Back Alley (3)
Two bottles of soju hadn't been mere bravado after all. Even after splitting a pack of sake between them, Yujin's face was only slightly flushed, and she walked with remarkably steady steps. Still, her footfalls had a light, buoyant skip to them, as if she were a bit exhilarated. The long hem of her hoodie swayed just enough to tease glimpses of her round hips. Yuchan would wholeheartedly endorse a Nobel Peace Prize for whoever invented leggings.
"Yujin-ah, hold up a sec. I need a post-meal smoke."
"Post-meal? Oh, a cigarette?"
Yujin, who had looked puzzled at first, nodded as understanding dawned. The ground was damp from a brief shower during their meal. February was drawing to a close, and the bare tree branches already sported the first tender buds of spring here and there. He tapped out a cigarette, clamped it between his lips, and lit up. It was one of those new brands boasting a hint of Cuban cigar flavor, but to him, it tasted no different from the rest. Booze always made cigarettes irresistible. Alcohol dilated the body's fine blood vessels during drinking, and to maintain homeostasis, the body craved nicotine to constrict them. A fine excuse, whatever the reason. Purple smoke twisted lazily in the breeze before dissipating.
Yujin watched it intently, then, as if steeling herself, extended her small hand.
"Gimme one too, please."
"You smoke? Didn't know that."
"Nah, I don't usually, but I wanna try it once."
"In that case, absolutely not."
He started to pull the pack from his front pocket, then shoved it back in. Even if she was of age, a teacher teaching a student to smoke was a bad one. That thought led to another: What about a teacher slipping sleeping pills to a student and hiding a camera in her room?
"Today's just one of those days I feel like rebelling. Just once, my first and last time."
Even seeing him pocket the cigarettes, Yujin kept her hand outstretched stubbornly. If he refused, she'd bolt to the nearest convenience store in a heartbeat. For once, Yuchan felt genuinely troubled. Why this emotion? Was it seeping in from playing the caring mentor too long? Whether Yujin smoked or not meant nothing to him objectively. Yet he felt a resistance, like a cartwheel hitting a rock beneath its smooth roll.
"I said no."
He put real emphasis on the final no. Yujin's bold expression crumpled. Her youthful face, still girlish, furrowed around her brows.
"You still see me as a little kid, don't you, Teacher?"
"That's got nothing to do with cigarettes."
"Fine. I'll buy my own."
The world was full of hypocrites preaching that inner substance mattered more than looks, but appearance undeniably shaped thoughts. Yujin, who had steered the mood so well until now, was throwing a childish tantrum over one denied whim. Had she not been so adorably pretty, irritation would have boiled over without doubt. Or rather... even more so.
"Yujin!"
Without answering or slowing, Yujin dashed off into the alley between bustling streets.
'The convenience store's not that way'—not the time for such words. Compared to the main roads teeming with pedestrians and cameras, these alleys in the commercial district were breeding grounds for crime. Especially here, with its illegal extensions and labyrinthine paths evoking Hong Kong. He lunged after her but nearly collided with a bicycle, losing precious seconds. She was definitely drunk. Her gait and speech had seemed normal, fooling him. Irritation flared. Pretty or not, chasing her into alleys during hide-and-seek was infuriating. He shoved aside stacked boxes at the alley mouth and pursued.
The alleys stretching behind the commercial district were 90% shuttered shops. The remaining 10% were illicit dens—brothels or thug hangouts. Excluded from city redevelopment, the lanes saw no cleaners; boxes and trash piled so thick two people could barely pass. The ground oozed with layered mud. Even in this weather, sewer stench wafted up. Why flee here? A drunk high school girl's mind was beyond him. His eyes scanned faded flyers and old graffiti on the walls. Just one alley in, and the line between light and shadow felt stark. The pavement held scattered butts, shattered bottles, occasional empty ampoules, syringes. Was this really Korea?
"Eek!"
Thinking the gap too wide, he quickened his pace—then Yujin's scream rang out. Mud slip, probably. He tsked, but a man's voice followed.
"You crazy bitch!"
Yuchan's body shot toward the sound. Shadow-like in the narrow lane, he vaulted AC units, kicked obstacles, racing to her cry. An open lot amid the maze—trash bins clustered, smaller than a classroom, walled by buildings. No help nearby.
"Let go!"
"Hey, wandering alleys like this is dangerous. I'm helping—why fight?"
