How could a person not know something to this extent? Maybe Kwon Sejin wasn’t even human but actually a bird disguised in human skin. His face was so small because he had a birdbrain. There was no other explanation—he couldn’t possibly be human. Repeating that to himself, Cheon Sejoo finally gave up trying to suppress his frustration and lit a cigarette, muttering aloud.
“You’re the dumbest bastard I’ve ever met in my life.”
“…And you think you’re so fucking great, huh?”
Not only was he stupid, but he was shameless about it too.
Suppressing the rising fury, Cheon Sejoo picked up a pen. He opened the notebook from the church—the one Sejin had grabbed at the subway station and then stuffed into the locker—and began writing the multiplication tables in it.
“If you don’t memorize this by tomorrow morning, you’re not going to see your mom.”
“…”
To Sejin, Cheon Sejoo was nothing more than a dictator who liked to meddle in other people’s lives and threatened them with disgusting, cheap blackmail. He had to be much older, and yet he constantly brought up Sejin’s mother—so petty, so pathetic. But the real problem was that the threats actually worked. Gritting his teeth, Sejin snatched the notebook. And, obviously, Kwon Sejin failed to memorize the multiplication tables by the next morning.
Early in the morning, Cheon Sejoo was sitting on the couch in the living room. After Sejin finished his breakfast, Sejoo made him sit on the floor and asked,
“Seven times eight.”
“…”
No answer. There’s no way—no fucking way. Cheon Sejoo ran a rough hand through his hair and tried another number.
“Six times nine.”
“…”
This time, Sejin just stayed quiet and looked away. Watching that small head turn toward the window, avoiding his eyes, Cheon Sejoo tried to swallow his frustration. He really did. But it didn’t work. A heavy sigh leaked from his lips. Moistening his dry mouth, he tapped the table in front of Sejin with his fingertips and asked again.
“You little shit, don’t look away and answer me properly. You didn’t memorize it, did you?”
The answer he got back was beyond absurd.
“Why are you swearing? And how the hell is anyone supposed to memorize this much in one day?”
Sejin raised his voice in protest. After all, the multiplication tables had 90 things to memorize. Even though that count was wrong, Sejin still felt like remembering 90 numbers in a single night was completely unreasonable. Still, he had managed to memorize up to the 4-times table. Wasn’t that honestly pretty good? He thought so. But Cheon Sejoo felt his blood pressure spike at the shameless response.
“You’re not even human.”
Cheon Sejoo just couldn’t understand. He’d given him a whole night to learn something that could be memorized in an hour. And it wasn’t even some insane 19-times table—it was just the regular multiplication tables. Baffled, he asked, and Sejin scowled at him. And just like that, the two started fighting first thing in the morning.
“What makes you so amazing, huh? The only achievement in your whole damn life is memorizing multiplication tables, isn’t it? Don’t look down on people for something so fucking trivial.”
“I’m looking down on you because you can’t memorize something that trivial. Even 8-year-olds know their multiplication tables. How the hell do you expect me to praise an 18-year-old who can’t?”
So now he was saying Sejin was dumber than an 8-year-old? Sejin scowled and glared at Cheon Sejoo. Then suddenly, he fired back.
“Then you answer it. What’s eight times seven?”
“Ha.”
Cheon Sejoo let out a scoff, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Sejin, thinking he had him, looked smug. You don’t even know it yourself, and you’re giving me shit? His chubby cheeks puffed out as he sneered at Sejoo. But just then, Cheon Sejoo sighed and spoke.
“Listen closely.”
Then he began reciting from the 2-times table all the way up to the 29-times table—without a single pause. Sejin stared at him, slack-jawed. That perfectly shaped mouth spat out numbers at a dizzying pace. Only after finishing with 29×29=841 did Cheon Sejoo close his mouth. Meeting Sejin’s eyes, he gave him a look that said well? Are you satisfied now?
“Don’t be ridiculous. Anyone can just say numbers out of their mouth.”
“You’re gonna drive me fucking insane.”
Too dumb to recognize the right answer even when he hears it, and still suspicious of the other person. Cheon Sejoo resisted the urge to slap that shameless mouth and jerked his chin at him.
