#121
Ho-woo looked up at the clear autumn sky and let out a long breath. A faint mist spread from his breath. Joo Si-yeo didn’t rush him, spending time following the backs of passing people with her gaze, looking bored. After a brief silence, Ho-woo hesitantly opened his mouth.
“If you had to recall bad childhood memories, how do you think you’d feel, Ms. Joo Si-yeo?”
“Bad memories? I think it depends on what kind of memories they are. Give me an example and I’ll think about it.”
“Hmm… What if it’s memories of family members dying?”
“Family?”
Joo Si-yeo briefly cleared her throat as if pondering. Unlike her usually lighthearted demeanor, she seemed to be considering seriously for quite a while, then nodded as if she had reached a conclusion.
“First, I’ll start by saying that what you think of as family and what I think of as family might be different.”
She took a slow breath. As if blowing dust off a long-neglected object, she composed herself and pulled out old memories to show Ho-woo.
“To me, family members are nothing more than parasites, no more, no less.”
She smiled while casually picking at her own wound.
“Don’t you know there was quite a commotion when I became an esper?”
“……”
“How strange.”
Ho-woo cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling embarrassed at receiving Joo Si-yeo’s curious gaze. Thinking back, if it had been such a noisy incident, he should have heard about it somewhere, on the news or TV, but he couldn’t remember at all.
To the point where he wondered if it was possible to be this unaware simply due to lack of interest.
“Since you don’t seem to know, I’ll give you a brief explanation.”
“Is that okay?”
When Ho-woo asked again, worried about reopening painful wounds unnecessarily, Joo Si-yeo opened her eyes wide.
“That’s the first time I’ve heard such words. Everyone else just begged to hear something more sensational.”
“I don’t want to pry into things that are difficult to talk about.”
“It’s not difficult. Just a bit infuriating, that’s all.”
Joo Si-yeo gripped the edge of the bench tightly. With a cracking sound, the wood crumbled in her grasp. Brushing off the crumbled fragments nonchalantly, she smiled as she dug up her old past.
“My family, you see, was quite poor. We lived in the area closest to the barrier, even among the outskirts, so you could say we were dirt poor.”
The dilapidated walls and crumbling building that could barely be called a house, the day-to-day life of merely surviving – she was sick of it all. She wished daily that if only she would manifest as an esper or guide, she could escape this poverty.
“My parents hoped that at least one of their children would manifest as an esper or guide. They thought that if one of us just manifested, the money we’d earn would solve their poverty. But they were so desperate for money that before I was even of age, they tried to sell me to the corporation. As you know, the corporation isn’t a charity, right? What use would they have for a useless kid they bought with money?”
So Joo Si-yeo also wished she would manifest. But God always ignored her desperate pleas, and it was the same when she turned 15.
She didn’t manifest and couldn’t escape that poor household. The violence and verbal abuse hurt more than the pain of hunger. Feeling like she had really become useless trash, she stubbornly survived.
“Until I turned 15, I hoped to become an esper or guide or anything, but it didn’t happen.”
“You didn’t manifest at 15?”
“No. Ah, you know I’m the third S-class esper, right?”
At her look that seemed to ask “You don’t know this either?”, Ho-woo replied seriously, “I know that.” She laughed brightly.
“Right, I’m the third. And Eun-chan is the second. He’s five years younger than me.”
“Huh? The ages don’t match up, do they?”
“Because Eun-chan manifested at thirteen. And I manifested exceptionally late at twenty-one.”
Considering that people typically manifest at fifteen on average, Joo Si-yeo’s manifestation was extremely late. Even those who are delayed usually manifest before becoming adults.
“That’s very late.”
“I guess it took a while for my prayers to reach heaven.”
Anyway, that’s how it was.
Joo Si-yeo changed the subject and continued speaking.
“So in the year I turned sixteen, I ran away from that damn house. Even thinking about it now, it was a shitty life.”
Ho-woo felt the weariness in her casually spoken words. Sixteen. There wouldn’t have been much a child who wasn’t even an adult could do to survive on the streets.
“There’s no point in listening to my story of struggling, so I’ll skip that and start with how I manifested, shall I?”
