A Wild Boar, a Giant Knife, and My Father
California, on the western edge of the United States, was my home ground — and home to the Maxen family's sprawling estate as well.
In other words, it sat remarkably close to my own family's house.
What an extraordinary coincidence.
But, well.
No matter how short the distance, there was a wall that couldn't be crossed.
Malibu, the neighborhood Tiffany lived in, was famous for its endless rows of mansions and vacation villas owned by the ultra-wealthy. Koreatown, where I lived, was just… Koreatown.
A little place called Bukchang-dong Soft Tofu was pretty famous there, but since Americans couldn't pronounce it, they simply called it BCD.
Watching people down a bubbling stew at 'BCD Hot Soup,' taste true Korean heat (my father's phrase), and bellow "GODDAMN! F-ck Yeah!" — I could never quite put into words how surreal that always felt.
Anyway.
Thinking about it now, since we were talking about Malibu, it wasn't beyond imagining that somewhere out there was a real Maxen family seat the public had never heard of. But if that were the case, I couldn't even picture the scale of this family's fortune, so I decided to just let it go.
Tiffany had told me.
We need money.
She was absolutely right.
Knowing Bart's win-at-all-costs temperament, it probably wouldn't come to that — but there was certainly no harm in keeping other cards ready.
The more cards in your hand, the better.
If one of those cards was the prestige that came with entering high society and Hollywood, the other was money.
Of course, it wasn't as if I'd never thought about money before Tiffany brought it up. I knew roughly which fields to invest in, since I knew exactly how the future would change.
That was a tremendous advantage. Take stock investing, for example — it meant knowing which companies were about to skyrocket before anyone else did.
And yet, for two big reasons, I hadn't made any serious money-related investments.
One was that I'd been flat broke when I regressed. The other was simply the era — the early 2000s.
This was, as far as I remembered, the age when countless IT startups were springing up like weeds. One day your phone screen suddenly turned to color, the next month it could show TV, and the month after that you could play games on it.
The year 2005 sat at the dawn of the Third Industrial Revolution — the information revolution. It was the era of PDA phones, when office workers first began groaning under the weight of enormous cellphones as they tried to work on the go.
NewTube, the site that would one day dominate the entire planet, was barely two months old.
People's attention was fixed on companies like ManicroSoft, Nokya, Blueberry, and Notorola.
Meanwhile, I already knew exactly which companies would bring revolution to this chaotic market — Appel, Goozle, Amagon, and yes, that very ManicroSoft.
About time to get started, honestly.
As for the money problem, partnering with Tiffany would solve a good chunk of it. The savings I'd managed to put away were already a tidy sum.
Around 1.5 million dollars.
Granted, those companies wouldn't really take off until at least 2007, so I'd have to wait a while.
But still, little by little—
"Hey."
Right at that moment. I lifted my head at the pointed glare in front of me and found Tiffany's face thrust mere inches from my own.
I snapped wide awake.
"Uh, yeah?"
"We're on vacation, remember."
"…That we are."
"Stop thinking about work."
Tiffany said it flatly, leaving no room for argument.
Come to think of it, she had a point. The reason I'd been musing about Malibu and Koreatown in the first place was this very spot.
A campground in the Angeles National Forest. A place of trees, clean air, and squirrels — where Tiffany and I had come to rest, just the two of us.
Greg Hart's minor ankle injury had bought us about a week of breathing room.
It was only a one-night, two-day getaway, but I'd been looking forward to finally relaxing without a care in the world.
And here I am letting my guard down and drifting back to work again.
Smiling bitterly, I rose straight from the chair I'd been sitting in. In front of the cabin — which felt downright luxurious for a single night's stay — Tiffany, the person who'd just snapped me back to my senses, had gone a little sullen and was staring at the campfire she'd built right in front of her.
The sight of her hunched there was so cute that I crept over quietly.
"Want to go for a walk?"
"Nope~. Keep thinking."
"I'm sorry. Here I am with a beautiful woman in front of me, and I'm off in my own head."
"Hmph."
"Come on, let's go."
When I pulled her up by the arm, Tiffany relented and offered a few more words.
"…There's a walking trail here, and apparently at the end of it there's a Finnish sauna that's supposedly an absolute must."
"You did quite a bit of research."
"Th-that's not— it's just that it's my first time coming somewhere like this, and I got nervous, so I looked it up. That's all."
Gotcha.
Chuckling to myself, I ducked into the cabin and came back out with the bear spray and hiking gear. Even in a designated safe zone, carelessness was a luxury no one could afford.
"Here you go."
"Do we really need this?"
"Better safe than sorry. Unless you'd like your arm ripped clean off by a single bear punch, this is mandatory equipment."
"…I could have gone my whole life without picturing that."
Her face went pale at my words, and she obediently took the spray.
The weather was glorious. Full spring had finally arrived, and walking the forest with Tiffany had a genuinely healing quality to it. In a setting like this, idle small talk came easily.
Well — the occasional exchange of raised voices wasn't entirely off the table, either.
"Greg's greater, though."
"No way. If you're talking short-term impact, Michaels beats him by a mile."
"Do you have any idea how much history Greg made over nearly twenty years with the company?"
"Greg's prime was the early nineties — you were in kindergarten."
"I watched from back then, thank you. Greg was the first wrestler I ever loved."
"Ohh? Is that so?"
"…What?"
"So you loved Greg."
"N-no! That's not what I—!"