“Get your phone out.” Then, while Sejin watched, he repeated the 29-times table again—clearly and accurately. He couldn’t believe himself, reciting the 29-times table first thing in the morning just to prove to a dumbass 18-year-old that he was qualified to teach multiplication. But he also couldn’t let Sejin go on thinking that some idiot who didn’t know his times tables was trying to lecture him.
“Bullshit…”
As time went on, Sejin’s face cycled through a full spectrum of emotions. Suspicion, disbelief, shock, and finally, horror. He stared at Cheon Sejoo’s palm like he might have written the numbers on it, checked the calculator app to make sure it wasn’t rigged, and then even opened a different one on Cheon Sejoo’s phone to cross-check the answers. Only after all that did he admit—just a little—that Cheon Sejoo was smarter than him.
“When I’m your age, I’ll be able to do that too.”
“…”
Honestly? Even if Kwon Sejin were reborn, he probably still wouldn’t catch up to Cheon Sejoo’s natural intelligence. But Sejoo was too exhausted for a stupid debate about who was smarter to continue. It wasn’t like they were solving math competition problems. Just the 29-times table… and yet even that made him feel pathetic.
“Fine. Whatever. You didn’t memorize the tables, so you’re not going to Ewha-gak today.”
Wanting to end the absurd argument once and for all, Cheon Sejoo declared his verdict. Sejin immediately fired back, like he’d been waiting for it.
“You already said we’re going to Ewha-gak next week anyway, so give me until then!”
He didn’t care how upset Sejin got. That was the end of the conversation. After flatly refusing the request, Cheon Sejoo took Sejin to school, stopped by Shinsa Capital to keep Kim Donggil in check, then headed to the office.
He spent the day with his team, who were all busy with their own tasks. In the afternoon, he had lunch and sparred with Moon Sunhyuk, then drove back onto the road.
Before 4 p.m., he picked up Sejin from Dongseoul High School. The boy stood there with his usual sullen face. On the ride home, Cheon Sejoo quizzed him on multiplication tables again. Then it was English vocabulary one day, math formulas another.
It didn’t take long for that rhythm to become their routine. Of course, nothing much had changed at Sejin’s school. Lee Haegyun and Kim Byeongjun still bullied him, and Sejin still couldn’t focus in class. But his life after school was completely different from before he met Cheon Sejoo.
After school, Sejin would come home and study without thinking too much about it. When dinner time came, he’d cook in the kitchen. The two of them ate together, then sat on the couch and studied some more. Unlike the dreary, frustrating school life, the time he spent at the man’s house was strangely peaceful.
That perpetually grumpy boy slowly seeped into Cheon Sejoo’s dry life. They clashed like oil on water, but eventually, that dissonance became natural—as if they were always meant to spend this much time together.
Autumn vanished as quickly as it had come, and the wind turned sharp enough that a single suit was no longer enough. It was around that time that Sejin ended up going to the hospital.
Cheon Sejoo only accompanied him to the school gates. On the way from the house to the underground garage, there was hardly any exposure to the cold. So he hadn’t realized how little Sejin was dressed—just a thin hoodie.
One morning, after returning from his usual early workout, Cheon Sejoo felt something strange about the stillness in the apartment. Sejin, who should have been eating breakfast by now, was nowhere in sight.
Did he oversleep? Wondering that, Sejoo went to wash up. Even if Sejin woke late, it just meant he’d skip breakfast. It wasn’t urgent enough to wake him immediately.
But even after Sejoo finished showering, changed in the dressing room, and came out—there was still no sign of him. That had never happened before. Sensing something was off, Sejoo walked quickly toward the end of the hallway.
“Kwon Sejin.”
He knocked and called out. No answer. Sejoo raised an eyebrow, and when he sensed nothing moving inside, he cautiously turned the doorknob. It opened without resistance, and warmth flowed out.
The room was much warmer than the living room, but it was still shrouded in darkness. The blackout curtains blocked every trace of sunlight. On the bed was a small, curled-up shape. Quietly, Cheon Sejoo approached and sat at the edge of the mattress, calling Sejin’s name again.
“Kwon Sejin. Wake up.”
Something stirred under the blanket at the sound. But that was all. Confirming that Sejin wasn’t waking up, Cheon Sejoo frowned and gently pulled back the covers.
In the faint light from the hallway, Sejin’s face was revealed. Furrowed brow, cracked lips, and ragged breathing—there was no doubt. He was sick. Finally realizing it, Sejoo clicked his tongue softly and reached out.
