Chapter 61
Chapter 61
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter Title: A Harsh World
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"Kek!"
The yellowish-brown sandy ground caught the boy as he tumbled backward onto his back. The impact against the hard surface made him let out a pathetic noise as he expelled the air from his lungs. Rolling across it so refreshingly had a certain romantic flair to it.
What a harsh world.
Because it was such a harsh world, the only thing there to catch the boy was this barren sandy ground.
Because it was such a harsh world, the boy's pocket contained a palm-sized bag of drugs.
"Cough! Fuckin' bitch!"
And because it was such a harsh world, the boy spat out the profanity that was second nature to him, without a shred of respect.
Heavens, "fuckin' bitch," of all things. How could he say something so cruel!
It was truly tragic. Surely, nothing about this was what the boy wanted.
The boy himself probably never wanted to become this kind of person.
It's the environment surrounding a person that shapes them.
Was the boy naturally the type to threaten others with such casual disrespect? It must be the environment around him.
If you look weak, you get robbed.
If you don't fight back, you get trampled.
Did the boy choose to get involved with drugs of his own accord?
Did he really want to be born into a filthy slum, only to lie back on sandy ground soaked with the tears of countless others?
It was all the fault of the environment surrounding the boy. The fault of this goddamn unfair world.
The boy groaned as he sat up. I bent down at the waist to meet his eyes.
"Come on, repeat after me. 'I did wrong.'"
"Ptooey."
The boy spat on the ground. I had clearly asked for "I did wrong," but what came out of his mouth was unmistakably shorter and wetter.
At least it was aimed at the ground and not me. His spit soaked into the sand.
"……"
I straightened up and looked down at the boy again. Then I stepped back a bit and peered into his eyes.
Vigilance, fear. His faintly trembling pupils held a hint of self-defense.
Reisi, who had been watching from the side, whispered softly to me.
"Now that I look closely, he has a bunch of small scars on his body. Some old ones too."
His coat sleeves rolled up to his elbows, frayed shorts. And between them, skin marked with scars big and small.
"Even for a dangerous neighborhood, that's too many wounds. And judging by their condition, these aren't from just a day or two ago. They're from repeated, steady abuse over time."
I quietly listened to Reisi as I examined the boy's wounds.
"This kid... he seems to be getting abused."
I lowered my gaze to scan his body more thoroughly.
Straight scars on his wrists. A long, black scar wrapping around his neck.
"……"
I raised my arm up over my shoulder.
The boy squeezed his eyes shut, covered his face with both arms, and curled up. His earlier bravado seemed like a lie as his body trembled faintly.
"I... I did wrong."
The boy said.
——Dad, don't hit me.
——You should've never been born.
——I did wrong.
"……"
I lowered my arm again.
What a harsh world. Truly.
Did the boy want to be abused?
Did he want to slash his wrists and hang himself?
[You should've never been born.]
Did he want to kill his own mother and come into this world? Want to hear the resentment?
Day after day, having his father deny his right to exist. Constantly ruminating on whether he really shouldn't have been born, turning the blade on himself. Did he want that?
On weekends, sitting alone on the sandbox in an empty playground, mocking his lonely self in hopes the day would pass quickly. Did he want that?
——Crack!
The bottle shattering over his head. Glass shards and liquid exploding and scattering, embedding like blades into every corner of the floor. Did he want that?
Did he want to bleed? To see the world through crimson-tinted vision?
——Crunch!
The sensation of his ribs breaking. The snapped bones piercing his lungs, staining his chin black with blood as he gasped.
And then, waking in the hospital to see his father desperately clutching his hands, shoving the guilt onto God.
——I'm sorry... Lord...
Did he want that?
It was a harsh world. Truly.
All of it, the fault of the environment surrounding the boy. The fault of this goddamn unfair world.
So I bent down once more to meet the boy's eyes.
"I did wron..."
"No, you don't need to say that anymore."
I extended my hand to the boy. To the boy sitting alone on the sandy ground, hoping the day would just pass.
"Get up."
I lightly shook the outstretched hand to urge him. After a brief hesitation, the boy took it and stood.
"Show me your hand."
The boy hesitated again. This time, I didn't push. I waited patiently until he extended it.
The boy glanced at my face and Reisi's. Our expressions were blank.
Blank, but not the ferocious aura from before. Instead, a gentle sympathy toward the boy emanated from us.
