PSY CH 73

The first time Jooyoung stole something, he was in third grade of elementary school.

On the Monday after the weekend, the friend sitting next to him excitedly bragged about having bought a pencil case. It was a character pencil case that was popular at the time, and most of the classmates already had one, so it wasn’t particularly special. Of course, the color that friend bought was especially popular, and it was hard to find because it sold out as soon as it came into the stationery store.

But the reason Jooyoung was interested in that pencil case wasn’t just because it was hard to get.

“They only sold the black ones in front of Yongso Elementary. So I went all the way to Yongso-dong in my dad’s car!”

That boast about how the friend had gone all over the neighboring stores with his dad during the weekend to buy it was what caught Jooyoung’s attention.

That friend was so excited that he fiddled with the pencil case all day, putting pens in and out repeatedly. It was almost like his hand was glued to the pencil case. Only when it was his turn to present did he reluctantly put down the pencil case and stand up.

Jooyoung was sitting in the very back seat and could see the whole classroom. The friend held up his notebook and presented with a flushed face, and everyone was busy laughing at him.

“…”

It was probably a coincidence that the pencil case came into his sight. But what happened next was no coincidence at all.

The moment the friend stuttered and couldn’t even read short sentences properly, the moment the classroom burst out into loud laughter, Jooyoung impulsively stole the pencil case.

He hadn’t thought that, as the person sitting right next to him, he would be the first to be suspected. At that time, Jooyoung was young and foolish.

“My pencil case is gone!”

Of course, it was chaos. The friend who realized the pencil case was missing searched the entire classroom. But in the end, the pencil case was never found, and the friend went home crying, comforted by others.

When Jooyoung returned home, he silently stared at the pencil case he had hidden in his bag. He didn’t feel relieved or satisfied at all. The pencil case was immediately thrown into the trash.

That evening, his grandfather took the pencil case out of the trash and asked what it was. Jooyoung rolled his eyes and lied that it was a reward for a good presentation.

“But why did you throw it away?”

“…I didn’t like it.”

Jungseop, the grandfather, obviously didn’t believe that. The pencil case was new, but the stationery inside was full of fingerprints. Moreover, to Jungseop’s recollection, those items didn’t belong to Jooyoung either.

“Young-ah, are you talking the truth?”

Jooyoung pressed his lips tightly, looking angry. Jungseop tried to calm him down by sitting him down, but Jooyoung suddenly got irritated and went into his room, so it was left unresolved.

Beeeeep—

At that moment, when Jungseop was worried about what to do since it was the first time something like this happened, the doorbell rang. Since it was late, no one was expected to come, so Jungseop opened the door with a puzzled look. Standing there were the owner of the pencil case and his older brother.

“I’m Jooyoung’s friend. Today, Jooyoung…” 

The child’s face was swollen from crying, and the hesitant words shocked Jungseop. Someone had seen Jooyoung take the pencil case, and that friend casually mentioned to the owner.

That day, Jungseop scolded Jooyoung for the first time. Usually, Jungseop would spoil him, calling him “my dear Young,” but this time he raised a stern cane. Lying and messing with someone else’s stuff were not things to be overlooked.

“Young-ah, if you really wanted that pencil case, you should have told me. What’s this…”

Jungseop repeatedly asked if there was another reason Jooyoung stole the pencil case, but Jooyoung wouldn’t say a word. His stubborn attitude, even after being punished, made Jungseop decide not to let the matter go and called his daughter, Miyoung, to inform her of everything.

The next day, Jooyoung’s mom and dad came down to Maeyang immediately. They were usually so busy they might only come once every six months, but the seriousness of the matter made them realize the gravity.

“Jooyoung, why did you do that? Huh?”

Normally, Jooyoung would have run to them happily, but knowing why they came, this time was different. His eyes were red and swollen, but he still pressed his lips tightly. It was an unchildlike stubbornness.

“…”

They didn’t scold Jooyoung. They only gently stroked his swollen face, pitiful from crying all night.

Probably, they did it hoping Jooyoung wouldn’t go astray. After Jungseop had scolded him harshly, they didn’t want him to be crushed but wanted him to understand his mistake.

“Mom and Dad are sorry. We didn’t understand how you felt. We were wrong, okay?”

Holding Jooyoung’s hand tightly, they went to the stationery store. They wanted to find the exact pencil case Jooyoung had stolen.

They walked around Maeyang all day.

Even though Jooyoung said he didn’t need it, his mom just held his small hand and said no.

“One more place, okay?”

They got out of the car, looked through the stationery stores, got back in the car, and moved on. They visited every stationery store in Maeyang without missing one. They even went to the store where the friend said he bought it, but all they heard was that it had sold out.

