20th of August, 2007.

“Wake up, Euigyeon-ah,” I hear a soft, sylph-like voice call out. A hand nudges at my shoulder gently. “Wake up. It’s the first day of school.”

I get up slowly, rubbing the tiredness out of my eyes. As they adjust to the unfolding scenery, I begin to wonder at where exactly I am, still dazed from a restful night’s sleep. Two eyes shaped like almonds peer at me, and I realize that a small, willowy figure is sitting at the edge of my bed, hands clasped together on her lap.

“Auntie,” I say, smiling at her in recognition. “It’s the first day of school!”

“Yes it is,” she says, my hair affectionately. “So you’d better get up and out of bed before the school bus departs. First impressions matter, after all.”

I nod my head, thinking of what the kids at my new school might be like, as I moved into auntie’s small, one-bedroom apartment in Jamsil last week. It’s a beautiful district in Seoul, which means that I have to transfer into a new school in the city as well. I don’t fully understand the process of moving in as the current school year is in progress, but I don’t particularly mind. I’m not the one responsible for all the heavy paperwork anyway.

“You’re the best, auntie,” I say, wrapping both arms around her. “I’m really excited for today.”

“It does seem like it,” she says, patting my arms fondly. “My, my. You certainly have gotten quite a bit healthier over the summer, haven’t you?”

Shame fills me, and my arms fall to my sides with a heavy thud. I pout at auntie accusingly. “I’m sorry for being fat.”

She laughs, and the trilling sound of it is a gentle comfort to my ears. “I never said you were. Besides, it’s normal for kids your age to grow in size.” She reaches for me and tickles my tummy, and I giggle as she does so, swatting her hand away. She smiles and pinches my cheek instead.

“I’m just happy you’ve been eating well,” she tells me.  “The decades I’ve worked as a cook haven’t been for naught if it means I get to make food for you to heartily gobble up at record speed.”

“The way I always do,” I agree. “No escape even for the smallest grain of rice. Auntie, I think I like your cooking more than I like you already.”

“Is that so?” she says. “Well then. You’d better be out of bed in fifteen seconds, young man, or else the table will have been emptied by the time you arrive at the dining area. I’ve made your favorite, so it’d be a shame if—“

“IS IT TOAST?” I interrupt, my mouth watering at the sound of breakfast. I scramble out of bed, and race past her out the door.

Pleasant laughter fills the air. “Well, now. Wasn’t that easy?”

The table is loaded with sumptuous treats of all kinds: cakes, pastries, red bean and jam-filled breads, omelettes, eggs, and other delicacies I’ve never seen in my life, which I assume must’ve been baked with foreign recipes in mind.  I gawk at the sight, feasting my eyes on the appetizing display before me. The toast is sitting on a massive plate at the very center of everything. “Is this… is this all for me?”

“Don’t think you’ve gotten that lucky,” Auntie says as she materializes behind me. “Most of these are for the bakery.”

“Oh,” I say dejectedly. “May I have the plate of toast then? Pretty please?”

“If you promise me you’ll have fun in school today,” she tells me. “I’ll pack the toast into your lunchbox.”

I beam at her happily. “YAY! I’ll do my best to make friends, auntie. I have a feeling that the people here are nice.”

A look of forlornness passes through her features. “Are you sure you’re alright? If someone teases you again, don’t hesitate to tell me about them. I may only be a fragile, old lady, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let anyone get away with bullying you.”

She walks towards me slowly, then envelops me in a tight embrace. “Not again. Your mother worries about you enough, as it is. ”

I nod at her sadly. “Tell mom not to worry. I’ll do my best.”

I don’t want to get bullied either, I think. But even if I do, I may have already gotten used to it enough for it not to matter.

I sigh resignedly against auntie’s arms. It shouldn’t matter. Right?

25th of August, 2007.

Saturdays are my favorite days of the week. Not too surprising, because Saturdays are everyone’s favorite day of the week. My new school, Jamsil Elementary, doesn’t give out homework on the weekends either, which means that I get to enjoy freedom outdoors for the day. I asked auntie last night if she could tour me around Seoul, but she’s told me that she’s about to head out to the wet market, and I don’t think that’s any fun to explore at all.

So instead, I’ve been given permission to traipse about the neighborhood, as long as I don’t manage to get lost.

