What an aimless day. Because he had always been buried in part-time jobs and study, a situation like this felt strange. Disguising his complete lack of a plan as a brief sense of light-heartedness, Gi-yun looked around Seoul’s ever unfamiliar scenery like a tourist.
Along the main street, every line of sight ended in yet another cram-school building. He even spotted the academy whose online lectures he had taken all year. It wasn’t a monopoly—just so many in-person students that this one brand alone had a seventh branch in the neighborhood. Maybe more existed that he simply hadn’t noticed.
Before his first visit here he had pictured a gloomy, desolate atmosphere, simply because so many examinees gathered, but in truth the place was no different from any busy downtown.
Today in particular, after the day first-round results were released, the streets were especially crowded and noisy. People hurrying somewhere for appointments, couples walking glued together, groups of friends laughing and milling about.
Now and then, someone squatted on the pavement, weeping into a phone call. Given the day, he could guess why. To avoid meeting their eyes, Gi-yun lifted his gaze even higher, afraid he might start crying too.
His chest felt tight. He wanted to climb somewhere high and scream. After circling the same streets again and again, he drifted, almost bewitched, into one of the buildings. The elevator doors opened the instant he pressed the button. When he came to his senses, he was on an unknown rooftop.
“Wow….”
The exclamation slipped out before he knew it. He might have walked into an arboretum, not a roof. Even though drink had muddled his mind, the landscaping was beautiful. He had never seen a building whose roof was turned into a garden. He hadn’t known such a thing was possible.
Like the fisherman who discovered the Peach-Blossom Spring, Gi-yun looked all around. Who would expect a hanging garden, an otherworldly paradise, right in the heart of ruthless Noryangjin. He suddenly wondered what the mysterious owner looked like.
By habit he captured every corner of the garden with his phone camera. Photography had long been a hobby, but it was rare to visit a place where even random shots turned out like artwork. Lacking a professional camera, the phone couldn’t match the scene’s beauty at night when light was scarce. He wanted to come back in daylight, but the problem was he had no idea where “here” even was.
He walked on stone paths and grass instead of concrete. Though the night was dark, cylinder lights placed here and there shone on flowerbeds and trees, letting him move forward easily.
Past thick greenery, the city spread open. Crossing the wide garden to the railing, Gi-yun faced a brilliant night view. Across the Han River, Yeouido’s forest of buildings glittered, tracing a graceful skyline. Led by the nearby square, skyscrapers flung vivid light into the late night. An unexpected lookout. For weeks he had attended interview study sessions in this area without realizing such a view existed.
Apparently, this roof stood higher than its neighbors; the sightlines were wide open. Turning his head right, he could even see Namsan Tower in the distance. Though he lived in the metro area, he had never visited Yeouido or Namsan. Places he’d only seen in photos now lay before his eyes, and it felt wondrous. Busy preserving the scene in pictures, he worked his fingers for quite a while.
A night breeze cooled the heat. The urge to scream had vanished unnoticed. When he dropped his gaze, he saw the Han River mirroring every ground-level lamp in shimmering ripples as if it would draw him in. For a moment, he forgot reality and felt intoxicated by awe. To see better, he leaned farther over the rail.
Then something poked from his chest pocket. It was the card he thought he’d lost.
Why are you here?
He patted frantically at his chest. His shirt’s upper pocket met his fingers. Realization flooded in late, as always with a drunk brain. He hadn’t lost the card in the street at all. He had put it in his shirt, not his pants, then like a fool rummaged only the pants pocket at the turnstile.
“My money…!”
He tried to snatch it, but with that awkward grab the card slipped past reach and plummeted to the ground. He didn’t even recall that he’d already reported it lost and couldn’t use it anyway. Bent almost double, he stretched a hand as far down as he could, chest pressed to a railing that came up to his sternum.
With his torso that low, his center of gravity naturally tipped forward. He lurched hard, almost pitching headfirst. Flailing, he lost balance. Everything happened too fast before he could make a sound. Street and river both looked closer than before.
Am I falling here so pointlessly, like this?
Even in that split second many thoughts crossed his mind: that it was unfair to die like this; that nothing good awaited him alive so maybe ending here was fine; even a meta voice scolding him to brace his body instead of indulging such useless musings.
Though he finally saw reality, the alcohol slowed his movements.
