Chapter 24

“You wretched brat, who told you to open your mouth! How dare you speak! Where do you think you are, daring to speak!”

Her thunderous rebuke was followed by a vicious thrashing with a switch. After being whipped on his calves until they bled that day, Seo Mu-yeong never uttered a single peep for ordinary matters. Even when he cried, he only wept silently, letting the tears stream down without a sound.

Tracing back through the memories, Seo Mu-yeong slowly cast his gaze downward. At a glance, his expression looked blank and vacant, but Choi Yook’s scrutiny only intensified as he watched him. He was trying to decipher the underlying motive behind Mu-yeong’s needless chatter.

Choi Yook was likely the only person who could properly perceive what kind of human being Seo Mu-yeong was. Because without a deliberate presence, no one else could even detect Mu-yeong’s existence.

People easily forgot him, and they didn’t even know what he looked like. It was a reality reaffirmed at every turn, starting with Han Seo-yoon and continuing all the way here to the nursing home today.

It was as if the entire world except for himself had lost its collective mind. Though Seo Mu-yeong was pale for a living person, to Choi Yook, every subtle shift in his expression and every action he took were unmistakably clear. The words Han Seo-yoon had rattled on about—ghosts, apparitions, phantoms—sounded entirely laughable.

Yet, as if deflecting even Choi Yook’s piercing insight, Seo Mu-yeong’s expression remained utterly blank. Far from revealing higher-order dimensions like goodwill or malice, truth or lies, it was a face that made one question whether he possessed a self-awareness at all.

Choi Yook addressed him by name.

“Seo Mu-yeong-ssi.”

Seo Mu-yeong gave a start and looked at Choi Yook. To suspect him of harboring complex schemes, his look was far too transparent, almost simple-minded.

And yet, he was also the very same man who had been retorting without an ounce of intimidation just moments ago. Choi Yook hoisted the basket in his hand to show him.

“The daily interest racked up if you run off costs more than this fruit basket,” Choi Yook warned flatly.

“…” Seo Mu-yeong held his tongue, meeting the man’s hard gaze.

“So earn your keep. Don’t make me feel like making money off you.”

Having said his piece, Choi Yook walked out of the visiting room. Seo Mu-yeong swallowed dryly. Was the man implying he’d force him to run just to wring money out of him? It was a calculation worthy of a truly vicious loan shark.

Rubbing the throbbing back of his head, Seo Mu-yeong did some light stretches. Starting by shaking out his hands, he loosened his frequently stiff ankles and gently rotated his knees to prevent any popping sounds while walking. Bending at the waist, he tied his sneaker laces tight, completing his preparations.

Shall I go see just how extraordinary this notebook of hers really is?

Heading down to the third floor, Seo Mu-yeong walked down the corridor. Most of the floor consisted of private and semi-private residential rooms. Large plastic nameplates were mounted above the safety handrails that stretched continuously along the walls.

Room 302, Yoon Hee-sook. Beside that nameplate, Seo Mu-yeong quietly waited for the opportune moment.

When dinner arrived, a caregiver appeared pushing a cart laden with meal trays. She rapped vigorously on the door, raising her voice to announce dinner.

“Dinner is here, mealtime!” the caregiver called out cheerfully.

As she pushed the door wide and stepped inside, Seo Mu-yeong slipped in right behind her. The room was perhaps seven pyeong—roughly the same size as his own studio apartment.

Passing the bathroom situated next to the entrance, bookcases of various sizes lined the walls. The fruit basket that Yoon Hee-sook had ultimately failed to turn away rested atop a knee-high bookshelf. Just as Seo Mu-yeong had suggested, the Shine Muscat grapes were nowhere to be found in the arrangement.

Beside the bed stood a large steel cabinet instead of a bookcase. Inside its wide-open doors, dozens of notebooks bound in wine-colored faux leather were lined in rows. A quick scan of the years stamped onto the spines suggested they chronicled the full history of Yoon Hee-sook’s life since her appointment as a teacher.

Crouched before the cabinet, Yoon Hee-sook was engrossed in reading something. Sensing a presence, she slammed the cabinet shut, her voice rising in shrill indignation.

“Why are you barging in so suddenly!” Yoon Hee-sook snapped. “Where are your manners?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. But please eat your dinner first, alright?” The caregiver coaxed gently. “They made the stir-fried king oyster mushrooms you like today,” she added, gesturing toward the savory side dish.

The caregiver spoke in a brisk, cheerful manner without a hint of blame. Clutching the notebook, Yoon Hee-sook kept her guard up, glaring suspiciously at the caregiver. The caregiver casually set the meal tray down on the folding table with an unbothered expression.

“Grandma, I’m not interested in that at all,” the caregiver said soothingly. “I’m not curious, and I won’t look. More importantly, your nephew brought fruit today, remember? I sliced some pineapple for you, so please eat it once you’re done with your meal.”

Even after the woman left the room, Yoon Hee-sook remained on high alert for quite some time. Though her darting eyes merely glazed right past Seo Mu-yeong.

Only after shoving the notebook she held beneath her pillow did Yoon Hee-sook pick up her chopsticks. As she chewed her rice at an agonizingly slow pace, a solitary mutter escaped between her teeth.

“…I lived diligently,” she mumbled under her breath, glaring into empty air as she brooded over her thoughts. “I did nothing wrong. I lived uprightly. I never made a mistake. Not even once…”

Picking up a piece of mushroom with her chopsticks, Yoon Hee-sook chewed it slowly. Seo Mu-yeong silently approached her side.