I attempt to change into a shirt beforehand, but I find it difficult to fit my arms through the shirt holes, so I give up and dig around the closet for a baggier sweatshirt, even though it’s much too hot outside to be wearing sleeves, and sweatshirts don’t really wear baggy on me, either. I remind myself to size up for the next purchase, as I think I’ve grown even bigger and don’t plan on giving up on food just to fit into my existing wardrobe.

I realize that I’ve made a mess by burrowing into my cabinet drawers and tossing everything into a cluttered heap on the floor, but I’m way too impatient to reorganize everything, so I simply grab my Walkman from underneath the duvet, dashing out of the room and praying that I return home before auntie does.

Once I step out of the apartment building, the rays of the sun hit my face, and I am forced to avert my gaze from the blinding afternoon lights. Did it ever get this hot in Busan? The climate over there is much milder.

I scan the vicinity, wondering in which direction I should go to kickstart my mini-expedition around Jamsil. The streets seem busier due west, so I decide to walk that way first.

As I walk, I take note of the architecture around the residential area. Multiple lot areas are occupied by towering buildings that reach to the skies, and I squint up at them in amazement. My neighbourhood in Busan is much different, where the houses are spaced far apart instead of cramped together, and most are only one to two stories tall. Around the corner of the apartment complex is a large market, and I walk into the busy hubbub of shop costumers as they look through various knick knacks and haggle with peddlers. Smoke rises from where street food tents are located, the delicious scent of grilled tteokbokki and dakocchi assailing my nostrils, making me hungry even though I just ate. I walk towards one of them as if in a trance, wondering if I carried enough money to buy myself a chicken skewer or two.

I fish around the pockets of my jeans and come up empty. Oh well. There’s always a next time.

As I’m about to walk away, I catch sight of a tall, lanky boy standing near one of the stalls across from me. Immediately we make eye-contact and I startle, wondering how long he’s been staring at me. Do I know him? I think. If not, why is he eyeing me so intently? Do I look funny? I whip my head in either direction just to make sure he isn’t looking elsewhere. Besides myself, I don’t see anyone around apart from the shop vendor and his customers, backs turned to the boy in question.

I look back at him then, jumping in surprise as I realize he’s now only a few feet away and brisk-walking towards me. I blink at him in confusion. What does he want from me?  I think, panicking inwardly. Have I offended him, somehow?

The boy reaches for me at that moment, and both his hands land on my shoulder. My eyes widen in bewilderment, as I take in the sight of him just inches away from my face.

“You,” he begins. I gulp nervously, anticipating a complaint. “Where’d you get that sweatshirt?”

I cough, releasing the breath I’d been holding, clarity and relief flooding through me. “I, uhm… it was a gift.” I stare down at myself, regarding the pastel pink sweatshirt I’d gotten for my tenth birthday, which had a picture of Super Junior’s Eunhyuk screen-printed across the front of it.

“Really?” The boy said, looking at me in awe. “That’s amazing! You listen to Super Junior?”

I nod, enthused by the prospect of launching into a lengthy conversation regarding my favorite idol group. “I do. Eunhyuk-hyung’s my favorite.”

“Cool! I rarely meet people my age who like them as much as I do,” the boy says, eyes twinkling in delight. “Most of the fans I meet at concerts are noonas, which kinda because they like to pinch my cheeks a lot, and that really hurts as I don’t like having to push girls away.”

“You go to concerts?” I say, wishing I could go too. “Sounds nice.”

“It is,” he agrees. “What’s your favorite song? I love you!”

I gape at him, dumbfounded that I managed to receive a confession from a random stranger. In English, no less. Should I politely reject him? I don’t know what this means. I’m only eleven!

“You like the song, too?” the boy continues, looking at me expectantly. It takes me a while to realize that he meant to say that he loved ‘U’, the hit song Super Junior released a year ago. I laugh nervously, ashamed of myself.

“Yeah, I love ‘U’ too,” I say. An awkward silence passes between us. “But, uhm… my favorite’s ‘Don’t Don’. I like the beat.”

“Don’t Don’s my second favorite!” the boy exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. He relaxes his death grip on my shoulders. “Did you want to become an idol, too?”

