Chapter 40

Regardless, the next day, Kwon Ingyu’s father drank a bowl of bean sprout soup spiced with red pepper powder and walked down the steps with a visibly improved expression. Not long after, another one of his uncle’s nameless visitors arrived, looking at his battered face with pity.

“Oh no, what happened to your face? Your face is all you have!”

“Ow, ow. Exactly. Ah, it hurts so bad. Look here. I think my molar is loose too. Can you take a look inside my mouth? Yeah. Come on, in the bedroom…”

Shaking his head, Gong Jio left the house… then turned back.

By then, the wooden platform seemed to have reached its limit. Gong Jio climbed onto the spot where his uncle, devoid of pride, had sat drinking last night with the very man who had pulverized his face. After jumping up and down on it to his heart’s content, one of the legs finally groaned and gave way. When Gong Jio returned around sunset after wandering aimlessly around the neighborhood and eating a bowl of ramyeon at Oseong Supermarket, the platform was pushed into the corner, utterly wrecked.

It was merely that sort of event. An ordinary day he wouldn’t even have recalled had Gong Seongju not spouted that uncharacteristic adult wisdom. And even then, it wasn’t because Gong Seongju’s words sounded meaningful enough to take to heart, but simply because they were laughable—which said it all.

That was why Gong Jio found Kwon Ingyu’s drama so baffling. Was his father visiting Gong Jio’s house so deeply wounding and humiliating that he had to skip school? Making him absent was that easy? Blowing away what might be the most important goal of his fourteen-year life was absurdly simple.

Sneering inwardly, Gong Jio reflected on Gong Seongju’s lesson.

His uncle might live an easy, somewhat satisfying life in his own way through that technique. But it could never serve as universal wisdom. If it were truly a method that worked, Cha Gyuhan wouldn’t have left like this. At the very least, after eating ramyeon topped with wilted scallions and eggs that couldn’t even be sold at a supermarket, after emptying the entire fridge, he wouldn’t have left without a word.

Finding everything tedious and devoid of interest, Gong Jio slouched against his chair until his knees hit the desk leg, then straightened himself up—not to sit properly, but to slump forward and lay his head down.

With his hands in his pockets and his head resting on the desk, he gazed out the window as his pale irises blinked slowly, gleaming brighter than usual. They were the color of amber—the very resin that lured countless living creatures with its lovely hue, trapping them the moment they set foot upon it and preserving them forever in a vivid, frozen state.

“Seongju-ssi, your eyes are so pretty. Come to think of it, your nephew has the exact same color. I look forward to his future.”

Recalling those remarks—which hardly sounded like compliments and echoed simultaneously in the voices of multiple different people—Gong Jio shut his eyes tight. Tension tightened his brow. Seeking sleep instead, he pressed one ear firmly against the desk and tuned out the world with the open one. Thanks to Gong Seongju, Gong Jio had learned to treat things he didn’t want to hear like dust floating in the air. So even if a commotion stirred in the classroom, it was nothing more than someone else’s business.

The sunlight piercing through the windowpane burned hot. Gong Jio knew that staying like this would leave his skin red and stinging by nightfall, but he left it alone. There was no one to look at him anyway, no one to make a fuss asking what happened to his cheek. It didn’t matter if his face roasted like this.

Just as Gong Jio was drifting toward sleep, clutching at the tail end of that internal murmur—It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, none of it matters…—the heat roasting his cheek suddenly began to cool. The temperature dropped with unmistakable sharpness, as if he had slipped into the shade.

Then came a soft skrrrt, as if his desk had shifted slightly.

“…”

Gong Jio blinked once more at the sight of Cha Gyuhan entering his field of vision.

Cha Gyuhan was standing to the right of the desk, bending at the waist to look down at Gong Jio upside down in a bizarre posture. The cooling of his cheek was entirely due to the boy’s antics blocking out the sunlight.

“…”

The scene felt so surreal that Gong Jio merely blinked with a blank expression, entertaining a half-dreaming thought, Doesn’t the blood rush to his head? Or is he fine because there’s nothing in his brain to begin with?

Or perhaps everything really was a dream.

Right then, Cha Gyuhan flashed a broad grin. “Jio-ya.”

