BITM Ch5

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I insist.”

“Then let it count as payment for dinner.”

Han Naeyung, now back in his white coat, stood calmly with his hands in his pockets. Jin gave up on pressing further about covering the cost. The words “I should get going” hovered unspoken on his lips. Earlier, Jin had even thrown out all the chocolate at home to prevent any unexpected mishaps.

After today, he figured, there’d likely be no reason to visit the animal clinic again for a while—it wasn’t exactly a convenience store.

Still, Jin entertained the idea briefly. It’s not even 10 p.m.; maybe I should invite him for another drink? His place is nearby, and having a quirky, clean-freak friend in the neighborhood might not be so bad….

But Jin sensed it—whatever he said next would be met with refusal. Han Naeyung’s distant gaze, fixed outside the window, carried a numbness, though Jin suspected an intense inner conflict beneath the surface.

The way his hands were buried in his pockets, leaving no skin exposed, and the absent-minded stare were reminiscent of something Jin had seen before in victims of severe trauma. During interrogations, such victims often relive their horrific experiences, their eyes clouded with emotions too complex to unravel. It was a familiar sight.

Much like the look in Han Naeyung’s eyes now.

Jin felt the dryness in his mouth—a telltale sign he could use a cigarette. Just as he was about to set aside his curiosity or growing interest, a soft buzz interrupted them. A message had come through on Han Naeyung’s phone, resting on the desk.

“I should get going,” Han Naeyung finally said.

“Sure.”

But he didn’t move. Han Naeyung glanced at his phone, then picked it up.

“By the way, Dr. Han,” Jin called, just as Han Naeyung was tucking the phone into his pocket.

“Yes?”

Jin smiled faintly. “I roped you into this tonight. I just didn’t want to eat alone.”

Han Naeyung hesitated, his lips parting slightly as if searching for the right response.

Watching him, Jin was struck by a memory—the coroner’s comment about Ophelia.

“Sometimes, you come across a body on the examination table that looks almost as though it’s just asleep. We call them Ophelia. Beautiful, serene, as if the final remnants of life were clinging to the surface just before decay takes over.”

That day, the body had been a woman who had committed suicide. Her face, free of blemishes, had been so pale it was almost translucent, her half-open eyes gazing into the void.

Han Naeyung reminded Jin of that moment. Too sentimental, too sensitive. Jin turned away, shaking the thought from his mind, and left the clinic.

He didn’t hear Han Naeyung murmur softly to himself: “So did I.”

As Jin and Nari walked away, the dog kept glancing back over his shoulder.

* * *

Han Naeyung hadn’t been able to shake the image of Jin’s sudden hardened expression before he left. Jin was sharp, a natural observer of people, adept at reading between the lines and arriving at conclusions close to the truth.

Han Naeyung, however, wasn’t used to someone pinpointing his selective compulsions with such accuracy. It left him even more cautious than usual.

After tidying up the clinic, Han Naeyung finally returned home and took out his phone. The unlit apartment offered only the glow of the screen as he scrolled through his messages. His eyes lingered on a brief, chilling phrase:

Location confirmed.

* * *

The morning started with a flurry of activity for the woman. Excitement gleamed in her eyes as she prepared to see her son after such a long time. She bustled about, packing side dishes into containers, carefully selecting items that could keep for a while. But as she stepped out of the house with her bundle, she froze in surprise.

Her husband, who had left earlier to meet a friend, had returned earlier than expected.

He glanced at her face, made up neatly, and then at the container she held.

“Where are you off to?”

“There’s a gathering today, remember?”

“Then what’s with the food container?”

The sharp gaze of her former-judge husband made her inwardly flinch.

“Why, is carrying food a crime now? We’re having a potluck. Everyone’s bringing something, and I was in charge of vegetables. Should I show you proof?”

She rattled the container defiantly, meeting his eyes.

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything. No need to get worked up,” her husband replied, retreating from his questioning tone.

“Well, you’ve certainly spoiled my good mood,” she huffed, snatching her car keys and heading toward the garage.

Once inside, away from her husband’s watchful eyes, she exhaled deeply. It had been far too long since she’d seen her son. Her husband, stubborn and controlling, had effectively barred her from visiting him.

Even her son seemed to have resigned himself to sending gifts for holidays rather than coming home. If she wanted to see him, she had to make the effort herself.

Shivering in the cold, she turned on the car heater.

Even her son never thought to visit home, sending only gifts for holidays like Seollal or Chuseok. She had no choice but to take matters into her own hands. Shivering in the cold, she turned on the car’s heater.

From the rural house her husband had moved to after retirement, it took at least an hour to reach her son’s clinic. Given her unpolished driving skills, it usually took longer.

