At that moment, Geun-yeong could see the reporters running toward them. But he had been told to get out. With the reporters rushing toward them, there was no time to hesitate. Geun-yeong did as he was told and got out of the car. And, the moment his feet touched the ground, the rushing reporters disappeared. The world went dark.
Kyung Jiho firmly gripped the shoulder of the guy whose face he had covered with his own coat and began to walk.
In Geun-yeong’s field of vision, limited to following the lead of the strong arm pulling him, he could only see the gray ground, his own white sneakers, and the black sneakers of the man who had shielded him from the world’s gaze.
The feet of the people surrounding and walking with them were not visible. Their colorful questions were not audible either. Geun-yeong felt the hand firmly holding his shoulder. He smelled the faint scent of cigarettes from inside the coat. He saw feet larger than his own walking alongside him.
“Stairs.”
There were no long instructions like be careful or watch your step, but that one clear word indicating what obstacle was ahead was more appreciated than any words of consideration.
Even as the two were climbing the stairs, the reporters’ feet did not stop. They pushed and shoved, shouting and raising their voices. As the entrance of the building, beyond which they could not enter, approached, one desperate reporter reached out and snatched the coat covering Geun-yeong’s head.
The moment the coat that had been covering his face flew into the air, a flurry of shutter sounds erupted as if lightning had struck. His eyes were momentarily blinded, but that too didn’t last long. A hand approached faster than the time it took for the coat to be completely removed, grabbing Geun-yeong’s face and pulling him close.
A solid arm was wrapped over his face. One of Geun-yeong’s cheeks and ear were tightly pressed against a broad chest. The man raised his arm high to cover his head and face. Now, almost embracing him, Geun-yeong continued to move his feet, forcing strength into his legs that kept going weak, following the man who kept pulling him along.
And Geun-yeong smelled the more intense scent. It was like the smell of burning fallen leaves at the end of autumn. The cigarette smell he had thought was sexy was a bit different when smelled up close. It wasn’t a sexy smell but a lonely one. A sad smell.
Geun-yeong saw the solid chest rising and falling rapidly. When the man’s chest rose, Geun-yeong’s cheek was pressed, and his lips were so tightly overlapped that they nearly burst.
He had to walk quickly in an uncomfortable posture with his waist and back bent. Geun-yeong, panting with his lips parted between the arm and chest, pursed and closed his mouth that wouldn’t close properly. He tried to stop his own sound as much as possible and listened. He heard the sound coming from inside the man’s chest that touched his cheek and overlapped with his ear. He listened to the sound of the heart beating low and deep.
Right now, surrounded by reporters and cameras, Geun-yeong was okay.
A powerful wing, a large umbrella, a wind that allowed him to breathe existed. Of course, that wing could never be his alone. It wasn’t an umbrella that unfolded only for him. It was a wind that blew fairly for everyone. Still, it existed. It was comfortable and cozy.
And a little, sad.
* * *
In a small conference room within Investigation Room 3 of the Criminal Division located on the 4th floor of the main building, a psychiatrist selected through an agreement between the prosecutor in charge, the defendant’s attorney, and the judge conducted a mental illness diagnostic test on the victim, Ji Geun-yeong.
At the doctor’s request, the prosecutor, attorney, and judge were not present. Instead, the entire diagnostic process was to be recorded on camera. And naturally, the detective in charge of protecting the victim also had to wait outside.
The attorney, who found it awkward to face the prosecutor with an ominous expression and the detective who looked even more displeased, left the investigation department.
Kyung Jiho and the prosecutor opened a small window outside the clerical office and were smoking what they called the “most delicious cigarette”—a hidden cigarette—while bending and hunching their waists.
Prosecutor “Jeonguk,” who was in charge of the case, was around the same age as Kyung Jiho. Though one was a prosecutor and the other a police officer, they had become close due to frequent interactions within the same jurisdiction of Seoul Central, especially in the criminal division.
Since both were not yet at the years to worry about promotion reviews, they were perhaps less tainted, and after criticizing those who looked up to their superiors and compromised at an appropriate level, smoking cigarettes and drinking together, they had dropped formalities completely. Examining the face of the prosecutor who could roughly be called a friend, Kyung Jiho exhaled cigarette smoke and asked.
“How’s the atmosphere?”
“Same as always, what else? That judge is famous for being a dog that listens well to the presiding judge. It’s a ploy to push this up to the High Court and extract himself, damn it.”
The intention to push it to the High Court meant that regardless of the result of the mental illness diagnostic test, regardless of what sentence might come out, he planned to accept the defendant’s appeal. The second option chosen in hopes of not prolonging the fight might become useless.
