“Ahjussi, you look like a complete mess. Go wash up. I’m not letting you lie on the blanket looking like that.”
Choi Sang-hyuk, who had been unceremoniously tossed into the bathroom, hesitated for a moment before taking off his clothes and washing his body. The water streaming down from the showerhead washed away the blood, dried scabs, and dirt clinging to his skin. The hot water caused considerable pain, but he focused solely on cleaning himself.
After finishing his shower and stepping out, he noticed a set of worn-out clothes placed in front of the bathroom door.
“This is the biggest set of clothes we have at home. Oh, but hey, you don’t have any tattoos? Weren’t you a gangster? If not, that’s a relief.”
The boy, passing by with a small dining table in his hands, chattered away.
“Once you’re dressed, come in. Time to eat.”
With a towel draped over his wet hair, Choi Sang-hyuk limped toward the room where the boy had called him. Inside, an old television was switched on, and a blanket with a tacky pattern was spread on the floor. The small dining table was placed on top of it.
“This is all we have, so just eat up.”
The boy held out a pair of chopsticks as he spoke. Choi Sang-hyuk sat down at the table in silence. Even that simple movement sent waves of pain through his body. As soon as he managed to settle down, the boy extended the chopsticks again.
Choi Sang-hyuk took them and looked at the pot in front of him. The yellowed, aged pot was filled to the brim with ramyeon. It was packed with aged kimchi, filling the air with its pungent aroma.
“Hurry up and eat.”
Urging him, the boy was already dipping his chopsticks into the pot. He picked up strands of noodles, placed them on the lid, and slurped them down, clearly accustomed to eating this way.
Choi Sang-hyuk glanced at the bowl in front of him. It seemed that, as a guest, he had at least been given a bowl instead of eating straight from the pot lid.
Gripping the chopsticks with his swollen, injured fingers was no easy task. Still, he concealed his struggle and carefully picked up some noodles from the pot. He transferred them to his bowl before bringing them to his mouth.
The kimchi-infused broth stung the cuts and torn flesh inside his mouth, sending sharp pain through him. But he forced himself to chew and swallow.
The ramyeon the boy had made was warmer and more satisfying than any of the greasy, extravagant meals he had eaten in the tiger’s den.
Once they had finished the noodles, the boy brought over some cold rice and mixed it into the remaining broth. Then, he began scooping it up with a spoon.
Watching him, Choi Sang-hyuk followed suit. It was his first time eating rice mixed with ramyeon broth, but it tasted surprisingly good.
Seeing Choi Sang-hyuk eat well, the boy’s eyes filled with satisfaction. He didn’t understand why feeding a stranger would bring him such contentment, but it did.
After they finished eating, the boy took the table away. A short while later, he returned with another bottle of red medicine in hand. It was clear he intended to reapply it, as the shower had washed it all off.
To make it easier for the boy, who was smaller than him, Choi Sang-hyuk hunched over and lowered his face. The boy, breathing hard as if this were a serious task, thoroughly dabbed the red medicine all over his wounds. He even blew on them afterward.
“Done. Now lie down and sleep.”
The boy spoke as if giving an order.
Choi Sang-hyuk, like an obedient child, lay down on the blanket with its tacky patterns. He shifted uncomfortably due to the pain, and as the boy watched him struggle, he turned off the light. Then, he carelessly plopped down beside him.
Choi Sang-hyuk glanced at the boy’s face, which seemed utterly fearless, before closing his eyes. It was a strange house with a strange boy. Yet, it felt more comfortable and secure than any place he had been since his mother’s death.
“Are you going to take revenge?”
The boy’s sudden question broke through the darkness.
“On the bastard who beat you up. Are you going to get back at him?”
Lying on his side, the boy stared at Choi Sang-hyuk and asked again.
Revenge.
Choi Sang-hyuk muttered the word inwardly. The moment he met the boy’s gaze, gleaming in the darkness, something strange sparked a scorching fire in his chest.
“Make sure you do it. Crush those bastards who beat you. The ones who tormented you. The ones who made your life miserable. Get back at every single one of them and grind them into the dirt.”
The boy spoke passionately, almost as if urging him on. His eyes burned with an unsettling intensity.
Choi Sang-hyuk could tell.
