“Yeo-jin, did you know? This bastard doesn’t have parents.”
“Uh… I… well, that is…”
Kim Yeo-jin fidgeted, unable to give a proper answer as her eyes darted around. Not that it mattered—Park Ki-cheol kept running his mouth.
“Come on, it’s not like being an orphan is some huge deal these days, right?”
‘Ha. This asshole. Just because I’m staying quiet, he really thinks I’m some kind of pushover?’
Go Hoon stared hard at Ki-cheol, his fists clenched. The way Park Ki-cheol tried to play it off like it wasn’t a flaw, all while making it sound exactly like one—nothing rubbed Hoon the wrong way more than that.
“What’s with that face, huh? You pissed or something? Like this is the first time you’ve heard this crap? Get used to it, man.”
As the taunts kept coming, Hoon repeated ‘inner peace’ in his head like a chant. He tried to steady himself. No point reacting to bait that obvious.
‘Still, when he talks like that, it seriously pisses me off. Like, to hell and back.’
“W-what… Why are you looking at me like that?”
Even Park Ki-cheol seemed to sense something had shifted. Gone was the smug tone—now his voice wavered.
Hoon’s emotions surged. He stared Ki-cheol down, clenching his fist even tighter. Then, without warning, he shot his arm into the air.
“Excuse me!”
Go Hoon’s voice rang out loud and clear, making Park Ki-cheol flinch.
“Ah, fuck—you scared the crap outta me…”
A server passing by turned toward them with a cheerful smile and answered politely, “Yes?”
“Can I help you with anything?”
Still locked on Ki-cheol, Hoon spoke.
“Could we get another menu, please?”
“Of course, right away.”
“…Why the hell did you ask for a menu like it was some kind of dramatic monologue?”
As soon as the server walked away, Park Ki-cheol muttered with an awkward cough, clearly embarrassed.
“We’re out of snacks anyway. Let’s order something else. Yeo-jin, what do you think?”
Ignoring Ki-cheol’s lame attempt to save face, Hoon casually flipped through the menu and turned to Kim Yeo-jin for her input. That way, Ki-cheol wouldn’t be able to shoot it down.
“Ah… yeah, sounds good.”
Yeo-jin nodded quickly, picking up on the vibe. Normally, she’d have waved it off and said she was fine—but this time, she made a conscious choice to side with Hoon.
Right then, Go Hoon made up his mind. From now on, every time Park Ki-cheol opened his damn mouth, he’d order another side dish.
They’d already agreed earlier that Ki-cheol would be paying for everything tonight.
Since that was the case, Hoon figured he might as well bleed the bastard dry. It’s not like he could demand compensation for the psychological damage—but this, at least, was something he could collect on.
About two hours passed, and they were already on their fourth round of snacks.
“Jesus, how do you guys eat this much?”
Ki-cheol grumbled, but he didn’t stop them. He clearly wasn’t going to start whining about money in front of a girl.
“You’re rich, aren’t you, sunbae? Just think of it as charity for your poor underclassmen.”
Hoon tossed a jab back at him, referencing the wealth Ki-cheol never shut up about. That shut him right up.
Stuffing themselves with food was great and all, but as the drinking dragged on, Hoon started to feel anxious.
He had to clock in at the factory in just a few hours. He hadn’t forgotten, and he’d been trying to pace himself—but it wasn’t easy with Park Ki-cheol pushing soju on him nonstop.
“Hey, dipshit. One more.”
Ki-cheol was egging him on again. Hoon scratched at his eyebrow, irritated. He’d already had plenty—why the hell was the guy so dead set on making him drink more? There were already four empty soju bottles on the table.
“What, your sunbae’s pouring you a drink and you’re just gonna sit there like an idiot? Huh?”
There was a smug pride in Ki-cheol’s voice. Like it was some pathetic pissing contest. Let’s see who keels over first, you or me. His nasty intentions couldn’t have been more obvious.
“Come on, man. Get that glass up already.”
Ki-cheol shook the bottle back and forth, coaxing him again. Hoon didn’t want to, but he tilted his head back and downed the last of what was in his cup.
He held out his now-empty glass, and the green bottle tilted. Gul gul gul—the clear liquor poured with a gurgle, filling the glass until it threatened to spill over.
Every time Ki-cheol poured him a drink, it was like this—filled to the absolute brim. Hoon knew it wasn’t just paranoia. The message was obvious: Drink up, pass out, and get lost.
Go Hoon forced a crooked smile as he looked at him.
“You’re awfully generous with me today, sunbae.”
“They say you should give an extra rice cake to the brat you hate the most, dumbass. Now drink up. Cheers. You too, Yeo-jin.”
“Ah, yes… cheers…!”