Speaking of her life as lightly as if it were a comedy, infinitely lightly, Joo Si-yeo kicked at the ground. The small stone her foot hit rolled a short distance before stopping.
“After manifesting, I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about money anymore. But when you become an esper, your face becomes known to people, right? I saw your photo uploaded too. It was next to Oh-yul, of all people? A bit…”
Joo Si-yeo looked Ho-woo up and down. Her eyes filled with pity.
Another reason to take down that photo and retake it immediately.
“You’re quite good-looking too, so don’t worry. Oh-yul just looks unrealistically good. Why does he have to crush people’s spirits like that? If he had any conscience, he shouldn’t walk side by side with others, right?”
Confused as to whether this was highly sarcastic teasing or defense, Ho-woo raised his hand to stop her words.
“So, what happened after your face became known?”
“Ah~ My family found me after seeing my face. What happened next is obvious, isn’t it? Starting with ‘We were worried when you suddenly left home’ and ending with nonsense like ‘We’re happy to have found our family,’ they spewed all that in front of reporters and then just schemed to suck up the money I earned like leeches.”
Joo Si-yeo pouted. Her displeasure was clearly evident.
“That’s what family means to me. I wish they would all die.”
As strong killing intent poured out, her eyes, which had been dark, glowed yellow. The crackling electricity around her stung.
“Memories of family dying? That would be the greatest gift for me! If it were me, I’d recall it immediately. Replaying the moment of their death over and over, killing them again and again. When they’re beaten to a pulp, I’d roast them well and throw them to the monsters as feed, then laugh triumphantly. Isn’t that great?”
“……”
Ho-woo’s complexion turned pale as he briefly imagined people being beaten to a pulp following Joo Si-yeo’s words. Noticing this, Joo Si-yeo lightly tapped Ho-woo’s cheek with her finger.
“Anyway, that’s my case. What about you?”
Somehow his throat felt parched and words wouldn’t come out easily. Ho-woo opened and closed his mouth several times before finally speaking.
“I’m… afraid of regaining my memories.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know how those memories will affect me.”
“Are they bad memories?”
“Probably…”
The fear Ho-woo had was closer to a fear of the unknown. The hesitation of “what if” kept holding him back. Yet, the secretly rising curiosity gently beckoned to Ho-woo.
“If they’re bad memories, there’s no need to recall them, right?”
Ho-woo smiled bitterly at Joo Si-yeo’s textbook response.
“I feel like I won’t be able to avoid it.”
“So you’ll recall them someday?”
“…Hmm. I guess that’s what it comes down to.”
It wasn’t that they would naturally come back, but that Ho-woo himself would end up throwing open the tightly closed door. Unable to explain the detailed circumstances, Ho-woo glossed over it.
“There’s a saying that it’s better to take your beating early, right? If it were me, I’d just recall them.”
“Even if they’re bad memories?”
“Yeah. Look at you now.”
Joo Si-yeo glanced lightly at Ho-woo. Her narrowed eyes frowned slightly, clearly showing her disapproval.
“You’re fretting.”
She continued speaking calmly.
“You’ll probably keep feeling anxious even if you decide not to recall those memories. Why? Because you’ll end up recalling them someday.”
Ho-woo agreed with Joo Si-yeo’s words. It would surely be like that. The anxiety pushed to one corner of his mind would keep popping up and tormenting him. However, it could be as small an irritation as a hangnail on a fingertip, or the discomfort of mismatched floor tiles.
“But…”
“Regaining memories might become more difficult, right?”
“That’s right.”
At Ho-woo’s agreement, Joo Si-yeo let out a light snort.
“I hate being irritated more. Rather than living like that, I’d rather set off the bomb and deal with the aftermath.”
Joo Si-yeo stood up, stretching long. Checking the time on her pager, she slightly furrowed her brow as if a bit troubled by more time having passed than expected. Ho-woo quickly read her discomfort.
“If you have something urgent to do, it’s okay for you to go.”
Since she had initially said she’d only keep him company for a moment, Ho-woo also got up, dusting himself off, to ensure Joo Si-yeo wouldn’t feel sorry. He had rested enough and it was about time to return to the lab.
“It’s not urgent.”
She said this, then asked Ho-woo again, “Which way are you going?”
