Chapter 101

It took more than two hours to get to the hospital that Chaerin had taught me about. The taxi driver said something to me at first, perhaps recognizing me, but I didn’t have the luxury of giving a proper response, and I couldn’t even remember what I had said.

The place I arrived at was not an ordinary hospital.

It was a hospice care hospital.

Typically, it’s a place for terminal cancer patients to go. Not somewhere to treat illness, but a place to wait for death. Because of that, the reality of the situation struck me painfully.

After arriving at the hospital, I called Chaerin again. She said she would come to me directly and hung up, and soon I heard someone calling for me from the front desk.

My appearance, without even a hat, was conspicuous, so it shouldn’t have been difficult for them to find me. A woman approached me, who had been anxiously waiting.

“…Oppa.”

“Chaerin.”

There were things I wanted to say. She looked like she had things she wanted to say as well.

But it wasn’t that kind of situation right now. I asked about the director before the greeting, in an anxious voice. However, life always seems to proceed on a different timeline than my impatience.

“Where is the director?”

“He’s sleeping right now. He spoke with each visitor to some extent. He’s fine for now, but it’s impossible to see him right away, so let’s go to the break room.”

I nodded at Chaerin’s words, wanting to meet the director immediately, but acknowledging that it wasn’t possible. I followed her to the break room.

There were already several people there. As soon as I entered, I sensed a gloomy atmosphere in the break room, although it wasn’t overwhelmingly dark.

Half the faces were familiar, while the other half were strangers. Naturally, attention turned toward us. It seemed that people recognized me by my white hair; along with the gloomy atmosphere, there was a hint of surprise and murmurs directed at me.

For a moment, I felt a strong urge to run away, but I ignored it.

In my time at the orphanage, as I’d said, I wasn’t a sociable person. The people I hung out with at that time were only about three, including Chaerin, and the rest were just acquaintances whose names and faces I recognized. Among those three, excluding Chaerin, the other two were boys. We got along, but we weren’t particularly close. After we all became independent, I lost contact with all three of them.

My recognition at the orphanage was probably that of a slightly gloomy, quiet boy tucked away in the corner. As if to prove that, no one had approached me yet for conversation. I sat in a corner of the break room, following Chaerin.

Silence naturally followed. The silence was broken by the sound of someone entering the break room late.

“…Excuse me.”

A man who had just entered looked at me with a little surprise and approached to speak. He was a large man with a simple face. I wondered if he was speaking to Chaerin, but it didn’t seem so. Chaerin appeared to recognize him already and wasn’t acting like a stranger.

“Seol-guk… brother? Is that… you?”

“Who are you?”

“It’s me, Jeon Kangsoo.”

“Kangsoo… right?”

I remembered the name Jeon Kangsoo. He was one of the kids I hung out with, mentioned earlier. He was two years younger than me and the same age as Chaerin. We often spent time together, but it was more that he liked Chaerin than we had a close friendship.

By the way, my last memory of Kangsoo was of a diminutive, timid-looking boy, but now he had become quite burly. His body was adorned with muscles and masculinity that clothes couldn’t hide. Ironically, his face had a simple, innocent look that didn’t match that massive physique.

“Is it really you, Kangsoo?”

“Um… yes.”

“You’ve really grown. The last time I saw you, you were a head shorter than me.”

“I think it’s more that you’ve shrunk a bit rather than me getting bigger.”

“That’s true.”

Thinking back, it had been almost a decade since I last saw them. Meeting Chaerin and Kangsoo again after ten years was significant. A lot changes in ten years. It wouldn’t have been surprising if we couldn’t recognize each other. We all grew up and changed.

Of course, the one who had changed the most among us was me. Due to my unique feature of white hair and my notoriety recognized nationwide, both Chaerin and Kangsoo recognized me right away, but if it weren’t for that, they wouldn’t have noticed me at all.

Even for someone like me, having a normal conversation with someone I hadn’t seen in ten years was possible. Typically, it would be about how life has been, if we were doing well, and perhaps suggesting to grab a meal later.

However, this wasn’t the atmosphere for such topics. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a reunion, and we weren’t all particularly sociable.

