“You heard everything and you're still playing dumb...” Sejin’s brows furrowed. As if pleased by the reaction, the man propped his chin up on the table and let out a snicker before speaking.
“I’ve got plans tonight. I’ll be home late. There’s still some rice left, right?”
Sejin thought of the rice container and nodded. There was enough for a day or two.
“Then go tomorrow.”
The big supermarket was close enough, and these days they offered delivery, so it wouldn’t have been a problem to go alone. But Sejin didn’t want to. He needed to buy a big appliance like a vacuum cleaner, and he didn’t even know how much one should cost. If he picked something too cheap and got scolded by the man for buying junk, he didn’t think he could take it. It seemed better to just go together and make the man pick it out himself.
When Sejin nodded again, Cheon Sejoo lowered his head like he was about to resume eating. Then suddenly, he put down his chopsticks and reached out without warning. Cold fingers touched Sejin’s warm forehead.
“You still have a fever.”
“Get off.”
Sejin tilted his head away and brushed off his hand. Cheon Sejoo didn’t mind the way Sejin treated him like filth. He simply withdrew his hand and looked him over, speaking again.
“Nothing hurts?”
“No.”
“How can a low-grade fever last this long?”
The slight fever had started after he’d been out in the cold Wednesday evening going to Ihwagak, and it had never quite gone away—hovering just above 37 degrees. But by now, even the aching in his joints had become familiar. He barely noticed it anymore. Still, there was a part of him that questioned the cause of the fever, so Sejin just shrugged and focused on eating.
That was how their weekend passed. After the meal, Cheon Sejoo told Sejin to finish thirty pages of a middle school math workbook and left the house. Sejin procrastinated on studying and instead cleaned the house until the floors gleamed. Only after dinner, close to the time Sejoo was supposed to come home, did he finally start on the problems.
But despite saying he’d be back late, Sejoo didn’t return even as midnight came and went.
Sejin, still sitting in the dark living room doing his work, lifted his gaze to check the time. The long hand had passed twelve-ten.
Did “late” mean “morning”? Then why didn’t he just say he’d be back tomorrow? Pressing his lips together in a pout, Sejin gathered his things. He stacked his notebook, mechanical pencil, and eraser together, placing the workbook on top. He felt excited—he thought he’d done well on the problems and wanted to check the answers right away. But when he imagined the man grading them and looking surprised, he decided he could wait until tomorrow.
With everything put away, Sejin headed into the bedroom and went straight to bed. His mind was tired from all the thinking, and the moment he closed his eyes, he fell into a deep sleep. The next morning, he woke at his usual time.
Staring blankly at the ceiling, Sejin quickly remembered the night before. A satisfied look turned toward the workbook resting on the nightstand. He got up immediately and went to the bathroom. After showering and getting dressed, he picked up the workbook and notebook and carried them into the living room.
It was seven a.m.—too early for the man to be up. Sejin ate breakfast and cleaned the kitchen while waiting for him to come out. Since they were supposed to go to the market today, he also neatly wrote out a shopping list on a memo pad.
But even after nine, the man didn’t wake up. Sejin, now memorizing English vocabulary alone in the living room, glanced over at the door to the man’s room in frustration. Coming home late and sleeping in—how was he supposed to help him study at this rate? It was infuriating.
Eventually, by noon, Sejin couldn’t take it anymore and knocked on the door.
“Are you awake?”
The quiet question got no response. He didn’t want to go into a room with someone sleeping inside, but Sejin knocked again and gently pushed the door open.
“Still sleeping?”
His soft voice slipped through the crack in the door. Letting out a sigh, Sejin opened it all the way. He was going to wake him—there was the market to go to, and a bunch of other things to do.
But there was no one on the bed.
In that instant, Sejin felt his chest go cold. He slowly looked around the room. Everything was exactly as he’d left it. The bedding hadn’t been touched. The lights were off. Not a trace of anyone having been there.
Cheon Sejoo hadn’t come home.
The moment Sejin realized that, his expression froze over like a blade of frost. The quiet hope he’d been secretly harboring inside came crashing down in an instant.