I shake my head, laughing at so preposterous an idea. “Me? I can’t dance. I’m much too fat to be sticking my limbs out at odd angles the way they do in music videos.”

“Why does it matter if you’re a little plump?” The boy argues, catching me entirely off guard.

Don’t appearances always matter? If they don’t, then I’ve suffered all these years for nothing.

“You’re a fan of them aren’t you?” he says. “Super Junior. Then surely, you must know that one of the members is built the way you are, and next to Eunhyuk-hyung, he’s the best at dancing.”

I blinked at him in confusion. He might’ve been right, but members like that were more the exception as opposed to the norm. Furthermore, the idea of becoming an idol never crossed my mind. I wouldn’t even dare. Why does he think I have what it takes? I’m ugly, I’m fat, I can’t dance.

“I never tried learning,” I admit. “I never thought I could do it.”

“The problem with never trying,” he says. “Is that you’re bound to miss out on something life-changing.”

He walks towards the street food tent, gesturing for me to follow along.

“If you wanted to learn,” he says excitedly. “I think I could help you. Ahjusshi, two dakkochi skewers, please!”

Once he receives the dakkochi and pays for them in exchange, he hands one over to me. “Here you go. My treat for—”

I grab the stick from him mid-sentence and bite into the juicy flesh, grumbling in delight at the smoky, delectable taste of grilled chicken.

“That was quick,” the boy observes. “You seem hungry.”

“Shooperjoonershkoodbuhhlikechercknevrnbuttr.” Super Junior is good, but I like chicken even better.

“Gotcha,” the boy says. “Even though I have no idea if you’re an alien and tried to communicate an assault command to your brethren just then.”

I laugh at his absurd suggestion, swallowing my food. “I think you play way too many video games.”

“You’re right,” he agrees, flashing an impish grin. “My mom says that, too. But what can I say? I prefer games to being forced to hang out with…ahh, never mind.”

He looks away then, and I wonder if we’ve somehow breached a sensitive topic.

None of my business. I shrug, chomping at another block of meat.

“You remind of bears,” he declares. “I’m deathly afraid of bears.”

“I’m not going to eat you,” I reassure him. “Unless you taste like chicken.”

The boy blinks once, and then bursts into a fit of laughter, the sound of it even more delightful than auntie’s.

“Sorry about that,” he tells me. “And don’t worry, I’m not afraid of you. Instead of a grizzly bear, you remind me of a stuffed animal. You’re pretty cute.”

I don’t think I’ve ever received a compliment on my appearance before, so the comment stuns me into silence. I nibble at the chicken tentatively.

“No need to hold back,” he says. “I’ll buy you one more if you can finish the whole thing.”

I peer at him cautiously, trying to gauge if I should take that last statement seriously.

“I meant it,” he confirms.

I proceed to wipe the remaining cubes of grilled chicken clean off the stick.

“Wow,” he says, amazed by my bottomless appetite. “You like it that much, huh?”

I nod. I’ve been meaning to buy one for myself, but I’ve got no money. Good thing you came around to offer freebies.

The boy reached for me then, touching one hand to my forehead and the other to his own.

“What are you doing?” I squawk at him in protest, unused to careless skinship.

“You don’t seem to have a fever,” he says, removing his hands and restoring them to his sides. “But why are you wearing a sweatshirt? You aren’t dressed for the weather, so I presumed that something must’ve been wrong with your internal temperature.”

We learned this in science class, I think to myself. But I never listen, so I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“I’m not sick,” I tell him simply. “I was just running out of clothing.”

“Do you have any more of these, then?” he asks, pointing to my sweatshirt. “Preferably one in blue with Siwon-hyung’s face stamped onto it.”

I shake my head vigorously. “I don’t have one. I’m loyal to Eunhyuk-hyung. And even if I did, I’m twice your size ,so it would probably fall right off your shoulders. ”

“Shame,” he says, still grinning. “Ah, I don’t really need it though.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know,” he tells me. “It’s actually my birthday today. And somehow it feels like I’ve already been given a gift.”

“It is? HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

He laughs again, and I wonder how expensive a toothbrush I need for my teeth to be as blindingly white as his. “Thanks!” He says. “Although I wasn’t expecting you to wail a greeting like that.”

I ignore the comment. “What’s this about a gift?”