Kim Yeo-jin quickly raised her beer glass, and the three glasses met in the air with a crisp, sharp clink.
Go Hoon downed his soju in one go, letting out a faint hiss through his teeth as his brows knit together. Maybe it was because he hadn’t drunk in a while, but the alcohol tasted especially bitter tonight. Or maybe it just felt that way because of who was pouring it.
He wiped his damp lips and glanced at his phone to check the time—just trying to see how long he had left before work. But naturally, Park Ki-cheol couldn’t resist getting in another jab.
“Why do you keep looking at your phone? You texting your girlfriend or something?”
Hoon turned the phone face down and took a sip of water.
“It’s not like that.”
“Well, yeah… Not like you’re in any position to have a girlfriend. Broke guys like you don’t get dates.”
Ki-cheol muttered through a mouthful of squid leg. Hoon had to fight back a laugh—it nearly slipped out.
Does he have to talk like that every damn time? At this point, his sheer lack of self-awareness was almost impressive. If there were a Hall of Fame for Verbal Garbage, Park Ki-cheol would be first ballot.
After nearly two hours of enduring what could only be described as relentless passive-aggressive insults, Go Hoon had entered a strange state of zen-like detachment.
“Hey, Go Hoon. Smoke break.”
As if that weren’t enough, every time Ki-cheol stepped out to smoke, he dragged Hoon with him—just to make him play the role of human lighter.
“Light.”
Go Hoon caught the cheap plastic lighter Ki-cheol tossed his way, the logo of a pool hall printed on the side. He turned the wheel with his thumb, sparking a small flame, and shielded it with his hand as he lit the cigarette dangling from Ki-cheol’s lips.
After all that soju, Ki-cheol’s face had turned beet red. He couldn’t stand still, rocking on his feet like he was about to keel over.
“Youuu… What kind of guy finishes his military service and doesn’t even come back smoking?”
Here we go again.
Hoon said nothing and casually slipped the lighter into his own pocket like it belonged to him.
Smoking, huh. Yeah, I learned how to smoke. I just don’t wanna share a smoke with you, asshole.
He swallowed down the insult that rose to his throat and adjusted his tone.
“It’s not exactly healthy.”
“Yeah, but come on. You’re a guy. You wanna survive out there? Knowing how to smoke is like, step one. You don’t even have the basics down.”
Another cheap dig. Hoon responded flatly.
“I guess. It just never agreed with me.”
Not long after getting stationed, Go Hoon had become one of his senior’s so-called “smoking buddies.” Which was really just a polite way of saying flunky.
His senior had been a notorious chain smoker. Anytime the craving hit, he summoned Hoon. Why he kept picking Hoon out of all the guys was still a mystery.
Actually… maybe not. Hoon remembered now—the guy once said it was hard to find someone as “solid” as him these days.
Looking back, the senior probably just liked how quiet Hoon was. Like a sealed bamboo grove that kept every word to itself. A vault that never leaked.
So Hoon stood beside him, puffing on cigarettes he didn’t even like. In the military’s rigid hierarchy, keeping your superior happy was just part of the job.
Which was why he quit the day that senior was discharged. Cold turkey, overnight. Since then, he couldn’t justify wasting money on smokes—and never touched them again. Every bit he saved went into snacks for the younger guys instead.
Truth is, he was never the type for smoking to begin with. That’s probably what made it easier. Most people just get hooked from stress and keep going long after they’re out of uniform.
“Honestly, you look like the biggest smoker out of all of us. You know that? Got that real thug vibe.”
Ki-cheol chuckled to himself like he’d just delivered a killer punchline. Hoon forced a smile and silently traced the character for patience in his mind.
Let it go. Just let it go. No point blowing up at him. Even if I snap, he won’t have a clue what he did wrong.
As Hoon wrestled with himself internally, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out and checked the screen.
Bae Jung-yoon — Business Major.
The moment he saw the name, a flicker of life returned to his eyes.
Perfect timing. Of all people, for Bae Jung-yoon to call right now? Couldn’t have asked for better. Sure, he was still pissed about the whole unauthorized-photo incident, but now wasn’t the time to get into that.
Hoon immediately hit the answer button.
“Hey, Bae Jung-yoon.”
— …….
He greeted him warmly, but there was nothing—just silence on the other end.
Huh? Did the call drop? He pulled the phone away from his ear and checked the screen. The call was still active.
He tilted his head and brought it back to his ear.
“Hello? Jung-yoon? Can you hear me?”
He called out his name again, this time with a note of urgency.
After a moment of silence, a voice finally came through.
— What’s this?
Bae Jung-yoon’s voice, light and teasing, filled his ear.
— Why do you sound so happy to hear from me, Hoon?