His hand clenched the doorknob tighter. A flicker of hurt crossed Sejin’s face before it hardened into a blank mask. He closed the door without a word and walked away.
Back in the living room, he didn’t call or message the man. Instead, Sejin returned to his room and put on his coat. He left the house and went to the market alone. There was no longer any reason to wait.
Cheon Sejoo came home Sunday evening. Too late to go shopping. When he saw Sejin in the kitchen, his face twitched awkwardly, as if only just remembering their plan. But Sejin had already gone shopping alone earlier that day.
“You handle the vacuum cleaner and rice. Have them delivered.”
Leaning against the island counter, Sejoo smelled strongly of alcohol. Sejin said that and turned away. “Kwon Sejin,” he heard from behind, but he didn’t look back.
Just like his father and uncle, Cheon Sejoo had broken a promise. And Sejin felt deeply disappointed. What made it worse was that he hated himself for feeling that way. You knew this would happen. A surge of frustration rose toward his own stupidity.
But Sejin’s disappointment didn’t end there.
The next day, as always, he made and ate breakfast alone. He mixed the man’s protein shake and waited, but even after the time Sejoo usually came home, there was no sound of the door opening. As it neared eight o’clock, Sejin felt something was off and went back to the man’s room, trying the doorknob.
The door opened quietly. Inside, the bed was messy with the covers thrown around. Empty. Did he go out to exercise? Sejin wondered, stepping back into the living room. It was almost time to leave for school, so he went to his room to change into his uniform. Just as he was leaving, he checked his phone.
There was a message.
Landlord
Something urgent came up. Can’t drive you today. Take the subway.
He’d sent it while Sejin was still eating. It was now 8:15. If he took the subway, he’d definitely be late. Sejin frowned, lips tightening. A bitter smile flickered across his face.
Even the last thread of stubborn hope lingering in the corner of his heart had vanished.
Pretending to be a good person, pretending to worry about a kid with no future he’s even responsible for—its shelf life had expired. Cheon Sejoo had lasted longer than expected—Sejin had figured he’d drop the act in a few days, a week at most. But in the end, he was just the same as the rest.
How many more days until he kicks me out too? Sejin let out a dry laugh at the thought of Sejoo changing his tune. There was a dull ache in the frozen part of his chest, but he ignored it.
That day, Sejin didn’t go to school. Since Sejoo didn’t bother picking him up with some excuse about being busy, he didn’t even notice.
It wasn’t until Thursday that Sejin started going to school again. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday—Sejoo hadn’t come home at all. So Sejin spent the time looking for part-time jobs nearby or around the school. At the rate things were going, even if he didn’t crack open a textbook all winter break, that man wouldn’t care.
Then finally, Thursday morning, after Sejin had found a job, Cheon Sejoo came home. He looked completely worn out and even had a small cut near his eye.
Sejin ate breakfast without acknowledging him. I guess I have to go to school today, he thought. As if nothing had happened, Sejoo mixed his own protein shake and sat down across from him.
“You study hard while I was gone?”
“……”
Sejin stared at him expressionlessly, then looked away. With no one watching him, he hadn’t studied at all. Sejin didn’t care about school enough to motivate himself, and without someone to explain the hard parts, studying alone felt like a waste of time.
Sejoo gave a short laugh, like he’d expected that, and said they’d start again that evening before getting up to change. Watching him walk away, Sejin swallowed down his irritation. He didn’t want to dance to this man’s ever-changing tune. He wasn’t some tool to satisfy Sejoo’s self-righteous ego.
Sejin couldn’t hide his bad mood. Sullen-faced, he got in the car with him. As the now-familiar reckless driving continued, Sejoo, stopped at a red light, glanced over and asked,
“You mad?”
“Me? Why would I be mad at you?”
Being mad meant he still had expectations. Sejin wasn’t mad at Cheon Sejoo. He didn’t expect anything from him anymore.
The one Sejin was angry with… was himself. For still hoping, after everything. For being stupid enough to expect anything from anyone.
