Ch.43My Mom Was Awesome (8)

I found it hard to understand the emotional depth of a parent who would ask their child if they regretted being born.

At most, I might call game characters my daughters and raise them with affection, but it would be incredibly arrogant to claim I fully understand the love real parents pour into their children.

Mother’s voice trembled as she waited for Doyoung’s answer, as if afraid of what she might hear. It was difficult to believe this was the same person who had been roaring like a tiger just moments ago.

How much anxiety and guilt must she have carried to ask such a question in front of a child who might resent her?

And clearly, that anxiety must have come from noticing something different about her daughter.

Which means I, who had possessed the original Ban Doyoung, was the cause of this situation.

“…”

“…”

Mother’s feet fidgeted uncomfortably, as if the silence was unbearable.

Her right foot climbed over her left, pressing down, then her left foot climbed over her right, continuing their meaningless power struggle.

A sign that anxiety was consuming Mother’s body beyond just her voice.

‘Shit, what should I do?’

This mother who had planted dreams and given hope, yet forced her daughter to change her dominant hand from birth, pushing and pulling her—only to ultimately abandon their journey together.

She was telling her daughter it was okay to express any resentment toward a mother who had abandoned her, but unfortunately, the daughter listening couldn’t respond to that request.

Because the person sitting there wasn’t Ban Doyoung, Joonsook’s daughter, but Doyoung from another world.

‘Should I just stay silent?’

No, running away from this question would only implicitly agree with Mother’s question about whether I regretted being born as her child.

‘Or should I act like the carefree Ban Doyoung who doesn’t resent her at all?’

In normal circumstances, that might be the right answer, but for Doyoung’s mother, Chik Joonsook, that could also be a dangerous move.

By the time I possessed Ban Doyoung, she was already living as a right-handed person. If Doyoung had reverted to being left-handed while Mother was away, not only her father but also close friends like Sahyang and Hyerang would have noticed something strange about me using my right hand.

But Mother’s eyes had already noticed that I was different from the original Ban Doyoung, not behaving like a properly trained right-handed person.

If I offered shallow emotional comfort or well-intentioned lies, Ban Doyoung’s mother would see through them immediately.

Fortunately, she hadn’t yet become suspicious of my existence, but if the misalignments in our shared memories continued, in the worst case, she might discover the truth before the story’s conclusion.

‘I need to act like the real Ban Doyoung would.’

Only actions that the real Ban Doyoung would think of, actions within the intersection of Mother’s and Ban Doyoung’s memories, would allow me to navigate this situation smoothly without revealing that I was a possessor.

‘I am Ban Doyoung… the real Ban Doyoung.’

No, repeating the name is meaningless. We were just people with the same name in the original world.

Why should I call myself “fake” and a fictional character with the same name as me “real”?

‘To act like Mother’s daughter, like Ban Doyoung… what references do I have?’

Before Mother turned to look at me, I hurriedly scanned the room for clues to Ban Doyoung-like behavior.

Boy group posters on the wall I didn’t recognize, unfamiliar mascot dolls on the bed, Papa Katz pizza collaboration character goods decorating the desk, an overpriced coffee franchise tumbler bought from an online marketplace.

No good. Not these YOUNG and Gen Z things.

Something that could intersect with Mother’s memories. Time was running out. Before Mother interpreted this silence as tacit agreement, I needed to find the best possible answer.

‘If I think about the intersection between Mother and Ban Doyoung…’

Naturally, like Mother, my gaze turned to the drawer containing Ban Doyoung’s elementary school records.

But my eyes were drawn to an even earlier photo. It looked like a picture from first or second grade, younger than the third-grade photo.

In the photo, Ban Doyoung wasn’t holding a brilliant gold medal or even a plaque celebrating advancement to the semifinals—she was crying.

Probably because she was being forcibly changed from left-handed to right-handed and couldn’t perform to her ability, crying with snot running down her face like in One Piece, frustrated and resentful.