Kyung Jiho couldn’t accept even the current situation that had extended to a second trial. It was extremely irritating. Even this much had already sufficiently tormented the guy in there. Kyung Jiho asked again.
“The evidence, the circumstances, they’re clear, right? And still, there’s no way?”
“Those bastards who say they suspect it was consensual sex while watching that young thing get beaten to a pulp without batting an eye, what the hell would work on them! Only someone at the level of the country’s president might make them pretend to blink, those people!”
His voice, which he lowered in case someone wandering in the corridor might hear, cracked severely as he shouted.
Kyung Jiho let out a long breath that might have been a sigh or cigarette smoke. He buried his head in his hands leaning on the windowsill, then tore at his hair with the hand not holding the cigarette.
“Damn… This is maddening, really…”
“It is. It’s enough to drive you mad.”
Jeonguk, who perfectly sympathized with Kyung Jiho’s feelings, also exhaled the cigarette he had deeply inhaled along with a big sigh. Just then, a phone vibrated. Seeing the caller, Jeonguk cursed again, which he had been doing all along, and answered the phone.
“Yes! Senior! How are you!”
Not wanting to show himself groveling to someone he had just cursed, Jeonguk left the investigation room to avoid Kyung Jiho.
Kyung Jiho withdrew his bitter gaze from the thoroughly bent back. Though he was not yet at the years to compromise with justice, it was literally “not yet.” Soon, that friend too would become no different from the judge in charge who tried to slip away from difficult situations. Of course, the same would apply to himself as well.
The man, with an expression dirtier than usual, pointlessly glaring at somewhere outside the window, took out his phone. And opened the address book. He brought up a number he had never contacted first and had deliberately avoided since becoming an adult. The index finger hovering over the number trembled slightly. He was severely conflicted about whether to press it or not.
* * *
Woo Donghwa sat alone at his desk in his room. Sitting like that, he had been looking at the desk calendar for quite a long time.
The start date of the volunteer activity he was supposed to do with Ji Geun-yeong was approaching. But there was still no contact from the guy. He didn’t know his contact information. He knew the name of the man who was a detective from the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency, but he didn’t know his contact information either.
The news about the guy he heard through the news was truly shocking. The group messenger chat with his classmates was in chaos for a while. Dozens of posts were uploaded asking, answering, and being surprised about the truth of rumors heard from somewhere other than the news. Donghwa, who couldn’t stand it anymore after watching, posted, “Everyone shut up! Are you all finding this funny!”
After that, the group chat was quiet. He wasn’t sure if they were gathering separately without him to chat, but anyway, that’s what happened.
He felt sorry for the guy who had lived for 18 years thinking he had diabetes. Tears welled up thinking about the guy who had injected saline solution religiously at every meal, believing it was insulin strapped to his stomach. He also remembered the face that had smiled broadly, saying it was delicious after taking a sip of coffee.
Such a guy, just because he was a medical student, was being suspected as a historic liar with talks of Munchausen syndrome and whatnot.
It was an unjust situation. Medical students study all kinds of diseases, but specifically regarding diabetes, they know less than patients who have suffered from diabetes for a long time. People who didn’t know even this were talking a lot just because he was a medical student.
That man, who probably knew the most about all kinds of diabetes treatments in Korea, had deliberately deceived him, so even that smart guy had no choice but to be helplessly fooled. Since he was deceived from the age of just six, an age when one believes and accepts anything, he would have accepted that he had diabetes more naturally than the fact that planting beans yields beans. He couldn’t have had even a trace of doubt.
So Woo Donghwa felt like he might cry again.
“Ah shit… poor guy…”
At the moment when tears were about to spill out, he collapsed on the desk. It was embarrassing to be sniveling alone. Especially when he couldn’t provide any help to the guy who would be struggling alone.
While I was hunched over the desk trying to hold back tears, a notification sound came from the messenger window. I raised my buried head and looked at my phone.
[Geun-yeong’s Recent Situation]
Below this message was a news video. And underneath that:
[His face has gotten much thinner.]
It was from class rep Park Sanghun. There were no comments below that message.
He must have found a video circulating without mosaic blurring. After a moment of anger at the existence of such a video, I wanted to see what his face looked like now, how much thinner he had become. After hesitating for a while looking at the video link, Donghwa decided to open it.
The video played. The reporter’s explanation poured out that this was victim Ji heading to the Seoul Central District Prosecutors’ Office for Munchausen syndrome diagnostic testing. Next to Geun-yeong, who was covering his face with black clothing, was that detective from before. He was firmly embracing his shoulders, protecting him from reporters who were pushing in. It seemed he had been staying by his side this whole time. I was grateful. And as they were running up the stairs, one reporter reached out and pulled at the clothing covering his head. The black clothing came off, and his face, turning around in surprise, was indeed much thinner.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