It was an unusually hot day. Out of consideration for Jooyoung, who was sensitive to the cold, his parents didn’t even turn on the air conditioner in the car, sweating heavily as they drove around trying to find the exact same pencil case. Even the phone that was usually always in their hand, due to Joomin’s condition, was tucked away in their bags that day.

The bright sunlight, the musty air of old stationery shops, the smell of Dad’s toner in the car, and the damp sweat on Mom’s neck—those were the first moments of genuine attention and affection Jooyoung had ever received just for him.

Something he had always hoped for, always wished for, but never quite had.

That day, after visiting dozens of stationery stores, Jooyoung strangely thought of his second brother, Joomin—the one who always got his parents’ first and most attention, the reason Jooyoung had to come down to Maeyang.

His older brother was sick. Born with a congenital brain disorder that made him unable to use his legs at all.

He had to go to the hospital frequently for rehabilitation and undergo many major surgeries. Their parents had to juggle work and caring for Joomin, so busy that even if they had ten bodies, they would still be unable to handle them all. They had some financial means to hire caregivers, but even so, there were limits.

Jooyoung was an unplanned pregnancy, which only made it worse. He’d heard they had agonized over whether to have him at all.

Maybe that’s why people were always oddly curious about Jooyoung, the much younger third child. Some would comment on how surprising it was that his parents had a third child when they already had two sons, saying it was a shame he wasn’t a daughter. But once they learned the second son had a disability, their gazes toward Jooyoung would shift subtly. 

“Ah, so that’s why…”

Back then, people would say, “Well, there’s nothing to worry about,” before trailing off—“So that’s why you had him…” Young Jooyoung didn’t fully understand what they meant at the time.

When he realized that all the family’s affairs revolved around his older brother, when giving way to his brother became the norm, when Jooyoung had to help clean up after his brother’s accidents—only then did he begin to vaguely understand the meaning behind those words.

“Jooyoung, I’m sorry. Mom and Dad will go to Seoul and get you the exact same one.”

In the end, he never got the pencil case. They couldn’t even look him in the eye, like people who had committed an unforgivable crime.

Then, exactly one week later, his mom and dad came down to Maeyang with bright smiles and gifted Jooyoung the pencil case. It was the greatest apology they could offer at the time.

He felt as if something dry and hollow inside him was finally being filled. Ironically, it was only after stealing something that belonged to a friend that Jooyoung felt truly whole—truly loved.

That affection, directed solely at him, was addictive. But as time passed and it began to fade, the emptiness it left behind hurt even more.

So much that he wished he had never known it in the first place.

Years passed, and Jooyoung was still in Maeyang. His brother was still sick.

His parents tried to visit Jooyoung often, but they broke their promises easily. Even when they did manage to come, they often had to rush back to Seoul because something had happened with Joomin.

They had always shown him so little affection—and now, even that was slowly drying up.

And just before Joomin’s surgery, when the atmosphere at home was chaotic, Jooyoung stole something again.

It was an expensive game console, so it almost became a big issue—but his dad quickly bought the same one and managed to smooth things over by saying Jooyoung must have taken it by mistake, thinking it was his. That was only possible because their family was well-off.

Even after that, Jooyoung couldn’t stop stealing.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, Jooyoung-ah.”

Each time, instead of scolding him, they apologized to Jooyoung. They always carried guilt for not being able to raise him closely in their arms, so they believed everything was their fault.

After Jooyoung returned to Seoul before entering middle school, the stealing stopped. The whole family kept a close eye on him, but nothing happened again. They felt relieved, thinking it had all been due to a lack of love and attention. 

But that was their delusion. Jooyoung had simply become more skilled in stealing.

He gradually became addicted to the thrilling tension of stealing and the feeling of his body relaxing afterward. It was similar to coming home to a warm house after being out in the freezing cold.

He didn’t even glance at the things he stole. He never needed them in the first place. He just kept stealing and secretly throwing them away.

But the longer a tail, the easier it is to step on it—he was caught at the scene a few times and fined. Still, Jooyoung couldn’t stop. By that point, it had long become a compulsive disorder.

Under the guidance of his eldest brother, who sensed the seriousness of it, he began taking medication and visiting the hospital, but the impulses didn’t go away easily.

The process of finding the right medication was also long and difficult. Sometimes his head felt like it would explode, sometimes he slept all day like a sick chicken. When he couldn’t bear those side effects and skipped his medication, the impulses would come back suddenly and shake him to his core. When the urge came, he couldn’t think of anything else. He was consumed by extreme tension and excitement, unable to see anything around him.

Then one day, Jooyoung touched something belonging to a visiting store supervisor—and ended up on trial. He reached a settlement with the victim, but the amount involved was large, and his prior record sealed his fate. There was no avoiding punishment this time.

Thus, Jooyoung was sentenced to four months in prison and one year of probation for habitual theft.

That happened just before he came down to Maeyang.