GBH 43

 Kim Deuk-pal thought that Choi Se-kyung must be extremely tired to want to be held, so he let him lean against his chest. Kim Deuk-pal believed that a man should have the decency to offer his chest as a place of comfort in this harsh world.  He tried to show a sense of indifference even if he cried, but Se-kyung did not cry.

The sound of cars running on the road beyond the fence brushed past his ears. After a few minutes, the area where Se-kyung’s breath was touching his chest grew warmer. Feeling conscious of their prolonged silence, Kim Deuk-pal grabbed his head and attempted to start a conversation.

“At home, did they say anything?”

“I… just got scolded a bit for turning off my phone.”

“Thank goodness. Oh, right. Hey.”

He tapped Se-kyung on the head to get his attention. He had been curious all the way from Gangneung in the taxi but hadn’t asked Se-kyung seriously.

“When we met at the bookstore, you said you came to visit someone who was sick. Was it your grandfather?”

“Yeah.”

“You must have been close to him.”

Since Se-kyung visited and was so upset about not being there when he passed, Kim Deuk-pal assumed they had a close relationship. Although he thought they were close and deeply saddened by his death, Se-kyung shook his head against his chest and denied the slightly impertinent question.

“No.”

“Really? Um, the kids said you looked like you were struggling a lot…”

His expectations were off, and Kim Deuk-pal began to stammer in his defense when Se-kyung cut him off.

“He was a good person. I’m sad and sorry. But…”

Se-kyung felt sorrow over his grandfather’s passing and hoped he went to a good place. However, that was all there was to it. Normally, he would have stayed through the funeral, feigning grief, but failing to be present at his grandfather’s final moments left him anxious about what kind of punishment Choi Myung-hyun might inflict on him.

“Rather, I was worried about what Dad would think… Worried that he might see me strangely because I’m not as sad about Grandpa’s death as I should be for failing to be on my grandfather’s final moments.”

He had been under surveillance and oppression his entire life because of something that happened when he was six years old, and his actions of running away and missing his grandfather’s last moment were not normal by Choi Myung-hyun’s standards. He wouldn’t let it slide.

Se-kyung could endure whatever punishment Choi Myung-hyun gave him. However, he couldn’t stand the fact that it would affect the fake Song Yi-heon.

The mere idea of being watched, something Se-kyung himself found terrifying, would likely disgust the fake Song Yi-heon. The contempt he felt for Choi Myung-hyun would soon extend  to his son, Choi Se-kyung.

The memory of the fake Song Yi-heon’s disdainful gaze at the spring water flashed through Se-kyung’s mind, making him feel cornered. He wrapped his trembling hands tightly around Kim Deuk-pal’s waist. 

“I know I’m weird.”

The tight grip around his waist made Kim Deuk-pal uncomfortable, so he tried to push Se-kyung away by his shoulders. Se-kyung tightened his interlocked fingers and continued.

“So I’m scared you’ll hate me…”

“I’m scared,” Se-kyung added quietly. As his fear of being abandoned surfaced in his subdued voice, Kim Deuk-pal couldn’t bring himself to push away the shoulder he held. With no response forthcoming, Se-kyung became desperate.

“Hug me.”

Se-kyung pleaded as he clung tightly to Kim Deuk-pal’s slender waist.

“…Because I’m cold.”

His small voice, embarrassed by his own plea, betrayed his desperate desire to hold on, even at the cost of his pride. The thought of the emptiness he would feel without the fake Song Yi-heon terrified him. Watching this visible display of vulnerability, Kim Deuk-pal finally responded to the cold Se-kyung was feeling.

“Yeah, it’s cold.”

Kim Deuk-pal tightened his hold on Se-kyung, who was trying to bury himself in his chest, and he quieted down. He looked up at the sky and let out a deep breath. There was no sigh. The night of May was cool, and the scent of flowers hung in the air. Yet, as if sympathizing with him, he murmured,

“It’s a cold night…”

He held onto Se-kyung as if the cold were real, as if Se-kyung’s complaint wasn’t just a plea for comfort.