In the past, he used to think revenge would be like target shooting. The target was set; all one had to do was aim true and pull the trigger, and the bullet would strike center. He had believed everything would be clear, definite, and strictly orderly.

But having actually started, revenge turned out to be more like digging up sweet potatoes. He had experienced it once as a child during a daycare field trip—as you struck the dirt with a small hand-hoe, sweet potatoes kept emerging endlessly from underground. Some were as thick as an arm, others only as small as a finger. Harvesting yielded one after another from places he had never even imagined.

In that sense, Yoon Hee-sook was a sweet potato the size of a pinky. Small as it was, a sweet potato was still a sweet potato. Even so, the way you prepared a small sweet potato differed from how you handled a large one.

Seo Mu-yeong slid his hand beneath the pillow. The nursing home bedding was exceptionally plush and soft—so much so that it didn’t make the faintest rustle while he slipped the notebook out.

Seo Mu-yeong flipped through the pages as he walked toward the door. Yoon Hee-sook was the kind of person who had left behind every single supply issued by the library right where it belonged, down to the last paperclip. Yet the most important things—the events she had witnessed—were preserved right here, rather than on a computer or roster. Mentions of Seo Mu-yeong turned up even with a cursory skim.

January 4

Weather: Snow. Despite the heavy snowfall, the kid from the shaman’s house showed up with bare legs, wearing a black skirt and a thin coat. Her obsession with dressing up in this kind of weather is truly an eyesore.

Whether that stubbornness stems from the brat or the shaman, it is utterly intolerable to watch. If student Yeon-jae hadn’t tied up that disheveled bird’s nest of hair with a rubber band, she would have looked truly unsightly.

Still, I never expected student Yeon-jae to come today as well. It must have been so difficult for him to make the trip out to such a remote place in this bitter cold. Seeing him drape his own padded winter coat over the girl’s shoulders was so pitiful that I turned up the radiator.

Student Yeon-jae?

Seo Mu-yeong paused on that page. Back then, though he washed and dried his hair on his own, he was clumsy at it. As his hair grew long and unkempt, it had become even harder to manage, but his grandmother never paid attention to such things.

Yet the older boy had scolded Seo Mu-yeong, telling him he needed to dry his hair thoroughly. He had brought a comb from home, brushed out his tangled hair, and tied it back, however clumsily, with a yellow rubber band.

His pulse steadily quickened at the reviving memories. The name Yeon-jae reappeared just a few pages later.

+++

January 10

Weather: Clear. I asked student Yeon-jae to help me organize the bookshelves. But that dim-witted shaman girl tagged along right behind him, insisted on reaching for a book on the top shelf, and ended up knocking books down for no reason. If she can’t even speak, she should at least keep quiet!

Student Yeon-jae shielded the child and took the blow from the falling books on his back. It was a close call—the sharp corner could have struck his head. When I went to discipline the brat, student Yeon-jae stopped me.

Being clever and calm is a virtue, but acting so soft-hearted whenever that brat is involved is a real flaw. I thought he would grow out of it since he’s entering middle school soon.

As the saying goes, ‘he who touches pitch shall be defiled’; I worry that child might end up ruining student Yeon-jae. I should have foreseen it from the moment he made that bizarre request asking me never to call him by his name in front of that kid.

Seo Mu-yeong’s heart thumped wildly against his ribs. There was no way he could ever forget the events of that day. It was an incident that had been revived all the more vividly because of Choi Yook.

In that case, the older boy’s name was definitely “Yeon-jae.” The reason he had told Yoon Hee-sook never to call him by his name must have been so that he could tell Mu-yeong himself one day. Because that was what he had promised on the last day they saw each other. At this unexpected harvest, the hands clutching the notebook trembled violently.

What was his surname? He frantically turned the page, but there was no mention of it. Countless combinations flashed through his mind. Kim Yeon-jae, Lee Yeon-jae, Park Yeon-jae, Jeong Yeon-jae, Kang Yeon-jae, Han Yeon-jae, Yoon Yeon-jae…

Any of them would do. It was a name that suited the older boy wonderfully. It carried an aura that was clean and refined, yet neither finicky nor cold. The gentle ‘Yeon’ paired with the steadfast ‘Jae’ made it utterly perfect in itself.

If he asked Choi Yook to check the membership registry, he’d surely be able to find out the surname too. Barely calming his racing heart, Seo Mu-yeong turned to the later pages. The content he had originally set out to find finally caught his eye.

February 28

Weather: Clear, turning overcast. …Near closing time, a handsome man in a tailored suit and wine-red dress shirt visited. He appeared to be in his early thirties. His hair was slicked neatly back to reveal a broad, handsome forehead, and he had a distinct mole beneath his lower lip. Groomed impeccably down to every fingernail, he spoke in a smooth Seoul accent that seemed almost bewitching.

As we conversed, the man asked about the child from the shaman’s house, and without realizing it, my voice grew a little loud. He seemed like a true gentleman who understood the difficulties of this job well. Seeing that he offered to do the member registration next time since operating hours were coming to an end only confirmed it.

+++

Seo Mu-yeong closed the notebook. It wasn’t surprising that Yoon Hee-sook had cherished and preserved it rather than destroying it.

Even cheating couples snapped photos as souvenirs, let alone for Yoon Hee-sook, to whom this was the chronicle of a faithful, accomplished life. A lump of pure jade she could never bear to throw away merely because it possessed a minor flaw.