At the careful request, the attorney’s unease showed plainly on his face. Yieum kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, so he couldn’t see Chaehyeok’s expression.
The judge composed himself and gave a nod.
“Very well. Would the two of you please step outside for now.”
Both rose from their seats without a word of protest. The attorney looked back at Yieum even as he pulled the door shut behind him. His troubled thoughts were written all over his face.
The click of the door sealed them off completely from the outside world. The judge, who had been watching quietly, offered what passed for a gentle smile.
“Go ahead and say whatever’s on your mind.”
“Does a formal guardian really have to be decided right now?”
“Is there a reason it shouldn’t be?”
Meeting the judge’s puzzled expression, Yieum laughed bitterly inside. Deep down, he wanted to beg the judge to find him a proper guardian right then and there. But that was impossible — and more than anything, he wanted to settle his debt to Chaehyeok as quickly as he could.
Yieum had never thought of himself as a skilled liar. If anything, he was closer to the opposite. But he had long since mastered the art of knowing what to say and what to leave unsaid. It was a survival skill an unstable life had taught him.
“It’s just that a temporary guardian is all I need right now.”
Persuading the judge by carefully editing nothing but the truth was never going to be easy. The judge peered at him over his glasses and asked a pointed question.
“Do you have a separate alternative in mind for the future?”
“That’s…… I was told the court would decide that.”
“If the biological father’s parental rights are terminated and there’s no suitable legal guardian, the only option would be a care facility or a foster home. In that case, the facility director would take on the role of legal guardian.”
The words stopped Yieum cold. He had been naively assuming that independent living would be possible as long as he had a legal guardian’s oversight.
He was beginning to dimly understand why the judge had been pushing so hard for Chaehyeok.
Facilities had limited resources shared among many children — an adolescent with alternatives available wouldn’t exactly be a welcome addition.
What stung, though, was that the attorney had known this and said nothing. His role was to represent Chaehyeok’s interests, so there was no reason for him to tip Yieum off in advance. Perhaps he’d worried that knowing ahead of time would make Yieum cling pathetically.
If that guess was right, it was a needless concern.
Yieum, more than anyone, wanted to cut ties with Chaehyeok as fast as possible. The man was unpredictable and far too self-willed. They’d only met a handful of times, and Yieum had already been jerked around enough by his whims. He didn’t even want to imagine how unsettling every day would be if they lived together.
“Even if it’s not what I want?”
At those few words, the judge’s expression hardened at once. He straightened in his seat and gripped his pen firmly. He seemed to have interpreted Yieum’s words as meaning something else.
“If there’s something that makes living together difficult, or if there’s anything where you need the help of an institution, please tell me.”
“……The truth is, we’re just not that close.”
Yieum’s voice grew smaller and smaller, guided by his conscience. The judge was trying to help him — was it all right to deceive him like this?
Then again, he could hardly come out and say ‘Chaehyeok is a gangster who became my guardian to collect a debt.’
Above all, it was Yieum himself who had accepted the temporary guardian proposal knowing exactly what Chaehyeok was. The fact that he now wanted to sever ties with him quickly wasn’t Chaehyeok’s fault either.
“Is it the psychological distance between you and the guardian?”
Yieum gave a faint nod. The back of his hand where Chaehyeok had patted him earlier itched unbearably. He scraped his nails over it until the skin turned red.
“The money side of things — he’d know about that better than anyone…… so I can rely on him for that part. But I don’t want to depend on him for everything in my daily life.”
The judge let out a tired sigh and removed his glasses. The hand wiping the lenses with his robe sleeve moved slowly. A heavy silence settled over the courtroom in the meantime.
They said that if the ward was thirteen or older, their opinion should be respected — but the reality was different. Yieum, who had never once complained about a side dish in his life, felt as though he’d become a child throwing a tantrum in a courtroom. A deep weight of guilt pressed down on his chest.
“I’m curious — why is it that you don’t want to depend on him?”
“He’s immature.”
“In what way?”
The judge put his glasses back on and asked. He couldn’t fabricate conflict that didn’t exist — but it wasn’t as though there had been zero friction either. If he kept it vague enough, it might hold up. Yieum swallowed a quiet sigh and opened his mouth.
“He’s moody, and his mouth is foul…… We actually got into an argument on the way here today. What kind of adult picks a real fight with a middle schooler?”
Perhaps because he’d decided to let his guard down, the words came out easily. By the end, genuine grievance had crept into his voice.
