Chapter 43

During the long winter break following middle school graduation, Gong Jio began working at Oseong Supermarket in tandem with his barbecue restaurant job.

It was evident that the grandmother had grown noticeably frail lately. As always, Jio responded by silently listening to her insist that she was just the same as ever. It was his own way of being considerate, and perhaps an avoidance.

Gong Seongju rarely came home now. Nor was he at the fishing spot. Even during off-seasons when he should have been home, he left to bring in money, and upon returning, did nothing but sleep straight through. A thick stench of salt clung to him. He seemed to have finally taken to the fishing boats.

Gong Jio never took the money directly from his hand; instead, he took only what was strictly necessary from the envelope tossed carelessly onto the living room floor and saved the rest separately. He had wanted to ask Gong Seongju at least once whether he liked working on the boats, but their daily routines were completely out of sync, and even when they crossed paths occasionally, they merely ate instant ramyeon or plain gimbap in silence.

“Your uncle’s quieted down these days.”

While calmly dwelling on the fact that he hadn’t managed to say that single sentence today either, Gong Jio missed his chance to reply when the grandmother tossed out the remark as if reading his mind.

Offbeat, the Oseong grandmother muttered, “Guess it don’t stand up no more.”

“Ha.”

Letting out something between a sigh and a scoff, Gong Jio stocked the empty snack shelves.

The intervals between empty displays were growing longer. The convenience store that had opened nearby was clearly taking a heavy toll. Aside from the older men and grandfathers looking for soju at night, young customers were virtually nonexistent. If there was any silver lining, it was that the grandmother’s failing eyesight spared her from seeing the dust gathering on the shelves.

“You got a sweetheart?”

“You’re asking that right after talking about my uncle?”

When Gong Jio shot back without a trace of embarrassment, the old woman clicked her tongue in disapproval.

“Now that I think about it, you little rascal, you’ve never once talked about the kind of stuff kids your age talk about. Not once.”

“Maybe I did and you just don’t remember?”

“Hey, you punk. My head’s still sharp. Can’t you tell from how I match your daily pay right down to the hundred-won coin?”

If it were Cha Gyuhan, he would have joked back, You never matched the ten-won coins, though? But Gong Jio couldn’t bring himself to go that far.

“It’s because I’m not like a kid.” Instead, he countered by dredging up words spoken several years ago. “You’re the one who said that, Grandma.”

“Right. I did. I remember clear as day. That was when…”

“…”

“Back when that Gyuhan punk vanished without a word, right?”

“…”

“Is that boy still staying here? Heard his younger brother is heading up to Seoul.”

“He’s staying.”

“Thank goodness.”

The Oseong grandmother muttered as if genuinely relieved. Several times over.

Listening to her, Gong Jio made an effort to toss out a joke like Cha Gyuhan would. As if the dust-gathering shelves, the grandmother who could only hear if he spoke louder and louder—as if all of it were trivial.

“Why? Happy that the sucker who pays out your pocket money playing Go-Stop is sticking around?”

“I’m saying it’s a relief for you.”

At those words, Gong Jio’s hands stopped.

Holding a pink snack box, he turned to look at the grandmother, who muttered while keeping her eyes fixed on the TV screen, “It’s a relief for you. How lonely would you have been if he left?”

“…How many years did I live without him? Why bring that up now?”

“Because how you live matters more than just surviving the time.”

“It’s not like I’d suddenly start living like a degenerate if he weren’t here.”

“You like that Gyuhan punk, don’t you?”

Did people get so blunt because reaching an old age made beating around the bush too tedious? Gong Jio snapped his head toward the Oseong grandmother. Only then did he realize his slip, but the grandmother wasn’t even looking at him. She had spoken with a certainty that needed no probing.

“Ah, who said I liked him?”

“Can’t you just not like him?”

Even though he knew it was already too late, Gong Jio grumbled defensively. As expected, the grandmother didn’t listen.

“Why go looking for heartbreak you don’t need to suffer? You’ve watched Gyuhan for this long and you still don’t get it? That boy will turn your insides inside out until you die of frustration.”

“What’s that got to do with anything? I don’t plan on saying a word in the first place.” In the end, having given up, Gong Jio babbled, pouring out words uncharacteristically. “I’m just going to keep going like this. Staying friends is enough. I have no desire to do anything with him, and there’s nothing I want to do.”

“…”

“I told you, I don’t want anything.”

At those words, the grandmother—who until now had been prodding him gently with an uncharacteristically lyrical tone—suddenly snorted and fired back harshly, “Bullshit.”

And then a slipper came flying.

Lacking the strength, it struck Gong Jio’s arm with a dull tap and fell, but bewildered by an object being hurled at him after so long, he turned around. There sat the Oseong grandmother, looking not angry, but as if she had just heard the most ridiculous joke.