“We met, didn’t we?” He says. “Entirely by accident. I was having a bad day, but I think it’s been remedied now.”

“Ahh,” I say grinning. “Maybe I’m your happy virus.”

“You sure are!” he agrees, reaching to pat my head. “Now I’m glad I got hungry and stepped out of the house to buy some food.”

“What’s your name?” I ask him. “I’m Kang Euigyeon.”

“Oh, right!” he exclaims, having forgotten to introduce himself entirely. “My bad. The name is, uhm…“

I tilt my head slightly, waiting impatiently for a response.

“I’m Cheongie,” he says, finally. “Min Cheongie.”

I erupt into a fit of giggles. “Your name’s ‘dummy’? That’s funny.”

“Hey, dummy!” A loud voice slices through the air. “Where are you? Come back here!”

“Was that meant for you?” I inquire. So his name really is dummy.

“Didn’t think he’d find me here,” the boy mutters under his breath. “Sorry Euigyeon-ah, I need to be somewhere. The devil’s in need of his servant today.”

“That’s—that’s alright,” I respond, attempting to make sense of that last statement.

He smiles warmly, extending one hand towards me, clenching it into a fist. I hesitate for a short moment before bumping my fist against his.

He smiles, and then waves a hand at me. “Goodbye, Kang Euigyeon! I hang around at this market almost every day at this time, so I guess I’ll see you around.”

He then turns away from me and jogs around the corner, and I stand there watching his back before he disappears from sight completely.

“Goodbye,” I whisper to the air, smiling to myself and trying to contain my excitement.  

By some miracle, I think I’ve made a new friend.

“Why didn’t you tell him your real name?” Daniel asked, as he listened to stories from Seongwoo’s past. Seongwoo was sitting at his bedside and looking as if the skies had fallen onto his shoulders, straining not to collapse under the impossible weight of them. “Things would’ve been much easier if you decided to tell the truth from the very beginning.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, shoulders sagging against the burden of memory. “But at the time, I had no intention of befriending him, at least for extended periods of time. I didn’t want Euigyeon asking around for me, because if the wrong person found out what he was up to… things could get quite ugly.”

“By the wrong person,” Daniel said. “You mean Haechan, don’t you? The devil in your story.”

Seongwoo nodded. “Haechan made a conscious effort to trample over any friendships I might’ve made. There was no doubt in my mind that he’d hurt Euigyeon as soon as he found out.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Daniel whispered under his breath, unable to imagine how much Seongwoo must’ve had to suffer through if his every action was closely monitored throughout his childhood, given little to no freedom to do the things he might’ve wanted to. “Why does… why does he exert so much force over you? It isn’t fair. He doesn’t have the right to your life unless he gave it to you himself.”

“My relationship with him is complicated,” Seongwoo admitted. “He’s only three months older than I am, and yet he had me wrapped around his pinky finger since he and his father moved into our home.”

“Moved… into your home? Why is that?”

“When we were eight,” he began. “His mother died of a heart disease. She was my mother’s older sister, and my grandfather’s most beloved daughter. As you can expect, that meant Haechan was his favored grandson—he showered him with affection and love, and gave me little to no attention. And when his brother Hyunwoo came along, I was pushed even further to the side lines. ”

“So you mean to tell me,” Daniel said in disbelief. “That this snake that likes to call himself Go Haechan… he’s your cousin?”

Seongwoo grimaced in disgust. “I don’t particularly appreciate being reminded of that. Grosses me out.”

Daniel tried to wrap his head around the facts, but it made no sense that Seongwoo would share blood and family with someone as corrupt and erse as Go Haechan. “But a while ago, he spoke of you as if you weren’t related.”

The accusations Haechan threw at Seongwoo flashed briefly through Daniel’s memory. Those strings your family’s been pulling. Deception is in your blood.

“He doesn’t think of me as family,” Seongwoo explained. “And neither do I think of him as mine. It’s the only thing we can manage to agree on.”

Daniel clasped his hands together, knuckles turning white. It was the only way he knew to keep them from shaking so uncontrollably. “Is that why you were unable to stand up for yourself against him? Because you’d hate to displease your grandfather?”

Seongwoo shook his head sadly. “Not only that.”

Great, Daniel thought. There’s more to this twisted saga than I bargained for. “What else is there?”

