And in that instant, Nunbi’s eyes went wide — a low, sharp curse cut clearly into his ears. It was a young man who had flung the profanity out as though he’d been waiting to. Nunbi pressed himself flat against the door.
“Good grief, but still, coming like this is a bit….”
The one rushing out to intervene was the head monk.
“What choice do I have? They’re saying they can’t leave this son of a bitch out in the open anymore. I’ve brought him here, so whether you lock him up, tie him down and beat him, that’s for you to sort out.”
“Haa, goodness gracious….”
Lock him up? Tie him down and beat him? The ominous words that slipped so vividly into his ears made Nunbi genuinely frightened inside. The tension outside had sharpened to a fine edge. Did they really drag someone here? Then the thundering will start now…. Every time something like this happened, the head monk and the senior monks always said the same thing: this is a temple that enshrines the Buddha, not a place to cage people.
“Either way, the election isn’t far off now.”
“So we’re just supposed to stand by and watch this worthless bastard disgrace the family?”
“Young master… we do need you to consider our position as well… if you really insist….”
“They’re putting him on a plane again soon anyway.”
Murmuring voices began drifting over. Unfortunately, no matter how close Nunbi pressed himself to the door, he couldn’t make out the words clearly. The head monk seemed to be speaking in a lowered voice as well. The atmosphere was growing more and more unsettled. The mood and the air were strange and peculiar in a way unlike anything ordinary. No matter how hard he strained his ears, he couldn’t hear anyone firmly telling the guests to turn around and leave. Even Nunbi could tell that all the monks were at a complete loss, helpless and flustered.
Why aren’t they throwing them out? There were plenty of ways Nunbi knew — gently reasoning with an unwelcome guest and sending them off, or at the very least telling them to come back after daybreak. And yet here they all were, gathered in front of the gate, doing nothing but wringing their hands as though faced with someone utterly beyond their reach. At that, the boy could contain himself no longer and quietly reached out his hand. He just wanted a tiny peek at whoever was holding the situation hostage like this. It was nothing more than a small, passing curiosity that didn’t require flinging the door wide open and making a scene — just one hand’s width. And a few seconds would be enough, Nunbi thought. It wasn’t that difficult either. He took hold of the latch and rattled it gently a couple of times, and the window with its loose frame slid open just as easily as he’d hoped.
Through the gap where rain-shadow poured in, the damp air of early summer breathed through.
“….”
Nunbi wiped his sweaty, slippery hand on his thigh and pressed his eye right up to the crack in the door. Peering out like a thief, he could see the faint glow of the paper lanterns the monks were holding, swaying and bleeding through the curtain of rain. Down at the main gate below — a whole crowd of people had gathered, each holding open a large umbrella. They were all solidly built men. Every one of them wore polished shoes that gleamed bright enough for even Nunbi to recognize, dressed in what looked like expensive suits, and the air around them was as menacing as gangsters. And…. And at the feet of those guests, someone was being held down. The boy drew in a faint breath and pressed himself even closer to the gap.
What is this? Narrowing his eyes to look more carefully, he caught a glimpse of a face, one side visible. Rain-soaked hair plastered flat, and below it, a jaw with no softness to it — a sharp impression. He seemed to be a guest a few years older than Nunbi. Far closer to a young man than Nunbi, who still had the look of a boy about him.
Nunbi understood in an instant — all the commotion of this predawn hour, the indescribably sharp atmosphere — it was all because of that person. The one who had dragged the kneeling guest all the way here was the tall man standing at the front. Young, with a cold expression. Looking at him, Nunbi shivered once, for reasons he couldn’t name. The man stirred a strange, instinctive wariness in him. The man made a gesture, and one of the suited guests grabbed the young man by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Then flung him like a piece of luggage at the feet of the head monk. Tall but thin-framed, the guest crumpled lifelessly into the mud like a paper doll.
“Going to kill me, are you — going to kill me….”
Nunbi, watching, was a little startled. Because even flat on the ground like that, the guest was letting out little laughs and saying something that sounded almost like a joke. Then — crack. A vicious sound sliced sharply through the air.
“You little shit. How many times do I have to tell you? Stop fooling around.”
The one who drove his fist into the laughing guest’s face was again the man at the front. Someone grabbed him as he staggered violently from the blow and forced him back upright. The punch had been so brutal that even from up here, you could clearly see his face starting to swell a violent red. Nunbi felt his fingertips go cold. The flustered monks moved tentatively forward, belatedly trying to hold the man back — and in that moment, the beaten guest gathered bloody saliva in his mouth and spat it onto the ground. For a brief, icy silence, there was nothing but the drumming of rain.
“You’re laughing? Right now, in this situation? You haven’t been hit enough yet?”
