Chapter 39

Monday arrived after the weekend.

Cha Gyuhan did not show up at school.

No one knew the reason for his absence.

To think that Gyuhan—a guy who constantly badgered everyone like an old-fashioned parent, claiming that even if you’re sick you should collapse at school, even if you die you should die at school, and that a perfect attendance award was the absolute bare minimum you had to earn—was actually absent.

“There goes the only award Cha Gyuhan could ever win.”

Though they joked about his absence, the lingering silence that hung between their words felt distinctly empty and quiet.

Whether he was trying to seize control of the classroom in Gyuhan’s absence, or had grown anxious feeling some self-imposed pressure during the awkward lulls in conversation, Kwon Ingyu began picking a fight with Gong Jio starting from the break after third period.

“Hey. Don’t you know why Gyuhan isn’t here?”

Gong Jio didn’t answer.

“You two are close enough to hang out at each other’s houses.”

“Hang out? Gong Jio went to Cha Gyuhan’s place?”

“No, Cha Gyuhan went to Gong Jio’s place. I saw them last Friday.”

“Holy shit. No wonder Gyuhan didn’t come to school today.”

A skinny, average-height kid with a rodent-like face—Ingyu’s close lackey whose name Jio couldn’t even recall—chimed in, fanning the flames. He tried to stir up excitement, egging the class on to join in, but the other students’ reactions were lukewarm at best. Because the person involved didn’t respond at all, the dead silence that followed every jeer only made Kwon Ingyu and his crony look pathetic. Moreover, everyone already knew Cha Gyuhan and Gong Jio were close without needing to be told. Not only did they have no desire to mock someone Gyuhan was tight with, but if they were being honest, they simply weren’t comfortable enough around Gong Jio to mess with him.

In truth, that was the biggest factor.

Most of them had been told countless times by their parents since early childhood not to play with Gong Jio, but even without such warnings, the kids had always found him intimidating. Even at an age when mere mentions of poop and farts sent kids into hysterics, Gong Jio rarely laughed, nor did he ever lose his temper. His pale expression and light-colored eyes felt alien enough, but beneath his sugar-doll looks lay immense physical strength, and his rapid, bean-sprout growth spurt was unsettling. The other classmates merely looked away, reasoning that Kwon Ingyu only acted out like that because he was roughly the same height as Jio.

After that awkward third-period break, lunchtime came and went. When the boys who had gone out to play soccer returned just before the bell, Gong Jio was lying face down on his desk. Ingyu, in high spirits after scoring the most goals in the absence of both Cha Gyuhan and Gong Jio, strode over with the distinctive duck-footed waddle he had inherited from his father.

“Hey.”

Their relationship was strained enough that simply calling his name to wake him would have been awkward, yet Kwon Ingyu kicked the leg of Gong Jio’s desk. It was practically an open invitation to a brawl.

Yet Gong Jio didn’t answer, nor did he show the slightest reaction. Ingyu kicked the desk leg once more, asking, “Isn’t it weird that Cha Gyuhan hasn’t been seen since he went to your house? He isn’t buried in your yard, is he? Should I go dig it up today?”

At his snickering laughter, the classroom instantly turned freezing cold.

“Hey, of all the jokes to make…” someone muttered with a half-hearted chuckle, but with no one joining in, the laughter dissolved into awkward silence.

Only after the laughter had completely died out and the room was as dead quiet as if doused in ice water did Gong Jio groggily raise his head. Then he pulled out his earphones.

“What did you say?”

A slightly puffy face fresh from sleep, half-open eyelids, and music leaking faintly from the dangling earphones.

Kwon Ingyu was left with only two choices. He could back down sheepishly while everyone watched with bated breath, saying “Never mind. You were listening to music, you jerk? You should’ve said so,” or see this through to the bitter end.

Kwon Ingyu chose the latter.

“I’m saying it’s suspicious. Nobody’s seen Cha Gyuhan since he went to your place, and he didn’t even show up at school. Did you bury him in your yard or what?”

Kwon Ingyu forced an awkward Wahahaha laugh. Gong Jio frowned. His expression alone clearly conveyed that he couldn’t fathom whether what he had just heard came from a human brain or was sheer drivel.

“What the hell are you talking about? We went to Oseong Supermarket and ate ice cream. Go ask her if you want. Ah, right—you don’t even go there because you’re terrified of the granny.”