“When you like someone, you want to share the same blanket and all that. What do you mean you don’t want to do anything?”

“Ah, seriously! Don’t say stuff like that. It’s disgusting.”

“Disgusting, my ass. If you still feel that way after wearing your new school uniform for over a year, I’ll boil soy sauce on my hands. All boys are the same. No, all human beings are the same. When you like someone, huh? You ask them to turn off the light for no reason, you call them over saying the bulb is broken. Just you wait a little. You’ll want to lay out a blanket. If you don’t feel that way, you’re fooling yourself.”

“You’re full of energy. If you had enough strength for a speech that long, why didn’t you help me out a bit?”

“I’m out of energy now, you brat. Go get me a chocolate milk.”

“Five hundred won.”

“Why should I pay in my own store?”

Looking at the grandmother still grumbling, Gong Jio felt relieved inside. Ever since the convenience store opened, he couldn’t tell if she was disheartened or if the timing just coincided with her aging, but her vitality had noticeably waned; seeing the strength in that slipper toss, it seemed he could put his worries to rest for a while. Besides, she downed the chocolate milk he brought in a flash. Confirming that she handed back the trash and turned over to lie down, Gong Jio started to walk away when a voice—neither completely devoid of strength nor full of it—held him back.

“Decided to change it to a convenience store starting next year.”

“…”

“Worked it all out with my damn daughter. She’ll run it from now on, and agreed to keep you on. I told her to make sure your wages are paid properly.”

“…”

“Now I’m really just gonna spend my days watching dramas like you said. I was sick and tired of it. It’s for the best.”

Sick and tired, for the best, wanted to quit, sick of it, sick and tired… Because those repeated mutterings sounded so completely opposite to what she truly felt, Gong Jio said nothing in response. Knowing that neither an answer nor comfort was what she needed.

Right before the entrance ceremony, Oseong Supermarket was finally converted into a convenience store. Cha Gyuhan, returning from Seoul, made a stunned face, then a complicated, ambivalent one, and then clutched his head as if overwhelmed by such complex emotions; yet having picked up on etiquette somewhere, he bought a congratulatory potted plant for the grand opening and set it at the front entrance.

And so high school began, and beside Cha Gyuhan—who contributed to sales by buying all kinds of ramyeon and food you could find in a convenience store—Gong Jio was still there; no matter what new cup ramyeon he ate, he still couldn’t taste anything special, and the same went for triangular gimbap.

“Can you really eat like that? Open wide. Ah. It might look a little rough, but this is seriously delicious. Trust your hyung and say ah!”

Yet the funny thing was that Cha Gyuhan’s hodgepodge creation—stir-fried instant noodles mashed together with a crushed triangular gimbap—tasted intense on his tongue. The flavors came alive. And the moment he made it for himself alone, it turned right back into that same generic seasoning taste.

There was no need to question why. Asking an obvious question just to hear an obvious answer was foolish and a waste of time. Still, even when Gong Jio saw Cha Gyuhan’s face glistening with sweat or watched him casually stripping down into his gym clothes, he still didn’t feel the urge to cross the line.

Not much of the year remained. Because Gong Jio remained unchanged, the event where the Oseong grandmother would have to boil soy sauce on her hands was drawing near. And around the time the red autumn leaves grew lush, the woman known far more often as the Oseong Supermarket Grandma suddenly passed away.

Her two sons and one daughter were abroad. Whether an excuse or the truth, citing reasons that ultimately felt like nothing more than excuses, they did not show up until the encoffinment. Carrying the casket fell to Gong Seongju and Gong Jio.

At dawn on the day of the funeral, Gong Seongju called out to Gong Jio, who was heading out in his school uniform, and dressed him in mourning clothes. It was a worn set of mourning attire, but the sleeves and trouser cuffs fit Gong Jio as though tailored for him. It struck him that this length would have fit Gong Seongju perfectly when he was Jio’s age.

As if reading his mind, Gong Seongju muttered, “I had parents who passed away too, you know.”

“I don’t.”

Gong Seongju looked at Gong Jio. Feeling sheepish, he tapped Jio’s chest a couple of times and said, “You’ve got the grandma and me. We’re practically your parents.”

“…”

“You’re not gonna make a joke asking if that means the Oseong grandma and I were married, right?”

“I’m not going to, and the thought never crossed my mind.”

“…”

“You’re trash, Uncle.”

At Gong Jio’s deadpan remark, Gong Seongju’s eyes went wide, and then he cackled with laughter, agreeing that it was true. Yet the moment they lifted the casket, Gong Seongju bawled like a little child, shedding tears until his face was completely soaked.

“…”

Gong Jio turned his gaze away from the grandmother’s daughter, who was weeping uncontrollably alongside him, and looked to his side.