His palm met a blazing heat—like a heater. It was a high fever. Frowning, Sejoo awkwardly patted Sejin’s cheek to wake him up.
“Kwon Sejin. Come on. Hey.”
The gentle nudging finally got a response. Sejin barely opened his eyes, his gaze bleary. When he spotted Sejoo through the slits of his lids, he slowly turned his head, confirmed he was in his room, and furrowed his brow.
“…Why…”
A cough burst out of him even as he gave that short reply. Watching Sejin jolt with each fit, Cheon Sejoo clicked his tongue and got up from his seat, heading to Sejin’s dressing room. Sejoo returned with a change of clothes and pulled aside the blanket covering Sejin, lifting him up to a sitting position.
“Get dressed. We’re going to the hospital.”
“Why the hell would we go to the hospital…”
“You’ve caught a cold. You’ve got a fever.”
At that, Sejin blinked blankly. From Sejoo’s perspective, it looked like his wrist would snap with just a tap. Sejin lifted that fragile hand and pressed it against his own forehead, then let out a small sigh and slumped back onto the pillow.
“…I just want to sleep.”
His voice was strained and hoarse. Sejoo shook his head. There weren’t any over-the-counter meds at home. And just yesterday, the kid had been perfectly fine—now he was running a high fever and coughing nonstop. It was flu season, so a hospital visit seemed like the safer call.
“Sleep after we get back.”
“….”
Sejin let out a short sigh as Sejoo firmly lifted him up again. His body was limp, but he didn’t resist. He already knew he wouldn’t win against the man’s stubbornness. In silence, he let Sejoo help him get dressed.
Sejin wore a short-sleeved T-shirt he used as pajamas, layered a hoodie—the only outerwear he had—on top, and kept on the same sweatpants from earlier. Then, dragging his feet, he followed Sejoo out of the bedroom.
“Come here.”
Sejin looked so unsteady, Sejoo worried he might collapse. After glancing back several times, he finally slowed his pace and moved to Sejin’s side. With one hand resting on Sejin’s shoulder, Sejoo walked a step behind him to support his weight. That finally gave him some peace of mind.
The two of them exited the apartment and took the elevator down to the first floor. Taking an unusual route out of the building, the chill of the morning air hit Sejoo’s skin more sharply than expected. Had it always been this cold? These days, the only time he faced the morning air was during the short walk from his car to the studio. He hadn’t really been outside recently, so he hadn’t realized how frigid mornings had become.
Sejoo’s gaze wandered to the nape of Sejin’s neck in front of him. Goosebumps rose across his flushed skin. The hoodie was meant for mild weather, and wearing just that in this cold wasn’t enough. Sejoo realized too late that the boy needed a better jacket and pressed his lips together.
Still, because it was a mixed-use high-rise, the hospital wasn’t far. They quickly passed into the connected commercial arcade and made their way to the internal medicine clinic on the second floor.
But when they arrived, the clinic’s doors were locked. It wasn’t even a holiday. There wasn’t any notice posted about their hours, just chains wrapped around the handles. Sejoo looked down at Sejin, who was trembling from chills, and quickly pulled out his phone. He searched for another clinic and found a pediatric clinic in the adjacent apartment complex’s shopping area. There was no way they were going to go home untreated after coming all this way.
Sejoo took off his suit jacket and draped it over Sejin’s head.
“There’s another clinic nearby. Let’s go there.”
“…I don’t need this.”
Sejin, cheeks flushed deep red, lifted the jacket that had slid off his shoulder and held it out to Sejoo. But instead of taking it, Sejoo grabbed the collar and gently pulled it back over Sejin’s head. He buttoned it all the way up under Sejin’s sulky expression, the oversized jacket making him look like some high-born young lady wrapped in ceremonial robes. Sejoo glanced down at the pale, fever-flushed face peeking through the black jacket and let out a quiet laugh.
“It’s cold, so keep it on. If you hate it, I’ll carry you.”
“Haa….”
Sejin tended to listen surprisingly well when presented with the worst-case option. He frowned at the threat of being carried and puffed his cheeks in annoyance before finally letting it go. With a deadpan expression, he jerked his chin to tell Sejoo to walk ahead. Sejoo held back a laugh and began walking.
The pediatric clinic was only five minutes away on foot from their current location. Still, they had to cross a busy intersection, so Sejin had to stand still in the biting wind on the sidewalk.
