“What is this? Why is this name set up so strangely?”
“…Give it to me.”
“No, hold on. Your reaction just makes me even more curious. Who is it that you’ve set their name as ‘Don’t Answer’? Did they wrong you in some way?”
“Damn it, give it to me.”
“Ah, just a second. I’m telling you, I’m curious.”
Choi Ji-won, however, clung to it stubbornly, refusing to let go of something that could have simply been ignored.
Positioned closest to the phone, Choi Ji-won swiftly snatched it away just as my hand was about to close around it. She completely disregarded my increasingly agitated pleas for its return.
With a playfully heightened expression, she fixated on the phrase ‘Don’t Answer’ displayed on the screen. It was clear she sought to capture my full attention.
“Let’s just hear their voice, whoever it is. Ah, don’t try to take it! I just want to hear their voice!”
It was then that the very thing I had dreaded inevitably occurred.
– This worm-like bastard, after causing such an accident, still isn’t home promptly? I was going to send Driver Kim to pick you up after school, but you promised to be obedient, so I didn’t even confiscate your motorcycle. Now you’re acting like your guts have burst out of your stomach, huh? You’re practically begging to die!
“……”
– Answer me before I break your legs! Honestly, acting however you please, just like that b*tch of a mother who abandoned you.
Choi Ji-won, twisting and turning to evade my grasp, accidentally pressed the call button.
Immediately, the enraged voice of a middle-aged man thundered from the phone’s speaker like a waterfall.
The content was too violent, too cruel, to be simply dismissed as discipline. It was overbearing to a degree that made it unimaginable as a father’s words to his son.
The way he spoke, not viewing the other person as an equal but rather pressing down heavily from above, allowing no hint of defiance, was enough to send shivers down the spine and make one’s heart plummet, even for an unrelated listener.
No, it would have been fortunate if my heart had merely plummeted.
– No matter how I think about it, you should have died in your mother’s womb, you.
The torrent of abuse, which could only be described as a curse, concluded as always by denying the very existence of its target.
– Someone like you should have been thrown into an orphanage or somewhere similar right after birth.
Even though the call wasn’t set to speakerphone, the man’s voice was so loud that everyone nearby could hear it, even amidst the intro of a song playing.
Upon hearing his words, everyone present looked at me, the phone’s owner, with expressions of horror. The women, more vulnerable to such violence, covered their mouths with their palms, exchanging uneasy glances.
Kim Seong-jae and Shin Jeong-hyun, who were somewhat aware of my family situation, deliberately cast their gazes into the empty air, striving not to betray their shock.
Yet, despite their efforts, their thoughts were utterly transparent.
– Are you still not going to answer…!
Accustomed to such violence as I was, I rose from my seat, leaving the frozen atmosphere behind, and ended the call.
A look of dismay flashed across Kwon Ye-seul’s pale face, which had been utterly frozen in the chair opposite me. The admiration, longing, and one-sided affection in her eyes momentarily gave way to confusion, fear, and pity.
My mood plummeted, sinking to an indescribable low.
“Um, oppa. That is, I didn’t mean for that to happen….”
“Ah, this is such bullshit. Seriously.”
I cursed at Choi Ji-won, whose face was ghostly pale as she desperately tried to salvage the situation. As I lifted my hand, poised as if to strike her, Kim Seong-jae and Shin Jeong-hyun, who had been observing the escalating crisis, simultaneously rose to intervene.
The two of them each grabbed an arm and a shoulder, forcefully pulling Choi Ji-won and me apart.
In a situation where anything could happen, Kwon Ye-seul and the other women, along with Choi Ji-won, huddled their bodies, trembling uncontrollably.
“You know how pathetic it is when some worm-like nobody acts like they’re hot shit just because I played along for a bit. No, you *should* know.”
“……”
“Unless you want your face scraped across the asphalt like that bastard Kim Chang-woo.”
“……”
“You, you f*cking dare to appear in front of me again. I’ll really kill you.”
