Unnecessary Kindness

“One more round?”

“No, you psycho.”

While chewing on a piece of tteokbokki, I watched Han Gangun move my cup of fish cake broth to his left side.

Spearing a rice cake with his toothpick, he glanced that way briefly before looking away as if it didn’t matter.

Like a robot following a programmed command, I naturally shifted seats to where the cup had been moved.

Now, instead of me, Han Gangun was the one sitting beside the noisy group of boys.

But unexpected variables always had a way of appearing.

I had just lifted the cup to drink some broth when I heard a familiar voice.

“What the hell? Seo Ijae?”

Han Gangun and I looked up at the same time.

The voice had come from the group of boys.

It belonged to the boy standing at the far end.

His summer uniform was neatly buttoned, and his black hair was slightly long around the sideburns.

The name tag on his chest read:

[Shin Juho]

Juho was the friend I ate lunch with.

He lived in the building behind Yeji Villa, above the row of shops.

I’d known him since before my parents divorced.

He’d watched my family fall apart.

He’d watched me go through middle school and make it to high school.

Juho’s mother used to bring me side dishes.

Stir-fried kimchi, fish cake stir-fry, seasoned mushrooms.

She’d carry them wrapped in a cloth and call out to me whenever she saw me in front of Yeji Villa.

When she was busy, Juho would deliver them instead.

His mother always told me to eat properly.

Whenever she looked at my thin frame, she’d nag me to put on some weight.

When we entered high school, I kept eating lunch with Juho.

I didn’t really have anyone else to eat with.

Even though we weren’t in the same class, Juho always ate with me.

Then one day, I realized something.

It was on a day when his mother handed me a container of seasoned vegetables and casually asked whether Juho and I were still eating lunch together.

I understood immediately.

Juho wasn’t eating with me because he wanted to.

He was doing it out of obligation.

Lunch was the only thing we shared.

We never talked about anything interesting.

We didn’t play games on our phones.

We didn’t complain about side dishes or steal food from each other’s trays.

When lunchtime came, we’d meet as if it were a scheduled appointment.

We’d stand in line.

Get our food.

Sit across from each other.

Eat silently.

Ten minutes later, we’d return our trays and head our separate ways.

I’d go back to my classroom.

Juho would return to the field where his friends were.

I couldn’t bring myself to hate Juho.

I had no right to.

Not when I considered his mother.

Not when I thought about how she always worried about my father and me and packed food for us.

Not when I thought about Juho, who probably didn’t want to eat with me but still sat across from me every single day.

The proper response should have been gratitude.

But I disliked him.

Even knowing I had no right to, I didn’t want to eat lunch with him.

The truth was, I’d never once asked Juho to eat with me.

I would’ve been fine eating alone.

And if not, I could’ve found someone else.

I’d never asked his mother to bring me side dishes either.

There were side dish stores nearby.

And if there weren’t, I could’ve cooked for myself.

Kindness beyond what was necessary was just another form of pity.

Juho made me uncomfortable.

Which was why, the moment he called my name, I wanted to disappear from the face of the earth.

Especially now.

Not with Han Gangun standing beside me.

But I couldn’t disappear.

This wasn’t a dream.

And Shin Juho had already called my name.

I had no choice but to answer.

“Uh… Juho.”

“What the hell?”

“Why are you here—”

“Huh?”

Juho’s gaze naturally lifted to Han Gangun standing beside me.

The moment he saw him, something flickered in his eyes.

Like he’d encountered something completely unexpected.

His gaze dropped back to me, full of confusion at the mismatched pair standing together.

Juho and Han Gangun had been classmates the previous year.

There was no way Juho didn’t know him.

In fact, he probably knew far more about Han Gangun than I did.

His personality.

His grades.

His behavior in class.

Everything.

Sometime during the previous autumn, Juho had once told me a story about Han Gangun.

It was during lunch, right before the school sports festival.

