Chapter 20
"......But you know."
I rested my chin on my hand and fell deep into thought.
"If he hated it so much, isn't it better this way?"
That guy in my dream. The real Kim Minho who glared at me in the rain. He had clearly screamed at me, hating me as if he wanted to kill me.
[Are you happy stealing everything? Are you happy? Huh?! You're a fake!!!!]
Those bloodshot eyes and his voice filled with killing intent. That wasn't simply the rage of someone whose place had been stolen. It was like the desperate cry of someone who had had their most precious treasure stolen.
"I don't understand. I just can't understand it at all."
I tilted my head. Judging by his diary and Instagram, he cursed and loathed this life. Didn't he treat his mother's overprotection, his sister's obsession, and the flood of women's attention all as trash? If so, shouldn't he be grateful and find peace if I took over this 'hell' for him?
"He said it was so disgusting he felt like throwing up, right? He said he wanted to run away, right? So why is he getting so angry?"
It didn't make sense. Records of loathing life, and a soul enraged at having his life stolen. A strange sense of incongruity was felt between these two contradictory reactions. Then, something suddenly flashed through my mind.
"Could it be... this bastard was just enjoying it?"
I picked up the tablet that had been tossed onto the bed again. On the screen, the nickname [@No_Where_Man] was particularly annoying. 'A man who is nowhere.' It had a nuance as if he had no place to belong anywhere in the world, but if you thought about it differently, it could also be read as arrogance, like 'there's no man like me anywhere.' I scrolled down the feed a little further with my finger.
[Photo 4: A corner of a dressing room with luxury watch boxes stacked up. But the focus is subtly off.] Caption: They say time can be bought with money, but my time is stopped. Meaningless display. Empty vanity. #Rol #Pat #Trash
"......."
My jaw dropped. He called it a 'meaningless display,' yet he took the picture so the box logos were most visible. He even kindly included the brand names in the hashtags. Anyone could see this was a deceptive act, screaming 'I have this much money, isn't that awesome?'
[Photo 5: A school swimming pool changing room. A selfie of him looking in the mirror with a wet body. His hip bone line is subtly exposed.] Caption: A dirtiness that won't wash away no matter how much I clean. Gazes lick my body. I am not a piece of meat. I am a person. #Sad_Boy #Body_Check
"Puhahahahaha!"
In the end, I couldn't hold back and burst out laughing. He said he wasn't a 'piece of meat,' so why did he flex his abs so hard for the photo? It was obvious he even staged the water droplets on his hip bone line. When I opened the comment section, sure enough, there were thousands of adoring comments from female students like 'Oppa, your body is insane TT', 'Marry me', ans 'I want to lick you'.
"Wow... this bastard, he was really a piece of work."
I lay sprawled on the bed and chuckled. While rambling on about 'hell' and 'hatred' in his diary, he was actually enjoying the attention of women on social media, pretending to be lonely and hurt.
What's called 'Fashion Depression'. A Young Master who was bored to death because he had too much, had adopted the 'Tragic Male Protagonist' concept and was indulging in self-pity, masturbating his ego.
"So... that's why he was throwing such a fit in the dream."
Now all the pieces of the puzzle fit together. That murderous gaze he gave me in the rain. It wasn't because his life was painful. It was because some unknown bastard had brazenly snatched away this perfect 'Harem Kingdom' and 'Tragic Male Protagonist stage' that he had painstakingly built, and was now sucking up all the honey, making him so jealous he was going crazy.
"He was enjoying it. Immensely."
His mother's obsession? His sister's confinement? The women's stalking? On the surface, he pretended to dislike it and suffer, but inwardly, he was clearly intoxicated, thinking, 'Hehe... I am indeed a fatally sinful man.'
"This is just ridiculous, seriously."
I couldn't stop rolling around on the bed and cackling. This was funnier than a comedy show. Did this guy seriously post stuff like this?
Wiping away the tears from my eyes, I scrolled to the next post with trembling fingers.
[Photo 6: A hand holding a high-end Montblanc fountain pen. An English original text is open beside it, but the notebook is full of only doodles.]
Caption: Trapped in the prison of knowledge... I grind my soul instead of ink. I smell my brain burning. #Study_Hell #Genius #Monblanc
"Pfft...! Hehehe! Ugh!"
