Chapter 36

The two boys who were once in Grade 5 Class 3 and Grade 5 Class 7 were now back in first grade—first year of middle school—meeting right in the middle in Class 5. The sixth-grade days where they hung out every single recess so frequently that even the teachers gossiped about them had passed, and the torturous, starving fifth periods had passed, bringing them to their first year of middle school.

Gong Jio’s school uniform was oversized. It had been salvaged from the secondhand uniforms left behind by graduating seniors. His uncle was still living like a whore, professing that he loved everyone, but nowadays he took in some money through his antics, ensuring that Jio’s lunch fees were never cut off. In other words, Jio was now eating his school lunches paid for with the money his uncle earned selling his body.

He didn’t suddenly feel ashamed or disgusted by that. He had never felt that way to begin with. He had simply hated the fleshy smell of human bodies brought about by his uncle. Now that he was in the same class as Cha Gyuhan, he couldn’t fake having eaten lunch anymore; so if that was how it had to be, he just hoped his uncle would work hard.

Only after March and April had passed did the question resurface in his mind.

Holding the comic book Cha Gyuhan had brought him, Jio turned his head. Gyuhan was sitting in the desk next to Jio—which wasn’t even his assigned seat—playing panchigi, slapping a textbook to flip coins.

“Hey. Didn’t you say you were going back?”

“Huh? Where?”

“You said you’d go back once things got better for your dad. When you went to Seoul over the summer break in sixth grade, I thought things were sorted out.”

“Ahhh. Nah, not yet.”

Even though that meant his father’s situation was still troubled and the family was forced to live apart, Cha Gyuhan slapped his national history textbook with total nonchalance, successfully flipping the coins and claiming them.

Since whatever coins he won were bound to be pooled into buying popsicles to share after playing soccer after school anyway, the kids who lost to Gyuhan time and again never looked particularly bitter about it.

“Finished reading?”

Grinning, Cha Gyuhan leaned toward Gong Jio. Jio stiffened his facial muscles at the sudden whiff of fabric softener wafting from him.

“Not yet. Lend it to me. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

“Sure. Actually, we could just go to your place and read it together.”

At those words, Gong Jio pictured his house.

The dilapidated hovel on the verge of collapse. The illegally renovated outhouse. Not to mention the mold, the peeling linoleum that would trip you in the dark if you weren’t careful, and the fleshy odor of the people his uncle brought home without warning.

Jio lifted his gaze, then shook his head. “Forget it. I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Aw, I wanna hang out at your house, though.” Gyuhan stretched his arms and legs wide, whining in protest.

Jio merely flipped the page with an impassive face, showing that such whining wouldn’t work on him in the slightest. Comic book paper always had a slightly damp feel to it. He knew because he had already discreetly sniffed it. Even if he took it home for a night, the distinct smell of recycled newsprint would mask any odor of household mold.

“I said no. Hey, get back to your own seat. It’s cramped. Damn it.”

Cha Gyuhan was shooting up like a weed. His growth was flawless. While one couldn’t easily verify if his intellect was keeping pace with his physical frame, his character certainly seemed to be keeping up. He remained friends with everyone, and seemed to get along even more amiably with the Oseong grandma than Jio ever did.

Gong Jio wondered.

In that case, he must have heard about Gong Seongju by now. Or at least heard about the town’s notorious male whore, and the nephew who looked so strikingly like him that neighbors whispered his mother must have slept with her brother-in-law to conceive him. Was your silence because you lacked the wits to untangle such sordid rumors and relationship webs, because you didn’t care, because you were patient, or had you truly never heard them?

Just then, the teacher walked in. Though poor at studying, Cha Gyuhan was obedient to his teachers, so he scrambled to his feet. He gave Jio’s head a playful shove and scrubbed his hair, snickering.

“See ya in a bit, Jio-ya.”

Ahead of the elementary school graduation photo shoot, Gong Jio had cut his hair. The Oseong grandma’s daughter had cut it for him herself. Draping a sheet of newspaper with a hole cut in the center around his neck in place of a salon cape, she snipped away (snip, snip) as Jio emphasized repeatedly. “Short. Please cut it short.”

