Chapter 4: The Sound of Pride Breaking

Son of a b*tch.

Right. I was never a “good guy” to begin with.

Whether I was born this way or whether the faces I had to confront every day made me this way, I didn’t know.

Whenever I saw someone stubbornly trying to hold onto a useless sense of pride, it strangely twisted my gut. My next move was always to take it away, scratch it, or break it somehow just to feel satisfied.

It’s how I’m built, so what could I do? The only emotion I felt toward the guy who pushed past my shoulder and stormed out was an incomprehensible sense of frustration.

Starting from that conversation in the infirmary, the guy tried his best not to let his gaze even fall upon my shadow for a while. Even while the homeroom teacher called us to the office to explain why he couldn’t finish the exam, he didn’t acknowledge my presence. On the walk from the faculty office back to the classroom, he walked ahead with a brisk pace.

For a few days, I intentionally took a seat next to him and spent my day there. Yet, he didn’t tilt his head toward me even by accident.

I couldn’t understand it.

Why was he so angry at me? Why did he try so hard to hide it? And what exactly was Song Yun Jae gaining from all this?

If I saw him in pain and took him to the infirmary, I should be thanked. And if I figured out that the reason he wore a cardigan was because of bruises from being beaten, shouldn’t he be glad that someone who could potentially help him had appeared?

Why? Because of his pride? Was the “nerd” who fluctuates between first and second rank in the whole school embarrassed that he lived his life getting f*cked up?

That was hilarious in its own way. If he was a smart b*stard, he should weigh what’s more beneficial to him before putting up his guard.

When that thought hit me, my mood soured again.

Since the morning classes, I had been fidgeting with the corner of the cigarette pack in my pocket, and now lunch was ending. The sight of Song Yun Jae sitting in his window seat with an unfaltering posture was becoming more irritating than the texture of that cigarette pack.

It was during the time when the kids had all entered the classroom to prepare for the fifth period.

“Hey, Song Yun Jae.”

Resting my chin on my hand two desks away, I called him out simply because my temper, which I’d been suppressing, finally snapped. The guy who should have turned his head remained still, while the other kids just held their breath.

“Song Yun Jae, aren’t you hot?”

Only then did he close the book he was reading. The face he turned toward me was still pale and hollow, but his eyes were icy. However, his actions—keeping his mouth shut as if refusing to respond and pulling another book out of his desk drawer—were absurd. I burst out laughing.

It was then that I walked over to his desk and grabbed the collar of his cardigan.

“…Let go. What do you think you’re doing?”

“I asked if you’re hot.”

“I’m not hot, so let go.”

He overlapped his hand on top of mine. He applied pressure as if trying to pull the cardigan from my grip.

The hand that touched mine was cooler than expected. His claim that he wasn’t hot might have actually been true, but the important thing wasn’t his body temperature or how he felt the weather.

“It looks like you’re going to boil to death to anyone watching, so why don’t you take it off?”

My twisted heart wouldn’t be satisfied until I crushed the pride Song Yun Jae had built up in layers.

“Then just don’t look.”

“Buy me a blindfold before you say something like that.”

“…Ha.”

“What, did you hide diamonds inside that cardigan? Or are you embarrassed because you’re nothing but f*cking skin and bones? If not that, then….”

I could feel the kids watching us from behind with bated breath. He seemed to know that too, as he only crumpled his lips.

So, once again, the role of the son of a b*tch belonged to me.

“Is it because you have a sh*tload of hickeys?”

It was a mumble intended only for his ears. I hadn’t chosen the word intentionally, but it seemed there was no better term to provoke the pride of someone acting so noble.

Song Yun Jae’s gaze turned icy cold again. It was the second time I’d seen that look. Rather than his usual pale face where no emotion could be felt, this face, chilled with blue anger, felt more alive.

I felt strength enter his hand. The hand he’d balled into a fist trembled.

It was a rather pathetic display of rage.

Right then, the bell rang to signal the start of the fifth period.

When I slid my hand off the cardigan, he quickly straightened his clothes. His glaring gaze remained fixed on me. I turned around, pretending not to see. A teacher would be arriving soon, but for now, I felt like I urgently needed a smoke.

As I walked out through the back door toward the incinerator, I chewed over the look Song Yun Jae had given me.

He won’t break.

I thought it wouldn’t be fun if he didn’t break. But I was wrong.

This didn’t seem too bad, actually.

The saving grace was that there were no tears in his eyes. I quite liked the fact that I didn’t have to deal with a mood-ruining scene like that.