Gong Jio laid bare Ingyu’s weakness in a completely matter-of-fact tone, devoid of mockery or malice. He hadn’t even sought out the information to dig up dirt on Ingyu; the Oseong granny had simply told him one day, “You know President Kwon’s son at your school? That brat slipped a traffic-light lollipop into his pocket and tried to walk right out back then, so I scolded the absolute shit out of him. Pissed his pants on the spot, he did! Well, he won’t be doing any bad deeds in this life, that’s for sure.”

“Fuck, what kind of bullshit is that?! Who’s scared of some old hag?!”

“Watch your mouth,” Gong Jio muttered, swallowing a yawn. “You’re making it sound like you’re actually terrified.”

Watching Gong Jio slide down in his chair and lower his head, the newly minted middle school boys collectively gulped. To their eyes, he looked effortlessly cool. In reality, Jio had only bowed his head to stifle his laughter, reminded of Cha Gyuhan delivering a passionate lecture on how cool his hyung-nims were with a nearly identical line.

Having weathered the urge to laugh, Gong Jio raised his head.

Looking at Kwon Ingyu—whose boyish features were still clear enough that one could easily picture the exact face he made while bawling under the granny’s scolding—Jio’s resolve to simply ignore him wavered slightly.

Right. I’m sure you have your own struggles in life. Good effort.

Having often been the last child left behind at daycare, Gong Jio had inadvertently overheard all kinds of gossip from the teachers. One story was about how terrifying Kwon Ingyu’s older brother was, and how pitiful it was that the younger brother cried every day and couldn’t utter a peep. Ingyu might be trying his hardest right now to act like that very brother. They said that even while crying, Ingyu had constantly trailed after his brother begging to play, so ignoring him might only make him more relentless; giving him a moderate response seemed like a better approach. And so, Gong Jio decided to be generous.

“Ah, and while I understand our house gets treated like an inn where every stray dog and stranger crashes, nobody’s ever killed anyone or died there, so let’s not make up urban legends. Didn’t your dad tell you? Your father’s slept over at our place too. We don’t have corpses lying around. Our knives are so chipped they can’t even cut through a radish, so what are you on about?”

Gong Jio snorted. Caught completely off guard by the sudden mention of his father, Kwon Ingyu slammed his palm onto the desk. The classroom grew even colder. Jio could feel everyone’s attention laser-focused on them. Ingyu, visibly shaken by the classmates sneaking glances at him while repeating Your father…? in their heads, stammered out a protest, “Sh-shit! Hey! What the fuck… Stop lying! Why the hell would my dad go there?! Are you crazy? I-I’m gonna sue you for this!”

“Sue me for what? Gong Seongju nearly broke his back carrying your drunk father on his back. That’s how the man makes his living.”

“Hey!”

“What.”

Unlike Kwon Ingyu, Gong Jio’s tone remained completely level, without a flicker of change in his expression.

“Y-You… who the hell talks about someone’s parents like that?! What kind of asshole drags parents into this? Fuck, were you raised in a barn? Did nobody ever teach you any damn manners?!”

“Yeah. I didn’t get one. Go ahead, drag my parents into it too. Oh, wait, they’re dead.”

Even while saying something like this…

Whoa, crossing the line here would make you pure trash, someone whispered.

But because it was pitched deliberately loud enough for people to hear, everyone—including Kwon Ingyu—ended up catching every word. The classroom was a mix of boys holding in their laughter and those who didn’t bother. Gong Jio slouched further down in his chair and muttered so only Kwon Ingyu could hear, “Kwon Ingyu. I get that you want to be friends with Cha Gyuhan, but I don’t see why you have to mess with me just to get closer to him. Whatever’s between you two, handle it yourselves and leave me alone. Between you with a family and me without one, who do you think has less to lose?”

Deciding to respond rather than simply ignore Kwon Ingyu was, in its own way, an act of goodwill on Gong Jio’s part. It was just that his goodwill had to operate strictly on his own terms.

Right on cue, the Korean history teacher—who was immensely popular because he was always about five minutes late to class—shuffled leisurely back into the room, forcing Kwon Ingyu to stomp back to his seat while seething through his teeth.