Back then, his voice hadn’t broken yet, retaining its boyish treble.

Jio had been worried that the idiotic Cha Gyuhan might mistake him for a girl all over again, and he hated the thought. He’s going to leave anyway—what if he goes back and brags about seeing some beggar girl? Reassuring himself that that was the only reason he hated it, he muttered in the unfiltered, coarse tone of the Oseong grandma and his uncle that he had inadvertently picked up despite never wanting to resemble them.

“Better not fuck this up…”

Watching from the side, the Oseong grandma smacked him on the head (Smack!), barking at him to watch his foul mouth, which caused a huge chunk of Jio’s side hair to get lopped off in one fell swoop.

In the graduation album, Gong Jio was immortalized with uneven hair on either side. He figured he should be thankful he didn’t end up with a bald patch. Jio gave his own picture a cursory glance before flipping back through the pages to check Cha Gyuhan.

“…”

The fact that he had actually worn a bow tie was pretty hilarious.

Looking at Cha Gyuhan grinning with a smile that screamed he would never listen to a word anyone said, Jio felt a laugh tickle his throat like a sneeze that refused to come out. Pressing his lips together, he returned the yearbook to the thick-glassed classmate who owned it.

Gong Jio hadn’t bought the album. He couldn’t afford it, couldn’t possess it, and didn’t have it.

From then on, Jio practiced cutting his own hair.

The best thing about hair was that even if you made a mistake, it would grow back. After numerous attempts, Jio was now able to maintain his hair length with his own hands. Though it was closer to a shaggy mop, it never covered his ears or the nape of his neck. He even pondered shaving it all off with electric clippers next time. But brushing down the hair that Cha Gyuhan had ruffled without permission, that thought remained nothing more than a fleeting contemplation.

“As if he’d ever be crazy enough to invite you.”

Jio didn’t budge at the voice of his deskmate, who sat down beside him and muttered just loud enough for him to hear, “Why would anyone go to a beggar’s house? It stinks.”

If one were to pick another famous house besides Cha Gyuhan’s Green Gate House, it would be the House with the Black Iron Gate. Kwon Ingyu, the grandson of the landlord who owned the commercial building in front of the bus terminal, was Jio’s deskmate. Born of a local lineage going back generations, Ingyu knew the ins and outs of Jio’s household like the back of his hand. Even down to the smell of his house.

Ingyu turned toward Jio and sneered, “Hey, Jio. Do you even do laundry? Wait, no, do you even have a washing machine? Stop by my place and we’ll do your laundry for you. I’ll even throw your underwear in the wash.”

Jio slowly turned his head to stare at Kwon Ingyu. His expressionless face had grown sharper along the jawline, and his bridge—which he already knew was prominent—had become even more defined, sometimes exuding an aura that didn’t seem to belong to someone their age.

And Gong Jio knew what kind of face he possessed.

“Why? You wanna see my dick?”

At the cold, dry retort, Ingyu bristled, breathing hard through his nose.

Had the homeroom teacher not been present, Ingyu would have shrieked like a brat, “Why the hell would I wanna see your junk?!”—oblivious to the fact that it would only bring shame upon himself.

Jio could have gone beyond making Ingyu angry and made him bawl his eyes out, but he held back. If he made Ingyu cry, he would have to explain the reason in detail to the teachers, and in doing so, even Cha Gyuhan might find out. Whether Gyuhan was pretending not to know or genuinely ignorant, Jio didn’t want him discovering what his house smelled like or what went on inside it.

“Jio. Put away the comic book now.”

Instead of rebelling, Jio quietly slipped the book into his backpack. Feeling someone’s gaze, he turned his head to see Cha Gyuhan—who sat on the hallway side, diagonally opposite from Jio by the window—looking back at him with a snicker.

Jio had never seen Cha Gyuhan cry again after their brawl at the bottom of the stairs. An apartment complex of nearly a thousand units was being built in town. Rumor had it that Gyuhan’s family might sell the Green Gate House and move into one of the new units. In a small town where a single day was enough for gossip to spread everywhere, there was no way Cha Gyuhan hadn’t heard the rumors about the Gong household.

