Instead, it was the small things that made Yieum follow him — the way Bongwoo never smoked indoors, the way he always noticed the first hint of a cold and fussed over it, the way he always washed his hands before ruffling Yieum’s hair after coming home.
His mother was a cold person, and so Bongwoo’s small, quiet tenderness had meant the world to him. Even that hadn’t lasted even three full years before vanishing like smoke.
Yieum swallowed a sigh and went back to poking at the peanuts with his chopsticks. He pinched one of the slippery little things between the tips, then set it back down. He was in no mood to put anything in his mouth and chew.
Those dark, unreadable eyes had been watching him for a long time.
When the long column of ash finally curved and fell, those smooth lips curved upward on one side.
“You’re sharp, kid.”
“I’m not a kid.”
It was irritating, being called kid every time without even being asked his name — but it also felt like the first real conversation he’d had in a long time. Come to think of it, Chaehyeok was the first adult since the accident who hadn’t looked at him with pitying eyes and had actually talked to him at length.
“How long does compulsory education last.”
“Elementary school, isn’t it.”
One of the passing heavies said something nonsensical.
“Through middle school.”
“See, sharp.”
The hollow compliment came across as nothing but mockery.
Sharp, please. Yieum was a kid with no idea how he was going to get through the days ahead. His homeroom teacher had come to pay respects and mentioned something about guardians and foster care, but information received in the middle of that chaos only added to the confusion.
Thinking about it made everything go dark in front of his eyes again. He mimicked Chaehyeok drinking and tipped the soda in front of him back. But his throat ached, and he had to put it down after less than half.
Cigarettes and alcohol were things from another world entirely — Yieum had no idea how he was supposed to relieve this suffocating bleakness.
“Are you good at school?”
“Yes.”
That was apparently genuinely surprising, because Chaehyeok’s brows lifted mid-drag. He even let out a puff of smoke with one corner of his lips curled up, like a scoff.
He didn’t need to go that far — Yieum already knew his own position. He could answer confidently now, but only because he was still in middle school.
On top of that, he was no longer in a situation where he could focus on studying alone. High school would certainly be too much to keep up with on effort alone.
His vision blurred. Even after tomorrow’s funeral was over, there were mountains of things to take care of. He needed to go to the police station, file the death certificates, look into the insurance.
And find a way to keep his biological father from getting anywhere near him……
He was just thinking he should probably get some sleep when Chaehyeok said something that snapped his eyes wide open.
“Then do you know that Bongwoo and your mother didn’t just die in an accident.”
“That’s a lie.”
His voice cracked with the shock of it. But Chaehyeok didn’t sneer — he simply knocked back a mouthful of lukewarm soju. The hand that refilled the glass was practiced and unhurried.
“Yeah, it’s a lie.”
“Why would you say something like that?”
The sound of his own heartbeat thundered up into his skull. Chaehyeok watched Yieum’s agitation and let out a short laugh.
He’d bristled briefly when Chaehyeok had mocked his age, but otherwise Yieum had been sitting there with quiet, still eyes, blinking slowly. It seemed to amuse him — the confusion breaking through that otherwise blank face for the first time — because a heavy smirk settled at his mouth.
“Taking back the sharp. Completely hollow after all.”
Even at such obvious provocation, Yieum couldn’t think about anything else. What mattered right now was the truth buried in those words.
This accident had taken everyone he had. His mother had never been a good guardian, but now that he was suddenly alone with no adult to shelter him, everything felt impossible.
Even if there was life insurance for both of them, Yieum, the beneficiary, had no idea how to claim it. Even if he managed to somehow receive it, he had no idea how to manage a large sum of money alone, and he felt terrible relying on his homeroom teacher, who was helping out of pure goodwill, for his entire financial situation. In the worst case, his biological father could take that money from him.
What frightened him most of all was the possibility that he might have to go back and live with that terrible man.
And all that despair had happened because someone had done something deliberate?
Unable to believe it, Yieum lifted his dry, raw eyes. There wasn’t a single trace of life left in his face as he looked straight at Chaehyeok.
“They said it was an accident.”
That was the conclusion the police had reached after their investigation. That it was nothing but a tragic accident — swerving to avoid falling cargo, hitting the guardrail, crossing into the oncoming lane.
But Chaehyeok didn’t seem to agree.
