***
After finishing his course registration, Hae-yul’s hands trembled with elation. His phone, set to the side, was buzzing nonstop with incoming messages. It was obvious without even looking — they had to be from Lee San-ha and Yun U-jae.
While Hae-yul was going through the courses he’d successfully registered for one by one, Lee San-ha — who had been waiting for a reply — finally broke down and called. Hae-yul checked it belatedly, glanced briefly around the inside of the study café, then grabbed his phone and stepped outside.
“Hey, San-ha. What’s up?”
─ Hyung, how did it go? Did you get the easy gen-ed I told you about?
“Ah, that.”
─ Don’t tell me you missed it? Ugh, hyung, you should’ve gone to a PC bang.
─ Hyung, never do course registration with Lee San-ha. He was being so loud next to me I almost dropped the ones I’d already grabbed.
Behind the voices of Lee San-ha and Yun U-jae, one after the other, came the rowdy noise of a PC bang in the background. The sounds of excited laughter, hollering, and every kind of curse word served as background music, and Hae-yul, who had been quietly listening along, spoke up.
“I got one too.”
─ Whoa, you grabbed it on the study café computer?
“There was exactly one spot left, so I grabbed it.”
─ For real? We’re finally taking that easy gen-ed together, hyung.
─ Hey, Lee San-ha. If that class hyung fought so hard to get at his study café turns out to be anything less than the easy gen-ed you promised, you’re dead.
Hae-yul swallowed his laughter at the bickering between Lee San-ha and Yun U-jae coming through the receiver. Just sitting and listening to those two — who had apparently been friends since middle school — go back and forth was entertaining enough on its own. But if he said so outright, Lee San-ha would definitely get his feelings hurt.
Glancing at the worn wristwatch on his left wrist, Hae-yul deliberately changed the subject.
“Hey… sorry, but I need to head back to my seat.”
─ Oh——! Right. Hyung, go back in quickly. You can’t get scolded by the owner there. This is all because Yun U-jae kept picking fights.
─ Why is it suddenly my fault? Are you insane?
“Alright, see you when the semester starts.”
─ What? Hyung! Why are you being like that, it’s hurtful! Obviously we have to see each other before the semester starts too!
─ That’s right, hyung. Make some time for us. At least let us get a meal together.
Hae-yul had been about to hang up when Lee San-ha’s and Yun U-jae’s words made him pause.
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s do that. Thanks.”
Leaving behind Lee San-ha’s and Yun U-jae’s bright, cheerful voices, Hae-yul hung up and stood there in a daze for a moment before slowly making his way back inside the study café. As he settled back into his seat, his expression was faintly complicated.
Truth be told, it would be a lie to say he wasn’t a little envious of Lee San-ha and Yun U-jae — the way they maintained the carefree lightness of their age without a single worry about making ends meet. Hae-yul genuinely envied those two, who had grown up in ordinary homes and would go on living ordinary lives. The moments he spent with them were the moments when he, too, felt at least a little bit free.
Just then, the study café door swung open and a customer walked in. The person, carrying a tumbler and a heavy bag, navigated the kiosk with practiced ease — purchasing a time slot, selecting a seat — and then made their way inside.
Hae-yul looked at the clock, which still read 10 in the morning, and stretched.
7 PM. Perhaps because he’d been riding the high of snagging that easy gen-ed all morning, time had seemed to drag unusually slowly today. Hae-yul handed off to the study café owner and stepped outside. He cast a single glance at the darkening sky, then shuffled off toward the goshiwon.
Having gotten through lunch with nothing more than a triangle kimbap, he was hungry. Hae-yul soothed his empty stomach with thoughts of the dinner waiting for him at the first-floor dining area of the goshiwon.
The first-floor dining area run by the goshiwon owner was a restaurant in name only — in reality, it was essentially a cafeteria for the residents. For just fifty thousand won added onto the monthly rent, meals were provided at a level that rivaled any decent home-style restaurant. On top of that, several side dishes and a soup were kept warm in insulated containers, meaning there was the added convenience of being able to eat without being tied to a fixed mealtime.
Hae-yul entered the goshiwon building and headed straight for the dining area. It was fairly crowded with residents eating dinner. Hae-yul set his bag down at the end of the long table, grabbed a wide plate, and started loading up his food.
Seaweed soup, rolled egg omelette, napa cabbage kimchi, stir-fried sausage and vegetables, seasoned bean sprouts, and soft tofu drizzled with soy sauce — Hae-yul had just finished plating everything in turn and sat down, about to take his first bite, when—
“Oh, Hae-yul. Perfect timing.”
Kim Myeong-gyu, who had just walked into the dining area, spotted Hae-yul and waved. Hae-yul fiddled with his spoon and gave a small nod in greeting.
“Hello, hyung.”
“Getting dinner? Great. You can eat together with me. Won’t be boring that way, right?”
Kim Myeong-gyu smiled pleasantly and grabbed a plate, starting to pile on food. Somewhere along the way, Hae-yul had begun to feel uncomfortable with Kim Myeong-gyu’s overfamiliarity. He was making strangely persistent attempts to encroach on Hae-yul’s personal space — and for Hae-yul, who had only ever wanted to keep things to a light greeting between them, it was exhausting.