If you’re so curious about my house, just leave already. Tell me you’re going back to Seoul. Then I’ll show you. Before you leave, I can do at least that much for you.

Was it because Gyuhan had an iron stomach that never got sick even from eating expired food? Cha Gyuhan still hung around him.

It was an age full of anger. His voice was changing too. His Adam’s apple had begun to protrude distinctly, and while pigments elsewhere were darkening, his eyes and skin remained pale and light. The nicer the weather, the more sullen Gong Jio became. When the PE teacher was in a good mood, he permitted Jio to wear a hat during class; when he wasn’t, he ordered him to take it off. “You little punk, what’s with wearing a hat during class like some arrogant prick?” Once Jio realized that the odds of that bark flying his way were directly proportional to the outcome of the baseball game the night before, it became a little less bothersome.

The day before, the baseball team the PE teacher rooted for had suffered a crushing defeat. Jio hadn’t brought his hat. Just how badly had they lost? The PE teacher launched into a lengthy tirade, nitpicking at every little thing. By then, Jio had already anticipated it somewhat. He’s going to find some excuse to tear into me.

“Hey, you. Gong Jio. Step out.”

At the summon from the teacher, who tapped a baseball bat against the ground—God only knew why he carried it around—Jio stepped forward without the slightest surprise. Naturally clasping his hands behind his back and bowing his head despite having done nothing wrong, the teacher poked his index finger firmly against Jio’s forehead, shoving it back.

Poke, poke.

“You little bastard, the ink on your birth certificate isn’t even dry and you’re wearing colored contact lenses to school?!”

There was no way the teacher didn’t know these were his natural eyes, not contacts. It was literally just an excuse to pick a fight.

Perhaps baseball wasn’t even the issue, but rather that the vice principal had chewed him out, Jio guessed impassively. And perhaps the real reason the teacher despised him wasn’t because of the hat, but because he resented Jio’s uncle—who was around the teacher’s age—and secondly, because he hated Jio’s deadpan face that never shifted an inch no matter how much he was berated. Even to Jio’s own mind, those seemed like plausible reasons.

“This little punk… A teacher who holds the heavens above you asks a question and you don’t answer?!”

He could understand it. The teacher was probably in a foul mood. Seeing a young brat who was already nearly as tall as him could easily grate on his nerves. The vice principal might have annoyed him. And this face, resembling his uncle—a man roughly the teacher’s age, perhaps even a former schoolmate—could very well piss him off.

But as a teacher and an adult, shouldn’t he know that the kid making allowances for his petty grievances was also full of anger these days?

Gong Jio asked back in an expressionless, flat monotone. “Then what, should I gouge my eyes out?”

It was neither a reckless bout of madness blind to the consequences, nor was it bravado.

Gong Jio silently circled the schoolyard. With every lap he ran, he felt Cha Gyuhan’s gaze pinned squarely on him.

The weather today was mercilessly bright. The harsh sunlight glaring off the pale-yellow sandy dirt grated on his nerves. Letting out a low sigh, Jio kept running. Run until the period ends, and if your pace visibly slows, that’s disciplinary punishment—was that how the gym teacher had put it? Gong Jio figured it would be far more efficient for both parties if he just took a few hits and called it a day. A clean blow or two, and everyone goes home satisfied.

“Hey!”

Even at the sound of Cha Gyuhan calling out to him, Jio simply kept running without a word.

Another lap. Once again, he reached the spot within Gyuhan’s field of vision.

“Gong Jio!”

It was an unfamiliar voice. Natural enough, of course—Gyuhan’s voice was starting to crack and change, too. For a while, every sound coming out of either of their mouths was bound to be an absolute trainwreck.

Then, as he rounded the track once more, Jio realized that Gyuhan’s shouting voice didn’t actually feel so unfamiliar after all.

“Take that back!”

Wasn’t it pretty much identical to back then, when he was bawling his eyes out and throwing a fit? Come to think of it, Cha Gyuhan’s dick was still safe and sound. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Jio’s mouth.

“Hey! Gong Jio! Stop running!”

Like hell I will. I’m plenty stubborn too.