---

Se-kyung returned to the funeral hall only after Song Yi-heon’s taxi disappeared from view as it turned left. The lights hanging from the lobby ceiling reflected off the marble floor. Walking along the lights reflected on the floor, Se-kyung greeted the constant stream of visitors even at this late hour. The mischief he had shown in front of fake Song Yi-heon was now hidden.

“Oh, it’s Se-kyung.”

A lawyer who was leaving after paying respects recognized Se-kyung. The man was Choi Myung-hyun’s judicial training school colleague.

“Long time no see. You’ve grown up a lot. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Thank you for coming.”

Se-kyung greeted him politely, and the lawyer patted his shoulder with a knowing smile.

“Naturally, I had to come. By the way, I heard you’re doing well in your studies. Are you going to follow your father’s path? I’m saying this with you in mind, but if you want to go to law school, you need to manage your grades from your first year of college. Don’t get swept away by the atmosphere. But these days, it’s easier to become a lawyer because of law schools, right? The bar exam, that’s a complete joke. When I took the judicial exam…”

The lawyer’s advice gradually turned into self-praise as he rambled on.

Drawing on the last remnants of compassion, kindness, and goodwill he could muster, Se-kyung smiled warmly. The man, who he only saw every few years at most, was acting as if he had the right to give advice and brag. Behind his charming smile, Se-kyung contemplated how to shut the lawyer up.

Should he rip his mouth apart? What’s something sharp enough to cut flesh? And it has to be easy to get, leaving no traceable evidence. Se-kyung recalled the part of the funeral hall he saw on his way to the outdoor resting area. It was a recycling area filled with empty beer and soju bottles.

The funeral hall was in the middle of the city and had CCTV, but the recycling area was covered with a torn tarpaulin, which could create a blind spot. He could hold a bottle with a handkerchief to avoid leaving fingerprints, break it, and then rip the lawyer’s mouth. The lawyer might not easily comply, even if he initially followed without suspicion; he’d realize something was wrong as soon as the bottle broke. Even if he managed to tear his mouth, the blood would splatter everywhere, making a mess.

How could he avoid blood splatter while tearing his mouth… Oh, he could just k1ll him. If the heart stops and there’s no pulse, blood won’t spurt even if the flesh is cut.

The vivid and violent thoughts triggered a surge of adrenaline. His breathing grew ragged, and his hands became sweaty. The sticky saliva made his mouth taste sour. The accelerating heartbeat sent blood racing through his body.

But the excitement quickly subsided. Se-kyung lost interest and stopped his imagination. His smile faded slightly. It wasn’t something he would actually do, after all.

He knew the difference between fantasy and reality and had always refrained from doing what he shouldn’t. It wasn’t because of Choi Myung-hyun’s oppression and surveillance.

“You need to know exactly what you’re going to do and take responsibility for your actions to the end. If you can’t do that, you’re just a kid.”

As fake Song Yi-heon had said in the guest room of Gangneung’s inn, Se-kyung only knew exactly what he would and wouldn’t do. The realization of the responsibilities that came with turning imagination into reality made the cruel fantasy seem absurd, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

Meanwhile, the lawyer mistook Se-kyung’s smiling face for compliance and reinforced his lecture.

“Se-kyung, you can’t rely on your parents just because you’re lucky to have them. You’ve got to have a hungry spirit. These days, young people grow up too comfortably and lack ambition. Whether they become lawyers or prosecutors, they think they’re the best just because they easily passed the certification exam. That kind of mindset—”

While Se-kyung was waiting for the lawyer’s nonsense to end, a white-haired man accompanied by a secretary passed through the lobby behind the lawyer. His hair was much grayer than in the pictures, but his tiger-like eyes made it clear who he was.

He was Song Yi-heon’s biological father.

As Se-kyung looked past the lawyer, the lawyer deepened his voice, attempting to sound stern.

“Se-kyung, where are you looking when adults are talking?”

However, Se-kyung was anxious not to lose Song Yi-heon’s biological father.

“Yes, understood. Please go ahead and take care.”

“But I haven’t finished talking—”

“I’m not going to law school. Take care.”