“…”

“I’m a big brother now. My sibling was born over the weekend.”

“…”

“Mom suddenly felt labor pains at dawn, so we went to the hospital, but they said we had to go to a bigger one, so we went up to Seoul. My dad came, my uncles came, all the relatives showed up… and things got held up. My perfect attendance award is gone. What do I do? Looks like all I’m getting is a diploma.”

“…”

“Ah, the reason we had to go to a big hospital wasn’t ’cause there was a problem, but because my sibling was huge. Over four kilograms. A total big baby. Name’s Gyuwon. Seriously pretty.”

“…”

“Anyway, since I wouldn’t be able to come to school for a while, I wanted to tell you at least, but I realized I didn’t know your phone number. Heck, I didn’t even know the contact info for the school or our homeroom teacher, so Grandma went over on Tuesday or something to tell them.”

Of course you didn’t know it. We don’t have a phone at my house.

“Whether you show up or not, why tell me?”

His voice was hoarse. Gong Jio wondered if that brief moment of zoning out counted as sleep given his scratchy throat, before recalling that from the weekend until today, his conversations with anyone could be counted on one hand. Even then, it was just Grandma Oseong and Kwon Ingyu. That was it. At his distinctly sullen words, Cha Gyuhan’s eyes widened round.

“Hey! If I didn’t tell you, you’d worry! What if you missed me?!”

“Bullshit… Why would friends miss each other just ’cause they didn’t see each other for two days?”

At the blunt, unnecessarily harsh words rasped in a husky voice, Cha Gyuhan’s eyes opened even wider, then crinkled into a triumphant grin.

“Friends? Ah, friends? Right? Between friends, huh? There’s that tight bond where we understand each other without saying a word, right?!”

Gong Jio thought, Shit, but it was already too late. Cha Gyuhan burst into a boisterous wahaha laugh of pure delight, looking downright ecstatic. Then he lifted his head, muttered that he felt dizzy, and stepped around to the front of Gong Jio’s desk. Standing by the window with the sunlight at his back, Cha Gyuhan rested his hands on Gong Jio’s desk and resumed his cheerful chatter—about how the baby had a full head of hair despite being newborn, how fair its skin was unlike his own, wondering who it took after…

Listening to that voice, Gong Jio slowly straightened his back.

It felt like… waking up. Like something shaking him awake. Time starting to move again, the fog in his head clearing away. That kind of sensation.

Then Gong Jio noticed Cha Gyuhan’s hand resting on his desk.

Cha Gyuhan was a kid who seemed to know neither worry nor anxiety nor sorrow. He had never once shown habits like biting his nails or tearing at hangnails. Perhaps his fine motor skills had never developed enough to form such a habit—to the extent that Gong Jio didn’t hesitate to entertain such an uncharitable thought—Cha Gyuhan was always moving without pause, never fretting.

Yet the flesh around Cha Gyuhan’s fingernails was torn and raw.

He said they had to go to a big hospital.

Even if nothing went wrong, he must have been terrified. Did he bounce his leg and bite his nails? Did he even cry? And from the moment his sibling, Cha Gyuwon, was born, had he been purely happy the entire time?

Gong Jio looked not just at the torn skin, but at the fresh new flesh already sprouting over it—a trace suggesting he had ripped at it once and never touched it again.

Yet Gong Jio had no idea what expression he was supposed to make on the outside. He had no desire to know, observing everything with indifferent detachment as if it were entirely someone else’s affair. His inner self was no different. Because he made no effort to examine his own feelings, Gong Jio was, in a sense, consistent inside and out. But when he wondered whether that was why Gyuhan found him so comfortable to be around, a sudden bleakness seized him. Being honest because one neglected oneself out of ignorance was fundamentally different from being honest because one had nothing to hide.

Cha Gyuhan, on the other hand, was identical inside and out. That was why he was effortless to read. He was exactly what he appeared to be, with nothing hidden and no pretense. To stay by the side of someone like that, Jio supposed he would have to reveal his own inner self. If they were just passing acquaintances who met briefly and drifted apart, there would be no need, but to stay beside him—to remain—things had to be fair… Or at least, he had to appear that way…

Gong Jio felt dizzy. He wondered if it was simply from staring too long at the blinding sun, or because he hadn’t eaten anything since that meal at Grandma Oseong’s house after peeling garlic.