A soporific lecture, a teacher who never scolded sleeping students—in the face of all that, the only ones awake were Kwon Ingyu, Gong Jio, and a couple of others. That was the extent of it. Kwon Ingyu spent the entire period glaring at Gong Jio, huffing and puffing until his face flushed bright red, while Gong Jio, feeling every bit of that stare, merely twirled his pen between his fingers. From sleepless nights and aimless weekends spent reading it until the print wore out, his textbook was already tattered and dog-eared. There was plenty of room to let his mind wander elsewhere.

Gong Jio mused in silence.

Why the hell is this bastard Cha Gyuhan so popular with the guys?

He genuinely couldn’t fathom it. What part of a one-dimensional idiot—who spouted nonsense with supreme confidence day in and day out, was simpleminded and ignorant, loved gym class, loved eating, and loved sleeping—drew people in like that? What made even the grandmother at Oseong Supermarket melt around him?

Thinking of Cha Gyuhan grinning like an idiot, shoveling food into his mouth until his cheeks bulged while turning on the charm with the supermarket grandmother and her daughter, or wearing that dead-serious expression over a bowl of ramyeon, Gong Jio broke into a faint, involuntary smirk. But that smirk soon trailed off into pity.

What are they gonna do when he’s gone? They like him this much without even knowing he’s leaving.

Seriously, what would they do?

He thought he had just been resting his chin on his palm, entertaining idle, rambling thoughts. He thought the pity had been aimed at Kwon Ingyu. Yet before long, Gong Jio was listening to those very words echo from within pitch-black darkness.

What’ll that boy do without Gyuhan?

It was the voice of someone talking over his sleeping self.

Even the low hum of the television in the background was familiar.

Gong Jio realized where he was. This was the small back room attached to Oseong Supermarket, and he was asleep in the corner. He heard the old woman click her tongue and murmur something.

Can that Jio boy even live out his natural lifespan without Gyuhan around?

God damn it. Why wouldn’t I? As if I’d drop dead in the street without him.

Frowning deeply, Gong Jio opened his eyes. The classroom was already completely empty. The school day was over.

It would be ridiculous to let a trivial dream dreamed while dozing off in class foul one’s mood, yet that was precisely what was happening to him.

The lingering aftertaste clung to him so persistently that when he passed by Oseong Supermarket, he hesitated, then refused to step inside. Instead, he turned his back on it, intending to cross the street and take the long way around.

“Gong Jio.”

Just how sharp were her eyes, or did she spend her entire life staring out the window? The sound of the old woman calling his name from inside the supermarket stopped him dead in his tracks.

Gong Jio paused, weighing whether to pretend he hadn’t heard. But pulling such a clumsy trick would only guarantee a severe scolding or an excruciatingly long silent treatment, so he gave up and turned around.

“Did you call me?”

Peeling garlic on the raised wooden bench, the old woman grunted bluntly as he stepped inside with a flat greeting.

“Where’d your partner go?”

“Who’s my partner?”

“Gyuhan.”

“Don’t know. Why is everyone looking for him through me?”

Gong Jio walked over to the wooden platform where she sat and plopped down. Crossing his legs with his hands shoved in his pockets, he stared at the worn toe of his bouncing sneaker. The steady scraping sound wore on him until he finally reached for some garlic and a knife. He kicked off his shoes, placed a bowl between his legs, and began peeling the cloves. Watching him steadily, Grandma Oseong clicked her tongue.

“Look at you throwing a tantrum just ’cause your partner ain’t here.”

“I’m not. I was always rude.”

He had lost count of how many times people said he had no manners because he grew up without parents, or sneered that his glaring eyes were unsettling. Whether he went into a beer pub looking for Gong Seongju or walked past men drinking out on the supermarket terrace, the insults came in every variety, thrown by an equally diverse assortment of people.

Honestly, Gong Jio found it hard to understand why they got so angry and offended. Did they want him to plaster a greasy smile on his face like Gong Seongju? Yet when his uncle did that, they called him a whore and a slut.

…Well. To be fair, Seongju did act in ways that earned those names.

Regardless, Gong Jio had no desire to spout empty pleasantries, had no idea how to lay on charm like Cha Gyuhan, and as for smiling—how was he supposed to smile when nothing was funny? That was all there was to it.

“Still, when you’re with your partner, you don’t look like such an ill-mannered brat.”

“That’s just because Cha Gyuhan makes so much noise. People can’t see anyone except him.”