By the time night self-study ended, the “issue” of me trying to strip off Song Yun Jae’s cardigan had spread through the class like a side dish to a drink. It wasn’t a distance where I couldn’t hear them whispering amongst themselves, but because Song Yun Jae’s “pretending not to hear” act was amusing, I followed suit and closed my ears.

“Alright, good work everyone. Don’t wander off and make your parents call me; go straight home.”

“Yes, sir.”

“See you tomorrow.”

At the teacher’s farewell marking the end of self-study, the kids bowed in return. Among the boys moving briskly, Song Yun Jae was leisurely.

I thought it might be a small effort to minimize the time he spent at home.

Vrrr—.

It was a message from that woman, timing her contact perfectly with my dismissal. It didn’t matter if I didn’t reply to this text. That’s because the woman didn’t actually want a response from me.

The content was nothing special. Are you finished? Don’t be late. Your father is waiting. When are you coming?… She only chose sentences that would make her look good if shown to someone else, or sentences that suited the title of “Mother” she envisioned for herself.

People showered her with praise, seeing her intoxicated by this polished act of being a guardian. The woman who took in a pitiful child who had lost his biological mother early on. A woman who not only possessed wealth, beauty, and ability but was also born with character and maternal love.

I couldn’t tell where the hypocrisy started or ended with her. My father, who couldn’t possibly be unaware of this, acted no differently than if he had gouged out his own eyes. He was one of the people sending her praises.

It f*cking sucked that I had to go back into that suffocating house again. It was an emotion I felt every day, but one that could never be resolved. There was nothing I could do but force myself to swallow it down.

In that sense, this might be similar to what Song Yun Jae felt.

When my thoughts reached that point, he started to bother me again.

I slung my bag over one shoulder and headed for the front door. Leaving Song Yun Jae alone, I turned off the light as I exited the classroom. I expected him to flounder in panic since his eyes would have been fixed on his workbook until the end, but he was more composed than I thought.

It was just as I closed the classroom door on that eerily calm silence, went down to the first floor, and began to cross the playground. I had an earbud in my right ear and was about to put the other one in my left.

Thwack.

The sound of an impact hitting my back echoed along with a stinging pain.

A lukewarm liquid exploded across my back. Having burst upon impact, it sprayed aggressively all the way up to my cheek. It all happened in an instant.

At the same time, a fishy yet nutty scent hit my nose.

When I looked down, I saw a crumpled milk carton rolling on the ground. The white liquid that had filled it was slowly leaking out, soaking the heel of my black canvas shoes and the dirt ground.

The area where I was hit felt numb. Whether it was the corner of the carton that struck me, the hollow area near my left shoulder blade throbbed.

I let out a breath I’d been holding. What kind of f*cked-up situation was this?

When I turned around, Song Yun Jae was standing there.

With that same blue-chilled expression I saw earlier today, he stood there calmly, looking at me.

Even as our eyes met and I stared at him for a long time without a word, he didn’t look away. This was interesting.

“What are you doing?”

Milk was still leaking from the carton on the ground. When I took two steps forward and stepped firmly on it, it bubbled up with a hissing sound.

“What about you? What are you doing with me?”

“What did I do with you?”

“Ah, f*ck, it smells fishy.” At my added remark, a crease formed between his brows. The milk that had soaked my back was dripping down my spine. The fishy smell of lukewarm milk was slowly seeping into my body.

He took two steps closer. Just as my irritation was about to soar from the stickiness and the throbbing pain, he spoke again.

“What is so funny and amusing to you that you keep trying to rip open someone else’s wounds?”

It was a voice mixed with a slight tremor. He looked calm, but in reality, it felt like he was calmly falling apart. I thought he wouldn’t break, but it seemed he was in the middle of breaking.

Small ripples were forming in his pupils. The image of the noble, clean nerd he had tried to maintain was definitely shattering within those ripples.

I felt goosebumps rise along my spine where the milk had trickled down.

Seeing him call it a “wound” himself, was it self-pity rather than pride? Did he act so noble because he felt sorry for himself? What an ironic situation, considering he walks around in a way that stands out so much to others.

“Is that your wound?”

“…What?”

“I’m asking if being beaten is your wound.”

“Watch your mouth.”

I mean, f*ck, every time I say something, he tells me to shut up.

A hollow laugh escaped me. At that moment, he threw the milk carton he was holding in his left hand toward the ground.

Splash.

…I felt twice as filthy as before.