Despite the occasional honk from aggressive drivers, she was undeterred, diligently observing the speed limit. She had never broken the law in her life, and she figured a small lie to see her son wouldn’t hurt.

Finding the animal hospital wasn’t difficult, thanks to her navigation app. She arrived, carrying the packed lunch box, and stepped into the clinic with a light gait.

“Welcome,”

Lee Seolhwa, greeting a customer, gasped in surprise. The woman with the lunch box was none other than Han Naeyung’s mother, whom she had met once before. Recognizing her immediately, she greeted warmly.

“It’s been a while!”

“Indeed, it has. Good to see you again, Nurse Lee.”

The woman looked around the clinic with a kind smile. It seemed she had chosen a quiet hour, as there were no other customers. For a moment, she wondered if the clinic was doing well financially but quickly brushed the thought aside. If money ever became an issue, she could always help. After all, he was her only child.

“Naeyung—oh, I mean, the doctor—is he here?”

Lee Seolhwa stepped out from behind the desk to take the lunch box, her shoulders drooping slightly under its unexpected weight.

“Oh dear, this is quite heavy. But unfortunately, the doctor stepped out for a house call.”

“A house call?”

“Yes. Please, have a seat. The doctor is visiting a critical patient, so it’s uncertain when he’ll return.”

The woman glanced at the tightly shut door to the consultation room. The sign indicated it was in use.

“Nurse Lee, was it?”

Although Lee Seolhwa wore a name tag, the woman addressed her without looking at it.

“Could you open the consultation room for me?”

“Pardon? Oh, um…”

Click-clack, the woman strode confidently to the door and flung it open, revealing an empty chair. The room was, as Lee Seolhwa had said, unoccupied.

“My apologies. I think I’ve grown paranoid,” she said, her confident demeanor giving way to an embarrassed smile.

“Paranoid? What do you mean?”

“I feel like my son is avoiding me,” she admitted.

“No way! That couldn’t be true,” Lee Seolhwa reassured her, waving her hands.

Hearing this eased the mother’s expression. She had worried that her son might have forewarned the nurse to avoid her, which would have been heartbreaking.

As Lee Seolhwa placed the lunch box on the head doctor’s desk, she returned with the woman to the waiting area and handed her a cup of tea.

“It must be cold outside.”

“It really is. This winter seems particularly harsh.”

Sipping her tea, the woman’s timeless elegance was apparent, her features sharp yet refined. If not for the wrinkles around her eyes, she could have been mistaken for someone much younger. While her own features were bold and striking, her son’s were delicate and precise.

So, he must take after his father, thought Lee Seolhwa to herself.

Although the doctor’s pale complexion gave him a cool impression, his kindness was unmistakable. After all, he barely charged enough for treatments to break even.

“Is there something on my face?”

“Oh no, I was just admiring your beauty. The doctor is very handsome too, but I was thinking you two don’t look alike. Oh! Not that you’re not both beautiful in your own ways, of course.”

The woman chuckled at Lee Seolhwa’s flustered compliment.

“I suppose that’s true,” she replied, setting down her cup and suddenly brightening. She stood as the clinic door opened, and in walked Han Naeyung, carrying his medical bag.

“You’re here,” he said with a nod, greeting his mother with calm indifference. While his reaction lacked warmth, it was enough to quell her fleeting disappointment.

“How was your house call? You look so pale! Are you skipping meals again? At least you’re dressed warmly,” she said, piling on the typical maternal worries from a respectful distance.

“You’ll wear yourself out saving all these animals,” she added.

Han Naeyung gave her a faint smile.

“Please, come in,” he said, opening the consultation room door and signaling silently to Lee Seolhwa to buy him some time with any incoming clients.

Once inside, the woman immediately pointed to the lunch box.

“I brought some seasoned vegetables and kimchi. Make sure you eat properly. You look like you could blow away in the wind.”

“I’m not that bad,” he replied.

“And are you seeing anyone lately? That nurse out there seems nice—”

“Mother, that’s rude to Nurse Lee.”

Her son’s sharp interruption silenced her.

“Honestly, you reject every blind date, and your father says to leave you be. You two men drive me up the wall. Other husbands I know are still thriving in their careers, but your father retired early. And why?”

Han Naeyung’s face tensed briefly.

“He’s been through a lot, Mom.”

“Everyone has hardships, not just him,” she countered.

“Since you’re here, why not stay for dinner?”

“I’d like to, but…”

She trailed off, reluctant to confess she’d come without her husband knowing. She didn’t want her son to feel hurt by his father’s unexplained coldness.

“Seeing your face is enough. Don’t forget to refrigerate the food tonight, though it should keep in this weather for now.”

“Yes,” Han Naeyung replied, escorting his mother out and glancing briefly at his medical bag before firmly closing the clinic’s door behind him.

At the entrance of the veterinary clinic, his mother waved her hand toward him and Lee Seolhwa.