I still remembered what we’d eaten that day.

Seaweed soup.

Rolled omelet.

Juho rarely brought up topics unrelated to himself.

But that day, he looked at the tall figure of Han Gangun standing in line and whispered,

“You know that guy?”

I looked at Han Gangun’s striking profile.

Then back at Juho.

I shook my head.

I knew his face.

That was all.

“I heard he slept with a sophomore.”

“…Really?”

“You know Dongyang Motel, right?”

“The one behind Mokhwa Academy Street.”

“Yeah.”

“I know it.”

The largest apartment complex near our school was called Mokhwa Apartments.

Naturally, the huge academy district beside it became known as Mokhwa Academy Street.

From four in the afternoon until late into the night, it was crowded with students and academy shuttle buses.

Behind all those brightly lit academies stretched a dark alleyway.

And in that alley stood Dongyang Motel.

It had been there for over twenty years.

Obviously, parents hated having a motel so close to a district packed with students.

They’d complained constantly.

Yet the motel remained.

It had even been renovated a year earlier.

Among students, that alley was known as the darkest and most secretive place around.

Cigarette butts littered the ground.

Groups of teenagers in colorful padded jackets wandered through it after dark.

If someone had really been seen entering Dongyang Motel, they were the kind of delinquent most students wouldn’t dare approach.

According to Juho, someone had seen that tall black-haired boy with the handsome profile entering the motel.

The girl with him had apparently been a senior from our school.

I couldn’t remember her name.

He’d been wearing casual clothes, but the witness had supposedly been certain it was him.

“How the hell did he even get in there?”

“The guy’s got balls.”

Juho had shoveled rice into his mouth as he said it.

I still remembered the way he’d shaken his head while glancing toward Han Gangun.

It wasn’t disapproval.

It wasn’t because he thought sleeping around was wrong.

It was envy.

And admiration.

Admiration for someone bold enough to do it.

And for someone who had a girl willing to do it with him.

Back then, I barely knew Han Gangun.

Looking at him, he seemed far too upright and normal.

Nothing like the delinquents I imagined.

And yet…

With a face like his, somehow even going into a motel didn’t seem all that surprising.

He didn’t look old.

He simply carried himself with an unusual maturity.

That was one of the reasons he stood out so easily among other students.

The tteokbokki was nearly gone.

After noticing Han Gangun, even the boys beside Juho had grown noticeably quieter.

Juho suddenly began smiling awkwardly.

A boy who normally never spoke to me was now acting familiar.

“You didn’t come today.”

“So I had lunch with some other guys.”

“Oh.”

“Really?”

I answered flatly.

“Why weren’t you at school?”

“I was sick.”

“Oh, seriously?”

Han Gangun sat between us eating quietly.

Occasionally he drank some broth while listening to our conversation.

I followed his lead and reached for one of the last remaining rice cakes.

Then—

“Mom told me to come bring you some side dishes.”

My hand froze.

I looked at Juho.

The flow of air itself seemed to stop.

At the same moment, Han Gangun’s gaze shifted to him as well.

I caught Juho sneaking a glance at Han Gangun.

Then Juho suddenly started talking as if he’d become excited.

“You should’ve come and gotten them sooner.”

“Come by tonight.”

“Oh right.”

“Dad said he saw a police car at your place yesterday too.”

“Mom was worried something happened to you and told me to ask.”

I froze.

While the boys beside Juho continued chatting and eating, I watched Han Gangun slowly set down the toothpick he’d been holding.

“If you were just sick, that’s good.”

“I thought something serious happened.”

“…Nothing happened.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Good.”

Apparently satisfied, Juho shrugged.

I stared at him in silence.

I relaxed my eyes deliberately.

I didn’t want to look hostile.

I simply watched those sharp, careless lips move.

Seeing my expression, Juho pulled his lips into an awkward smile.

For a brief moment—

I wanted to tear that smile right off his face.