“Let me get a word in too.”

Meaning, I don’t even understand my own heart.

“Congrats on the new sibling. Show me next time too.”

Meaning, I don’t even know how much of this comes from a sincere place.

The thoughts completely filling my head right now are actually things like ‘I didn’t think you’d come back’ and ‘I thought you were gone for good,’ but saying that would make it sound like I spent all this time waiting only for you.

Routine returned in a mere half-day.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, Gong Jio was profoundly shaken. To think of Cha Gyuhan’s return as routine?

After being profoundly shaken, he casually conceded.

Having spent about two and a half out of his fourteen years of life together, it was routine.

“Are you going to see Grandma Oseong?”

Gong Jio walked up to Cha Gyuhan as he packed his bag and asked first. It was a marked departure from their usual routine, where Cha Gyuhan was always the one to approach him when school ended.

Cha Gyuhan slung his practically empty backpack over his shoulder as he replied, “Can I stop by Oseong and then go to your place?”

“What?”

Without any mental preparation, that visit he thought would be the first and last was turning into a second?

Cha Gyuhan nodded vigorously at Gong Jio’s incredulous question.

“Yeah. Grandma went to see Mom. I’ll buy the food, so could you cook ramyeon for me?”

“…All we have at home is red pepper powder.”

When Jio laid bare the impoverished state of his fridge upfront, Cha Gyuhan’s eyes lit up. “Let’s sprinkle it on Chapagetti!”

And so the second visit began, ending just as anticlimactically as the first.

In a daze, wondering what on earth he was doing, Gong Jio cooked the ramyeon, shared it with Cha Gyuhan, and helped him catch up on the classwork he had missed, before suppressing a surge of exasperation and offering resigned advice. “Just stay healthy.”

“Words of blessing suddenly?”

“That’s the most realistic way for you to save money.”

At least he wouldn’t bleed cash from getting sick.

From the very start, the target goal of saving money was profoundly pragmatic.

“Ayy. That won’t do.”

Normally, Cha Gyuhan would have bragged, I’m healthy as hell, take that away and I’m a corpse, but instead he chuckled and brushed it off.

“I’m gonna become a super cool office worker, have at least one son and one daughter, and live with my fox? rabbit? anyway, my wifey.”

“What?”

Gong Jio was stunned by such a shockingly textbook—or rather, hopelessly antiquated—declaration. He didn’t think he had ever heard someone his age say such things out loud. No, this was definitely the first time…

“It’s my dream. Meeting someone where it zaps right through me like a bolt of lightning the second I see them, falling in love, proposing right on the spot, and doing both dating and marriage with my first love…”

Just… where on earth was he supposed to start with a reaction to this?

Still, since the guy called it his dream, he couldn’t mock it, nor could he call it lame. Gong Jio looked away before managing to squeeze out the only words he could muster. “Go for it…”

He couldn’t bring himself to say Good luck with that… out of fear that Gyuhan might actually take it seriously and give it his absolute best. So the words he barely managed to dredge up—filtering out (Is your favorite cartoon Crayon Shin-chan? I don’t even know what a ‘cool office worker’ means, and I’m worried whether you’ll even graduate high school before getting a job, but if that’s your dream I have no say, though cheering you on feels ridiculous, yet who am I to stop someone from dreaming on their own, so for now)—were simply Go for it…

Having set such an excessively romantic goal, Cha Gyuhan grinned dopily, lost in whatever fantasy he had conjured in his head, before suddenly asking Gong Jio, “What about you? I told you my goal, so you gotta tell me yours.”

I didn’t ask though… Isn’t this practically forcing a dream on me?

—What is your dream?

He utterly detested such trite questions. Ever since kindergarten, the moment anyone asked what his dream was, the light in Gong Jio’s eyes went dead. His pretty eyes always held the glossy, vacant sheen of a doll’s glass marbles, never once holding the lively sparkle of a child.

A dream. When he didn’t even have food he wanted to eat.

Given that his conversation with Grandma Oseong had happened so recently, it left an even stranger taste in his mouth.