At Sejin’s sharp retort, Cheon Sejoo fell silent and just looked at him. Then, after a moment, he began rubbing one side of his forehead so hard it turned red, and finally spoke.
“…I’m sorry.”
“……”
“I was busy. It was something only I could do. I didn’t have a choice.”
What came back was an unexpected apology. Sejin turned his head in disbelief, wondering if he’d heard right.
That ever-handsome face was marked by discomfort today. It didn’t suit that cold, elegant man at all. Seeing that look made something unexpectedly stir in Sejin’s chest. He really hadn’t wanted to get angry—but before he could stop himself, a bitter voice came out.
“Guess you were busy making another bastard like me, huh?”
“……”
The man’s brows knit together. He clamped his mouth shut, frowning slightly, and stared at Sejin for a long time—until a honk sounded from behind, and he looked away to press the gas pedal. The brief exchange ended there, swallowed by silence.
Sejin regretted what he said. But he didn’t want to take it back. After all, it wasn’t wrong. That’s the kind of person he was. That’s the kind of thing he did. So nothing Sejin said was really off the mark. He was just calling a thief a thief—and if the shoe fit, the silence that followed was all the proof he needed. At least, that’s what Sejin told himself.
Cheon Sejoo didn’t speak again until the building of Dongseoul Boys’ High School came into view. With the spot where they always parked now just ahead, he finally said,
“I’ll make sure you can see your mom next Wednesday. No matter what. And… I think it’d be better if you just went to a cram school instead.”
Cram school?
He didn’t even know why, but that phrase hit Sejin like a punch. His stomach lurched, and heat stung his eyes. He whipped his head around and glared at Sejoo with reddened eyes. Staring at that perfectly sculpted profile, Sejin burst out, voice brimming with resentment:
“You really are a good person.”
“…What?”
The man blinked, caught off guard mid-parking. He turned toward Sejin, confused. Meeting his gaze directly, Sejin continued.
“You’re gorgeous, kind, gentle—basically a fucking saint who’ll never be born again. You’ve got morals for days. Overflowing compassion. So understanding. Always looking out for the weak. Just the sweetest guy ever.”
“……”
Cheon Sejoo looked at him like he’d lost his mind, but Sejin pushed on and said what he actually meant. Find the original chapter at g.com.
“So quit it already. Stop pretending to care about my future. Stop acting like you’re worried about me. Stop trying to teach me shit like I’m some clueless idiot. You’re sick of this too, right? It’s been two months. You’re over it. I get it. I really do. So let’s just end it here. This is what you wanted anyway.”
“…Hey.”
Cheon Sejoo’s brows drew tight. He opened his mouth like he had something to say—but no words came out. He closed it again. Watching that, Sejin was certain his guess was right.
The man had wanted to quit too. He was tired of playing the good guy, tired of pretending to care—so he’d backed off for a few days, avoided responsibility. Now that Sejin had handed him a clean excuse to bow out, he’d probably accept it without hesitation. That’s what Sejin believed when he saw him just sit there, silent.
“Starting today, you don’t need to pick me up. I’ll handle it myself. And don’t worry—I won’t think you’re a bad person. I’ll still think of you as a good guy.”
“Hey, Kwon Sejin—”
The moment Sejin finished making his declaration, the man ran a hand through his hair in frustration and called out to him. But Sejin didn’t respond. He reached for the door and hit the switch himself to open it. Ignoring Sejoo’s voice trying to stop him, he stepped out of the car.
“Sejin!”
Cheon Sejoo leaned out the window, calling after him—but Sejin didn’t look back. His heart was too heavy. He couldn’t even open his mouth.
He’d just said what needed to be said. The man was clearly fed up with him, and Sejin had given him an easy out. From now on, he wouldn’t have to be bothered—so Sejin could work part-time freely, ditch his studies without anyone nagging him. So why did it feel so awful? He didn’t even know himself. Bitterly confused, Sejin turned and walked away—toward his classroom.
By the time he reached his desk, Cheon Sejoo was already calling him again—for the second time. But Sejin hit reject and powered off his phone. He didn’t want to talk. He already knew exactly what the man would say.
