Chapter 27

This wasn’t something Mu-yeong could just laugh off. Even if those creaking chair legs were drumming on the grease-stained floor right now, in the next second, one of them could very well cave his skull in.

“Yes, you’re right. It was all because of Sijin,” Mu-yeong admitted calmly.

Mu-yeong looked straight at Choi Yook, speaking without a trace of agitation.

“But the goal isn’t anything nearly that grand,” Mu-yeong explained with an earnest expression. “I just wanted to get close to Sijin, and I didn’t know any other way. As you’ve seen for yourself, I have a knack for getting on people’s bad sides.”

Even as Mu-yeong caught his breath, Choi Yook’s gaze never wavered. Of all the people in the world, this man seemed the least likely to ever hold a reasonable conversation with; yet sitting in a diner bursting with noise, locking eyes, and carrying on a seamless dialogue felt strangely surreal. Mu-yeong cast his eyes down at the cup.

“So I thought if I learned everything there was to know about Sijin, maybe he’d come to like me too.” Mu-yeong traced the rim of his cup. “Say, for instance, the very first time I met Sijin, I bought him some pastries and handed them to him. Then…”

“He’d throw them straight in your face.”

Offering a faint smile at the unhesitating answer, Mu-yeong admitted with a gentle nod, “Exactly. Sijin hates sweets, so he doesn’t even touch cake on his birthday. Those are the kinds of things I wanted to know. Of course, from your perspective, Section Chief, it probably makes no sense. Wondering why anyone would dedicate their entire life to someone like Sijin, or suspecting I might have some ulterior motive.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Mu-yeong carried on in a quiet, measured voice.

“The truth is, there was a time back then when I genuinely wanted to die. I kept telling myself that what happened to me couldn’t be helped, that I just had to accept it, but it was suffocating. I couldn’t bear the thought of living like that for the rest of my life. Back in high school, my desk would be dragged off and hidden somewhere at least once a week. It felt as though everyone was telling me to stop clinging on and just hurry up and die.”

In the entire world, he was the only one forced to live this way. If only he died, he would finally be at peace, and a reason for people’s irritation would vanish from the earth.

People would forget Seo Mu-yeong in no time. He was an existence no different from someone who had died long ago anyway. Just as Choi Sijin had said, dying back then was the natural, expected outcome. Having forced himself to endure for eight more years since that day, he felt he had held on more than long enough.

Above all, there seemed to be nothing left that he could do. Neither the police nor the press would ever believe his story, and attempting to reach out again was no different from trying to pluck a star from the sky with bare hands.

Better to just become a star myself. His father had once told him that every person who died returned as a star. Everyone who would understand him, love him, and take his side was already up there.

Collapsed on the ground, Mu-yeong had looked up into the murky, pitch-black night sky where nothing was visible. Lying in that trash dump exposed to the biting wind, it had felt as though his eyes would close forever without requiring the slightest effort.

Mu-yeong murmured softly, “Yet human beings are strange that way. Even if it isn’t anything grand, just a single reason can make you want to go on living.”

Feeling the cool glass between his fingers, Mu-yeong looked straight into Choi Yook’s eyes.

“For me, that reason was Sijin,” Mu-yeong confessed in a quiet rasp. “I… only need Sijin.”

At the very moment he was about to surrender everything, petals had fluttered softly over his head—teasing him, as though daring him to catch them.

Even if he could never pluck a star, he felt he could grasp those petals. If he endured the pain, dragged himself back up, and mobilized every means at his disposal. After all, what Seo Mu-yeong sought was never the brilliant glory of the stage or the dazzling life of a star.

What Mu-yeong longed to reclaim was an ordinary, modest daily life, delicate as flower petals drifting through the night sky. In that daily existence, he would smile as he placed an order with a café clerk, and receive an apology from someone who bumped his shoulder on the street. Bicycles would swerve around him, the person ahead would hold the door for him, and he could ride the subway in quiet peace from start to finish.

And that older boy was there—the one who had never looked through him or scowled in annoyance, but met his eyes and smiled at him in quiet warmth.

The things Seo Mu-yeong had lost forever had become stars. Yet there were still flowers within his reach.

To seize them, he would undoubtedly have to struggle until he turned ugly. He could no longer live merely as the person he had been taught to be—upright, honest, putting others first, abiding by rules, obeying the law, and trusting in morality.

Even so, Mu-yeong chose to live. He resolved to fight with everything he had.

A faint smile naturally touched the corners of Mu-yeong’s lips. The scraping and banging of chairs against the floor had quieted at some point, leaving only the boisterous roar of the soccer broadcast to fill the room.

—”Many anticipated this would be an uphill battle, and the assessment that our squad is the underdog compared to the opponent isn’t wrong.”

—”Still, our players are holding up remarkably well. We’re only in the opening minutes of the first half, but momentum is everything in a contest like this.”

Choi Yook stared intently at Mu-yeong, yet he did not rashly open his mouth. What shattered the silence between them was the arrival of two bubbling earthenware pots.

“Order’s up,” the server announced, setting down the steaming bowls.

A platter of boiled head meat followed onto the table. The roughly carved slabs of pork carried just the right marble of fat, glistening with an appetizing sheen.

“Thank you for the meal.” Mu-yeong pressed his hands together politely.

Offering a bright smile, Mu-yeong waited until Choi Yook picked up his spoon before ladling up a spoonful of broth. Lacking the common chili-paste seasoning, the soup had a clean, light flavor.