"……"
Seeing that, the boy hesitated and hesitated some more before cautiously extending his hand.
The hand of a boy around twelve years old.
Small, but rough and calloused, it spoke volumes about the life he'd led.
Scars visible between his rolled-up sleeve and wrist.
His wrist was thin, like he suffered from malnutrition from poor eating.
On that wrist. On that arm.
I reached out. And then—
—Click.
"You're under arrest for possession of narcotics."
I cuffed him.
"Take him away."
Armband duty, huh.
So ruthless, so vicious.
Reisi and I returned to the dorm. With the cuffed boy in tow.
We left as two, but came back as three with an extra kid attached.
Ah, not in a weird way. Don't misunderstand. If you were hoping for something, sorry to disappoint, but this novel isn't that kind of vibe.
It's a very bright, lively, and wholesome story. Sure, some people die, but hey, that's common in novels.
The protagonist is a pushover but handsome, kind, and talented. The heroines are cute and bubbly. Plus, the benevolent, warm principal is witty and humorous to boot.
Whoa! Totally a bright and lively academy youth story!
It's been a while since I graduated from the academy, but still an academy story.
"Anis, that kid...?"
Han U-sol looked questioningly at the cuffed boy. I answered immediately.
The kid had drugs, so Reisi and I arrested him for now. So...
"He's mine and Reisi's kid."
"………Huh?"
Reisi made a dumbfounded noise, and Han U-sol's eyes shook every which way. Yoon Na-rin gave me a weird look, and far off, Fergus grinned slyly.
The mood turned strange. No, beyond strange—icy. I smoothed things over.
"...Kidding. The kid had drugs, so we brought him in."
"...A kid this young?"
"...Yeah."
The icy mood was brief. My joke vanished like it never happened, and all attention turned to the cuffed boy.
It was supposed to be a killer gag, but no one reacted. Was it not funny? You socially inept empathy-lacking bunch. That's why I'm your only friend. Feeling a bit hurt, I pouted and called to the boy.
"What're you doing. Come in."
"Yeah."
"That's informal."
"...Yes."
I beckoned the boy inside. I grabbed two chairs, sat him down, and took the one opposite.
Han U-sol, Yoon Na-rin, Reisi, and Fergus each grabbed a chair too. They all seemed dying to know how this young kid ended up with drugs.
Once everyone was seated, I began a very, very stern interrogation.
"What does yer daddy do?"
"No dad. Don't know who he is."
"……"
The mood soured. In short, "moodcrash." My face awkwardly crumpled, and everyone else's expressions turned peculiar.
"Th-then, your mom...?"
"Prostitute."
"Ah... I see?"
The mood crashed harder. Super crash. Come to think of it, that alley was a red-light district.
Sounds like an excuse, but don't misunderstand. This really isn't that kind of novel. It's wholesome. Really wholesome and good for your health. Probably.
Sweat poured down. I was the one interrogating, but it felt like he was leading. I shook my head vigorously to refocus and spoke with dignity.
"Name."
"Daniel Jorgiola."
...What? Why does a hooker's kid have such a fancy name?
No, I'm not discriminating based on background. If anything, in terms of discrimination, I've been more on the receiving end my whole life.
I'm someone who hates discrimination and prejudice.
"……"
But it's weird for a hooker's son to have a name like that. Am I the only one? This isn't prejudice; it's a sociological, academic question.
Daniel alone might be fine, but "Jorgiola"? That's a flashy, high-class surname.
Do all kids born in brothels here get such fancy names? Is this that kind of novel?
I want to ask. Why Daniel Jorgiola? But I couldn't just blurt it out. It might be his complex.
No one else reacted like it was odd. Am I weird, or is this normal in this world?
Well, whether a name sounds like a hooker's kid or a noble's heir, what does it matter? It's just a name. Nothing. I repeated that to myself and addressed the boy.
"...Uh, right. Daniel Jorgiola."
"...Yes."
No, it's still weird. It bugs me too much.
It's nothing, really nothing. But in life, there are things that nag at you endlessly despite being trivial, things you can't ignore.
This was one for me right now.
Finally, after twitching my eyebrows, I spoke up.
"From now on, your name is DJ."
"...? What's that?"
...Just the initials of your name, duh.
And uh, it's also that job where you play music and hype up clubs. Never been, so not sure.
I bullshitted.
"An extremely fun and positive person."
Woo-yah-ho!