If I’m reborn, I never want to worry about money again.
The instant Gi-yun shut his eyes, enormous force yanked his collar from behind, and he crashed onto the rooftop floor.
“Ugh…!”
At last, a strangled cry burst free, his throat loosening after such terror. Relief swelled. He hadn’t fallen off. One beat later came another realization: Ah, I did want to live.
Instead of slamming his butt or head on hard concrete, he landed cradled in someone’s large arms, supported head to toe. A cool, weighty scent—impossible to believe this was sultry midsummer—brushed his nose.
“Have you lost your mind?”
The moment he grasped someone had saved him, a voice edged with anger spun him around roughly. The strength that seized his shoulders and turned him was beastly, just like the pull a moment ago.
Tossed like a weightless doll, Gi-yun finally faced the other’s visage. He’d never thought himself short, yet the height difference made him tilt his head back to look up.
Recognizing the face, he sucked in a tiny breath. He knew this man. How could he not? Of course, the man wouldn’t know him.
“Are you that desperate to die?”
It was the first time seeing him in person. He hadn’t expected to meet him here of all places.
“…I’m sorry.”
“‘Sorry’?”
Hic! A hiccup escaped. His heart pounded wildly, aftershock from the cliff edge manifesting in every bodily response. He inhaled deeply to steady himself. The exhale carried honest alcohol fumes, and the man’s already grim expression darkened further. Sympathy or curiosity vanished, leaving contempt.
“They say there’s no cure for stupid.”
“…”
“Is that thing above your neck just for decoration?”
With a lazy flick, the man tapped Gi-yun’s forehead and temple with his forefinger. “Tapped” was too mild. Each nudge made his body sway like a roly-poly doll, and fear killed the hiccups. One danger had passed while another arrived.
“You fail one measly exam and, what, get drunk and stage a suicide show?”
His lowered voice dripped annoyance and disgust. Gi-yun’s eyes widened.
“Ever consider you might actually die?”
“How did you know I… failed….”
“Kids like you are obvious.”
Seeing he couldn’t deny it, the man’s scorn deepened.
“This thing really is just an ornament.”
He pressed hard on Gi-yun’s forehead. He almost toppled backward. Staggering, unable to regain balance, he kept retreating until his back thumped the same rooftop rail.
Instinctively he turned his head and looked down the yawning drop. Realizing again how close he’d come chilled his guts.
“Still haven’t come to your senses….”
The man, displeased by Gi-yun’s sideways glances into the abyss, yanked him savagely toward the building’s interior, away from the rail. Their positions reversed. Behind the man, Yeouido’s lights gleamed calmly. Because of the backlight, his face was no longer clear which was the opposite for him.
Suddenly he bent close, scrutinizing every inch of Gi-yun. The action made no sense. Their faces so near, heat rose in Gi-yun’s cheeks. It was irresistible.
“You’re underage, aren’t you?”
Just before Gi-yun turned away, he declared it with conviction. How on earth did he get that idea?
“Kid.”
“…”
“Do your parents know you’re drunk and pulling this crap?”
His heart plummeted. His mouth snapped shut. Seeing him struck dumb, the man sighed, rummaged Gi-yun’s pocket without permission, and thrust out a phone.
“Call your parents.”
Gi-yun stared at the phone as though about to cry. The word parents unleashed indescribable feelings—resentment and sorrow he’d kept pressed down surged like a flood.
“Come on.”
“Hu-uu….”
At the low growl, he burst into tears.
“Crying? What do you think you did right?”
“I-I’m sorry, hic, forgive me. I’m an a-adult.”
Wiping tears with one hand, he fumbled in his pants pocket, produced the ID he’d shown at the bar, and offered it with both hands. The card was wet with tears.
“And… sniff I don’t have parents….”
“…”
“I mean, they exist… but we don’t live together, so now….”
He didn’t want to cry, but tears flowed like a broken faucet. Since leaving home he’d bottled up misery, and now it burst, impossible to rein in.
“I wasn’t trying to d-die here… I dropped my c-card over there… Without it I can’t get home… I’m sorry… My head’s just… decoration… sniff.”
“…”
“It’s rough. I didn’t even want to come here… Why am I the one with no money, no family… It hurts so m-much. I thought if I at least passed the exam, something would get better… but that didn’t h-happen.”
