Da Haram jolted awake, rubbing his gritty eyes as he stared into the pitch-black darkness outside the window. It seemed he’d cried himself to sleep without realizing it—he was still lying on the couch. How many hours had passed? It had been bright and sunny out, but now, a hushed stillness cloaked the world in night.
Blankly staring into space, Haram bit down hard on his lower lip, the sound of his own breathing echoing in the empty living room. He felt like he was the only one left in the world. Or maybe… maybe that really was the case now.
Unable to bear the silence any longer, Haram quickly reached for the remote. The moment he turned on the TV, the once-dark room lit up and a noisy clamor filled the space. But it did nothing for the hollow ache inside. Staring vacantly at the screen, Haram lifted a hand when he felt the warmth of tears sliding down his cheeks.
Tears were streaming down like a broken faucet.
Why am I crying?
He was confused by the unending tears. Wiping his eyes roughly with the heel of his palm, Haram pulled his silvery-gray tail into his arms. He buried his face into the soft fur, sniffling as he waited for the crying to stop.
He missed Tae-yi—helplessly and without pride. There was nothing crueler than being given love only to have it snatched away. He knew how gentle those hands had been as they caressed him, how warm that embrace was. That made him miss Tae-yi even more… and resent him just the same.
“Haaah…”
Haram sobbed quietly as he thought of Tae-yi, then lifted his head to gaze out the darkened window. Nights like this—when everyone else was asleep—were somehow easier. He dreaded the thought of morning.
There was no Tae-yi to trace gentle fingers along his back and suggest they shower together in that warm voice. No Tae-yi to ask what he wanted to do with the day. And the peanut field that once needed his hands was long gone.
Nothing was left beside him. The thought of having to face that truth in the clear light of morning terrified him.
Sniffling, Haram collapsed back onto the couch. He stared up at the ceiling and listened as the bright, cheerful laughter from the television filtered into his ears.
***
Bang—bang!
The pounding on the front gate jolted Haram wide awake. He had fallen asleep again, wishing morning would never come, but now sunlight was pouring into the living room, so bright it hurt his eyes. He winced and blinked them open, then perked up at the voice outside and shuffled toward the gate.
Dragging his slippers across the yard, he cautiously opened the gate and found the Land-rich Grandmother dressed in her usual garishly floral clothes. She was catching her breath, clearly winded from the hike up the hill.
“Grandma? What brings you here this early in the morning?”
His house—a hanok nestled away from even the quietest parts of the village—was perched on a hill, far from the usual paths. The elderly rarely came this way. Her visit was completely unexpected.
“What d’you mean, morning? The sun’s already high. Don’t tell me you haven’t eaten yet?”
The concern in her voice made Haram shake his head awkwardly.
“I did eat. Come on in.”
She clearly didn’t believe him, but she stepped forward anyway.
“Brought you some perilla oil.”
After gulping down the cold water Haram handed her, the grandmother passed over two bottles of perilla oil. Haram accepted the white plastic bag, peeking inside to find glass bottles brimming with the golden liquid. The corners of his eyes drooped.
“I should’ve helped out… I’m really sorry.”
He should’ve lent a hand. Things had been too chaotic lately. Even if all he’d done was shoo away the sparrows during the harvest, at least he’d have had the right to accept this precious oil. But he hadn’t done a thing—just wallowed.
“Two young fellas came by and took care of it. Wasn’t a big deal.”
By “two young fellas,” she probably meant Tae-yi and Chief Yoon. So Tae-yi really had helped harvest the sesame.
“You like that rascal that much?”
Lost in thought, Haram blinked at the sudden question and looked at her, startled.
“…He’s just a friend.”
“A friend, huh… I told you he seemed like an older brother, didn’t I? That one told me everything.”
So Tae-yi hadn’t just come to help. He’d said something to her, too. Haram started to worry—had he spun more lies like he did with him?
“Whatever you talked about with Tae-yi… don’t believe him. He’s a liar.”
His voice was flat, tinged with exhaustion. The grandmother studied his face, then spoke calmly.
“He talks slick like a swindler, sure… but he’s not the type to scam you.”
“…He tried to scam me.”
He still remembered that whisper, feigning ignorance about the resort development while coaxing him to sell the peanut field.
