episode_0305

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…Maybe it’s because I just saw that fucking ridiculous scene.

Or maybe it’s because I’ve been chain-smoking ever since.

One side of my head feels numb, like it’s been stabbed with an awl.

Not in the way women often describe it—no, literally.

I thought I was fine until now, but at this rate, I feel like I might just drop dead any second.

This is exactly why you shouldn’t fucking mess with this garbage, whether it’s regular cigarettes or vapes.

Of all the stupid, tax-laden money-wasting hobbies to pick up, I had to choose the one that holds addiction hostage…

Every time something pisses me off, I just puff away until my vision turns yellow.

Ah, fuck.

I’ll quit tomorrow.

It’s only ruining my own body anyway.

“Haaah……”

Tick, tick.

Leaning against the wall of a secluded alley, I flick off the ash, but only for a moment.

Staring at the three cigarette butts scattered on the ground, Yoo Si-woo starts dry-heaving at the thought that he’s already burned through four.

Of course, it only lasts a second before he exhales a thick cloud of white smoke again.

…Anyway, Seo Woo-jin.

Was that bastard really close with Baek Seo-yeon?

Lost in thought—probably replaying the same speculation five or six times per cigarette—he melts the tip of the cigarette into a red as vivid as a higanbana (spider lily).

Before enrolling—hell, even just last year—I’d never seen Baek Seo-yeon with any other guy.

What guy? She barely even hangs out with girls.

How the hell is she suddenly “close male friends” with the first guy she’s been seen with this year?

The answer was pretty damn obvious.

Ah, so she coordinated with that health teacher in advance.

Just so I’d have the misfortune of seeing it.

So I’d lose some of that interest in her.

“…Tch, fuck…”

Yeah. Mission fucking accomplished. My mood is thoroughly ruined.

…Not that I’d ever react the way Baek Seo-yeon wants—like throwing a tantrum over her.

Or treating her like she’s invisible, never showing interest again. No fucking way.

But Si-woo especially could never understand people like this.

“I don’t want to be like you, so I’ll forgive you…”

Those bastards infected with some kind of doormat syndrome—completely beyond comprehension.

Shouldn’t it be normal to want payback at least at a 1:1 ratio?

Ideally, I’d like to return it tenfold.

So, to properly repay Baek Seo-yeon for that cute little stunt of hers…

It’s not about mimicking her and parading around with another girl.

No, the real payback is—

Not giving up.

No, even more than that—

Living exactly as I always have.

“……”

Tossing the cigarette butt onto the pavement—burned down until his fingers nearly scorched—he glances at his smartphone for a moment.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion piling up, but his head throbs dully.

Later than he expected.

The 16% battery isn’t doing him any favors either, so he exhales a nicotine-laced sigh and staggers to his feet, putting weight into his legs.

Right around the time Baek Seo-yeon, soaked and trembling, was dripping thick, cloudy fluid down her thighs.

305

“…What do I do about this?”

“Do? Just toss it in the washer.”

“…Right.”

…After going at it in the shower until her legs shook.

Since it was already late anyway, I—wearing nothing but Woo-jin’s dress shirt, still heavy with his scent—started helping clean up.

Ah, I couldn’t exactly move around naked.

So I had no choice but to wear it. No choice.

There’s still some dampness lingering on my body, and putting on clothes feels a bit… You know…

So really, no choice.

“…”

Fidgeting with the dress shirt for no reason, I flinch at the clink coming from the kitchen and turn my head.

…Now that I look, Woo-jin’s boiling water.

Along with a single yellow packet of instant coffee.

“You’re drinking coffee at this hour…?”

“Yeah. I sleep fine as long as it’s not pure caffeine.”

“…Instant. Huh?”

“It suits my taste. The capsule machine in the infirmary isn’t bad, but it lacks that hazardous chemical flavor.”

“…You sound like an old man. You’re two years younger than me.”

“Can’t help what I like. …Seo-yeon noona.”

“Just drop the honorifics. The title, the formal speech… It’s awkward.”

“Pfft…”

Ah, seems the conversation with the person who came knocking and ringing the doorbell like mad ended surprisingly well.

Eavesdropping quietly with just my fox ears perked up, it sounded like they just exchanged about a minute of keep it down, it’s late before it was over.

Then again, just looking at the place, soundproofing was never its strong suit.

Even last time I was here, I noticed—for how much Woo-jin must earn, this studio apartment is embarrassingly lacking.

Well, nothing to be done.

No real way to soundproof, so next time, we’ll just have to keep it down…

…Wait, next time?

Next time, I’ll be doing this with Woo-jin again…?

