perhaps one could put it that way.

For Jio, eating alone was so natural that he struggled to eat in front of others. It felt uncomfortable and made him self-conscious. Above all, he knew that he held his chopsticks differently from other kids.

“Shut your mouth and just eat your damn ramyeon. Three minutes are up.”

In the end, Jio snapped irritably.

Cha Gyuhan’s eyes rounded, and then he burst into booming laughter. “H-How the heck am I supposed to eat r-ramyeon with my mouth shut? Ahaha! Can you eat with your mouth closed? Show me!”

“…”

On the surface, Jio’s expression remained utterly motionless as usual, but on the inside, it was a different story. His heart pounded, and he could feel his imaginary face flushing crimson.

Annoying bastard.

Jio abruptly pushed back his chair and stood up. He was leaving. He had tasted this sickening flavor so many times that leaving it behind didn’t feel like a waste at all.

Cha Gyuhan grabbed his arm to stop him. “Uh, are you mad?”

Jio expected Gyuhan to smirk with that irritating grin, asking why he was getting so worked up over nothing and calling him petty to grate on his nerves even further.

But Gyuhan acted contrary to his expectations.

“I’m sorry. I messed up because you were cute. Don’t leave your food—let’s eat together. I’m just bored, honestly. I can’t eat by myself.”

Seeing Gyuhan’s earnest expression, Jio’s temper softened a fraction. He didn’t care for being called cute, but watching the boy whine candidly for someone to eat with him gave Jio a slight sense of pride, as if he had gained a younger brother.

Dropping back onto the chair with a plop, Jio muttered, “Before asking for someone’s name, you should introduce yourself first.”

“Ah, I’m—”

“I know. Grade 5, Class 3, Cha Gyuhan.”

“You even know my class?!”

“Are you an idiot? You said it with your own mouth just a second ago.”

Without even realizing he was smiling, a dry chuckle slipped from Jio’s lips.

Just as Cha Gyuhan, staring intently at him, was about to say something, Jio—unaware of his gaze—pushed the small dish into the center of the table. This parasol area, where older men cracked open bottles of soju at night, had also been set up by his uncle, Gong Seongju. In a sense, this kimchi was the payment for that favor.

“Eat it with this. You have to finish it all so you won’t get scolded.”

At the grumbling offer that ultimately meant sharing the food, Cha Gyuhan beamed.

After cleaning up the table spotless, Jio judged that Cha Gyuhan wasn’t some shrewd, snobbish prick from Seoul. Rather, he was easygoing, somewhat clumsy, yet strangely meticulous.

“…So that’s why I ended up transferring, but I think I like it better here. And I like that it’s not an apartment, too.”

Cha Gyuhan explained the reason behind his transfer. Listening to the entire account he had never once asked for, Jio thought, What is he even talking about? My head’s spinning.

Gyuhan rattled off whatever popped into his head. Thanks to that, Jio learned that the Maltese owned by a neighbor on the same floor of his old building was named Ppobbi, that aside from Didimdol Math Hagwon he had only ever attended sports academies, and that he had been especially close with a cat named Cherry raised by his Taekwondo instructor—yet in the end, Jio still had no clue what the decisive reason for his moving actually was.

“Where do you live?”

Having no meaningful follow-up question to ask (Jio had zero curiosity regarding Ppobbi or Cherry), he ended up asking where Gyuhan lived now. To be honest, he wasn’t particularly curious about that either, but…

“I live over in that house with the green gate! The one with the persimmon and cornus trees planted in the yard!”

Even without hearing about the trees, just mentioning the house with the green gate was enough.

There was only one house with a green gate in the entire vicinity. It was so renowned in the school district surrounding their elementary school that everyone simply called it “the Green Gate House.” A grand, two-story tiled-roof residence, a spacious yard, and a landlady who went about dressed in hanbok every single day.

Gong Jio clamped his mouth shut. So he really is a rich little young master bastard.

It was pathetic, rustic, petty, and wounding to his pride, but Jio felt a pang in his chest upon realizing anew that Cha Gyuhan was famous in a world entirely different from his own. More than simple sulkiness, something deep inside him crumpled and stung. And that realization dragged his mood down even further.

All because they had shared a single cup of instant ramyeon.

Jio suddenly recalled the clumsy way he held his chopsticks, and then recalled Cha Gyuhan’s hands. For all his non-stop chatter, the kid held his chopsticks properly. He hadn’t spilled a single drop or noodle to the side, either.

The moment that dawned on him, Jio kept his mouth tightly closed.

“Then we’re heading in opposite directions. See ya.”

It was just as well, then, that Gyuhan’s house and his were in completely opposite directions.

Maybe Uncle’s guest has left by now. Please let them be gone. Harboring that desperate wish, Jio turned on his heel and strode away. He didn’t care whether Gyuhan heard his farewell or replied.