“My mother would never let me pick fights with Haechan, no matter the cost. She always did tell me that despite everything, we were family, and that dad, he… he would’ve wanted me to be the better man.”

Daniel noticed Seongwoo’s pained expression, and only then did it occur to him that Seongwoo might’ve grown up without a father. There was more to Min Cheongie than met the eye, and he found himself in awe of how resilient a twelve-year old might’ve been to brave through Haechan’s temper all by his lonesome.

“And yet,” Seongwoo continued. “I knew that more was at stake. After Haechan’s mother died, my mother was next in line to receive the inheritance, the company my grandfather built from the ground up. But if I misbehaved, broke even the tiniest of rules… my mother would end up in a dangerous position. Previously, grandfather had already threatened to retract my mother’s privileges to the company if I overstepped my boundaries, and more than anything I would hate to force her into a compromise. I wanted my mother to ascend to the presidency. Because I knew better than anyone that she always wanted that, too.”

“That doesn’t make sense to me,” Daniel said, still unable to fathom how closed-off their mind sets could have been. “Even for preferential treatment, your grandfather’s crossed to the extremes. He’s let his emotionality get the better of him.”

“As much as I’d love to transfer the blame,” Seongwoo responded. “I can’t do that because I’m aware of how much he loved Haechan’s mother. She reminded him so much of his late wife, and I… I understand what it’s like to lose someone that important, and know that you won’t be able to see them until you pass on from this life to the next. At times, the heartache drives you to insanity.”

Seongwoo took Daniel’s hand. “You understand where I’m coming from, don’t you? Haechan himself is at fault here, and to a certain extent, his father.  Go Haechan exploited grandfather’s weakness and used it to keep me on a tight leash, and Go Junho impelled him to do it.”

“Go Junho? The name sounds familiar…” Daniel struggled to recall where he might’ve heard the name before. ‘Isn’t that the mayor of Seoul?”

Seongwoo nodded. “Sure is. The guy’s manipulative, and unkind. Ever wondered how he rose to power despite a severe lack in political experience? It isn’t through good and honest service to the country, that’s for sure.”

“Why would he want Haechan torturing you?”

“If my mother were to lose her inheritance… guess who’d be able to stake his claim thereupon.”

“Don’t tell me Go Haechan could potentially run your grandfather’s company,” Daniel said, horror etched onto his face. “How large of a business is it that we’re dealing with?”

“Ever heard of Yoon San Entertainment?” Seongwoo said matter-of-factly. “That’s the one. It’s an actor agency, and the primary reason my mother wishes for me to become one. She knows that if I get into acting, I’d be able to learn more about the industry’s inner workings, and become a better candidate for succession.”

“This… all this is getting harder and harder to digest in one go.” Daniel said. “How much wrong has your family committed, to be exact?”

Seongwoo closed his eyes in distress. “If we paid for our sins in blood,” he whispered. “We’d drown in a river of our own making.”

Daniel tried not to think of the implications of that statement. “And what of Kang Euigyeon?” he said carefully, unsure of whether he wished to learn more of what had transpired ten years ago, or simply let the truth go and never bother to prod at it again, lest it come back to bite him.

He pressed on anyway. “Where does Euigyeon fit into all of this? He had nothing to do with your family. He was innocent.”

“I knew that,” Seongwoo said. “And that’s why I didn’t want him getting involved. It’s why I never disclosed my identity. But remember how I told you… that once Haechan found out I’d befriended him, he’d go after Euigyeon and torture him for it?”

Daniel nodded.

“Our escapades worked for a while, after that initial meeting. Euigyeon and I met each other at the Saemaul market after school was over, then I’d walk him home through a different route as their apartment complex was only a few blocks away from my family’s mansion. It was fun for a while… until I decided it was a good idea to bring him home.”

Daniel flinched at the memory, hoping Seongwoo didn’t notice how deeply the story affected him. “What happened when you brought him home?”

“I had to sneak him in, because even though no one was home… the servants liked to poke their heads into the children’s business. I brought him to the backyard, and taught him how to climb up trees.”

“Did… did the servants find out you’d let an outsider into your home?”

“Not only that,” Seongwoo said. “Haechan returned home earlier than expected. He saw us together, and recognized Euigyeon as the transfer student to his school almost immediately. So I had to pretend as if one of the kitchen staff had spotted us instead, before we scampered out the backyard door.”

