Chapter 3: Yi-moon (3)

By the time Yi-moon reached the shrine at dusk, Shaman Myeongju was already outside. 

"You’re late." 

Her voice was thick with irritation—probably worn out from the day. 

"Sorry. Had extra classes." 

"You should’ve dealt with this before leaving! Those things are driving me insane!" 

In a sudden fit, she kicked the ground and slapped Yi-moon across the face. Staggering, he cupped his cheek and exhaled shallowly. Shaman Myeongju’s eyes widened, as if shocked by her own actions. Her bony fingers clutched his arm as she mumbled apologies. 

"Sorry. Sorry. I was just—so angry." 

"It’s fine. I didn’t secure them properly." 

"Sorry. I shouldn’t have—don’t be mad, okay?" 

"I’m not." 

Gently prying her hands away, Yi-moon headed to the backyard. The chickens Mr. Kang had tied up were flapping wildly, screeching like they were already dying. Their wide eyes brimmed with instinctive terror. Yi-moon shoved his hands into his pockets and scanned the empty air. No wonder Shaman Myeongju was at her limit. 

"...Just wait a little longer." 

His lips moved soundlessly. 

"If you don’t fuss, I’ll give them to you soon… Once the sun sets a bit more." 

The hands eager to sever life were impatient. The air twisted ominously. Yi-moon stared at them for a moment before turning away. There was no time. There was too much to prepare. 

*** 

"I hate the chickens’ noise." 

Shaman Myeongju crouched, muttering. 

"Can’t you make them shut up?" 

Yi-moon, who had been sharpening a knife on a whetstone, shook his head. 

"That’d be too cruel." 

"Tell them to stop crying. They’re doing it to spite me…" 

She buried her face in her knees. Yi-moon rubbed his stinging cheek and gripped the knife again. Scraaape— The dull blade dragged against the stone with a grating sound. The chickens screamed like pigs being slaughtered. 

"Make. Them. Stop." 

Shaman Myeongju was almost crying too. 

"It’s so loud I could die…" 

Yi-moon kept sharpening in silence. The stone darkened where the blade passed, like holes burned into the earth. The chickens’ cries turned guttural. Shaman Myeongju sniffled like a child. The color slowly drained from Yi-moon’s face. Two days now without sleep. 

*** 

"What happened to your face?" 

Yi-moon froze in the classroom doorway. Jeongwoo sat on the teacher’s desk, handheld console in hand. 

"It’s swollen. Bad." 

"...…" 

"Did someone hit you?" 

Jeongwoo’s eyes widened. He leapt down and closed the distance. Yi-moon instinctively stepped back, but Jeongwoo grabbed his shoulders and forced his face up. 

"...…" 

He could feel Jeongwoo’s breath against his ear. 

"That’s gotta hurt. It’s bright red. When did this happen?" 

"...…" 

"Shouldn’t you put something on it? Did it split your lip?" 

A large, warm hand cupped his chin. Yi-moon shoved Jeongwoo’s chest away and ducked his head. His pulse roared in his ears—if they stood any closer, Jeongwoo might hear it. 

"Who was it?" 

"...…" 

The question caught him off guard. Jeongwoo’s voice was low, angry. Yi-moon looked up, confused. 

"Didn’t think anyone was hitting you. You just took it and kept going?" 

"...…" 

"Who? Someone in our class?" 

The interrogation left Yi-moon dazed. But he didn’t even think to resent Jeongwoo’s intrusion. 

"N-No… Me." 

Jeongwoo’s expression darkened further. 

"Then who?" 

This time, Yi-moon couldn’t shake off the hands tilting his face up. His expression twisted like he might cry. It was awkward. Awkward, and he was terrified Jeongwoo would let go if he sensed how flustered he was. 

"Uh… Not from school." 

So he answered without thinking. 

"Then who?" 

"...Sha—... Uh. M-Mom." 

Yi-moon had never called Shaman Myeongju that before. But everyone knew he was her son. Jeongwoo’s brows furrowed deeply. He rolled his eyes upward, as if searching for the right words, then exhaled heavily. Yi-moon’s stomach dropped. 

"Sorry." 

"...…" 

"Don’t know what to say in these cases." 

"...…" 

"My old man slaps me around too. What kinda fifty-year-old hits that hard? But damn, your mom’s got a mean swing. Your face is messed up." 

The offhand apology, the casual confession—Yi-moon was even more lost for words. 

"...Uh…" 

So he just made a dumb sound. 

"No one at school hits you, right?" 

Jeongwoo smiled warmly. 

"...No…" 

Yi-moon was still blank. 

"If anyone does, tell me." 

"...Why?" 

"Why? So I can help." 

"...…" 

Why? He almost asked but stopped. He was afraid of the answer. Yi-moon chewed his lip, avoiding Jeongwoo’s gaze. 

"Don’t chicken out, dumbass." 

The hand ruffling his hair was still huge. 

"Why d’you always avoid people? You guilty of something?" 

"...…" 

"After third period, buy some bread. We’ll eat lunch together." 

Unable to reply, Yi-moon fled to his seat. Thud, thud— He couldn’t tell if it was his footsteps or his heartbeat. His ears burned. His lips itched. Something strange kept flaring in his chest. If he realized what it was, he might cry—so he stopped thinking altogether. 

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