Even so, thanks to the jacket Sejoo had given him, he wasn’t as cold as when they first left the apartment. Sejin hunched his body inside the coat and ducked his head to shield himself from the sharp wind.
And just then—
The wind that had been howling at him slowed.
“….”
He glanced up and saw the man had approached, now standing directly between him and the oncoming gusts. Having given Sejin his jacket, Sejoo was left wearing only a thin dress shirt, and the faint shape of a tiger tattoo was visible beneath the fabric on his broad back. Sejin stared absently at him.
He had thought the man’s sympathy wouldn’t last more than a few days—a week, tops. But now, this life had already continued for over a month. During that time, the man hadn’t changed the way he treated Sejin. His attention neither increased nor diminished.
“Stop whining and get used to it. I’ll take responsibility for you until the day you leave.”
And just like the man had said, Sejin was slowly getting used to having someone trying to take responsibility for him.
“Let’s go.”
A hand reached out and gently settled on Sejin’s shoulder. The man stood squarely between him and the wind. That presence, shielding him like a wall, felt solid. Unused to this kind of situation, Sejin turned his eyes away, sneaking a glance at him.
Cheon Sejoo just stared ahead. Because of Sejin’s illness, he couldn’t make it to work on time. That alone should’ve been annoying or inconvenient—but there wasn’t the slightest trace of that on his face. Seeing that indifferent expression made something inside Sejin flutter inexplicably.
He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gone to a hospital with his mom. His father, always out and about, had given Kim Hyunkyung nothing but growing debts. To protect her precious son, she had to leave home early to work. She loved Sejin dearly—but ironically, because of that love, her priority had always been work.
So this was Sejin’s first time going to the hospital with an adult man. Honestly, even walking side by side with a man like this felt awkward. As far as he could recall, he had never once walked like this with his father. That man had either shouted while walking ahead or simply not existed around them at all.
“Go in.”
As the man led him through the clinic doors, a quiet, warm air greeted Sejin. He could feel the chills slowly fading. Sejin walked up and used the tablet at the front desk to register for treatment.
All the while, Cheon Sejoo stayed by his side. He sat next to him, waited with him, and brought him hot water from the dispenser when his lips turned blue. This kindness and gentleness from the man felt utterly foreign. Sejin held the paper cup tightly in both hands and stared at the floor like someone at a loss.
“Kwon Sejin. Sejin, you can come in now.”
A voice calling his name made him lift his head. A nurse stood in front of the exam room, looking in their direction. As Sejin got up from his seat, the nurse’s eyes moved to the man sitting beside him.
“Will the guardian be coming in too?”
That one word—“guardian”—made Sejin instinctively bite down on his lower lip. The man wasn’t his guardian. He was someone who had tried to sell him off, then changed his mind and hired him as a housekeeper. Sejin had no intention of letting the man who dragged his mother into a pit of debt take the place of a guardian.
And yet—
“Yes. I’ll come in with him.”
He couldn’t refute it when the man answered for him.
Responsibility. Was the man really planning to take responsibility for him until adulthood? Why? You’re not my dad. You’re not my uncle… That voice echoed deep in his heart. What he was trying to suppress through denial was the tiny hope sprouting in the back of his mind.
No. That man will abandon me too, just like the rest of them. Even people tied to him by blood had never taken responsibility—so it only made sense that this man eventually would leave him as well. Sejin clung to the hateful memory of his father’s and uncle’s retreating backs and tried to steady his shaking heart.
***
Sejin’s cold lasted a full week. As Sejoo had feared, it turned out to be the flu. He cared for the boy who couldn’t even stay upright—feeding him medicine and rice porridge. And when Sejin finally managed to get out of bed, Sejoo went alone to the department store after work.
During Sejin’s illness, Ipdong—the onset of winter—had passed. Now that it was officially early winter, the wind had grown even colder. He was going to buy Sejin a new winter coat.
“Welcome! Are you shopping for yourself today?”
As soon as he stepped into the store—an outdoor wear brand popular with kids these days—a staff member rushed over with a bright smile.
Sejoo quietly shook his head, then awkwardly replied.
“No… for my younger brother. A boy about this tall.”
He held up a hand to indicate Sejin’s height. The staff member nodded and led him to a rack of the season’s best-selling padded jackets.