Yuchan assessed coldly. Four men. Reeked of burning weeds, not tobacco—marijuana, pungent enough to linger days indoors. That explained their Sunday huddle in this filth. Yujin gripped by the wrist, a pudgy thug in a tank top holding firm. Two others chuckled, joints in hand. The last huddled behind bins, ignoring the commotion—deeply baked.
"What're you doing."
His low, icy voice froze the tussle. Yujin yanked free first, fleeing to him. He drew her gently into his arms. The pig spat on the ground, swaggering.
"Teacher!"
"Fuck. Ptui."
Arm around her trembling, herbivore-like shoulders, he eyed the threat. Even trash like them would slink off if caught like this. If sober.
"Hey mister, leave the girl and fuck off."
Unfortunately, they were high, puffing more weed to prolong it. Experience told him the drugged were harder to reason with than the blackout drunk. The watching hoodlum and pierced guy blocked the escape alley, seasoned at this crap.
"Deaf? Let us have our fun."
The pig, rummaging in his pockets for a while, drew a jackknife. Sunlight glinted off the blade; Yujin gasped, stiffening. Amused, he snapped it louder. Yuchan hesitated. Without her, easy cleanup—but fighting here? Women dominating back-alley brawls awed on screen, not reality. Three-on-one promised no flair, just gore. He'd built a kind teacher image; one brawl could ruin it. Annoying. Silent, he stood; mistaking it for fear, the pig advanced, knife threatening to reclaim Yujin’s wrist.
"Gaaah!"
The scream—from the baked guy on the ground, unexpected.
"Fuck, you scared me! What the hell!"
A familiar face: Kim Hyunwoo, recently disciplined. Masked, but eyes and voice gave him away. Yuchan lingered deep in his memory.
"Th-that... de-demon bastard..."
"What, you know him?"
"Crazy fuck! Crazy fuck!"
Less faded now, Hyunwoo jabbed the air, stumbling back. Trauma and drugs garbled his words, stalling the scene.
"Kill him! Kill that fucker!"
Before spit-flecked Hyunwoo finished, Yuchan steel-toed his sneaker into the pig's knee. Heavy folks had weak knees. This kick shattered any.
"Guwek!"
Like a reverse-jointed deer, the pig's leg buckled back; torso pitched forward. Yuchan nudged Yujin aside, twisting his waist into a left elbow to the jaw. Thick flesh couldn't block full-force. Weight difference irrelevant—one-shot win. Momentum plus his mass, no brace; jaw cracked, face-planting into mud. Six weeks minimum.
Suppressing a whistle, he jabbed the flailing hoodlum's nose lightly. Amateurs flinched eyes shut. Ignoring flails, a controlled low kick to the thigh outer—still, vision blurred, it dropped him howling "Moooaaargh."
Turning, the pierced guy retreated. Two down in seconds—war spirit broken.
"I was just watching..."
A side kick to the solar plexus sent him flying.
"Yujin-ah, wait outside a bit?"
"I-I wanna stay..."
"Just go on ahead."
"Call the cops?"
"No. I'll handle it."
Soothing her shakes, he confirmed her exit, then approached wide-mouth, quivering Hyunwoo.
"We know each other?"
"Uh.. uh.."
Terror-filled eyes showed no fight. Butt-scooting to the wall, plastered there. Yuchan's voice, now sunk cold, shed all prior gentleness. Hands on flanking bins, he tapped Hyunwoo's face with his knee. Childhood pro wrestling memory—ropes on a cornered foe, knee strikes. Not painful, but to panicked Hyunwoo...
Curling fetal, snot and tears streaming, Yuchan asked again.
"Do we know each other?"
"No! Don't know you! Please..."
A 23-year-old whimpering like a child was amusing. But no ruining the mood; Yuchan extended a hand.
"Get up. Hurt much?"
Hyunwoo eyed it warily, unmoving. Yuchan tilted his head, then kneed his nose—sincerely this time.
"Gaaaak!!!"
Cartilage snapped. Blood gushed wildly; face bloodied instant, red pool between legs like a cushion.
"Asked if it hurts."
"M-my leg's broken... c-can't stand..."
Only then Yuchan spotted the crutch in the corner. Right, he'd snapped that leg before. Grabbing a stray newspaper, he wiped Hyunwoo's face. Hyunwoo sniffled, emitting odd near-sob sounds.
"Sorry to ask a stranger, but... got any of your stuff to spare?"
No gains leaving empty-handed; time to collect.