*Bang.* Overwhelmed by rage, I kicked the table. Though large, its flimsy weight and poor durability caused it to lurch violently upward before crashing back down. The impact sent the ashtray, personal belongings, beer cans, and snack bags clattering to the floor. The tower of cigarette butts in the ashtray collapsed, instantly turning the room into a chaotic mess.
The women remained silent, while Choi Ji-won, consumed by fear, continued to weep. Among Kim Seong-jae and Shin Jeong-hyun, Kim Seong-jae was the first to speak, calling out my name.
I ignored his summons, pretending not to hear, my eyes glaring daggers at him for his significant contribution to this disaster.
“Ugh, cough, cough…!”
I quickly exited the karaoke room, gasping for breath. My vision flickered, then brightened, as my mind became a tangled mess. My stomach churned with nausea. The collar of the T-shirt beneath my dress shirt felt constricting, and I tugged at it, though it barely stretched.
The oppressive feeling persisted, and I clenched my fists tightly, feeling a faint pain. My short-trimmed nails dug into my palms, creating small scratches on my calloused hands.
“Just… shut up.”
Perhaps having finally lost its patience with my abrupt hang-up, the sharp ring of my phone hadn’t ceased for a moment. It seemed determined to see this through, ringing again each time it was cut off. But at that moment, such things were irrelevant.
Getting beaten was nothing new, and if my leg were to break, I could simply use it as an excuse to lie quietly in a hospital for a few months. That would be a preferable outcome.
The crucial point was that the man who called himself my father had unknowingly touched my deepest vulnerability, completely unaware of his transgression.
Though my body had grown larger and my mind was more mature than before, I was still, undeniably, an overgrown child.
A fragile child who, unable to control their rage, ultimately crumbled when the tender core hidden beneath a grand facade was merely grazed.
‘Honestly, acting however you please, just like that b*tch of a mother who abandoned you.’
My mother and father had been brought together by an arrangement between their families. And as was often the case with such couples, their relationship was far from amicable. The man my father was, would disappear for days on end, even during their honeymoon, engaging in affairs with women his age.
My mother, on the other hand, with her inherently quiet nature, simply suppressed her anger, guarding the vast, empty mansion alone.
Her sudden decision to go to America was entirely because of me.
Having conceived a child after two years of marriage, my mother expressed her desire to recuperate and focus solely on the baby, away from my father’s presence.
‘Giro, your mom is truly sick and tired of you and your dad.’
My mother was a painter. She wasn’t widely renowned or particularly distinguished, but she loved to paint above all else. However, perhaps due to postpartum depression or something similar, she changed day by day.
Her already delicate health completely deteriorated after childbirth, and she stopped painting altogether. Unable to believe that the only reward for enduring childbirth in a foreign land, solely for the sake of the child in her womb, was a weakened body and spirit, my mother would lock herself in her studio every day.
There, she would drink wine and whiskey indiscriminately, regardless of whether her young son watched.
‘I’m so sick of seeing your father, who is sick of me, that I truly feel like I’m going crazy.’
Whenever she drank, she would always repeat the same words: that she was sick and tired of me and my father, so utterly fed up that she wanted to die. All I could do was stay by her side, repeatedly apologizing.
At my young age, I was neither eloquent nor did I possess the sturdy shoulders to support my collapsing mother. It was the best I could do.
I wished that my best would somehow reach her.
‘From now on, live with me, not your mother. With your father.’
I remember the first time I met my father. He had always postponed meeting me, citing every excuse imaginable—business, my grandfather’s health, the succession structure. But when I turned nine, he suddenly flew to America and urged me to return to Korea, suggesting we live together from then on.
It was more a demand than a suggestion, yet I was happy that my father wanted to live under the same roof. The gifts he’d had his secretary buy, and his indifferent eyes, devoid of any affection, seemed perfectly fine to me back then.
It felt as though he needed me, unlike my mother.
‘I’ll move in as soon as I’m ready. It won’t take long.’
However, amidst my overwhelming joy, an inevitable question arose.
‘I’ll be waiting in Korea.’
Then what about Mom? Wasn’t Mom coming with us?