…

…Could happen.

Yeah.

“You want some too?”

“…I do like coffee, but… something like a café mocha. Got any?”

“You think I’d have that? It’s just cheap instant.”

“Then anything else to drink…?”

“Something else… Ah, there’s a bit of orange juice left.”

“Orange juice? …You like that?”

“I’m not big on overly sweet stuff. This was just something I bought because Yozora likes it.”

“…Ah. Yozora.”

For a second, I wonder if Yozora comes here often too—

But I push the thought aside and ask for the leftover orange juice, then return to my earlier musings.

If Woo-jin wanted, he could live somewhere much nicer than this.

Maybe it’s just because it’s close to the academy.

Peeling the damp bedsheet off the mattress, I can’t help but ask.

“…Hey, why do you live in a place like this?”

“A place like this?”

“I mean… You could afford somewhere bigger and nicer, right?”

“This is enough for me. It’s just me, so I don’t need anything bigger.”

“You’re weirdly frugal for someone with money.”

“I’m always frugal. Don’t compare me to you.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

Right. They say the rich are especially stingy.

Guess Woo-jin’s one of those types.

Dismissing the thought, I stuff the thin sheet into the washer—

Tap, tap.

He knocks the empty orange juice bottle against the cup and continues.

“I’ve lived in a bigger place before. When I was a bit younger.”

“…Middle school? High school?”

“Yeah.”

“…Didn’t like it?”

“Maybe if there were others, but I was living alone by then. Felt like ghosts would show up, it was so lonely.”

“…”

“If my relatives hadn’t made it so obvious they only wanted the money, not me… I might’ve kept up the act and stayed. …I’m really shit at pretending.”

Now that he mentions it, he did say he was an orphan, like me.

Conversations we had hours ago, clinking beer cans at the convenience store table.

Recalling them one by one, I take the cup he hands me and quietly take a sip.

“That’s why I don’t like big houses. If there was one this size but with better amenities, that’d be perfect… But those are hard to find. Especially near the academy.”

“…For someone so frugal, you’re oddly sentimental.”

“Sentimental? It’s more like mild trauma from my childhood.”

“…Well, it’s a little of both, I guess.”

“What would you know? You’ve been with Most Wanted since you were a kid. You wouldn’t have gone through the same shit I did.”

“…I have. Things like that.”

“Like what?”

“…”

“…Ah, hard to talk about?”

“…”

“If it’s hard, forget it. I won’t pry. I won’t ask either.”

“…”

Just as the water starts boiling, Woo-jin pours it into his cup, stirs it roughly with the coffee packet, and takes a sip.

Staring at him, I hesitate—there are too many obstacles to saying it outright.

And because of this strange feeling creeping in, like the edge of paper soaking up water, I slowly lower my gaze.

For now, I think it’s just misplaced empathy.

I never suffered at the hands of relatives at that age.

And I didn’t experience living alone in a big house until I was an adult.

But maybe, if things had been different, it could’ve happened to me too. So even if I haven’t been through it, I can still empathize a little, right?

But the problem is—

“…”

These emotions don’t fit under the label of empathy…

“Hey… Woo-jin.”

“Yeah.”

But putting them into words feels… way weirder than I thought.

It’d be too easy to accidentally create misunderstandings.

…It feels kind of obscene, too.

And above all, it’s embarrassing to say out loud.

So instead—

“…You said it earlier, right? That there’s a lot only the two of us know about each other.”

“…”

“That we’re the perfect pair for just… enjoying each other when we feel like it.”

“…I did.”

“So… I’ve got something on my mind. Something I’ve been thinking about for a while?”

“Yeah.”

“I wanted to hear… what you think about it.”

“Advice?”

“…Close. More like venting. Or complaining.”

There are definitely obstacles.

But among the things I’ve kept to myself for years—

“…Remember what I said in front of the convenience store earlier?”

“Gonna have to be more specific. You said a lot.”

“That I just woke up one day as part of Most Wanted… That I’m not there because I want to be.”

“…Now I remember.”

For the first time—

To someone else—

“That organization… What if…”

“…”

“If I don’t want to do bad things anymore… I can’t just quit, can I?”

I stammer it out.

“If you don’t want to, then quit. I’ll help with the fallout.”

“…What? You’re seriously… unbelievable.”

“I’ll help, so just say the word. You could even use me as leverage in negotiations.”

“…What if you get kidnapped and locked up somewhere?”

“…Hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

“…Figures. …Idiot.”

…A few words that don’t sound like any kind of meticulous plan.

I never expected them to make me feel this… good.

Never even hoped for it.