“I’ll reiterate, I have a license.”
“…”
“Therefore, as an adult who meticulously observes traffic laws, my conviction that there’s no inherent problem with my activities will likely remain unchanged.”
Even my strict father had never once interfered with my choice to ride a motorcycle. I was already an adult, possessed a legitimate license, and never recklessly sped outside of designated circuit tracks.
When riding, I always donned my specialized helmet. If it rained, I made sure to call a taxi or contact a driver for transport, ensuring I traveled safely by car.
This motorcycle was my sole hobby and comfort, painstakingly protected through such diligence.
It was something I had finally made my own, adhering to every legal restriction and rule.
So how dare he judge me based on a single, superficial aspect, treating me like some common delinquent?
“My father approved it too.”
“…”
“Do you have anything further to say?”
I deliberately enunciated each word when mentioning my father’s approval, chewing on the syllables. My gaze remained fixed on the bloated, anglerfish-like face of my homeroom teacher, never once wavering.
This was a clear warning: if he didn’t relent and let me go, there would be no favors, no special treatment, nothing.
“No. I’ll speak to the principal separately about the motorcycle. You may go.”
“Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Following my homeroom teacher’s dismissal, I strode purposefully out of the faculty office and approached the students’ steel lockers. They had apparently assigned me a leftover locker; as soon as I entered the password and forced open the stiff door, a cloud of hazy dust billowed out.
Without a second thought, I shoved all my textbooks inside and slammed the door shut with an irritated huff. My phone screen, once again blaring with notifications, displayed an endless stream of text messages from Kim Seong-jae, now filled with desperation and pleading rather than threats.
–Ah, damn it, let’s go together today. Shin Jeong-hyun said he’s coming too.
–Shin Gi-ro, you goddamn bastard. Reply.
–Reply needed
–RPL
–Damn it, let’s go to karaoke together. All the girls said they’re coming!
–If you don’t go, all the girls will bail, you know? Then Shin Jeong-hyun will obviously chew me out instead of you, right? You know how much of a bully he is, picking on the weak!
Kim Seong-jae was a classmate who had been assigned to the same class as me for two consecutive years at our previous school. More accurately, he was one of the few acquaintances whose families shared deep, long-standing ties.
He was a reckless, foul-mouthed brat who couldn’t go a day without causing trouble. Despite being two years my junior, he didn’t hesitate to curse me to my face. Yet, even such a wild, untamed colt was born into an exceptional lineage.
His three older brothers were, in succession, a judge, a prosecutor, and a lawyer, while his father was a law professor who had once served as the Chief Prosecutor of the Seoul Central District Prosecutors’ Office.
His maternal family, including his mother, was a renowned medical dynasty, with three generations serving as hospital directors at university hospitals, a name known to everyone in that field.
Given these circumstances, he, much like me, was treated as the black sheep of his family.
While his three elder sons were impeccably raised and a source of pride, the youngest son’s aspirations changed dozens of times a day, showing no real interest in academics. In such a family, it would have been stranger if he *hadn’t* been treated that way.
–Ah, I don’t care, I’ll just send you the address. Come if you feel like it, you damn bastard.
However, though our situations were similar, Kim Seong-jae and I could never be truly alike. For him, there was one thing I would never possess.
–After getting beaten by your dad and being too ashamed to show your face, you’re playing incredibly hard to get.
That was a mother who, no matter the circumstances, completely trusted and protected him.
Even when his other siblings treated him like trash, and his father would beat him mercilessly, demanding he be thrown out of the house, his mother was always by his side. Reportedly, Kim Seong-jae’s mother had experienced both toxemia and premature birth consecutively while pregnant with him, leading to an especially deep affection and attachment to her youngest son.
It seemed that his ability to grow into such a carefree delinquent, despite his strict father and brothers, was solely due to his mother’s unconditional love.
‘Gi-ro, can Gi-ro manage on his own now?’