“Gyuhan sure grew up to be a handsome lad. But your face catches eyes just as much. No, even more. That’s why you two Gong boys are the stars of our neighborhood. Stars, I tell ya.”

“If we’re stars, they ought to pay us money when they talk shit about us.”

“Your uncle isn’t worth that much.”

Grandma Oseong drew the line with crisp finality. Her blunt certainty drew a faint, breathy chuckle from Gong Jio—his first of the day.

Silence fell between them once more. It was only natural; neither Grandma Oseong nor Gong Jio were chatterboxes. Yet the sound of the TV murmuring between them felt eerily identical to what he had heard in his dream, and Gong Jio couldn’t hold back the question any longer.

“Do you think I’m a mess, granny?”

“What?”

“Do you think I’ll grow up to be a total wreck?”

“Your situation right now is a mess. Is it not?”

“…”

“You’re too grown-up for your own good. A kid acting like an old soul, drifting around like an empty shell as if you’ve already lived out an entire lifetime—you think that’s healthy? I’m not telling you to go cause trouble like other kids or run around acting wild and thoughtless. I’m talking about what I see in your eyes. Is there anything you actually like? Anything you want to eat? Anything you want to do? Is there even a single thing you want to have? You walk around in front of an old woman with a face that says, ‘I could die tomorrow without a single regret,’ and you think that looks good? It’s a mess, boy. An absolute mess.”

He had none of those things. Before that, he had never even felt the need to have them. There were simply things he didn’t care for, rather than things he actively detested or found agonizing. He knew the state of his house and his living conditions would make others grimace, so he simply avoided showing them; he had never harbored any intention of shedding secret tears or spinning tragic, heart-wrenching sob stories over it.

Grandma Oseong fiddled with the TV remote. The battery cover had gone missing, so Cha Gyuhan had slapped a strip of brown box tape over it.

“Jio. You have to find things you want to do, things you want to have, things you like. If you live as an empty person, sure, it won’t hurt and you won’t get upset. But nobody knows what’s gonna crawl into that empty space. What’ll you do later on if you start shoving just anything in there to fill the void?”

“Granny… were you the type of person who pitied and understood my uncle, thinking he turned out like that because of some tragic backstory?”

“Not on your life,” Grandma Oseong snorted instantly. “He just likes that business way too much. Don’t even get me started. Gives me the creeps just thinking about it.”

“Haha. You’re right. You won’t find another guy like my uncle.”

His laugh burst out, but it was short-lived. Grandma Oseong gazed intently at Gong Jio before firmly grasping his hand. Gong Jio quickly opened his fingers and set the knife down.

“Gyuhan might be a bit simple, but he’s a good kid. His heart’s in the right place. And you need simple kids like that around you.”

“Why say something like that? We’re only friends because we’re kids. Once the blood dries on our heads and we grow up, we’ll live in different worlds and become strangers.”

At his cynical yet realistic reply, Grandma Oseong countered with a question. “And you don’t ever think about going to that world with him?”

Gong Jio turned to meet her eyes. His eyes were endlessly clear and pale in color, pretty to look at, yet when one peered inside, there was nothing at all—only a deep, hollow void. “What would I even do there?”

Grandma Oseong held his gaze for a long moment before letting go of his hand. “Aigoo. Creepy little thing.”

“You’re the one who grabbed it.”

Leaving her to shake out her hands, Gong Jio picked up the knife again. It felt familiar and comfortable in his grip. He had mastered the trick of slicing cleanly even with a dull, blunt blade early in life. Even so, that didn’t mean he could hide Cha Gyuhan away in the yard.

Gong Jio let out a quiet smirk, thinking Kwon Ingyu’s wild imagination was quite hilarious.

Was Cha Gyuhan the type to stay put just because someone told him to? Not a chance. Even if he died, Cha Gyuhan was the kind of bastard who would crawl back up from the grave.

How many packs of ramyeon left? I’m starving to death.

Gong Jio would stop seeing Cha Gyuhan only if the boy chose to leave for good on his own.

Maybe the reason he hadn’t shown up was that he had already left without looking back. Having treated everyone with his absolute best, he probably harbored neither lingering attachments nor regrets.

The smirk vanished from Gong Jio’s lips, and his brow furrowed faintly.

I really hate kids like that, granny—kids who aren’t wrinkled or crumpled. What am I supposed to do? Because they aren’t creased, everything that lands on them just slides right off.