The judge, who had been listening in silence, set down his pen — the small click rang out in the quiet courtroom. He then laced his empty hands together and rested them calmly on the desk.
“Yieum, when you lived with your biological father — did you ever fight with him?”
“No, back then……”
The moment his biological father came to mind, his throat went dry on its own. Even Yieum could sense it, vaguely. That his castrated defiance wasn’t simply a matter of physical force.
Struck by a wave of embarrassment, Yieum bit down on his lower lip without thinking.
The judge, who had been watching him, slowly leaned forward. His hand touched the papers on the desk, and the soft rustle of pages brushed against the silence.
“The relationship between a guardian and a child is more unequal than people tend to think.”
The judge paused. His gaze dropped. Behind his glasses, his eyelids closed slowly and opened again.
Yieum pressed the palm of his other hand flat over the back of the hand he’d been scratching. A burning heat hummed beneath the skin.
“Generally speaking, a person simply…… cannot bring themselves to defy someone who holds the power of life and death over them.”
The judge’s manner was gentle, but the air in the courtroom filled the lungs heavily.
In those words lived the entirety of Yieum’s short life. All those years of not being able to voice a preference, of expressing emotion only on the surface.
Even though it wasn’t wrong, a rush of defiance swelled up inside him.
Probably because it had struck exactly where it hurt.
When Yieum looked away, the judge held his silence for a moment. Only the faint hum of the air conditioner could be heard. Without realizing it, Yieum bit at a hangnail with his teeth. A sharp sting flared, and tiny beads of blood welled up beneath his nail.
In the pause, the quiet scratch of the judge’s pen moving across paper filled the room. When Yieum lifted his head, the judge continued writing on the documents as he spoke.
“Having seen countless cases, I can say with confidence — Cheon Chaehyeok regards Yieum as an equal.”
“I don’t think that’s true……”
It was a rebuttal born of wounded pride. His voice shrank accordingly.
The judge finished what he was writing, placed the final period, and at last looked up. A faint trace of amusement rested at the corners of his eyes.
“Then would a care facility suit Yieum better?”
“……”
He couldn’t bring himself to say yes. And yet he couldn’t honestly say he was glad about his emotional response to Chaehyeok — however clearly defined it had now become. Perhaps reading Yieum’s conflict, the judge added one last thing.
“A care facility is always an option if a serious disqualifying matter comes to light with the guardian.”
Yieum gave a reluctant nod, and at the judge’s signal, the door opened. The court clerk called the two men back in, just as before.
Chaehyeok entered behind the attorney, his face unreadable. The moment their eyes met, Yieum looked away without thinking. His swollen lower lip throbbed.
The judge exchanged a few quiet words with the attorney and nodded. Whatever the two had talked about outside, the attorney raised no further objections.
“The written decision will be delivered by post, but the outcome won’t change — so prepare accordingly. You may be dismissed.”
From the moment they left the courtroom to the moment they rode the elevator down, not a single word passed between them. As the floor numbers shifted on the panel, even breathing felt like something to be careful about.
The instant the elevator doors opened, Chaehyeok strode out. The attorney followed after him in a hurry, and Yieum trudged along three or four paces behind.
Like they were connected by an invisible thread, all at a fixed distance from one another.
Even while returning their visitor passes, they didn’t so much as glance at each other. A stifling awkwardness hung in the air. The attorney bowed to Chaehyeok first.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”
“Go on.”
The attorney disappeared through the revolving door. Yieum, who had been gauging the moment, seized his chance and spoke up.
“I can find my own way back.”
“Stop talking nonsense.”
But Chaehyeok cut him off without missing a beat. Could this really be called treating someone as an equal?
The judge had only seen carefully curated information — of course he could make that claim with confidence.
Chaehyeok’s mood was plainly foul right now, and the last thing Yieum wanted was to get in a car driven by someone in that state. After brief deliberation, Yieum tried to be clever about it.
His plan was to let Chaehyeok walk ahead like before, pretend to follow, then slip away. He dragged his steps deliberately, waiting for Chaehyeok to take the lead — but a large hand caught his shoulder and pushed him firmly forward.
“Go.”
The gaze drilling into the top of his head was sharp. It was the look of a warden who would not allow escape under any circumstances.
Practically shoved into the car, Yieum had barely managed to click his seatbelt into place when the car lurched forward.
His slight frame pitched with the force of it, and the screech of tires scraping the ground echoed off the parking garage walls. It was nothing like the model behavior Chaehyeok had shown on the drive in.