Hae-yul quietly scanned the people seated around him and shoveled food into his mouth. It seemed best to fill his stomach quickly and head back to his room to rest.
“Wow, Hae-yul, you really eat well. I figured you’d eat small portions since you’re so lean — guess not.”
Just then, Kim Myeong-gyu set his bowl down directly across from Hae-yul.
Hae-yul, still chewing, gave a vague nod and drank some of his seaweed soup. He was just scooping up a big spoonful of rice to put in his mouth when he flinched at the unpleasant sensation of something bumping against the toe of his shoe.
Kim Myeong-gyu casually apologized.
“Ah. Sorry about that, Hae-yul. I’ve got pretty long legs, so I make mistakes like this sometimes, you know?”
Hae-yul’s eyebrows twitched at the absurd nonsense, but he didn’t bother opening his mouth. Instead, he picked up his now-empty plate and stood up from his seat. Kim Myeong-gyu, who had only just taken his first bite, looked up at Hae-yul with a startled expression.
“Hae-yul, you’re done already? I’m just getting started.”
Hae-yul, still working through the last bit of food in his mouth, swallowed it down and answered in a flat tone.
“Yes. Enjoy your meal.”
“Ah, no… why not wait and we can leave together. Don’t tell me you’re worried about making me uncomfortable?”
When Hae-yul only stared back at him in silence instead of answering, Kim Myeong-gyu spoke with a smile.
“I’m fine. You don’t need to consider something like that. I can eat comfortably without any distractions, so just stay sitting across from me. Have a bit of a conversation with me. We barely see each other during the day, so we should at least talk face to face when we get the chance like this.”
At the tone that somehow felt like he was trying to pacify him, Hae-yul swallowed his irritation. When Hae-yul’s lips refused to open easily, Kim Myeong-gyu’s expression began to slowly stiffen — whether from impatience or from being conscious of the people around them.
Before long, Kim Myeong-gyu furrowed his brow and spoke in a lecturing tone.
“Hae-yul, what kind of manners are those — getting up from the table before the older person you’re eating with has even finished? Is that how your parents raised you? I’m only telling you this because I’m your hyung; out in the real world, no one will even bother. They’ll just talk behind your back. Is it really that hard to sit and wait? Hae-yul, I was trying to teach you some basic etiquette. It’s not something you can learn just by throwing money at it.”
Hae-yul, who had been quietly listening to Kim Myeong-gyu’s speech, replied in a low voice.
“I couldn’t learn things like that because I don’t have parents.”
“…What?”
“I grew up in an orphanage. So I never learned what you’re talking about, hyung. If I made you uncomfortable, I apologize.”
Kim Myeong-gyu blinked, his lips parting in surprise. As sharp, uncomfortable stares began to pour in from the people around them, Kim Myeong-gyu fumbled for an explanation.
“Ah, no. That’s not what I meant… H-Hae-yul. Why are you making me out to be a bad person…. What exactly are you trying to do here, really.”
Hae-yul looked down at Kim Myeong-gyu, whose face had gone red, then took his plate and headed for the sink. After calmly washing his dishes in the now-awkward dining area, Hae-yul grabbed his bag and walked out, casting a brief glance back at Kim Myeong-gyu.
The expression on Kim Myeong-gyu’s face — spooning up his seaweed soup broth while nervously eyeing the reactions of those around him — looked briefly ugly. Seems like his precious pride took a crack when someone he’d been looking down on managed to embarrass him.
Back in his room, Hae-yul sat on the edge of his bed with a slight frown. He had already known for a while that Kim Myeong-gyu’s character wasn’t particularly decent, so he wasn’t hurt or surprised — but that didn’t make him any less annoyed.
Especially that moment when Kim Myeong-gyu had nudged his shoe while pretending it was an accident, then made some excuse about having long legs. Give me a break. What height difference is there between us, really. Unless it was a full hand-span like with Kwon Gyo-eon, maybe.
Having unconsciously drawn a comparison between Kim Myeong-gyu and Kwon Gyo-eon, Hae-yul drew in a short breath and muttered.
“…God. Who was I just comparing to who.”
It was true that Kwon Gyo-eon was a headache — but he wasn’t so lacking a person as to deserve to be compared to Kim Myeong-gyu. Having inadvertently taken Kwon Gyo-eon’s side without even realizing it, Hae-yul decided to cut off the train of thought by pulling out his wallet to sort through a week’s worth of living expenses.
The moment he came of age and left the orphanage, Hae-yul had set up his home in a goshiwon and begun living frugally in earnest. Reaching into the front pocket of his bag for his wallet, Hae-yul tilted his head at the feel of something stiff brushing against it.
“What’s this?”
He carefully pulled it out. Hae-yul’s pupils shifted almost imperceptibly. It was Kwon Gyo-eon’s business card. The one he’d received the last time they’d met, two days ago. He’d slipped it into the front pocket of his bag without even looking at it — and then promptly forgotten about it entirely. Finding it now, Hae-yul’s expression soured.
Taking in the name Kwon Gyo-eon embossed on the high-quality card stock — along with his title and number, one by one — Hae-yul felt a strange, inexplicable unease settle over him. It felt, once again, like having it confirmed that the world he was living in was truly Faint Fragments.