The boy, too, had been trampled on by someone. The boy, too, wanted revenge. His heart was ablaze with vengeance.
“And you?”
For the first time since meeting the boy, Choi Sang-hyuk spoke. His voice was rough and dry, scraping against his throat.
“Me? I’m going to take revenge too. I can’t do it now, but someday, I will. I swear. What about you, ahjussi? Will you do it?”
“……Yeah.”
Choi Sang-hyuk answered softly.
The boy’s fiery gaze was like a torch, igniting an inferno inside him.
Emotions that had been dulled and numbed slowly returned to his heart. Humiliation. Pain. Fury. Shame. Resentment. The thirst for revenge.
They burned through him, staining his chest red-hot.
Even after that, the boy kept chattering about meaningless things—celebrities on TV, the latest gossip, rumors he had picked up at school. Completely trivial topics.
But Choi Sang-hyuk listened, blinking his swollen eyes as he took in the boy’s words.
Because he understood why the boy kept talking.
The boy was lonely. And for this brief moment, he had chosen Choi Sang-hyuk as someone who could ease that loneliness, even if just a little.
At some point, the boy, who had been rambling on, started nodding off. Before long, he fell asleep.
Choi Sang-hyuk stared up at the ceiling covered in old, peeling wallpaper. The fire the boy had lit in his heart only burned hotter.
For too long, he had been the weakest—marked, bullied, beaten down again and again. Over time, helplessness had taken root in him.
But he was no longer a powerless, defenseless cub.
He had grown. He had sharpened his claws.
“Are you going to take revenge?”
“Make sure you do it. Crush those bastards who beat you. The ones who tormented you. The ones who made your life miserable. Get back at every single one of them and grind them into the dirt.”
“Yeah.”
Choi Sang-hyuk muttered under his breath.
His gaze, locked onto the ceiling, turned dark and heavy.
He was done cowering.
He was ready to stretch his body and roar.
Choi Sang-hyuk lay still, staring at the ceiling until the sky outside began to lighten. As the soft dawn light seeped through the window, he silently lifted himself up.
The boy was still sound asleep.
He would never know that his brief whim—a fleeting attempt to stave off his own loneliness—had awakened a sleeping tiger.
Choi Sang-hyuk gazed at the boy’s face for a long moment before leaving without a trace. He would probably never see him again, but the boy had become his benefactor. He would be etched deeply into his memory.
Years later, in a narrow alley behind a bar, Choi Sang-hyuk saw the boy again—this time, curled up and crying.
The same teardrop-shaped beauty mark stood out against his pale, delicate face. Just like before, he cursed freely between sobs.
The boy had grown.
And, to a startling degree, he was beautiful.
Even his crying face was enough to make people stop and stare.
Despite the years that had passed, Choi Sang-hyuk recognized him in an instant. It felt like fate had finally come knocking.
They were bound together by something deeper than coincidence.
“What the fuck are you looking at? Never seen someone cry before?”
The boy’s voice was sharper now, rougher.
Choi Sang-hyuk, acting on impulse, asked, “Wanna come with me?”
“The fuck? You into me or something, you perverted bastard?”
His way of speaking had gotten even filthier.
“Yeah. I guess I am.”
“Fuck. Just my luck today.”
The boy’s gaze swept over him, taking in his expensive watch, his polished shoes. His eyes gleamed with recognition.
Choi Sang-hyuk noted that the boy had grown a bit materialistic.
Not that he minded.
Money was something he had in excess.
“You rich?”
“Yeah.”
“If I go with you, then what?”
“I’ll give you a job.”
“I can find a job on my own.”
“A million a month.”
“…A million… won?”
“Yeah.”
“What kind of job? If it’s as a host, forget it. The thought of cozying up to greasy bastards makes me want to puke.”
“My housekeeper just quit. I need someone to take care of the place.”
“…You swear that’s all it is? You’re not just using this as an excuse to get your hands on me?”
“I’m not into forcing people.”
“If that’s really the deal… fine.”
Choi Sang-hyuk reached out first.
The boy hesitated for a moment before taking his hand.
The same small, pale hand that had once pulled his ragged self out of the gutter now rested in his palm.
For some reason, his heart stirred.