I buried my face in the pillow and let out a scream-like laugh. He claimed to be 'grinding his soul,' but what he drew in the notebook were stick figure doodles. And what's with #Genius in the hashtag? What genius in the world calls themselves a genius? Plus, that original text he opened, it's upside down!
"Oh my stomach... my abs are going to tear...."
I gasped for breath, pounding the bed mattress. The tension and sense of betrayal I had felt just moments ago, suffering from Soo-yeon, Mother, and Sister, instantly vanished. The owner of this body wasn't a Tragic Male Protagonist, but just an attention-seeker obsessed with showing off his wealth.
The next photo was even more ridiculous.
[Photo 7: A photo of luxury sneakers slightly wet on a rainy day.]
Caption: Even the sky weeps. For me.... My footsteps are heavier than wet fallen leaves. Where should I go? A lost lamb. #Balenci #Rainy_Mood #Lost
"Khahahahaha! Hey, you crazy bastard!"
I almost fell off the bed. He called himself a 'lost lamb,' yet the shoe logo was perfectly centered in the shot.
What's more, those are suede, which you shouldn't wear on a rainy day, right? I could vividly imagine the pathetic sight of him wiping his shoes with a wet wipe after taking the photo, muttering, 'Ah, damn it, my shoes!'
"Heu-eueuk... Kkeuk... I'm going to die laughing...."
I continued to scroll, enjoying the pain in my stomach from laughing. Every single post was a gem.
Poured grape juice into a wine glass #Blood_of_Christ (and he's a minor, too).
Looking at the mirror in his own bathroom for a #Mirror_Selfie, but the toilet lid is open behind him.
In a photo taken on a Han River bridge, he wrote #Jump, but the railing was so high that his tiptoes were visible in the shadow, showing he stood on them to take the picture.
"Ah... I admit it. You're truly something else."
Wiping away my tears, I gave a thumbs-up towards his (now my) account on the tablet screen.
"You weren't a depression patient, you were just a 'concept-chaser.' And a particularly malicious one at that."
That murderous gaze he gave me in the rain? Thinking about it again, it wasn't hatred. It was embarrassment. It was the desperate scream of a chuunibyou patient who had his 'treasure chest' full of dark history exposed.
[Don't look at my SNS! Don't steal my aesthetic! You're a fake! (Please log out!)]
"Keuk keuk keuk... Euheuheuk...."
I clutched the bedsheet and gasped with laughter. With things like this, far from being scared, I found the guy adorably hilarious. To think that with this massive harem and wealth, all he did was play around with Instagram aesthetics.
"Ah... now I understand."
Wiping away the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, I let out a deep sigh of realization towards the ceiling.
"Why so many modern men, on their deathbeds, beg in their last will for someone to format their computer's C drive or delete their internet browsing history, I finally understand now! Keuk keuk keuk!"
All this time, I thought it was simply because of 'porn.' But porn isn't even a problem. Even if you get caught, people can just click their tongues and move on, saying, "Well, he's healthy," or "His taste is quite unique." It's a problem that can end as a mere happening.
But this is different. This is a problem of a different dimension.
"This is... social murder and the exhumation of a soul."
What if someone opened my SNS, my private blog, after I died, and found something like this there?
"Uwaaaak! Just imagining it is horrifying!"
Goosebumps rose on my arms, and I rubbed them vigorously. If I were seeing this from the afterlife, I would immediately grab Yama's pant leg and beg, crying and wailing, "Please send me back to the living world for just one minute! I'll just delete that account and come right back!"
"Yes... Minho. I understand how you feel."
I stroked his (now my) face on the tablet screen, finally sharing a spiritual connection with him.
The reason he screamed so desperately under the rain in my dream. That scream, "You're a fake!"
It wasn't simply, "Give me back my body!" It was the desperate cry of a soul saying, "Please don't log in! Don't look at my SNS! Kill me rather than dig up my dark history!!"
While chuckling, I deliberately pressed the tablet's power button with a solemn expression. But just before the screen turned off, I pressed the power button again to turn the screen back on.
And towards the empty air, no, towards the guy's soul that must be watching me from somewhere, I flashed a devilish smile.
"I fully understand how you feel. You must have wanted to die from embarrassment... No, you're already dead, but you wouldn't want to die twice, would you...?"
I deliberately lowered my voice and began to threaten him.
"So, don't appear in my dreams anymore. If... you appear in my dreams just one more time, that very day, I'll switch this account to public!"