Unloved Children Lie a Lot
The mart was bigger than I remembered.
Well, I'd come here often, so I knew that. But coming back now, it felt surprisingly vast. Not like ten convenience stores—maybe twenty. Was it because my body had gotten smaller? Even the ceiling seemed higher.
Kong-i clung tightly to the hem of my pants with her left hand.
"Kong-i, we're buying a lot today. The pet food's run out too."
Kong-i nodded.
I pushed the cart through the grocery aisle, weaving to the end. It was a busy weekend afternoon—carts bumping into each other, crowds at the tasting stations. The overhead announcements blared cheerfully about weekend specials.
Tofu, eggs, green onions. Into the cart. Potatoes too. Onions. Stuff for kimchi stew.
Kong-i's eyes scanned the shelves, head turning this way and that. I couldn't see through the sunglasses, but I could guess from the angle. I'd been watching this kid for over a month now.
No reaction at the butcher section earlier. A slight turn at the fish, then nothing.
At the fruit aisle, Kong-i's head stopped.
Strawberries.
Red strawberries in a clear pack, stacked on the upper shelf. They sparkled under the lights.
Kong-i stared for about two seconds. Two seconds. A long time for her. She rarely looked at anything that long.
"Kong-i."
She looked up.
"Want some strawberries?"
Kong-i's mouth opened, then closed.
"No."
I knew it. This was her answer these days. Always "no" when I asked what she wanted. "No" to what she'd like to have.
"Okay, got it."
I pushed the cart past. Kong-i followed, gripping my pant leg.
But...
I stopped after two steps.
Turned back.
The strawberry pack was up high. I stretched on tiptoes—couldn't reach. Ugh, my height. For real.
"Kong-i, hold on a sec."
I loosened her grip on my pants slightly and stood in front of the shelf. Stretched again. Fingertips brushed it. No grab.
Wish there was a step stool. Nope.
I jumped. Fingertips hit the corner of the pack. Grabbed it. Pulled. One pack of strawberries.
"Got it."
I turned.
Kong-i was staring up at the strawberry pack. Her sunglasses had slipped down a bit, perched on the tip of her nose.
"If you won't eat them, I'll devour the whole thing."
Kong-i said nothing. But her grip on my pant leg was tighter than before.
That was enough. Whatever.
Strawberries in the cart, heading to checkout.
Weekend afternoon. Long lines. Carts filling the aisles. Had to squeeze through gaps.
But Kong-i felt off. From earlier.
Her grip on my pant leg was inconsistent—tight, then loose.
Her head kept turning too. Looking around more than when we first entered. Every time someone passed, her head followed.
The crowd? The noise? Overstimulating for a kid?
"Kong-i, you okay?"
She nodded. But under the sunglasses, her lips were pressed tight.
"We'll be out soon. Just need to check out."
I pushed the cart through the crowd. Shoulder bumped. "Sorry."
A cart shoved in from the side. Dodged. Another from behind. Aisle narrowing.
As I turned the cart, the strawberry pack slid—reached to steady it.
My pant leg went taut.
Then slack.
"...?"
I turned.
Backs of people. Carts. Baskets. A mom holding her kid. Somewhere in there.
No Kong-i.
"Kong-i?"
"Do you cook well, Seojin?"
Park Doyoung leaned his elbow on his cart handle by a pillar shadow near the fruit aisle. Inside: a bag of onions, tofu, two triangle kimbaps.
Lee Seojin pushed her cart, eyes tracking Ha Yujin's path. Heading to checkout.
"...Why do you ask?"
"Curious."
"......"
"I order delivery a lot, but sometimes I miss home cooking."
Lee Seojin didn't answer. Her face said it wasn't worth responding to.
"I'm good at fried eggs."
"That doesn't count as cooking."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Strict."
Park Doyoung picked up a triangle kimbap.
"What kind do you like?"
"......"
"Tuna mayo for me."
Triangle kimbap. Tuna mayo. Felt like she'd heard this dumb question before.
Just as a sigh nearly escaped—
Grab.
Lee Seojin's wrist was seized. Park Doyoung. His grip was firm.
"Hunter Park?"
No reply. His gaze fixed inside the mart. The laziness gone. Eyes narrowed.
And soon.
Lee Seojin felt it too.
Her wrist sensor vibrated. 0.3. 0.5.
It didn't stop.
0.7.
Ha Yujin shoved through the crowd, backtracking fast. Leaving the cart.
"Kong-i!"
Fruit aisle. No. Butcher. No. Snacks. No.
Announcements blared. Bright voice. Weekend specials. Not registering.
End of the aisle in sight.
A child stood there.
Small back. White short-sleeve shirt.
People passed on either side. Pushing carts, carrying baskets. But no one went near the child. They'd swerve away. Faces pale. Or without knowing why.
People cleared around the child. Like receding water.
Juice leaked from fruit packs on the shelves. Strawberries blackened. Nearby veggie lettuce wilted brown.
Fluorescents flickered.
"Kong-i?"
I called.
No answer.
Ha Yujin took a step closer. Air felt heavy. Legs slowed.
Something on the floor.
Pink.
Kong-i's sunglasses. Cracked lens.
The child turned slowly.
No sunglasses.
Eyes wide open.
Crackle.
Fluorescents burst. One. Two.
Glass shattering inside—from the refrigerated display. Frost exploded across the door, cracking it.
Emergency lights on. Red glow.
Under that light, the child's mouth opened.
No sound.
Lips moved only.
Don't go.
Boom—!
Shockwave tore through the aisle. Shelves shoved back. Snack bags flew up. Ceiling emergency lights shook. Dust on the floor billowed into the air all at once.
Park Doyoung moved first.
He grabbed his comms.
Deployment complete in 4 seconds.
Park Doyoung's feet stopped.
Black Dog. Calamity-grade.
A Danger-grade rampaging, and a Calamity-grade loose.
"......"
He bit his lip. Blood on his tongue.
Of all times.
Still, Park Doyoung ran. Toward the mart interior. Lee Seojin kept pace silently beside him. Coat flapping.
A second shockwave surged from the aisle. Walls groaned, floor shook.
I fell backward.
Back hit the floor. Breath caught. Vision shook. Red emergency lights flickered through the dust cloud.
It hurt. Somewhere. Arm? Back? Didn't matter.
I barely pushed myself up.
Kong-i stood in front. Something different. Air around her warped. Like something enveloped her. Invisible, but definitely there.
"Kong-i?"
I called.
No answer.
"Kong-i."
Again.
Nothing.