The man asked it so casually that Nunbi’s heart lurched. Laughing — he doubted his own ears, but astonishingly, it was true. Even caught in those rough hands, even after being struck and spitting blood, the guest was laughing — a light, airy laugh, as if something was terribly funny.
Nunbi froze right where he was. Must be out of his mind. That’s enough, then. He didn’t need to see any more. But strange as it was — even though it was a sight he had absolutely no desire to watch, Nunbi found that for some reason he couldn’t easily look away, couldn’t pretend not to notice and shut the door and try to sleep.
“Do I have to cry for you too.”
The battered guest asked with a soft smile.
“Ha, this little—…”
The next moment, the suited hands began driving their shoe-clad feet into him. Nunbi stared, rigid with fear, as the feet kicked the young man like he was a slab of meat — and then watched as the monks finally rushed in, stumbling over each other to pull them off. Everything went hazy.
“Stop! That’s — that’s enough!”
“Young master, tell them to stand down!”
“Hold him here! Here—…”
“You mustn’t — ugh!”
Several young monks threw themselves bodily in the way of the kicks, frantic and scattered, while on the other side, someone seized the blood-soaked guest and dragged him roughly behind the crowd. Someone cried out in pain, having taken a kick meant for another — and words unfit for a temple flew freely back and forth. Nunbi stood there with his mouth hanging open. It was absolute pandemonium. People tangled violently together. And through all of it, the guest at the center of it — shoulders shaking with laughter. Is he enjoying this.
“….”
Nunbi, feeling sick, pulled back from where he’d been pressing himself against the gap in the door. Shouldn’t have looked. Still unable to tear his eyes away from the scene below, the boy felt something like regret, though too late. This won’t do. I need to sleep. He felt like he ought to just go to sleep. Like he ought to unsee all of it. He tried to slowly get to his feet. But by now all the strength seemed to have drained from his arms and legs — it was useless. In truth, the boy couldn’t move at all, as if something had broken inside him. He just stayed rooted to the spot, breathing in ragged pulls.
“Stop! Stand down, young master!”
“Fucking — grab that bastard. Grab him!”
“Young master!”
“You can’t do this — ugh!”
Wherever he looked, it was chaos, and people were throwing themselves at one another. He didn’t want to see it. Only — that face.
“….”
What suddenly seized Nunbi’s gaze was a pair of bright red lips, split open and running with blood. Or perhaps it was the sharp jaw — slick and gleaming slightly with sweat and rain. And the laughter. The young man’s laughter seemed like it should smell of blood. That guest was staring fixedly at the mayhem unfolding before him. With a calm face. Eyes bright.
Everything was so wrong that Nunbi trembled like someone caught in a chill. Strange — I’m not the one being hit. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Nunbi was simply peering out through a hand-width crack in the door. No one knew he was there, so he could have watched it all with the detached calm of someone watching a stranger’s affairs. And if he didn’t want to look, he could always stop.
We’ll handle it, please, for now, young master, let this be enough, please leave, it’s late…. The monks’ voices, now resorting to desperate pleading, reached him as if from far away. Only then — at that point — the man they called young master finally made the suited hands stop.
“Then I’ll leave this in your care.”
Through the ragged breathing all around, the voice cut into Nunbi’s ears like a shard of glass. He tilted his head once — a curt, slight gesture — toward the suited guests who had been stomping on the young man and throwing themselves at the monks. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and put it between his lips. As the man walked out through the gate at an unhurried pace, the suited guests filed out after him one by one. The gate shut with a bang, and the commotion faded into the distance.
“Goodness….”
The sound of the monks — who had somehow ended up in an all-out brawl inside a temple — shaking their heads and sighing drifted over. Only then did Nunbi swallow the dry lump in his throat. He realized his back was damp. Cold sweat had soaked through him, his hands and feet were tingling, and a chill ran up his spine. Too sharp to be just the cool of a summer night.
While he clutched his ice-cold fingertips together tight, the sound of cars starting up noisily below reached him — the temple receding behind them as they drove away down the mountain. Then what about that person? Are they really leaving that guest behind here? Gasping under a tension with nowhere to go, Nunbi barely managed to breathe out the breath that had been caught near his throat. Just then, the young man left alone began to pick himself up, unsteadily.
“Good evening.”
A clean curve of lips lifted into a easy grin.
“Quite the turnout, for the dead of night.”
The young man said. He paid no attention to whether the monks were staring at him with drained, exhausted faces — he felt at his split lip with his fingers, then planted his hand on the thoroughly filthy ground and sprang up to his feet. He picked one of the umbrellas that had been rolling in puddles and raised it over his head. He turned his head loosely and began looking over the temple buildings at his leisure. Like someone who had simply stepped out for an evening stroll. His attitude was staggering.