Beside him, on the left side of the grandmother’s casket, stood Cha Gyuhan. Because he was someone who wore his emotions on his sleeve, Jio had expected him to be sobbing like Gong Seongju, but surprisingly, he wasn’t. He merely bit his lip firmly, an overcast expression on his face.

Once the pallbearing was finished, his uncle got into the hearse as well. Watching the rear of that vehicle, Gong Jio muttered, “Dying just so you wouldn’t have to boil soy sauce on your hands… how cowardly…”

Once the funeral completely ended, the burial mound was raised, and Gong Seongju, his eyes swollen and puffy, took the last bus back out to sea.

Daily life began once again.

Cha Gyuhan was also just as usual, aside from being quieter than normal. He simply refrained from pulling pranks, but during lunch break he went out to play soccer, thoroughly raided the snack bar, borrowed Gong Jio’s textbooks, and crammed by copying his homework.

And on the way home, after waiting by the back door of Gong Jio’s classroom since they weren’t in the same class, they walked home together as always.

As rumored, the house with the green gate moved to an apartment during Cha Gyuhan’s second year of middle school. That apartment was located off to the right from the fork in the road at Oseong Supermarket on the way to Gong Jio’s house. There was a shorter route, but Cha Gyuhan preferred walking with Gong Jio and stopping by Oseong Supermarket—now a convenience store. No, he insisted on it, and it had become a habit.

This time was no different.

When the supermarket became a convenience store, everything except the building’s structural frame had been remodeled, but one thing—the parasol seating—remained untouched. Except for the plastic chairs that kept breaking and being replaced like refills, even the slight tilt of the table remained the exact same. And around that spot, they would say see you tomorrow and part ways, or head to each other’s houses together. The parasol spot, pushed back slightly from the edge of the store.

It happened right there.

Inside the convenience store was someone else, just as the owner had said when telling Jio to take some time off because they’d found a sub. Gong Jio deliberately avoided looking that way and walked forward, only to turn around when he noticed Cha Gyuhan wasn’t beside him.

That was where he found him. Right there, beside the parasol.

Cha Gyuhan’s head was hung low.

“Hey, Cha Gyuhan.”

Gong Jio called out, but there was no response.

Frowning slightly, he stepped closer, and half a step away, a sudden sob burst out of Cha Gyuhan. Hic.

“…Cha Gyuhan?”

This was a guy who hadn’t even cried while carrying the casket. Deeply bewildered, Gong Jio froze on the spot.

With his fists clenched tight, Cha Gyuhan stood rooted to the ground, intermittently sobbing—hic, heugh—as tears dripped down in heavy drops.

Seeing those thick tear droplets—sturdy and robust, just like Cha Gyuhan—soaking the bone-dry road, Gong Jio barely managed to move, cupping the boy’s head and lifting it up by force.

“Fuuuck…”

And then he saw it. The sight of Cha Gyuhan crying, for the very first time.

With his eyebrows slanting down into an eight and his eyes squeezed shut, Cha Gyuhan let his mouth fall open with a heo-eong as tears streamed down; he looked so much like a little child that one could hardly call him a high school boy.

“H-Hic… G-Grandma. Hngh, Grandma… c-can I really, hic, snif, n-never see you again? Heong, hic.”

Perhaps embarrassed by the sobbing sounds, he kept tightening his throat in the middle of it all, trying to stifle it, which made Cha Gyuhan’s weeping sound completely unnatural and something… something very, very strange. Like… groans or moans…

Utterly flustered, Gong Jio froze, his hands gripping Cha Gyuhan’s head tight. Gyuhan was still going heo-eong, then heo-eut, gasping for air as fat tears poured down in sheets. Because he played under the sun so much, his skin was tanned, but his face was actually quite fair underneath, and right now it was flushing like a grapefruit Jio had seen only once before.

It flushed hot.

Not just Cha Gyuhan’s face…

Fuck.

Gong Jio ended up swearing inwardly in mortification.

He could vividly picture the Oseong grandmother up in the sky, grinning with a See? Told you so.

Barely a month and change remained until the deadline of their unofficial bet. And yet, this grandmother…?

Boil that soy sauce on your hands, Gong Jio.

Not only the Oseong grandmother’s smile, but her voice—triumphant to the point of sounding malicious—filled Gong Jio’s head.

His mind went blank, his vision blurred, and his field of view narrowed. Even amid that, Cha Gyuhan’s bawling face grew all the more vivid—no, because his vision narrowed, he could see it even more clearly… Looking at Cha Gyuhan’s crying face for the first time, Gong Jio watched himself cross the line not with hesitation, but in a single breath, without even realizing he had crossed it.

Now, the one standing blankly on the street was not Cha Gyuhan, but himself. From now on, the days he would count would be something completely different. It was no longer a bitter, tranquil feeling.

Fuck, fuck.

It had simply been a losing bet from the very beginning.

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