Gong Jio pondered for a moment. Unwilling to let Gyuhan see his ragged textbooks, nothing sat before him except the empty nickel-silver pot.

“Living in a clean house.”

People claimed ramyeon cooked in a dented, scorched nickel-silver pot tasted the best, but that was something only said by people who considered ramyeon a novelty treat. Not for Gong Jio. What he wanted was nothing grand, just an ordinary white porcelain bowl. Something common that could be seen anywhere.

“That’s all.”

He had never once felt ashamed of living in this house. He had never felt pitiful toward the existence known as Gong Jio. Nor had he ever thought of becoming some admirable, praiseworthy kid with great grades. If he had to pick something worth liking, something he might actually come to like, it was simply cleanliness.

More strictly speaking, he hated body odor. It didn’t mean I am so clean while others reek. If an odor came from himself, Gong Jio would detest that just as much. If possible, he wanted to live in an odorless world—in scentlessness and silence, as peacefully as possible.

“I want a place that doesn’t smell of human living. No traces, either.”

“Isn’t that way too cold? It’s a place where people live, where you’re gonna live—how can there be no traces?”

“I’m just sick of human presence. You know it too. You don’t have to pretend you don’t. My uncle dragging people into this place.”

“…”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the rumors even once.”

When Gong Jio stared intently at him, Cha Gyuhan scratched the back of his head. Then, resting his head on his hand, closing his eyes, and furrowing his brow in deep thought, he opened his eyes and asked with utmost caution. “Jio-ya… What does ‘human presence’ mean…? Sorry. I’m kinda bad with vocabulary…”

Cha Gyuhan was the same inside and out. He couldn’t lie. So he must have changed the subject because he couldn’t bring himself to say he hadn’t heard the rumors, and the claim that he didn’t know what human presence meant was probably genuine too…

Late that night, after Cha Gyuhan went home, Gong Seongju returned. Coincidentally, he had vanished on the day of Gyuhan’s first visit and returned on the day of his second.

Gong Seongju showed a surprised face upon seeing his nephew, which quickly morphed into a grin.

“My nephew. Still up?”

“My nephew,”

“My uncle.”

To use such terms, the intimacy between the two was barely that of roommates sharing the same boarding house. In fact, given that one of them ended up being lumped together and misunderstood due to the other’s regular conduct, their relationship was worse than roommates.

Even so, Gong Jio did not hate or resent Gong Seongju. Seongju could have turned away and abandoned him, but he didn’t. Being able to have his own room without being sent to an orphanage was entirely thanks to Gong Seongju. Thus, there was no reason for Gong Jio to despise this house. He simply detested human presence, human traces, and the rot of neglected time.

“Aigoo. I’m beat.”

Trudging in and slumping down, Gong Seongju gave off a sharp, pungent fishy stench. He must have worked on a fishing boat or at a fishing reservoir. Gong Jio concluded his reaction to the smell with nothing more than a faint twitch of his brow.

Kicking off his shoes and flopping onto his back, Gong Seongju looked up at Gong Jio, murmured an Oh?, and broke into a grin. It was an innocent, mischievous expression—one Gong Jio had never worn and doubted he ever would. If the day ever came when an older Gong Jio smiled brightly, it would probably look remarkably like that face. Because everyone insisted they looked so much alike, Jio might have simply accepted everything with calm indifference, harboring no grand expectations for his future—since he had essentially peeked at it already.

“Nephew.”

“What.”

“You look like you’re in a good mood today. You’re smiling.”

Smiling? Not a chance.

Baffled, Gong Jio turned his head toward the commemorative wall clock—a freebie someone had picked up somewhere, its printed lettering worn away. His face reflected in the cloudy glass.

Smiling? No, I’m not.

Watching Gong Jio frown, Gong Seongju laughed childishly.

“Looks like you had a good day today.”

“Uncle. Are you drunk?”

The snickering laughter showed no sign of stopping.

He’s drunk.

Swallowing a sigh, Gong Jio brought out a blanket and a pillow from the room. He dragged Gong Seongju onto the narrow wooden floor, propped his head on the pillow, and pulled the blanket over him—only for Seongju to kick it off immediately.

Looking down at him for a moment, Gong Jio murmured. A good day… It hadn’t been a bad day.