IDSEGI Chapter 71

Chapter 71

“Ugh. I’m too sleepy for this.”

With a voice thick with drowsiness, Assistant Manager Kim mumbled to himself, dragged his chair over, and tapped Yeoul’s shoulder.

“Yeoul, how about a quick coffee break?”

“Just a moment, let me finish this first. We can go together after.”

After checking the final proof one last time, Yeoul sent the email. He stretched wide and leaned back against the chair.

“Phew. Finally sent.”

Kim glanced at Yeoul’s computer screen and began massaging his shoulder.

“This is that, right? Writer Oh’s new work?”

“Yeah. Managed to make the deadline just in time.”

“That writer’s always late.”

Yeoul answered with silent agreement. Kim, looking a bit sympathetic, kneaded his stiff neck more thoroughly.

“Don’t push yourself too hard. You put too much effort into everything. Anyway, since we’re talking about it, let’s go take a break.”

After graduating from the Korean Literature department, Yeoul had gotten a job at a publishing company and dedicated himself to the work every day. It was enough to earn him the nickname ‘ant’.

He gently pushed Kim’s hand off his shoulder and stood up.

“Since I made us late, I’ll buy the coffee.”

“Seriously? Nice.”

The two stopped by a café near the office to get coffee. They bought enough for their other colleagues as well. As they stepped back outside, they noticed a gate forming in the distance—like a dot pinned into the blue sky. Espers moved nimbly around it.

Sipping his iced Americano through a straw, Kim mumbled,

“Espers probably don’t get vacations, huh? Poor things.”

“They do, but they take turns. If there’s an emergency, they have to deploy immediately.”

“Really? Then I guess Guides are the same.”

“Pretty much. And there are only about one-fifth as many Guides as Espers, so it’s hard for them to take time off.”

Kim raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You know a lot about this. Do you know a Guide personally?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Then how do you know so much?”

Yeoul also found it strange how detailed his own knowledge was. Why do I know this so well? Something about it felt unsettling, but Kim soon changed the topic and started chatting again, and Yeoul quickly forgot. Even the brief sharp twinge in his head vanished from his thoughts.

When they stepped into the noisy bar, Yeoul’s friends at a table waved him over.

“Yeoul, over here!”

As he came closer, one friend pulled him down into the seat next to him, slung an arm around his neck, and roughly mussed his hair.

“Wow, it’s been forever. You need to come around more often, or I’ll forget your face.”

“How could anyone forget a face like his?”

“True.”

When the friends across the table joined in, Yeoul pouted.

“Stop teasing me for being ugly.”

“…Wait, are you serious?”

“Leave him alone. He really thinks he looks completely average.”

At the comment from a friend chewing on squid, Yeoul touched his cheek. He leaned toward the smooth silver tabletop to look at his reflection and murmured to himself,

“Maybe I’m not handsome, but I’m normal…”

“You’re not handsome, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, you’re not the ‘handsome type’. Not that kind of good-looking.”

“What! So you are teasing me!”

When Yeoul grumbled, the friend beside him rubbed his hair again.

“Hey, are you sulking? You look cute. The kind of soft, harmless face that just begs to be teased.”

“Yeah, the kind that’d get scammed easily.”

“But when he’s expressionless, he actually looks kind of cold.”

“Seriously.”

Letting out a dry laugh, Yeoul narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together. One of the friends across the table shivered dramatically.

“See? Totally cold.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a big gap. Loosen your face. Are you mad?”

“No, I’m just joking too.”

When Yeoul smiled faintly and relaxed the tension in his brow, not only his friends but even a few people at nearby tables glanced at him. Oblivious to the attention, Yeoul raised his glass.

“It’s been a while, so let’s have a toast!”

“Yeah, yeah. Who knows when we’ll all get together again?”

“To Y University’s Korean Lit Department!”

“Ugh, change the toast. That’s so lame.”

“Then you do it.”

Watching his friends bicker playfully, Yeoul smiled quietly. But as time passed, the corners of his lips slowly fell again.

Even amid the fun, a faint loneliness pooled at his feet, as if he were stranded alone on an island, watching a world that had nothing to do with him.

“Yeoul, why aren’t you eating? Have some.”

A friend poked his side, snapping him back to reality.

“Huh? Oh, right.”

“We were going to a barbecue place because of you, but came here instead. You don’t even eat chicken?”

“…Did I dislike pork that much?”

“Yeah, you said you hated it. If you can eat it, go ahead. They’ve got pork cutlets on the menu too.”