“Stay warm, nurse, and head back inside quickly.”

“Yes, of course. Take care, and I’ll see you next time!” Lee Seolhwa gave a warm farewell and retreated inside, giving mother and son space to talk.

“You don’t need to come out further. My car is just parked right there,” she said.

Still, Han Naeyung stayed with her to see her off. As she stood a few steps away, looking down at her white gloves, her gaze lingered on her son’s face. His eyes were the same as when they first met—eyes that avoided anyone approaching and refused to let them in.

That was why she had never forced herself on him. She had waited, watching over him from a distance, hoping he would open his heart on his own. And the white gloves she wore were proof of how far they had come.

“Naeyung,” she began softly.

“It’s very cold,” he said, cutting her off.

White breath dispersed into the chilly air as he unwound the scarf from his neck. Taking a step closer, he wrapped it around hers. Then, just as quickly, he stepped back again. She buried her face in the scarf, not caring if it smudged her makeup.

“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s really cold.”

She blinked away the tears that threatened to fall, her memories rushing back.

Years ago, her husband had suddenly brought this boy home. She couldn’t have children of her own due to congenital ovarian issues. So when the heavens seemed to drop this child into her life, she vowed to raise him with all the love she could muster.

Night after night, she endured his screams and violent thrashing, gripping her chest in helpless anguish. His bloodshot eyes, filled with rejection, cut deep, but she silently embraced the little body that pushed her away. Not once did she ask her husband where the boy had come from or why he carried such pain. To her, Han Naeyung was simply her son, born not of her body but her heart.

“I’m sorry I don’t visit often,” Naeyung said, his voice barely audible.

“Don’t be silly,” she replied gently. “What’s there to apologize for? Go take care of your animals now. I’ll be going.”

Turning away briskly, she tried to mask her emotions.

Naeyung watched her until her car disappeared from sight. The spot where his scarf had been felt colder than ever. If he had never worn it, perhaps he wouldn’t have noticed the cold so acutely. But once warmth is known, its absence becomes unbearable—just as he had experienced time and again.

* * *

The clinic’s sign read: Twin Veterinary Hospital.

Standing there for a moment, Naeyung finally stepped inside. Lee Seolhwa seemed to have something on her mind but quickly answered the ringing phone instead.

Naeyung entered the consultation room, opened his medical bag, and then glanced at the lunch box his mother had brought. Taking a deep breath, he suppressed a surge of emotion. He didn’t feel worthy of such care and didn’t want to tarnish the sincerity behind it. Carefully, he placed the lunch box on a nearby shelf, avoiding looking at it again.

His attention returned to his medical bag. Dust smudged the fingertips of his white gloves, remnants from rifling through a derelict building’s mailbox.

Residence confirmed: XX City, XX District.
Actual residence inconsistent.
Sufficient grounds for suspicion based on movement patterns.
Next contact: Unit 7-203.

He crumpled the paper. The note indicated the next rendezvous: one week later at the mailbox of Unit 203. The line about suspicious behavior lingered in his mind. Someone else might be suffering. Perhaps another sibling, just like before—or worse, himself, trapped in a vicious cycle.

He wanted to rush in, but recklessness would ruin everything. His back burned as though branded by his own urgency, a phantom pain of old wounds reopening. Crossing his arms tightly, he curled into himself. The sensation of raw, torn skin spread like wildfire across his back, but he bit his lip, enduring the invisible agony.

* * *

“Doctor, I’m heading out now. I sent texts to all clients about tomorrow being a temporary holiday.”

“A holiday?” Naeyung echoed, startled from his reverie.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Bundled up in her padded coat, Seolhwa pointed to the calendar on the treatment table. Tomorrow’s date was circled, with a note in her handwriting: Court appearance.

“I knew it,” she teased, tightening her scarf. “Well, I’m happy for the free day off, but you’re in for a bit of a hassle. Let me know how it goes later!”

“Yes, take care—”

But she was already out the door, giving him no time to finish his sentence. He wanted to at least send her off with a proper goodbye, but as usual, he was a step behind.

Earlier that month, they had both been taken aback by a letter from the court. Naeyung had been randomly selected as a juror for a citizen-participation trial. Seolhwa’s initial reaction had been a mix of disbelief and annoyance: “They sure come up with all kinds of ways to inconvenience people.”

Had so much time already passed?

Shaking off his sluggish sense of time, Naeyung let out a dry chuckle, then quickly wiped the bitter smile from his lips. Life, with all its irony, seemed determined to keep him guessing.

* * *

Despite hoping to be disqualified, Han Naeyung was selected as a juror the next day.

Among the 20 candidates, he was assigned the third juror’s seat. The selection process was slow, as several candidates were deemed unfit, but eventually, a diverse group of jurors took their places. They were instructed to address each other by number only, leaving names unknown.