Words he couldn’t voice at the bar, words he’d never told anyone, poured out like a dam breaking, along with tears. He knew he shouldn’t but couldn’t stop.
Both crying and confessing—once begun, they wouldn’t end. Side effects of a life spent only enduring. He hadn’t known emotions could explode all at once. Saying I’m miserable aloud made him even more miserable. Never having let feelings out voluntarily, he didn’t know how to stop.
“It was my first and last chance… Now I don’t know what to do. D-doing it alone… no one helps… What should I do?”
He had never wept so fast and so much. Tears he wiped clumsily soaked his palms and wrists. His lips trembled, words stuttering, pronunciation slurred. Swept into a swamp of emotion, he even hurled questions the other had never agreed to answer.
He couldn’t see the man’s face while talking yet sensed he hadn’t left; he still stood there silently. They say you stretch your legs depending on where you lie. Knowing the man was listening, perhaps, oddly comforted Gi-yun and kept the tears flowing.
Why did this man come up here at this hour only to be bothered by me? What is he thinking?
From what Gi-yun knew, he wasn’t someone idle enough to waste time on a stranger’s ramblings. Everyone has twenty-four hours, but the value of each minute for him could never equal Gi-yun’s.
“Stop it now.”
The voice, still low but noticeably softer, reached him. After several tries, Gi-yun finally stemmed his tears and cleared the blur from his sight. Having cried, he felt a little relieved. How huge, a black mark tonight would become was his future problem.
While he calmed down, the man took a cigarette from his pocket. Tilting his head, he lit it; for an instant, the lighter’s flame illuminated sculpted features—straight brow ridge, sharp nose bridge, jaw angled clean beneath the ear—before warmth flickered out. The motion was brief, but Gi-yun drank in every detail.
Watching the face flare and vanish in the dark, he felt like the Little Match Girl. Even if it was a mirage, he wanted to strike another light and etch that visage in memory. Reality was, even the lighter producing that flame belonged to the man.
He exhaled pale smoke into the air. His arrogant downward gaze held Gi-yun wholly.
“Laughable and ridiculous, talking about a ‘last chance’ at your age.”
His speech shifted back to polite form—the register Gi-yun knew was his norm, never mind how ill-matched the contents.
“You must be young and ignorant, but life is unfair by nature.”
“…”
“And you’re alone by nature.”
Not wrong, just cold. Given the boy who’d been sobbing moments ago, most would have avoided such bluntness for courtesy’s sake. Instead, it stripped away the faint emotional closeness Gi-yun had hoped for and snapped him back to reality.
“…Understood….”
His voice came out small. Thanking or apologizing for the harsh advice felt odd, so he merely nodded. With tears dried, shame over his earlier breakdown flared anew.
After sucking the filter so hard his cheeks hollowed, the man produced his own phone and held it out. Gi-yun blinked, baffled.
“Put your number in.”
“Why…?”
“Forget it if you don’t want to.”
He grabbed the withdrawing hand. The man paused for a beat. Without even knowing why, Gi-yun tapped his name and number onto the screen. When he finished, the man snatched the phone away.
“Unbelievable. When did a little rat sneak in while I left it open?”
Crushing the barely-smoked cigarette, he pointed at the exit.
“If you’re done crying, go quietly.”
“…Um….”
Gi-yun hesitated, troubled. Thinking of going home raised another practical problem.
“Sorry, but could you lend me two thousand won? I don’t have fare….”
“You’re something else.”
Sighing with irritation, the man was already taking out his wallet.
“I don’t have only two thousand.”
“Ah….”
“Take a taxi. Don’t bother other passengers.”
He stuffed a wad of differently colored bills into Gi-yun’s shirt pocket. The pocket bulged; Gi-yun turned ashen.
“It’s too much. Just two thousand….”
“Take it and disappear.”
He’d already failed the exam. Now told to fail off here too, he felt tears threaten again. Unable to pull out the wad, he fingered the pocket edge anxiously. He needed just one bill. If he handed it back, the man might think he was insolent and snatch it away. Then he’d have to walk home.
“Stop fondling your chest and get out.”
“…”
“How many times must I say leave?”
“T-twice… I mean, goodbye.”
The longer he lingered, the harsher the man’s face grew. In the end Gi-yun bolted. On the way out he had no leisure to admire the beautiful garden.
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