Daniel swallowed nervously, even though he already knew what was to become of this story.

“What… what happens next?”

“What happens?” Seongwoo repeats. “All hell breaks loose, pretty much.”

3rd of September, 2007.

Making friends is much harder than I thought. Kids in the fifth grade, especially, don’t seem to like the idea of having to expand outside of their existing friendship circles. I tried talking to both of my seatmates a while ago, but one of them pretended not to hear me, and the other glared at me as if I’ve wronged him. If so, I wonder what it is I’ve done wrong.

I begin wishing for dismissal to arrive sooner, because then that would mean that I’d get to go home and ask Cheongie if he wants to come and play again. I smile to myself, remembering how yesterday we snuck around their house and climbed up the trees in their backyard to pluck out some fruits, then ran for our lives through the back gates before the servants could figure out who I was.

I don’t think I’ve had that much fun before.

Cheongie’s absence is much more noticeable as I walk along the corridors alone. I can feel eyes trained on me, the center of attention all of a sudden even though nobody seems to want to give me their time of day whenever I try to approach them.

It feels like I’m part of a circus, I think. They’re all watching me so closely.

But I don’t have any tricks to show.

“Hey, fatso!” I hear a voice calling out. I already know that whoever it is, they’re addressing me. Somehow I’ve claimed that nickname as my own, as I’ve heard it thrown my way too many times before.

I turn around to pinpoint the source, and see a tall, stocky kid standing in front of me. He’s completely obscured my vision of whoever’s standing behind him, as his shoulders are much too broad for a normal eleven year old. And even though I’m bigger than most kids, I feel myself shrinking before him, intimidated by his domineering presence.

“You’re the transferee, right?”

I let a few seconds pass in silence before I muster a reply. “Yes, that would be me.”

He snickers at me. “So it’s true that you aren’t from around here. Your accent is funny.”

Two other boys are standing to either side of him, and begin murmuring to each other in a broken imitation of Busan satoori.

I already know where this is going, I think. This is how it always starts.

“Did you need something?” I ask him, trying to divert the conversation into an opening that can finally get me out of there and as far away from them as possible.

“Nothing in particular,” he says. “Just wanted to introduce myself to the new student, that’s all.”

“Oh,” I say, still unsettled by his odd approach. “I see. I’m Kang Euigyeon.”

He smiles at me then, and his eyes as I look at them are unsettling cesspits of darkness and deceit.

“Kang Euigyeon,” he repeats. “Interesting name. I’ll see you around school then, Kang Euigyeon. The name’s Go Haechan by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

October 6th, 2007.

“I’m a kid, Cheongie-ya,” I tell him. “Not a wizard. I can’t possibly have learned the routine that fast.”

Despite my protests, Seongwoo drags me by the arm to the area beyond the shade. We’re on the roofdeck of the school building, and he’s trying to teach me how to b-boy.

“Sure you can,” he tells me. “You’re a wizard, Harry! Isn’t that how it goes in the movies?”

“I don’t knooooow,” I whine helplessly. “Can’t we do this some other time?”

“The only time is now,” he insists. “Come on. I’ll press play on this audio player, and once the music starts, just have a go at it. Just like I taught you.”

“What if I embarrass myself?” I tell him.

“So what? You always embarrass yourself, and so do I. Besides, you’ll never know that you can’t do it until you try.”

Cheongie turns to face the surrounding landscape, then raises both hands to either side of his cheeks. “I BELIEVE IN YOU EUIGYEON-AH!” He yells at the top of his lungs. “YOU CAN DO IT!”

I sigh deeply. He’s much too stubborn, isn’t he?

“Okay, okay, I’ll do it,” I give in. “I’ll try it just once.”

“ALRIGHT!” Cheongie exclaims, jogging merrily to the portable media player. “Here goes.”

As the music blasts through the air, I start dancing. I go for basic steps first, raising my right leg to cross it over my left, then lift my arms into a T-shape, repeating the same movements the other way around.

That’s called the ‘top rock’, I remember Cheongie saying. You should learn this first before anything else.

I attempt to lift my left foot and place it behind my right, turning my body clockwise as I do so, aware of how clumsy I must look while dancing.

