T h e  M u r d e r
 

*

“Why weren’t you home before eight o’clock, Jung Taekwoon?”

Taekwoon sighs, clearly tired of hearing the same sentence over and over again every single day whenever he started to hang around Wonsik, a newly transferred student who shares the same interest with him. This time, Taekwoon stayed back at school, helping Wonsik think up a few lines for a song he’s composed to show for the judges when he auditions into an entertainment company—and he’s promised to recommend Taekwoon to the judges once he’s there, which Taekwoon believed in.

“I was helping Wonsik with his song,” He replies softly, not daring to look at his mother in the eyes. His father sits next to him, nonchalantly sipping on a cup of dark coffee, the steam merging with the tensed atmosphere. “It’s for his audition and he said he’d benefit me, too.” Taekwoon continues, trying not to stir up another whole new argument with his mother. His mother is a doctor at Seoul Disability Hospital and she never once encouraged Taekwoon to sing even though she always complimented him for his melodic, soft voice. She didn’t like the idea of Taekwoon becoming famous—so popular that he’d forget the ones that pushed him into that position.

She sighs, resting her hands on her hips in defeat, “How many times can I tell you this? I don’t want you to become a singer. That job is too dangerous for you to mingle with!” Taekwoon huffs, struggling to smother the anger that bubbles inside him. “I don’t want you to forget your roots.” She finally says, in a softer, more angelic tone than before. Even though Taekwoon will argue with what she’s said, he reluctantly agrees. He knows he’d forget who got him there—and in this situation, it might be Wonsik. But, he didn’t want to argue further.

He loathes speaking in front of people, even his parents. His hands will start to shake and his voice will waver, shrinking into a quiet, barely audible tone. People in his school complain about this, even some of his best friends seemed so tired of straining to hear his voice above everyone else’s during lunch. His professors have had a conference with his parents just because of it.

“I’m sorry,” He finally manages to mutter, deciding that it will end the argument, “What can I do to repay you?” Every single argument’s ended this way; Taekwoon apologized, even when he’s done nothing wrong and offers support as payment for what he’s done. Some even take advantage of this, usually creating trouble in the hallways on purpose. His mother stares at him in disbelief, a sad smile etching onto her soft features. She shook her head, settling down in a seat next to him.

“Taekwoon-ah, you need to stop this.” She mutters, holding onto his cold hand to create warmth.

“What do I need to stop?” Taekwoon questions, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What is it that he needs to stop; going out so late or the constant quitting? His mother looks at him, a genuine smile finally brightening up her face.

She stands up, crossing her arms over her chest to represent dictatorship before parting her lips to speak, “You offered repayment, right?” She questions, earning a short, hesitant nod from her second youngest son, “Okay, we need a new volunteer at the hospital—we have too many patients to handle.”

“But—” Taekwoon argues, his voice louder than usual as he expresses his discomfort. A hospital? A volunteer? More people to talk to is the answer.

“No buts! You offered and your offer is taken up by me. Plus, I have the perfect patient for you.” She cheers, awfully too excited for such a small thing according to Taekwoon. His father sends an unknowing gaze towards his wife, setting down his coffee cup.

He smacks his lips, fixing the glasses that are close to falling off his nose bridge, “But, honey,” He stresses, “Isn’t this a little too hard on the poor boy?” Taekwoon nods in agreement, content that his father has finally pushed himself into the conversation. His mother huffs, knowing exactly how stubborn her husband is. She