By Wednesday, the question of where Cha Gyuhan had gone ceased to circulate among the kids. It was about time their interest cooled off. In its place, brief whispers flickered about why Kwon Ingyu’s father had gone to Gong Jio’s house. For Kwon Ingyu—who had skipped school the day after that “conversation” that wasn’t even a fight—Gong Jio covered for him by explaining that his dad had been genuinely drunk and couldn’t be helped. After all, having robbed Ingyu of a perfect attendance award—the absolute baseline of achievements—he felt obliged to pay him back.

To be precise, it seemed his uncle had borrowed money from Kwon Ingyu’s father. From what he heard, it wasn’t a large sum—at least from Kwon Ingyu’s father’s perspective. Still, the man had huffed and puffed his way up to the very top of the stairs looking for Gong Seongju, and since Gong Seongju had no back door to sneak out of, being at home at that exact moment meant he took a brutal beating.

He was thoroughly thrashed. The fortunate part was that Kwon Ingyu’s father hadn’t used the golf club he brought along. Cowering under the blows, Gong Seongju gave Gong Jio a knowing look; understanding the silent plea, Jio sprinted down to Oseong Supermarket.

“Granny. Please give me some soju and dried squid. Put it on our tab.”

Grandma Oseong stared intently at Gong Jio over her glasses before giving a single nod.

Inside the black plastic bag, the soju bottles clinked continuously, making a sharp clatter that sounded as if they might shatter at any second. Gong Jio thought it sounded like bones grinding and clashing against each other. When he returned, Gong Seongju was smiling slyly, sharing a table with his creditor atop the battered wooden platform.

“Ah, perfect timing.”

Looking at Gong Seongju grinning through a battered face, Gong Jio felt a faint revulsion. After all, the bloody red staining the gaps between his teeth made the smile rather grotesque.

Whatever else he was, Gong Seongju seemed to possess a remarkable talent for drinking, partying, and hedonism. Even though Kwon Ingyu’s father was a much larger man due to his heavy build, Seongju’s complexion didn’t change a bit until the creditor passed out snoring drunk. Or perhaps his face was already so swollen from the beating that it simply didn’t show.

In any case, Gong Seongju laid Kwon Ingyu’s father down in his own room and attentively pulled a blanket over him.

Sitting down next to Gong Jio, who had been waiting in the living room, the man called his uncle lit a cigarette. Gong Jio was seven years old at the time. A time when he had yet to meet Cha Gyuhan, had no idea such a person existed, and never imagined he ever would. Even back then, he was an uncanny, unsettlingly pretty seven-year-old boy whose eyes were already as detached as an old man who had lived through everything.

“Jio-ya. Your uncle’s gonna give you a piece of life advice. Listen close. I learned this the hard way, with my own flesh and blood. Know this one thing, and living in this world gets a whole lot easier.”

As his uncle bragged, Gong Jio waved a foxtail grass stalk and retorted dryly, “Did it make life so easy that you live like this?”

“Aigoo. Whose nephew is so damn smart?”

Grinning, Gong Seongju blew two smoke rings with his cigarette, spouting nonsense about how one was for Jio and one was for Seongju.

“Jio-ya. When you wanna win, you play weak. Play so fucking weak it hurts. Cry if you want, beg if you want. On the inside you can be giving them the finger, but on the outside you act like you’ll do whatever they want. It doesn’t work on the real vicious bastards, but for folks with even a shred of a decent heart, it works like a charm, see?”

“…”

“The catch is, you can’t use it too often. You only pull it out when you’re truly about to die—when it’s ‘I’m really dead this time, if I don’t take this shot I’m a dead man.’ Got it?”

“Was this one of those times?”

“Honestly, I didn’t think it was that serious, but damn, that old fart brought a golf club, didn’t he?”

His face was indeed a mangled mess as he groaned that his wounds really hurt. Staring at that split, battered, bleeding face, Gong Jio studied it closely to see if there were any resemblance between them. To his eyes, they shared nothing in common aside from their eyeballs.

Nor did his uncle’s lesson feel particularly nourishing or profound. In his view, his uncle seemed to play weak all the time, and he certainly didn’t seem to be living comfortably through that method. Even the toad plugging the cracked water jar in the folktale of Kongjwi would be more reliable than this.