HMN C20

Chapter 20

The last time he had seen her, she had been with Go Chiwoo. It was already bad enough being rejected on the very day he set foot in university, but discovering afterward that the man she liked was none other than Chiwoo had been a far greater shock. If that was the case, she may as well have dated him. What made it worse was that she had witnessed the absurd scene of him getting turned down by that notoriously arrogant Go Chiwoo and then venting his humiliation on a friend. The memory left a bitter sting in his chest.

“Why, someone you know?”

At Wonjung’s question, asked mid-slurp of his ramen, Daeyoung shook his head. She might no longer even count as someone he knew, but seeing her face again by chance still left his heart unsettled.

“Wasn’t that the cheating couple from earlier?”

“No, no. They already passed by.”

“Oh right, yesterday there was that post too. Some kid who only ever writes cringeworthy lines…”

With a whole flood of barely twenty-year-olds fresh out of high school crashing into campus life, the university app had become a storm of chatter overnight. Every day some new ridiculous story emerged. While Daeyoung looked blankly from one friend to the other, Haegyeom, mid-gossip, suddenly fixed his eyes on him.

“Not funny to you?”

“Nope.”

Daeyoung answered curtly, sipping water, and Haegyeom nodded, as if that was fair enough.

“Still, with all these scandals exploding, your rumor kind of got buried.”

“Hey.”

“No? Maybe I’m wrong. Someone even asked me earlier, though…”

“For god’s sake.”

Daeyoung’s face pinched; seeing he’d struck the nerve, Haegyeom grinned in satisfaction. Daeyoung nearly threw his chopsticks at him, but soggy with ramen broth, they weren’t much of a threat.

“Whatever you do, if anyone asks, you deny it flat. Every time.”

“Come on, I’m telling you—it’s already faded. You’re overreacting.”

But Daeyoung, glaring at him, looked ready to grab him by the collar, insisting over and over that no matter the person, his friends had to back him up. Finally, even Wonjung offered to step in with explanations. Compared to himself—who still hadn’t cemented proper connections—friends like Wonjung and Haegyeom, already established insiders, would be far more convincing in dispersing rumors.

Truthfully, Minhae was also a friend of Wonjung’s, so the fastest way might have been simply asking her directly about the misunderstanding she’d witnessed. But the shame of gathering his friends together just to discuss the moment she caught him falling onto Chiwoo was more than he could bear. For now, denial and silence seemed the best strategy, until everything blew over.

“Maybe I’ll start a new rumor that you’re actually a player who dates everyone you meet.”

“Is your world really that black-and-white?”

“Yup.”

Walking straight into Haegyeom’s childish trap, Daeyoung exploded, only for Wonjung to slide quickly between them before it turned into a fight. Huffing heavily in a show of reluctant patience, Daeyoung plopped back down, scrolling his phone just as it buzzed.

Daeyoung~ㅜ.ㅜ This week it’s just the two of us. Chiwoo’s busy for a few days.

“Mm…”

Even with the spelling all wrong, the message drained the storm from Daeyoung’s face.

“What? What’s that look? You seeing someone?”

“No. Better than that.”

The joy at that simple news was enough to blot out every ounce of Haegyeom’s teasing. Busy or not, losing the prince’s useless pair of hands wasn’t exactly a loss. In fact, the thought of working hard alone—like the very first day—felt far calmer and more freeing. Still stuffed full, Daeyoung suddenly found his appetite again, leaning over to take a bite out of Wonjung’s sandwich.

“…What’s with him?”

“Leave him. Look how happy he looks.”

The two of them watched Daeyoung hum under his breath, even recline and sigh about the weather. Just minutes ago he had been heavy with thought, but now he was all but singing. Odd as it was, the longer it lasted, the more even the corners of Wonjung’s mouth curved upward. A soft breeze stirred around the three, gentler than before.

Thok.

On a cracked, weatherworn country road, a faded, scratch-covered scooter glided to a halt—a machine lovingly polished despite its age.

That Friday, the moment his last class ended, Daeyoung had resisted the pull of friends’ soju invitations and instead rode straight down home. He removed his helmet and shook out his flattened hair. It was still the start of the semester—no grueling deadlines yet—but between campus and his part-time job, he had been run ragged. The one relief: since the text from his boss a few days earlier, Go Chiwoo had indeed not shown up at the café. That alone had lifted a mountain’s worth of stress. The only burden left was physical: would he rather grind down his wrist at the counter alone, or bear the crushing irritation of dealing with Chiwoo? He almost preferred the ache.

“God…”

Sighing deeply, he hooked his helmet onto the scooter and walked up to the house’s blue steel gate. Spending weekends in the family’s eatery felt steadier to him, but tonight—Friday evening—was for settling the promise he’d made with his grandmother.