“Hey, hey, did you hear Flex is buying out Caplit?”
“What...? Why would Flex do that?”
The classroom was noisy again today. But thankfully, Lee Haegyun’s crew hadn’t arrived yet, so Sejin could sit quietly by himself. Amid the racket of kids chattering about games, Sejin stayed slumped over his desk. Right before the bell rang, he got up and slipped out into the hall. He headed straight for the nurse’s office.
“What, what is it this time? I’m not giving out meds for headaches.”
Because so many students faked being sick, the nurse at Dongseoul Boys’ High only dealt with kids who could prove they were actually ill. Luckily for Sejin, he’d had a persistent low-grade fever for a week. And the school’s ancient thermometer, seemingly half-senile, had just clocked him at 37.9°C. Not enough to recommend going home—but enough for antipyretics and rest. Maybe it’d been a while since he’d had a real patient, but the nurse actually looked pleased as he nodded.
“Alright. Guess this isn’t a scam. Kwon Sejin, did you eat breakfast?”
“I did.”
The old-school nurse—nearly retirement age—always made sure students had eaten before giving them medicine. Once Sejin confirmed he had, the nurse handed him two fever reducers, a glass of water, and led him to the cot farthest from the draft.
Even after lying there until lunch, Sejin’s fever didn’t go down. In fact, it seemed to be creeping higher, the numbers on the thermometer steadily rising. Frowning, the nurse woke Sejin up, puzzled by the persistent fever.
It had happened once before—Sejin had run a low-grade fever for over a week and then collapsed. His height had shot up after that, so he’d assumed this was just another sign of growing pains. But when the nurse started throwing around scary diagnoses with a serious look, Sejin got nervous. He decided to go to the hospital after school, just like the nurse suggested. But first, lunch.
“Yo!!”
Lee Haegyun and Kim Byungjun strolled into the cafeteria just as Sejin was sitting alone and starting to eat. He was tucked into the most secluded seat, far from the tray return area. His face was flushed from the fever as he poked at his food.
“Hey, when someone calls you, you should answer.”
Glancing up, Sejin saw whose tray it was and immediately shut down. It was them. He hadn’t seen them since the fight in front of the school last week. There was a part of him that wanted to confirm exactly what Haegyun had said that day—but he felt too awful.
His mood was bad, his body worse. He felt like a soaked rag being wrung out. He just wanted them to leave. That repulsive voice was unbearable.
“Hey, Kwon Sejin.”
As usual, Haegyun was the one who lost his temper first at Sejin’s silence. He stared down at Sejin’s indifferent face, clearly annoyed, then slowly curled his lip into a mocking grin. And just like that, he remembered the words that had made Sejin snap last time—and said them again.
“Hey, I heard your mom got sold off.”
It was the one line Sejin absolutely couldn’t ignore.
He lowered his chopsticks, disbelieving what he’d just heard, and looked up. His narrow, catlike eyes sharpened, and his delicate brows twisted. Haegyun looked pleased by the reaction and added more details he’d heard from Sejin’s former landlord.
“Your dad racked up gambling debt, so your mom got dragged off to the red-light district. Whole neighborhood was talking. Didn’t you and your brother end up selling your bodies too—whoa, fuck!”
He couldn’t take it anymore.
The tray flew past Haegyun’s head, slammed into the wall, and clattered to the floor. Sejin had stood up. His hand was flushed red from the hot soup that splashed on it. He picked up Haegyun’s tray next.
“Say that again, you bastard.”
His husky voice dripped with menace.
You’ve got no patience. That’s what Kim Hyunkyung always said to him. And she was half right, half wrong. Sejin had all the patience in the world—for insults thrown at him. He could hear them and let them go like wind through his ears.
But his mother was different.
Sejin could take people cursing him out all day long. But when it came to his mom—even a single word of disrespect was intolerable. Every time he’d lost control and lashed out, it had been about Kim Hyunkyung. But because Sejin had never told her, she never knew. She just thought her son was a kid with no patience.