What must it feel like to be forgiven no matter what you do? I pondered this anew as I started the motorcycle. I entered the address Kim Seong-jae had sent into the navigation app, then glanced at the helmet I had to wear for safety, even in the sweltering heat.
At least today, there was a bit of a breeze, so I wouldn’t have to sweat buckets, which was a small comfort. However, the throbbing headache hadn’t completely subsided, suggesting I needed a little more rest here.
“Hmph.”
I closed my eyes briefly under the shade of a tree, taking a deep breath. The humid air characteristic of summer carried the scent of damp earth from the playground, tickling my nostrils. Large beads of sweat trickled down between my rising ribs.
“?”
Just as I was silently wishing for a refreshing downpour, a sound of cool water suddenly reached my ears, as if my imagination had materialized. Involuntarily, my head turned.
As expected, someone stood before the long row of flowerbeds, holding a large hose. Judging by their crouched posture and school uniform, they were unmistakably a student from this school. They were carefully watering the flowerbeds, pressing a finger against the hose nozzle to adjust the water pressure, lest the plants be damaged.
Soon, seemingly satisfied that the plants had absorbed enough water, they turned off the tap and shook out the long-nosed hose to drain it.
“Huh.”
I recognized them when they straightened their bent back to put away the neatly coiled hose.
“Why bother so much when they don’t get anything out of managing it well…”
It was the student whose name I didn’t know, yet whom I inexplicably felt compelled to approach and speak to—the one whose very presence filled me with both irritation and an indescribably unsettling feeling. They still seemed unaware of my presence, lingering around the flowerbeds even after tidying the hose.
They squatted before the flowerbeds, their large frame awkwardly squeezed into the narrow space, inspecting the plants. Their busy head, seen from behind, looked quite hot from prolonged exposure to the sun. Most people would have gone inside by now, but it seemed they might stay like this until after school’s supplementary classes ended.
Look at that, now they’re playfully poking a flower in the bed with a finger, smiling joyfully.
“That’s enough, that’s enough. Why waste energy on such a simpleton?”
Their actions were so utterly childish that they seemed out of place for someone my age. Just as when I first encountered them, I quickly lost interest and pressed the ‘Start Navigation’ button on my phone screen.
After a moment of hesitation, I pulled the helmet I’d been clutching to my chest over my head and lowered the visor.
Striking a casual pose, I started the engine, feeling my entire body tremble with a subtle vibration.
With a powerful roar from the engine, the motorcycle’s wheels vigorously pushed off the ground, surging forward.
The surrounding scenery rapidly transformed in an instant, and a cool breeze swept over my body.
****
“Forget and be forgotten and erase it allll!”
‘Damn it.’
Kim Seong-jae’s voice, echoing through the cramped karaoke room, was so grating that a curse involuntarily escaped my lips. Located in the basement of a commercial building known for being the oldest in the city center, this karaoke spot was his personal hideout.
He had favored this place as his haunt since his first year of high school for one simple reason: it was the only establishment in the entire city that tacitly allowed smoking and drinking inside the rooms.
On the worn wooden table, a mountain of cigarette butts rose like a towering monument in an ashtray, making it impossible to tell if it had ever been cleaned. A little more, and one could almost imagine decorating it with lights, like a Christmas tree. The room’s walls were blackened beyond recognition of their original color, covered in layers of graffiti accumulated over twenty years, and the backrest of the sofa I was leaning against was no exception.
Pens, computer markers, regular markers, pencils—the various cringeworthy phrases and names scrawled on the walls had blurred and discolored with time, so from a distance, they simply looked like part of the original pattern. On the wall, there was an old ventilation fan, a rarity in modern party rooms where one could order food, drinks, and even wine or cocktails if adult. Its propeller was caked in hazy dust, motionless.
White threads, presumably cobwebs, swayed from the ceiling, and every time I sat down or stood up, the faux leather sofa would crackle, shedding bits of synthetic material.
According to Kim Seong-jae, no matter how many times he complained to the owner about the unsanitary conditions, asking them to clean it, they would only say they understood at the time. Yet, the next visit would reveal the exact same state.