And beside the crying Ban Doyoung was a younger version of Mother. In the photo, Mother was smiling, holding the child who couldn’t control her anger, embracing her and gently stroking her disheveled hair.

“…”

Following the mother I saw in the photo, I buried Mother’s face—filled with anxiety and guilt toward Ban Doyoung—against my chest.

“Do-Doyoung…?”

“I’m still smaller than you, so it might not be as comfortable.”

*Rustle*

With her face against my chest, Mother was bewildered. I raised my left hand and slowly stroked her loose black hair.

This was something that should be done with the left hand familiar to the mother and daughter, rather than my accustomed right hand.

“Doyoung…”

As Ban Doyoung’s left hand stroked Mother’s hair, her anxious trembling subsided. She knew where my action was coming from.

“I tried recreating that moment when I was crying like back then. How is it? Convincing?”

“…You’ve really grown so much. I think you’re even taller than I was in high school.”

“Hohoho, that much? The future of Sister Ban Doyoung looks promising.”

Do Hamin, you lucky bastard.

“But why suddenly…”

I picked up the frame containing the photo I was recreating and showed it to Mother.

“That picture we took when I was in second grade, or was it first grade?”

“…Around winter break in first grade. The day you were eliminated in the first round and cried.”

Just as I thought. Ban Doyoung was crying because she hadn’t performed well. This was probably one of her most embarrassing memories, something she’d never want to remember again.

“Mom, do you remember that time?”

“Of course. You lost at the competition, ran to me crying, and Dad threatened to hang the photo in the dojo. You screamed at him not to.”

“Dad was such a sadist.”

“But he didn’t actually hang it up.”

Though she returned from the competition without a single award, Mother could recall that moment in vivid detail just by looking at the photo, describing what happened as if it were unfolding before her eyes.

“When you first came to me crying, you must have been so scared. Thinking, ‘After all that hard training, I got eliminated in the first round—am I going to get scolded terribly when we get home?'”

“Y-you thought that?”

“Yes, but I quickly changed my mind. Because Mom hugged me like that and stroked my hair, telling me it was okay.”

“…”

“I couldn’t help but be happy. Even though I lost miserably and came home, Mom still liked me. She didn’t like me because I was good at kendo, but because I was her daughter… That’s what I thought.”

Mother, who kept smiling even while comforting her crying child.

Even to me, who had never given birth to or raised a child, she didn’t look like a cold parent who abandoned her daughter for failing to utilize her talent.

“So how could the great Ban Doyoung ever regret being born as Mom’s daughter?”

“But… the fact remains that Mom made your childhood difficult, and in the end, abandoned you like running away. Mom clearly wronged you, and if you resent Mom, I have no choice but to accept it.”

“Then would you prefer that I hate you? Do you want me to regret learning kendo from you for the rest of my life?”

“No, absolutely not… How could I? You’re my precious daughter…”

“Then I’ll tell you it’s okay. Just like you told me it was okay when I came back after losing at the competition. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

*Pat pat*

I patted Mother’s back with Ban Doyoung’s left hand. It might feel awkward to comfort Mother’s back, but Ban Doyoung’s left hand didn’t seem afraid or reluctant to do so.

Perhaps the original Ban Doyoung would have spoken just like me. Though we’ve never met face to face, Ban Doyoung living in this world, you must resemble me at least a little.

“Really… is that all it takes for you to be okay? Mom gave up teaching you kendo… and you’re fine with that?”

“I don’t have to learn kendo only from you, right?”

I already knew. The relationship between Mom and Dad was the best reference material for me to infer the flow of the original story. There would surely be more to learn and follow in the future.

“I have quite a few other things I want to learn from you besides kendo. You’ll teach me, right, Master?”

“…Of course, as much as you want.”

Mother pressed her reddened eyes and answered with a smile.

“Tell me, what do you want to learn from Mom besides kendo?”

“Hmm… hehe.”

Looking at Mother’s face that had found its smile again, I said with upturned lips:

“How to handle men well?”