After the first juror took the oath, the trial began. Resigned, Naeyung resolved to simply listen quietly.

“The victim, the late Mr. Chu Youngdo, had a history of domestic violence. Additionally, evidence confirms his gambling addiction and infidelity. While the defendant, Chu Jinsung, has confessed to the crime and accepted his guilt, we request leniency on the grounds of diminished mental capacity at the time of the incident.”

The defendant’s charge was patricide.

On the surface, it appeared to be a heinous, immoral crime. The jurors, who initially glared at the defendant with hardened expressions, seemed conflicted after hearing the defense’s arguments.

The son who had stabbed his drunken, rampaging father to death—now the defendant—looked utterly detached, as if his soul had left his body. His mother and relatives took the stand and all testified in his favor, describing the deceased as someone who deserved to die. Without exception, the witnesses referred to the victim in those exact terms.

“Even if these facts are true, the defendant could have resolved the situation without killing his father, simply by promptly reporting the incident,” the prosecutor countered.

The defense lawyer raised his voice in response. “This case is an impulsive crime committed in an extreme situation!”

The intense arguments that had been raging since the morning were exhausting. Han Naeyung wanted to block out the prosecutor’s and lawyer’s voices that continued without pause.

The morning session ended without any resolution, and the jurors gathered at the courthouse cafeteria. As they exchanged small talk, addressing each other by their assigned numbers, Han Naeyung quietly sipped lukewarm soup.

“When I first received the letter from the court, I thought it was a lawsuit notice and nearly had a heart attack,” said Juror No. 1, who appeared to be in his forties, grumbling.

“Same here. I didn’t even know such a system existed,” another added.

Since discussing the case was forbidden, they stuck to light-hearted topics.

“But Juror No. 3, you’re so quiet,” Juror No. 5 remarked cautiously.

“Well, with the heavy atmosphere of the courtroom, it’s understandable. Even someone as gutsy as me has their heart pounding,” someone else replied before Naeyung could.

It had been years since Han Naeyung last stepped into a courtroom. After so much time, one might expect the memories to blur like fragmented film strips, but that day remained as vivid as if it had happened yesterday.

Desperately, he redirected his thoughts to something else. He recalled the image of the victim’s wife on the witness stand. She was also the defendant’s mother and looked like a crude sculpture molded out of sand. Though she wished for leniency for her son, traces of sorrow over losing her husband lingered on her face.

But why should someone be punished for the death of a man everyone claimed deserved to die?

“Please move to the deliberation room,” the staff informed the jurors. Han Naeyung snapped back to reality and adjusted his slightly askew tie mid-meal.

In the deliberation room before the afternoon session began, the jurors continued their conversations while Naeyung sat silently, relieved that others were talkative. If they’d all been as quiet as him, he might have drowned in memories of his fractured past.

The trial, which started at 10 a.m., reached deliberation and verdict discussions close to 6 p.m. The debate began with disagreements over whether to sentence the defendant to prison or grant probation.

“Medically, there’s no proof of diminished capacity. He’s a murderer who took someone’s life. Even if he’s a minor, he must serve a sentence.”

“Don’t you think the deceased victim’s actions were deplorable? Frequent affairs aside, he was a domestic abuser. The child suffered from violence since a young age, and this was a spontaneous act to protect himself and his mother. A prison sentence seems excessive. Look at the medical records—broken bones and other injuries were common. It’s appalling. This incident was a desperate act of defense.”

“I agree with Juror No. 2.”

“Juror No. 2’s point is valid, but by that logic, every criminal should be killed, right? Our laws aren’t the Code of Hammurabi. If someone commits a crime, they must be punished accordingly.”

“And what about the victim, the abuser? If this incident hadn’t happened, he would have received another slap-on-the-wrist punishment and been set free.”

“Let’s not speculate on events that didn’t occur. We’re here to discuss this murder case.”

“Alright, Solomon,” one juror quipped sarcastically.

“That’s uncalled for.”

“If you’d been beaten every day for 17 years, let’s see if you wouldn’t feel homicidal! I would, even without it being impulsive.”

As the debate grew increasingly heated, one of the quieter jurors, Juror No. 7, turned to Han Naeyung.

“You seem very tired, Juror No. 3.”

“…No, I’m fine,” Naeyung replied softly.

“You’ve been quiet all day. What’s on your mind?”

“……”

Han Naeyung brushed his pale face with his hand. Even the white gloves he’d worn since morning looked fatigued. Sitting among the jurors, breathing each other’s air in this stifling room, he longed to escape.

Watching them clash over the morality and immorality of murder, a sinister bitterness rose in his chest. The defendant, alive but spiritually hollow, and the victim, physically gone, but now enshrined in debate.