“Grandma, it’s me, Daeyoung.”

Crrrk—he pushed open the squealing gate. As always, the lights inside were already on.

“Did you leave out the things you wanted gone?”

The storage room door yawned open, boxes stacked on the wooden veranda. A glance revealed ancient books yellow with age, a dusty desk lamp, and other such forgotten relics.

Clatter.

Rolling up his sleeves, he turned as the storage door creaked and his grandmother stepped out. Though dusk was only just setting in and the softened weather meant the air no longer bit with cold, she wore a wool jacket lined with fur.

“You’re here at last. I haven’t cleared much yet, but if we toss just a couple things out, there’ll be space enough for the sacks.”

“Only a couple? Let’s just clear the big stuff all at once. If I leave it outside, Dad said he’ll load it on the truck first thing tomorrow.”

At those words, she patted his back gently, murmuring gratitude. And as always, Daeyoung filled the work with chatter.

“Mom said you’ve been fighting with the youth leader again.”

“It wasn’t a fight.”

Yet she shook her head fast, as though even the thought soured her. Daeyoung only smiled. He knew why he felt so close to her—it wasn’t just the meals they often shared.

His grandmother often carried bundles of flowers she had tended, delivering them to his parents’ restaurant. She’d say she had no harvest to share, unlike those who farmed, so flowers were the best she could bring. Because of her, seasonal blossoms decorated the vases, and the flower bed out front bloomed endlessly in color.

“I’ll clear this first.”

Daeyoung pulled out the rusting farm machine wedged at the very front. Barely room between it and the doorframe, rotted stiff from age, it was impossible that her fragile strength could ever have shifted it. Even Daeyoung, braced with all his might, struggled to drag the dead metal husk outside. By the time he shoved it past the gate, sweat coated his palms, and even through two pairs of gloves, the plaster on his hand rubbed sore, his wrist strained dangerously weak.

Thud, thud.

“Ahh.”

He winced, rubbing his wrist, dusting the gloves clean. But that was the hardest part done—what remained inside were only smaller furnishings, cumbersome but light. After a few trips back and forth, the storage looked far more open.

“Should I move these soil bags in, or will you use them soon?”

“Just put them at the front.”

“Alright.”

Her voice drifted faintly, from the kitchen. No doubt she had gone to bring him snacks. Setting down two heavy sacks inside, Daeyoung marveled again at how clearing just a little could free up so much space.

“That should do, yes?”

Tasks like this, which could be done in less than half an hour, were nothing to someone his age, but without help the elderly simply could not manage. Ordinarily the village youth leader would assist, but his grandmother and that man were practically sworn enemies, refusing each other’s aid. The reason, laughably, was that his granddaughter often visited nearby—something his grandmother simply did not tolerate. Their latest quarrel had surely been over the same petty cause.

Stepping back out, closing the storage door, Daeyoung brushed off his clothes and sat on the veranda.

“Grandma, what about these boxes?”

He gestured at three or four stacked neatly at the side, gulping down a cup of barley tea in one go.

“Those are the useful things. Bring them in later. Wait a little—I’ll get the rice cakes for you.”

“Alright. Can I look through them?”

“As you like.”

“Wow, these are ancient. This book—”

The covers were bristling with Chinese characters beyond his reading. He pretended not to notice the thick dust, flipping through pages brittle with the scent of old paper, before setting it aside and picking up a wooden casket left by a cobwebbed lamp.

“What’s this?”

Unlike the rest, it held no dust, no age spots—just tucked quiet in the corner of a box. About the size of two palms cupped together, fitted with a small lock.

Clink.

He shook it gently by his ear. Something shifted inside. A treasure, perhaps? But to see it buried in this clutter, it seemed unlikely. More likely an heirloom, left long forgotten, like the books. The lock itself felt strange—not the kind with a keyhole, but the sort with dials, turning on their sides with no numbers marked.

“Is it even a real lock?”

Maybe it was just for decoration. Usually, Daeyoung would simply have put it straight back. But something about the craftsmanship teased at his curiosity. Lifting the box, he thumbed the notches on the lock.

Click.

“Huh?”

He hadn’t even tried to open it—just rolled the notched wheel thoughtlessly under his thumb—yet it sprang open. Perhaps rust had broken it, or sheer chance had stumbled him onto the trick. He unhooked the clasp.

“……”

At that point, perhaps, he should have stopped, asked first if he could. But Daeyoung sank fully into the moment, unaware even of the world around him. Blinking a few times, he pressed his fingers to the lid and pried the box open.

Creeeak.

Even a small chest such as this could not escape the voice of its hinges. Daeyoung gazed into what lay inside.