The friend called the waiter and ordered for him, but when the fried cutlet was placed in front of him, Yeoul found he had no appetite. Still, since his friend ordered it for him, he took a bite. The greasy oil felt unpleasant in his mouth, and he swallowed it without chewing properly.

It wasn’t about whether it tasted good or bad. He simply didn’t want to eat it.

With a wave of bitterness rising alongside a sudden rush of sadness, Yeoul rinsed his mouth with soju. The sharp aftertaste left a heavy dryness on his tongue, making it feel rough.

Although he was glad to see his friends after so long, he couldn’t focus on the conversation. The familiar faces somehow felt strangely unfamiliar.

“Hey, so this guy…”

“Ah! Don’t bring that up!”

“Oh, that dark past? Jin-ha knows that story best. Come on, spill it.”

“Jin-ha, no. If you keep your mouth shut, I’ll give you all my game items. Seriously, don’t.”

Watching his friend beg and the others laugh and tease beside him, Yeoul forced the corners of his mouth up. Even though they shared the same space and the same memories, he couldn’t shake the sense of being out of place.

By the time the drinking session moved from the first round to the second, and then the third, everyone was drunk—except Yeoul. Despite his low alcohol tolerance, for some reason he hadn’t gotten tipsy at all tonight. Why? He figured it must have been thanks to the Oriental raisin water he drank beforehand.

While waiting for a taxi, Jin-ha, standing beside him, playfully squeezed his cheek.

“You still not thinking about getting a boyfriend?”

“A boyfriend? Well…”

Jin-ha glanced at him, then cleared his throat.

“Ahem, if there’s no one, maybe you should look closer to home…”

“Yeoul! Where do you live again?”

Just then, another friend shoved between them, slinging an arm over each of their shoulders. Jin-ha’s expression twisted, but the drunk newcomer didn’t notice a thing.

“We live, hic, in the same direction… or not?”

“Where do you live? I’m in Complex 1.”

Hearing this, everyone’s eyes went wide in surprise.

“In that expensive neighborhood? Isn’t that where only the rich live?”

“Wow, that sobers me right up. When did you get so rich?”

Jin-ha tilted his head and whispered to Yeoul,

“Don’t you live in Complex 4? Did you move?”

It hit Yeoul all at once—he’d made a mistake. Come to think of it, he’d come to work from Complex 4 this morning. Why did he think it was Complex 1?

“I misspoke. It’s Complex 4.”

“Ah, I knew it. You’re drunk too? Still, Complex 1? We’d have to work two hundred years without breathing to live there.”

“Two hundred and fifty years on my salary.”

As his friends giggled over the joke, Yeoul dropped his gaze and stared into empty space. Why did I naturally think my address was Complex 1?

The moment he drifted into thought, the headache came back. Pressing hard on his throbbing temples, he saw the taxi pull up. He sank into the back seat and let out a long sigh. No matter how much air he exhaled, the heaviness in his chest refused to clear.

Streetlights slid past in endless rows, and as the neon signs of buildings flashed by, Yeoul was suddenly gripped by the feeling that he’d forgotten something.

Did I leave the gas on? Is there something missing from tomorrow’s meeting materials?

Those were the only kinds of worries he ever had, so why did he feel this uneasy?

“We’ve arrived.”

At some point, the taxi had stopped in front of his building. After thanking the driver, Yeoul entered the code at the front entrance and went inside. The sticky soles of his sneakers peeled from the floor with each step, his feet growing heavier like waterlogged cotton.

Standing at his front door, he pressed the numbers on the door lock firmly. With a chime, the door opened and the entryway light turned on. Naturally, no one came to greet him.

But today, that fact felt unbearably lonely.

He sank to the floor, burying his face between his knees. Drops of tears slid through the folds of his pants and splattered on the floor.

Why am I crying? Why am I so sad? No answer came—only an endless stream of tears.

At some point, the entryway light clicked off, and the darkness pressed down heavily on his shoulders. His muffled sobs fell quietly onto the cold tile floor.

As always, the day began, and Yeoul turned on the TV before heading to work, letting it play while he brushed his teeth.

The weathercaster’s bright voice floated into his ears.

—It’s another clear day today. The skies are expected to remain sunny across the country all week, though some areas may see occasional rain, so be sure to carry an umbrella.

—…And if you happen to be without one, the government-run ‘Beautiful Store’ offers free rentals, so feel free to use the service.

A sudden sense of wrongness made Yeoul snap his head up. It felt like the weathercaster was looking straight at him, but the screen quickly changed before he could be sure.

—Thank you. Now, reporter Yoo Ha-min…

As the camera shifted back to the news anchor, Yeoul murmured blankly,

“…Wasn’t that exactly the same as yesterday?”