“Oh hey,” Cheongie exclaims. “That isn’t half-bad! Just dance with a little more certainty, Euigyeon-ah!”

Spurred by his encouragement, I do a kick and twist motion with my feet, swinging my arms loosely, letting myself relax a bit more.

Ahh, being able to do this feels nice.

I repeat the same three dance steps just for practice, Cheongie applauding me excitedly all the while.

One spontaneous moment of fearlessness washes through me, and I try my luck at a more advanced movement. I bend over backwards to attempt a swipe, but as I do so, I rock off balance, and fall flat to the floor. My bum hits the cement with a thud, and Cheongie dashes towards me in alarm.

“OOOWW,” I yelp, massaging my backside. “That hurts.”

“EUIGYEON-AH, ARE YOU ALIVE?” Cheongie yells in my ear.

“I just spoke, didn’t I?” I tell him. “No need to try bursting my eardrums. That hurts, too.”

“Sorry about that,” he says, helping me to my feet. “I got worried for a bit there.” He walks over to the media player, and the sound of music is immediately replaced by silence.

“That’s enough for now,” he says. “I’ll teach you how not to tip over tomorrow.”

I nod in agreement. That might’ve been fun, but I need to work on this at my own pace.

“The sun’s about to go down,” Cheongie observes. “We should head home.”

“The long way ‘round?” I ask him.

He nods. “Only the long way ‘round is permissible.”

“What are we hiding away from, exactly?” I ask. “And why do our meetings always have to be at the rooftop after hours? I don’t even go to this school!”

Cheongie turns away from me. “If we went to your school instead of mine, it would be much harder to sneak in and out.  We lessen the chances of getting caught this way.”

“By whom? Why would anyone get mad at dance practice?”

“Maybe,” Cheongie says. “Because they’re sick in the head. Is there anyone you know that might be like that?”

I muse over the answer to this question, and it doesn’t take long for me to find an answer.

“There’s this student from the year above me,” I confess, and from the periphery of my vision, Cheongie flinches as if in pain. “He and his friends mess with me a lot. I try to resist them, but it’s of no use.”

“What have they done, exactly?” Cheongie asks carefully.

“Sometimes,” I begin. “They… they demand that I do their homework for them. And when I can’t get the answers right, they get really mad, it frightens me. And if by chance this guy likes the food auntie’s prepared for me, he insists that I hand everything over, so I have to go hungry for an entire day. Most of the time, though… they bump me in the halls and call me names. The guy’s friends like to imitate my accent.”

“Is it..” Cheongie begins, hesitant.  “Is it impossible for you to defy this person?”

I shake my head, terrified of what he might do should I dare oppose him. “I can’t do that. The other students are going to get mad at me, too. Everyone wants to get on his good side after all, because he’s the congressman’s son. If he likes them, they get to play at his mansion.”

Cheongie turns away from me, his hands clenching into angry fists at his sides and quiver in rage. “It’s Go Haechan, isn’t it?”

“You know of him?” I say, utterly taken aback. “How come?”

“Let’s just say that he’s notorious for bullying other kids,” Cheongie says. He walks over to me, wrapping his skinny arms around my waist, resting his head against my shoulder.

“Don’t you worry, Euigyeon-ah,” he whispers softly. “Min Cheongie is here to protect you.”

A murky haze clouds my vision as moisture forms at my tear ducts, and I squeeze my eyes shut to let them fall. I wrap my arms around Cheongie’s waist.

Forgive me, Cheongie-ya. If only I could defend myself.

“You’re going to protect me?” I ask him just to make sure.

‘Sure I will,” he responds. “I’m much tinier in comparison, but I’ll be your knight-in-shining-armor, if you’d like.”

I nod into his warmth. Yeah, I’d like that.

And I like you too, Cheongie-ya. So very much.

If I could wish upon a star… I’d wish for us to remain friends forever.

7th December, 2007.

I don’t understand why he’s doing this to me. I clutch at my stomach as the pain spreads throughout my body, emanating from where Haechan punched me. I stumble to the floor, my back against the wall. I take short shaky breaths, and my left eye is swollen shut completely.

Cheongie-ya, where are you?

