Chapter 54 : Monster (4)

The monster resembled the girl, but his face was devoid of life. The girl, dressed in her school uniform, prepared for school. She turned to the monster, lurking in the shadows.

“Monster, did you know?”
“Know what?”
“Someone told me that if you look forward to mornings, you’re happy, and if you dread them, you’re unhappy.”

The monster looked at her impassively.

“And you?”
“I don’t know… I don’t like going to school, but…”

The monster looked around the dimly lit room.

“Where are your parents?”
“Heehee, my dad’s dead, and my mom works so much that she’s only home every few days.”

The girl giggled, recounting her family history. The monster felt a surge of unease.

[…Freak.]

At school, her classmates cursed at the monster, who seemed to enjoy their insults. The girl was puzzled.

“Why are you smiling?”
“They can only see me if they’re afraid.”

The monster grinned. Those without fear couldn’t see him. Their hatred, their fear, was a validation of his existence.

[You look scary. Just go away.]
[You’re disgusting.]
[Why are you even here…?]

Their words, sharp as knives, stabbed at the monster. The girl smiled and whispered,

“They’re being mean, aren’t they?”
“They’re just scared. I understand.”
“Heehee, you do?”

The monster frowned.

“Are you ever scared?”
“I am, actually. Right now, a little bit.”
“But you’re smiling.”
“I am? Heehee, that’s weird.”

She just smiled.

The monster and the smiling girl.

The girl felt… familiar. Her smile, her mannerisms… it was like someone had taken the mask I wore and placed it on her. If that were all, I might have dismissed it. But there was something else, something darker, hidden within the story’s subtext.

We were at Dojun’s apartment, discussing the script after watching the movie. Hyelin’s eyes were sparkling.

“S… Saeron-oppa… is such a good writer…”

Dojun and I nodded absently. Then, something clicked. I frowned.

“How do you know that?”

There had been no mention of Saeron during the script reading. I knew because the instructor had told me privately, but how did Hyelin know? She looked flustered.

“H… He told me…”
“He told you?”
“Y… Yes! I asked him… for help with… character analysis… and he said… he was the one who… gave the script to… the instructor…”

I nodded, and she visibly relaxed. Her reaction was suspicious. I narrowed my eyes.

“Wait a minute…”
“Why are you so… relieved?”
“N… Nothing…”

She was acting strange today. This was distracting. I focused on Dojun, who was reading the script intently, a serious expression on his face.

Figuring out the culprit wasn’t difficult. Someone close to me, someone who had access to Saeron, someone with a good understanding of playwriting, and someone whose personality was… blunt, to say the least.

The only person who fit the profile was Han Dojun. He was a talented actor, yes, but a terrible liar. His lies were so clumsily constructed that I suspected he didn’t even try to be convincing.

Hyelin stood up, gathering the empty cups.

“Anyone want more drinks? I’ll get them.”
“Just water for me, thanks.”
“I’ll have… omija tea.”
(TL Note: Omija tea is a traditional Korean tea made from dried omija berries)
“Omija tea?”
“There’s a… Del Monte bottle filled with… red liquid… in the fridge.”

As Hyelin went to the kitchen, I casually asked Dojun,

“What do you think of the script?”
“Saeron-hyung’s name carries weight, and the story’s… not bad, I guess.”
(TL Note : In Korean, “hyung” is a term used by males to address an older male, whether a brother, friend, or colleague.)
“Really? I hate it.”

My cold tone made him look up. He seemed to expect an explanation.

“I don’t like… anything about it, really. But the ending is… the worst.”
“The ending?”
“The monster… disappears.”

In the final scene, the monster was gone. The girl had only been able to see him because she was afraid. But now, she was no longer afraid. She went to school, and her classmates, as always, taunted and bullied her. The play ended with her thinking, ‘The monster is still here, beside me.’ It seemed like a heartwarming story about an unlikely friendship, but I saw it differently. I looked at Dojun.

“I think… the monster was… a figment of her imagination, a manifestation of her own fears. And everything the other characters said… it was directed at her.”

I paused, taking a deep breath. Silence. I smiled.

“The real monster… was the smiling girl. That’s my interpretation.”

The girl smiled, always smiled, even when she was sad, even when she was being bullied. It wasn’t… normal.

We were supposed to laugh when we were happy, cry when we were sad, and get angry when we were wronged. These clearly defined emotions were what made us… human.

The girl was different. She was a monster, in their eyes.

People feared what they didn’t understand. The girl’s actions, her unwavering smile, were… unsettling, unpredictable.

So, they ostracized her, persecuted her, just like they had done to the monster in the beginning of the play.

Dojun avoided my gaze.

“If my interpretation is correct… I’d hate the person who wrote this.”
“…Why?”
“It’s… arrogant. To judge someone, to label them as… broken, based on a single aspect of their personality.”

He didn’t answer. Silence stretched between us, a heavy, suffocating blanket. And silence, to me, was always a terrifying presence. My carefully crafted mask slipped. I looked at him, my expression blank.

“Let’s be honest.”

I was certain now. The writer saw my mask, my constant smile, as something…wrong.

Every word in the script felt like a cold blade twisting in my gut. The thought that Han Dojun, the one person who had seen the real me, saw me this way… it made me sick.

He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what I valued, what I was trying to protect, what I feared. He knew nothing about me, yet he judged me. It was…laughable.

“Do you… see me as a monster?”
“…”

He didn’t answer.

“Why are you being quiet? Say something.”

If he had denied it, laughed it off, I would have smiled and played along. If he had been honest, apologized, I would have forgiven him. But he chose silence. And silence, sometimes, was an answer. His averted gaze, his refusal to speak, terrified me.

“Why won’t you answer me?!”
“…”
“Say something!”

I yelled, my voice shaking. A crash from the kitchen, and Hyelin rushed in, her eyes wide with alarm.

“What… what’s going on?”

The fragile peace shattered. Dojun sighed.

“Lee Haram… you were right.”

He swallowed, his voice heavy.

“The smiling girl… she is the monster.”

The smiling girl is you, Lee Haram. You’re the monster. You’re broken.

That’s how I interpreted his words.

Tears welled up, hot and stinging. Tears of betrayal. Betrayal required trust. I had trusted him, hadn’t I? I had believed he would understand, that he would accept even the ugliest parts of me. I sniffled, my voice trembling.

“I guess… I was living in a dream.”

I grabbed my bag and left.

I remembered our first encounter, my first day in this life. I had thought then, ‘I don’t think we’ll be friends in this life.’ I had been right.