Truth be told, digging in his heels like this was simply the easiest thing to do. Running with his eyes glued to the dirt even as his vision blurred and a pounding ache set into his skull, refusing to invite Gyuhan over to his house—stubbornness was always the easiest path, because as long as he dug his heels in, nothing would change. Not his voice cracking, not his uncle growing older, not the linoleum flooring warping further out of shape, nor the repulsive, suffocating scent of the clients who kept showing up at their door despite all those changes.

Being stubborn was the one thing he could control entirely on his own.

Yet once more, right where Cha Gyuhan’s voice and gaze converged on him, Gong Jio ground to a dead halt.

“…Fuck.”

I try not to curse. Makes me look shitty.

Then again, when you genuinely had nothing to your name, that absolute destitution gave profanity all the justification it needed.

Resting the back of his hand against his forehead with the other planted on his hip, Gong Jio muttered once more, “How fucking humiliating…”

White flashes burst across his vision.

Jio could guess what would happen next. Gyuhan would sprint over. Screaming his name at the top of his lungs.

And with that, he collapsed.

For the record, he wasn’t weak or frail.

Gong Jio had never caught a cold in his life, nor had he ever suffered an upset stomach. He had ingested enough past-expiration-date food that Cha Gyuhan’s proud boasts about having an iron stomach seemed downright laughable.

His uncle used to blabber that growing up like a stray mutt was the only way to live long and healthy. In truth, Gong Seongju was the very definition of a stray mutt, and Gong Jio was merely a mutt’s nephew—flailing desperately just to drop the ‘mutt’ from his title, yet remaining nothing more than a mutt’s nephew in the end.

The bottom line was that while his eyes and skin were somewhat delicate, his physical durability across every other metric was well above average—in fact, thoroughly robust.

So this was the very first time he had ever passed out. Had he collapsed while alone, it might have been one thing, but doing so right in front of everyone—and worse, in front of Cha Gyuhan—made it infinitely more embarrassing. Gong Jio was certain that Gyuhan, not the gym teacher, had carried him all the way to the nurse’s office. Height-wise, the only kids in their class big enough to carry him on their back were Cha Gyuhan, Kwon Ingyu, and Seok Soon-young, and among them, the only one who would willingly volunteer was that Cha punk.

“…So you’re really going?”

“Yes. It’ll be my first time in Japan.”

“The only time I went was a hot spring trip with some other teachers. Sounds exciting!”

“Aww, it’s just for my dad’s work.”

Cha Gyuhan’s voice drew nearer, growing clearer. Gong Jio remained silent, staring up at the caterpillar-like patterns embossed on the acoustic ceiling tiles. At least I haven’t gone blind, he thought detachedly. Looks like my eyesight isn’t ruined either. Good thing, since I don’t have the money for glasses anyway.

“Well, that’s great either way. How long has it been since you last saw your father?”

“Not that long, but we only got to see each other briefly last time.”

“You must have missed him a lot. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah. And now I’m getting a younger sibling, too…”

“Sounds like you’re going to have your hands full, Gyuhan. Still, having an older brother like you? That baby is lucky. I’ll pray for you, Gyuhan.”

Prayers, my ass.

Jio shifted and turned onto his side.

He had tried that prayer thing before; it didn’t do shit. The bread they handed out at church was pretty good, though.

And… so Gyuhan was leaving after all. Finally. At long last.

“Jio-ya. The gym teacher didn’t do it on purpose. He wasn’t being harsh because he dislikes you; he just wants the best for you, because he cares about you. So don’t take it to heart, okay? Go straight home, get plenty of rest, drink lots of water…”

Usually, the school nurse would tell students they were fine after an hour of sleep and send them back to class, so Jio had wondered why she let him stay in the infirmary until the final bell. Watching her fret nervously, Gong Jio had merely nodded. He had never intended to report it anywhere to begin with. Speaking up required someone willing to listen, and harboring a grudge required enough passion to be angry. Neither applied to Gong Jio.

Whether she had kept him out of preemptive guilt or genuine concern, spending the rest of the school day in the nurse’s office was a relief in its own right. Otherwise, Kwon Ingyu would have spent the entire afternoon pestering him from the adjacent seat. And given Jio’s mood today, he undoubtedly would have ended up driving a fist straight into Ingyu’s smug face.