“You know what I like about you, Euigyeon-ah?” Haechan says. I struggle to incline my head upwards, to stare at his face as he watches me suffer. “It’s that you’re so easy to play around with. You offer no resistance. It’s like messing around with a jumbo-sized toy.”

A toy, I repeat in my head. An object without feelings.

Is that all I really am?

One of Haechan’s friends kick at my shoulders, and I collapse to the side, unable to lift myself to my feet.

If I don’t have feelings, then why does it hurt so much?

“What’s a country bumpkin doing at our school, anyway?” one of them says. “Isn’t he much too stupid to have passed the entrance exams?”

“What a peabrain,” the other snickers. “I bet his mother bribed the school principal.”

“Don’t,” I plead, and it takes of all my strength to find my voice. “Don’t bring my mother into this.”

“You’re ordering us around now?” Haechan says, crouching beside me. I open the only working eye to look at him, and he’s smiling at me. I start feeling nauseated, and I wonder if it’s because of the beating I just received or the vile expression on his face. “Fine, then. Who else should I get involved in all this?”

No one, I think. I have no one else.

Or have you dragged him into this, too?

“What about your precious Min Cheongie?” Haechan says, and I pull myself together momentarily to grab at his collar.

“If you hurt him too,” I warn feebly. “I’m not going to forgive you.”

The repulsive sound of Haechan’s laughter fills the air. “I’m not asking for anyone’s forgiveness. If anyone should be sorry, it’s Cheongie. He’s a traitor, did you know that? I keep on telling him he’s mine, and yet he’s befriended garbage like you. I’ve reached my limit, and so here we are.”

His fist collides with my jaw, and pain shoots through me anew. I almost forget how to think.

 “It’s annoying,” Haechan says. “That everyone says he’s better than me. He’s smarter, more talented, more handsome. And yet… he’s betrayed you, hasn’t he? Where’s your knight-in-shining-armor now?”

He’ll come for me, I think to myself. He’ll keep me safe, just like always.

“He lied, Euigyeon-ah,” Haechan coos in my ear. I want to push him away, but the strength to lift my limbs has left my body entirely. His two friends are standing to the side, watching as Haechan’s wrath unfolds. “In fact, he’s already here, watching everything. But he’s not going to come for you.”

He’s here? I think. Where is he?

“He isn’t yours,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “He isn’t anybody’s possession.”

Has he damaged my vocal chords? I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.

 “Then he isn’t yours, either,” Haechan tells me. “He was never on your side, Euigyeon-ah. Because as long as he’s loyal to our family, I have him under my control. And he would never keep a friend like you.”

My head swivels to the side, and from the corner of my weakening vision, I see him.

Min Cheongie, standing there.

Watching.

And he’s too far away for me to see the expression he’s wearing.

Much too far away.

A moment later he disappears entirely.

“Where are you going Cheongie-ya?” I call out to him weakly. “Why are you leaving?”

But before I can hear the answer, my body is emptied of stamina, and the world fades into nothingness.

“I have no idea,” Daniel said. “What sort of excuse you can manage to come up with for leaving him like that.”

Seongwoo buried his head in both is hands, unable to look Daniel in the eye.

“I do have an excuse,” he said. “It isn’t a very good one, but it’s the only excuse I have.”

“What is it, then?” Daniel demanded, his voice rising in pitch and in volume. “Why did you do that?”

Why did you leave me alone?

I thought I was going to die.

And I thought you were going to protect me.

What happened to that promise?

“I always knew,” Seongwoo began. “That Haechan was a psychopath. He was in sixth grade when he did that to Euigyeon, and that wasn’t something a normal twelve-year old should have been capable of. I tried telling grandfather, because something had to be done… but he refused to listen. He beat me up for spreading falsehoods. So overtime I grew to fear them. Haechan, his father, and my grandfather, Min Yoonsan.”

Seongwoo moved to clamp his hands together as if in contrition, to ask for mercy and vindication for the unjust and the unforgivable.

“I knew that if I stepped in to save Euigyeon… if I told everyone that Haechan beat him up,” Seongwoo said. “Haechan would blackmail me for it. He’d threaten me with lies. He’d tell grandfather that I started everything, and my mother would lose her inheritance, no questions asked.”

Daniel watched as Seongwoo recounted in harrying detail the memories he’d long since buried.

“So I just stood there, unmoving, “ Seongwoo whispere