Hyungoh naturally sat in the seat where Hunter had been sitting. He picked up the cup with the subtle coffee aroma rising from it, about to take a sip when he glanced at Theo.
“What?”
Theo asked tersely at Hyungoh’s suspicious gaze.
“You didn’t put anything in this, did you?”
“…You’re somehow the complete opposite yet subtly similar to Hunter.”
“So you didn’t put anything in it?”
“What would I put in it? Just drink it quickly if you’re going to.”
As if he’d been waiting for those words, Hyungoh put the cup back down on the table.
“No thanks. As Theo advised, I shouldn’t trust anyone anymore.”
“Huh.”
Theo snorted.
“You get so childish at times.”
Why don’t you just say you won’t speak to me at all? Like a seven-year-old child. Theo said sarcastically.
“I don’t know. I guess I become spoiled whenever I’m with Theo.”
Hyungoh sighed. Despite his words, he wasn’t actually angry at Theo anymore. His feelings were complicated, so he was just trying to provoke Theo.
Enya Cenaline. It was because of her.
“I was their patron.”
I must have felt sympathy for two unfortunate teenagers who were ostracized by their family. Enya said.
When he saw the photo of his mother and uncle side by side, it couldn’t have been more bizarre. Hyungoh couldn’t take his eyes off his mother, who looked younger than his current self. Did she really look like this?
His chest felt so tight that he couldn’t bear to look for long. Hunter in the photo was not even visible to him. Hyungoh focused solely on her, Maria’s faint smile.
His head ached out of habit. Enya narrowed her eyes at Hyungoh’s discomfort.
It hurt. The persistent headache tormented Hyungoh in the same pattern. Whenever he had any connection to her, he always experienced this pain, as if in warning.
Along with the illusion that insects were crawling inside his body, something repeatedly slashing his forehead, and a nauseating feeling as if food was being forcibly stuffed into his stomach, crude screams kept driving Hyungoh toward the cliff.
He suddenly felt wronged. Hyungoh didn’t want to remember her. Yet everyone around him was forcing him to recover his memories.
Why is everyone making me suffer like this?
I don’t want to see or hear any of this.
Hyungoh managed to speak. That’s enough now. I don’t want to know. I don’t need such memories. As always.
Enya remained silent. She continued observing Hyungoh. She seemed quite impressed by his behavior, denying his mother’s existence. Like a thief feeling guilty, he was desperately defensive. Enya nodded and secretly curled up the corner of her mouth, hiding it from Hyungoh.
Maria was a woman who knew how to enjoy pain and sorrow.
And she loved it too much. From the beginning. Enya continued speaking softly. Hyungoh, who instinctively shrank back, shook his head violently. I don’t want to hear this.
At a young age, she was obsessed with “death.” “Perfect death,” that is. That’s what she wanted.
Hyungoh covered his ears. He felt like he was going to faint. An unpleasant electronic noise reverberated in his head.
Do you know what she admired and couldn’t get enough of?
A being unbound by morality and ethics, tainted with madness but free and therefore more valuable. Enya grabbed Hyungoh’s arm forcefully.
It’s an “angel.”
Hyungoh shuddered as if stabbed by something. Looking down at his arm gripped by Enya, he saw goosebumps.
Angel. An angel.
Someone once said that angels aren’t kind. Who said that? Hyungoh scratched his head hard. Someone said that. Who was it?
Let me ask you one more thing.
Enya held Hyungoh’s hand affectionately. Although it was semi-forced. When Hyungoh, startled, tried to pull away, she applied pressure as if unwilling to let him go.
Have you ever killed someone?
“So, how did the interview go?”
Theo asked, snapping his fingers at Hyungoh, who had momentarily lost focus in his eyes as if daydreaming. Startled back to reality, Hyungoh answered.
“It’s not a matter of going well or not.”
Hyungoh was fine. To be this fine after receiving such a question, honestly, even he was surprised.
Enya, who had been quietly watching Hyungoh unable to give any answer, put him in the elevator, saying he should take time to think. In that brief second it took to descend from the 74th floor to the 73rd floor just below, thousands of thoughts raced through Hyungoh’s mind.
Have I ever killed someone? Me? How hard have I tried to live as righteously as possible all this time. How could someone like me have killed anyone? Why are you asking that question? I’m different from people like you. I’m not a criminal. No, even though I got involved with the mafia organization, it was only because of blackmail. I was under threat for my life.
It’s the same now. I didn’t want to come here. Ending up in this situation wasn’t my will. My opinions and wishes have long been ignored. Because of people like you. Everyone just tried to use me.
What exactly do you want? Why are you tormenting me? When will this shackle that makes me helpless end, and when will I be able to be satisfied with my own life?
No, before that, what do I want? How can I ever be satisfied with my life? I don’t even know that anymore. Being dragged around all the time, I can’t even figure out something as simple as that.
I want to live. Yes, I do want to live. But that’s not all, is it? What’s the point of living like this? The chance to live a normal life is long gone. Taking the college entrance exam, graduating from university, getting a job at a decent company, getting paid, enduring day by day, finding someone to love and marry when the time comes, and building a family – that kind of ordinary life.
Where did it go wrong? I think it went wrong starting with taking the college entrance exam. I don’t remember taking it.
Why couldn’t I take it?
They arrived at the 73rd floor. As soon as the doors opened, his eyes met Hunter’s. Uncle. Hyungoh hesitated. Suddenly, he had a thought.
Actually, wasn’t my life already far from ordinary long before I met my uncle? That massive anxiety. If that hypothesis is correct, if the first misstep happened “before” meeting Hunter,
Is it right for me to deny my memories of “that time”?