Kangsoo sat next to Chaerin, leaving the three of us sitting side by side. After our initial greeting, the conversation fell silent again. Although it wasn’t a gathering for happy occasions, a certain degree of conversation would usually flow elsewhere, but this was different.

The silence was broken by a vibrating sound coming from Chaerin’s bag.

“Sorry, I need to take this call.”

Chaerin took her phone and stepped outside. Only Kangsoo and I were left. An odd atmosphere suggested we should have a conversation. Fortunately, Kangsoo spoke up first.

“I’ve heard you’ve become quite famous these days.”

“…Yeah. Well, there hasn’t been much good news.”

“I was surprised to see your name trending online.”

“If I had seen the news that you transformed into a girl, I would have been shocked too.”

“Right?”

The conversation was brief, but it reminded me of old times. However, before our talk could deepen, Chaerin returned, her expression oddly pale.

“I don’t think Cheolwoo oppa will be able to come.”

Jeon Cheolwoo.

He was the remaining one of the three I had mentioned earlier. Both Kangsoo and Chaerin were two years younger than me, but he was older than me by a year.

He was popular among everyone at the orphanage and was trusted by the teachers as a model student—good at studies, athletic, sociable, and possessing a kind nature that wouldn’t let him ignore any child in need.

He naturally became acquainted with us, sometimes sitting next to us to read books together when we were reading. Surprisingly, he often engaged in various conversations. Most of those conversations were typical topics for kids our age.

We also shared thoughts on what we would do after becoming independent. Occasionally, he would confide in me about his concerns, though I obviously didn’t have the ability to solve them. It was merely because I wasn’t the type to expose someone else’s issues; he shared them with me just the same. I would respond appropriately.

“Cheolwoo hyung?”

“What’s going on?”

Perhaps others overheard Chaerin’s story, as a few people started gathering in our direction. Unlike us, he was well-liked by everyone, so it was inevitable.

“I couldn’t get in contact with him, so I looked for him, and I did find him; however, it seems he cannot come.”

“What’s going on? He wouldn’t be the kind to miss an appointment. Was there some sort of accident?”

That question came from someone other than us. It was a valid concern. He wouldn’t be someone who would fail to show up to meet the director. Chaerin continued, looking troubled.

“He’s serving time right now.”

“What?”

The murmurs grew louder. This was surprising news to me as well. He was certainly not someone who would commit a crime. What on earth could have happened? Prison and Jeon Cheolwoo—those words didn’t fit together.

“They said it’s for murder.”

“What?!”

“…They say he killed his father.”

“He found his biological father?”

“It seems so.”

The shocking news abruptly silenced everyone. It was not a mood conducive to asking further questions. Some couldn’t understand, while others did understand all too well.

Everyone here was suffering similar pains. Some had been abandoned, and others had lost parents. Half hated their parents, while the other half missed them.

Among them, none had fully shaken off such feelings, and some might still not have matured enough to comprehend their past. And perhaps I was amongst them as well.

Thus, about half understood this news to some extent, and the other half did not grasp it at all. It was not a situation where anyone could easily resume conversation—a silent turmoil ensuing.

We had no idea what kind of situation he had faced. We didn’t know how he had changed, what kind of person he had become, or what life he had lived. All we knew was ‘what kind of feelings’ he must’ve had.

Jeon Cheolwoo was not someone who could kill another.

Nevertheless, the word ‘father’ allowed half of us to grasp this incident. And that understanding—that we could slightly comprehend the act of killing—stung a corner of all our hearts.

Knowing that this wound would never truly heal.

Still, in the end, that was all it was. The kind of pain that only slightly pricks at your heart.

He was certainly someone with good memories associated with him, and we had even come to understand his feelings, but it had been ten years. Even if that weren’t the case, we were all people who hadn’t seen each other in years. Regardless of how great a person he was, he wasn’t truly family. He was a connection that would be forgotten and worn down.

Everyone was left feeling somewhat uneasy. That was all there was to it. That was how it ended.

Now, there was no longer any reason to expend emotions on the stories of connections. Just a bit of gossip, a tragic story that was unfortunate and mundane.