The grandmother sighed, clearly frustrated at seeing Haram so dejected.
“I wasn’t sure about him at first, either. But when I saw how he cleaned up that ruined peanut field and tried to salvage it somehow… that’s when I knew. He’s not that kind of guy.”
Haram fidgeted with his fingers in silence. He thought of the messy rows of peanuts, unevenly planted. He also recalled the bitter accusations he’d hurled at Tae-yi in that very field.
He still couldn’t forgive that Tae-yi had hidden the damage from him, the actual owner. But… he could also understand, to some extent, why he did it.
It was complicated. He couldn’t define what he was feeling—but something tugged at his chest.
“He said he’s going to talk it out with his brother, so maybe something’ll come of it. When he shows up, you two should talk.”
“…You really trust him that much?”
Haram didn’t. Not entirely. But that didn’t mean he fully trusted Secretary Kim, either—the one who’d come to the hospital and told him about Tae-yi. He wasn’t sure what was truth and what was fabrication anymore. But if he’d listened to Secretary Kim, it was only fair to hear Tae-yi out too. Then he’d decide.
As much as he hated seeing Tae-yi, maybe the grandmother was right—maybe he should talk, not avoid him.
The grandmother, who’d been quietly watching Haram mull over everything, suddenly gripped his hand tightly.
“If it turns out he’s been lying through his teeth too, and they’re all in on it together, leave your land with me for a while. You don’t need to deal with that filth.”
Haram understood perfectly what she meant. Emotion swelled in his chest, and he bit his lip hard to keep it down.
Seeing him struggle not to cry, the grandmother added gently,
“You know how timid your grandma used to be? She was worse than you. But after you came, she changed. Started coming out to the community center, helping out at farms… You know why? She wanted people to look out for you after she was gone. Wanted to make sure you’d be okay, that someone would check if you were eating.”
Haram listened silently, until at last, a choked sob burst from his throat. The grandmother didn’t let go of his hand. She stayed right there, holding on tight until the boy, now crying like a child, began to quiet down.
“Haram… don’t live your life alone.”
Still sniffling, Haram gazed up at her. How does one live without being alone? The question lingered at the tip of his tongue, too heavy to ask aloud. His late grandmother, and the village elders—they’d taught him so much. But no one had ever told him how to live without being lonely.
Maybe it was too obvious to need saying. Or maybe, deep down, he already knew.
Yes, he did know.
***
Dressed sharply in a suit, Tae-yi checked his wristwatch and stepped out of the dressing room. Rather than head to the front entrance, where Chief Yoon was waiting, he turned toward the garden.
There, in a wide pot, stood the last surviving cherry tomato seedling, all others dead and withered away. Tae-yi looked at it with the tender gaze of a man staring at a long-lost lover. He picked up a watering can and carefully gave it a drink.
Watching quietly from a distance, Chief Yoon let out a faint sigh. He didn’t know exactly what the tomato plant meant to Kang Tae-yi, but judging by the reverence he treated it with, it was clearly tied to Da Haram. And if even this were to die, the emotional blow would be unimaginable.
“Da Haram?”
Returning from what looked like a sacred ritual, Tae-yi straightened his cuffs as he asked.
“He still hasn’t left the house. Oh, and the Land-rich Grandmother dropped by earlier this morning.”
Tae-yi gave a small nod and silently headed toward the garage. Chief Yoon trailed behind, then hesitated before speaking again.
“Your schedule’s packed. It’ll be tough to get out to the countryside anytime soon.”
“I’m heading there tonight. You don’t need to come. Stay here and work.”
“…Understood.”
So he’s going after all. Well, maybe it’s for the best. Whatever happens between them, it’s better for his boss to see it through and find closure.
As he settled into the driver’s seat, Chief Yoon glanced sideways at Tae-yi, who was staring blankly out the window, and spoke again.
“During today’s meeting, why not show some interest in the successor position? It might help provoke Chairman Kang Tae-jin.”
It didn’t take much to provoke someone like Kang Tae-jin—he had a short fuse. A little push and he’d explode on his own, doing something monumentally stupid in the process. Chief Yoon knew full well that his boss had no real ambition for the successor role, but just playing along would be enough.
As long as Tae-yi appeared to oppose the resort project and seemed interested in the successor seat, others would start rallying behind him all on their own.