Se-kyung pushed aside the lawyer trying to detain him and widened his stride towards Song Yi-heon’s biological father. Recognizing Se-kyung’s overt approach from the opposite side, he stopped in his tracks. Despite his robust stature that hinted at the demeanor of a tycoon who had built a prominent company. But in reality, he was a toothless tiger, barely salvaging his near-bankrupt business with help from his in-laws and now living under his wife’s thumb.

Se-kyung managed his expression to avoid revealing his assessment of Song Yi-heon’s father and bowed respectfully. The man, impressed by his dignified demeanor of offering to assist, asked in a rather gentle tone,

“Who might you be?”

Despite his innocence inquiry, the chairman of the company, who rarely mingled socially but had come directly to the funeral hall, likely had received a report on who Se-kyung was. However, in this society, the person who needed something had to introduce themselves first.

“I am Choi Se-kyung. My father is Choi Myung-hyun.”

“Ah, yes, I remember now. I saw you when you were young. Has this little one grown up so much?”

The chairman pretended to remember and offered a handshake, lifting Se-kyung from his bow. As Se-kyung politely accepted the handshake, the chairman seemed impressed, patting Se-kyung’s shoulder and offering praise.

The white hair framing his forehead shone brightly under the light, and his sharp eyes assessed and evaluated Se-kyung. However, seeing that Se-kyung remained undaunted and didn’t lose his smile, he relaxed the intensity of his gaze and encouraged him.

“Your parents must be proud.”

“Allow me to guide you to the memorial hall.”

“Sure, lead the way.”

Seated in the chairman’s position, where he naturally received deferential treatment from everyone, it was expected. Yet, whether it was because he was merely a figurehead chairman and his wife held the real power, the chairman seemed satisfied with Se-kyung’s prompt greeting and courteous guidance.

“If I had a son like you, I would have felt so secure by now.”

Someone unfamiliar might have considered that the chairman, who was known to have only three daughters and no sons, lamented this fact. However, Se-kyung understood that the chairman’s sincerity was referring to Song Yi-heon. Originally timid and fragile, the Song Yi-heon who couldn’t meet others’ eyes and used to cover his face with his bangs. The tiger-like chairman seemed not to acknowledge the feeble Song Yi-heon as his own son.

“You flatter me…”

Se-kyung, adept at acting, couldn’t help but feel a lump in his throat, as if he had swallowed a thornbush. Though much improved since he had decided to wait with the original Song Yi-heon, thoughts of him still pricked at his heart.

Would the chairman know that his illegitimate child had changed? He probably wouldn’t. If the chairman had cared that much about Song Yi-heon, Song Yi-heon wouldn’t have run around in his pajamas on rainy days in the first place.

Se-kyung couldn’t understand why he was behaving so respectfully towards the chairman, who was practically an enemy to Song Yi-heon. His cruel instincts urged him to approach the chairman. This was not just imagination. It was an opportunity foreseen by his greedy, violent, and ruthless nature, eager to seize an advantage.

And soon, that opportunity presented itself.

“Over here.”

As he was about to guide him towards the offering altar, Se-kyung noticed a gleaming strand on the chairman’s shoulder. It shimmered against his jet-black suit as if it were emitting light. Without hesitation, Se-kyung did as his instincts commanded and plucked it. When his fingers touched the chairman’s shoulder, he turned to look at him.

The sudden contact made his sharp eyes scrutinize him, but Se-kyung responded with a familiar smile. The smile he had practiced since childhood concealed his discomfort naturally.

“It was dusty. I apologize.”

“No need to apologize for that. It’s fine.”

Fortunately, the chairman didn’t press further and entered the offering altar in a lowered posture. Se-kyung followed, standing at the end of the line where relatives were gathered. Choi Myung-hyun’s watchful eyes were on him, but Se-kyung was too focused on what was in his hand to care.

Taking advantage of the moment when Choi Myung-hyun shook hands with the chairman, Se-kyung opened his palm to confirm. A single long white hair was nestled in his palm lines. It was the chairman’s hair, holding genetic information related to the original Song Yi-heon. Se-kyung recalled the fake Song Yi-heon urging him to do a DNA test and tossing his hair to him. Se-kyung had picked up every strand and still kept them in his desk drawer.