He knocked back one more glass and leaned forward in a posture that had grown considerably more relaxed. On that clean, composed face was a cruelty that looked ready to shatter Yieum’s thin faith to pieces.
“Don’t you want to know?”
“……”
“Who the bastard is that killed Bongwoo and your mother.”
Yieum looked down and drank from his lukewarm cola.
Curiosity pricked at his insides like carbonation. He’d played a trick on him a moment ago, but Chaehyeok didn’t seem like the type to say things without reason. Still, Yieum swallowed the question down along with that dark, harsh liquid and buried it deep.
The fact that those eyes no longer frightened him didn’t mean Chaehyeok looked like a good adult.
“I already know.”
“How.”
“The police told me. The car coming from the other direction——”
The faint flicker of interest that had crossed Chaehyeok’s face dulled almost immediately.
He picked up a new bottle of soju and gave his wrist a light, habitual swirl. Met with the listener’s uncooperative expression, Yieum closed his mouth without finishing the sentence.
Inside the green bottle, a whirlpool spun and scattered.
Crack —
His shoulders flinched at the unsettling sound. Whether it was the flat look on Chaehyeok’s face, or something else — the way he twisted the cap off the bottle looked exactly like wringing a chicken’s neck. The clear liquid poured slowly into the small glass once more.
“The cops. What are they going to do about it. Told you they’d put him away?”
Naked skepticism seeped into every syllable. The doubtful attitude he carried was something Yieum could sympathize with.
How desperately had he once wished for police intervention, left to fend for himself beneath his biological father’s violence. Despite countless reports and pleas for help, the authorities had never come through for him.
But there’s a limit to distrust. Yieum packed that thought into a single short word.
“Yes.”
“And you believe that?”
The negligence of law-abiding civil servants and the deception of a law-breaking gangster were on entirely different levels. He’d received help from him moments ago, but gratitude and trust were separate matters.
If it came down to entrusting his life to a man who had trampled through a funeral hall in his shoes and knocked cigarette ash into food — a disinterested police officer seemed like the better option. Yieum put as much force as he could into his bloodshot eyes and said, clearly and deliberately —
“No. I don’t believe you.”
“Do I really look that untrustworthy.”
“……You look fine.”
At the utterly candid answer, Chaehyeok showed his teeth and laughed. Propping his elbow on the table and covering his brow with his hand as he laughed, he looked genuinely pleased. His posture had loosened considerably — probably the alcohol.
Yieum’s body stiffened with tension at the realization that the man was getting drunk.
But the eyes visible above his hand were only slightly curved — nothing like the drunk people he had usually seen. When Yieum quietly let his guard down, Chaehyeok asked in an easy voice —
“Is your biological father smart?”
“He’s trash.”
The answer came out faster than he expected. Chaehyeok laughed again, a low, private sound. Yieum was certain it was his drunk habit. And he cautiously thought that if that was his drunk habit — it might not be so bad.
“Must be quite the piece of trash.”
There was no need to confirm it. His biological father would blow soju straight from the bottle, and before even one bottle was empty, his face would go red and his voice would rise.
If Chaehyeok had drunk at that same pace, at that same amount, he’d have been past the point of conversation long ago.
Yieum traced the pattern on the disposable plate with his eyes to scatter his thoughts. Even as he did, he could feel Chaehyeok’s steady gaze.
The silence stretched longer and longer. From a distance, the low rumble of the heavies talking among themselves came through in dull, muffled waves.
Chaehyeok was spinning the cigarette pack in his hand and murmured under his breath, “What to do about this……”
Meanwhile, Yieum’s eyelids had been growing heavier and heavier. He really did want to go in and rest now. He covered his mouth with his arm and yawned, as if to make a point. So thoroughly that his eyes watered.
“If there’s nothing else you wanted to say……”
“Kid, you have a phone, right? Hand it over.”
Chaehyeok cut him off just as he was about to get up.
An attitude that showed absolutely no regard for a growing teenager’s sleep. Thanks to that, whatever gratitude Yieum had felt for his help evaporated cleanly.
Even so, Yieum pulled out his phone without complaint and held it out. Chaehyeok took it with those long fingers, typed in a number without any hesitation, and hit the call button. He confirmed his own phone was ringing, then handed it back.