Choi Yook shoveled the gukbap into his mouth with an expressionless face. Though his motions seemed rough and indifferent, not a single grain of rice or drop of broth spilled, which Mu-yeong found curious. As Mu-yeong watched him eat, Choi Yook caught the stare without even glancing up.

Without even glancing up, Choi Yook asked flatly, “What?”

“Just wondering if it suits your taste.” Mu-yeong gave a mild smile.

“It’s bland,” Choi Yook muttered.

Mu-yeong nodded with solemn gravity. “Come to think of it, this place isn’t just missing chili paste—there are no scallions, no kimchi, and no seasoned chives either. It seems like…”

“…” Choi Yook stared at him in deadpan silence.

“…business must be slow. Or maybe the owner prefers a low-sodium diet?” Mu-yeong tilted his head thoughtfully.

Choi Yook scoffed dryly, “Sounds like a loan shark who hates money.” He continued his meal while tossing out the blunt rebuke with utter nonchalance. Still, he didn’t seem to be in a foul mood, as he didn’t utter another word of complaint, nor did he press Mu-yeong with further probing questions.

Evidently, Mu-yeong had answered well. Chewing his rice in silence, Mu-yeong savored a tranquility that Choi Yook would never know—a peace born from not needing to bustle about intentionally, nor scramble to keep up a relentless stream of chatter. It was a respite where he could fully enjoy the entitlement of simply being there.

Before long, both the earthenware pots and the platter were scraped clean. Emptying every last drop of broth, just as Mu-yeong did, appeared to be Choi Yook’s usual dining habit.

When Mu-yeong rose to pay the bill, Choi Yook had already stepped up to the counter and swiped his card. Stepping out of the restaurant, Mu-yeong showed an awkward, sheepish look.

“I was planning to treat you,” Mu-yeong murmured sheepishly.

“The owner looked like he’d fail to see you again. Rather than watch you scurry back and forth trying to get his attention, it was easier to pay myself.”

Choi Yook looked down at him as he gave his excuse. Mu-yeong broke into a broad grin.

“So you were looking out for me, then?” Mu-yeong asked playfully.

“Pretty sure anyone with eyes would see I was looking out for myself.” Choi Yook opened the car door.

Climbing into the van, Choi Yook flicked a lighter and drew on his cigarette. Seeing him like that, it truly seemed as though he hadn’t spared a single thought for Mu-yeong’s feelings or circumstances.

How should I get the cigarette smoke out of the car? Resolving to search for methods online later, Mu-yeong reached out and opened the glove compartment. His fingers found a transparent plastic container packed full of colorful Okchundang candies.

“Would you like one, Section Chief? It’s great for cleansing the palate.”

Mu-yeong extended the container, fully expecting to be turned down.

The cigarette smoldered quietly between Choi Yook’s fingers. Perhaps he was taken aback by the sudden offering of old-fashioned traditional candy for dessert.

Yet after studying the container in silence, Choi Yook plucked out a candy and popped it straight into his mouth. Then he pressed his tongue firmly against his bulging cheek from within.

“You carry the most random things,” Choi Yook muttered around the candy.

“They’re delicious, though.” Mu-yeong tilted his head. “Do you not like them, Section Chief?”

Choi Yook admitted, gazing out the windshield, “For something sweet, it’s tolerable. Though it hardly suits modern tastes.” He crunched down on the hard candy, flicking his cigarette ash out the window. Mu-yeong gave an agreeable nod and chimed in,

“I suppose that might be true, considering how often I crave them.” Mu-yeong gripped the steering wheel. “I don’t really have many memories from before I entered the orphanage.”

Tucking a candy between his teeth, a sharp, refreshing scent of peppermint swept across Mu-yeong’s tongue alongside a rich sweetness. Guiding the vehicle out of the alleyway, he merged onto the main road. Having swiftly crunched and swallowed the candy fragments, Choi Yook turned to face Mu-yeong, the shortened cigarette still dangling from his lips.

“Now that we’ve had dessert, time to talk business.”

“…” Mu-yeong blinked, keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

“I’ll investigate the man Yoon Hee-sook mentioned,” Choi Yook instructed, his gaze fixing on the road ahead. “So Seo Mu-yeong-ssi, you go around looking into those shamans just like you told me before.”

Mu-yeong nearly choked and swallowed the candy he had been rolling over his tongue.

“By myself?” Mu-yeong inquired, wide-eyed.

“I’m busy for the time being.” Choi Yook leaned back into the headrest.

“Ah, if you’re that busy, it must be exhausting,” Mu-yeong murmured with exaggerated sympathy.

Choi Yook scoffed in disbelief, “Wipe that smirk off your face before you pretend to feel sorry for me.”

Mu-yeong bit the tip of his tongue, doing his best to swallow his amusement. Much like the cooling peppermint coating his mouth, the drive back toward Seoul felt crisp and refreshing. Of course, that pleasant sensation did not last very long.

“From now on, call every single hour from nine in the morning to nine at night and report what you’re doing,” Choi Yook directed with cold authority. “If I don’t pick up, leave a text. Seeing you run around all giddy, I need to keep you on a leash like this so you’ll behave.”

Just when Mu-yeong thought he was being cut some slack, the man tightened the leash with uncanny precision. Feigning complete nonchalance, Mu-yeong turned toward him with an affable, compliant smile.

“I’d love nothing more than to stay in touch often, Section Chief,” Mu-yeong replied cheerfully. “Besides, I’m actually very well-behaved by nature.”