Tiffany's face flushed red.
Deciding it was a little adorable, I turned my gaze away with a deliberately wounded air — and Tiffany closed the distance and yanked me into a hug.
"Fine! The one I love most is you! It's you!"
"Really?"
"Yes! Really!"
And with that, the whole thing dissolved into nothing.
That was just how we were. I held that Michaels stood above Greg in terms of immediate impact and what he symbolized for the era; Tiffany ranked Greg higher, citing consistency and diligence as her evidence.
There was no right answer to be had, so we simply kept needling each other for fun.
And we talked about personal things, too.
"Why did you want to become a wrestler?"
"…Because it was just so cool?"
"Who did you watch?"
"Back in my day, it was Michaels, naturally."
"How did you even start?"
"Honestly? Slapped a mat down in the backyard and went at it with a friend. That was the beginning."
"Do you know our slogan?"
Don't Try This.
"Of course I know it… but you really think hot-blooded teenage me cared about some fine print?"
"Amazing you survived."
"My father did try to kill me."
"Your father? Your father, Sin?"
"Yeah. I've got one of those too."
I answered like it was the most absurd thing in the world, then smiled awkwardly. Tiffany was peering up at me with wide, unblinking eyes.
…So I carried on with the explanation.
"Well, he came to America after serving in the special forces, married my mother. A very strict man. He absolutely hated me imitating wrestling."
"Did he at least yell at you for it?"
"No. He threw me off the second floor."
"…?"
"A-anyway, what about you? What were you like as a kid?"
"…I feel like I just glimpsed something deeply traumatic."
Catching me scrambling to change the subject, Tiffany narrowed her eyes. But before long, she began, quite naturally, to tell her own story.
"Me, I basically spent my teens traveling with the production crews."
"I still remember the day you first appeared on TV."
"You do?"
"I fell in love at first sight."
"…."
Tiffany's eyes went round as saucers.
"A-anyway, yes. I finished all my schooling through homeschooling… Going to college was about the only thing I ever did outside the wrestling business."
She'd made that choice, she said, because she'd been sickened by an industry that treated its performers as disposable tools.
"But college wasn't exactly a thrill either."
"And that's when you met me?"
"Yes. Word about GCW suddenly started making the rounds and I got curious — and then this bizarre person turned out to be behind it, and I couldn't believe my eyes."
"Bizarre…?"
"Of course bizarre. You treated me like your own personal rookie underneath you."
"Fair enough."
"My career was longer, you know."
"But you hadn't actually studied the craft like I had."
"…."
"And when you took my feedback without flinching — that's when I thought it."
"Thought what?"
"This one's all right."
"How touching."
Tiffany said it with a sneer. But it was the truth.
In the beginning, I'd been a little wary of her and had deliberately tested her. Bit by bit, I learned she was a genuinely good person. And now we were together.
You really never can predict how things between people will turn out.
Smiling awkwardly, I slid my hand gently onto her shoulder. We walked the trail in a comfortable silence that settled over us of its own accord.
And then, out of nowhere, Tiffany made me an intriguing proposal.
"Want to go to Koreatown tomorrow?"
"Why there?"
"I'm just curious what the food is like where you grew up."
"You've never had it?"
"Not once."
"Then sure, why not."
The moment those words left my mouth, I stopped dead — I'd spotted something standing at the end of the trail.
Tiffany, turning to follow my gaze, went white as a sheet.
"A bear…?"
"No. A person."
It was staggeringly huge — though not quite bear-sized. Still, I froze for a moment, wondering who on earth it could be. Worst case, there was always the option of dousing it in bear spray and fighting it off.
First I needed to figure out just what this unknown entity that had appeared out of nowhere actually was—
"SCREEEEECH!!"
Something let out a shriek.
I spun around, startled — and came face to face with a creature I never could have predicted.
A wild boar.
And a thoroughly enraged one at that.
"SCREEEEEEE!!"
Before I could even finish the thought, it came barreling straight at us. There was no time to say a word.
I wrapped an arm around Tiffany and hurled us both sideways with everything I had.
THUNK—!
Something came whistling in from the side and skewered the boar clean through the skull.
Amid that grotesque tableau, the beast skidded across the ground and collapsed. I stared at it — dead without even managing a single squeal — then turned my head in a daze.
Thud. Thud.
Someone was walking toward us from the opposite direction.
"S-Sin? That's—"
"………."
My body simply locked up.
Flat on my rear on the ground, still holding Tiffany, I was so blindsided by the sheer absurdity of the situation that I couldn't move a muscle.
The man pulled the enormous blade out of the boar's skull, hoisted the carcass over his shoulder, and turned to look at us.
A massive-framed Asian man.
Only then did a single, absolutely certain word leave my mouth.
"Mr. Park…?"
"Hm? Junho?"
"No, wait, w-w-wait just a second."
Unable to process the situation, I tightened my grip around Tiffany and looked again. No. That huge thing I'd thought was far bigger than any man couldn't possibly be—
"Dad?"
I had never imagined my father would be the one hauling a wild boar over his shoulder.
Come to think of it, Mom had explained something over the phone a while back.
"You know the secret to Mr. Park's meat, Junho? He and your father go to the slaughterhouse together and bring back the finest pork!"
So that was the "pork."
It wasn't entirely implausible, technically. This was California. My father was a man who ran on boundless energy at all times.
Dammit, but still — this made no sense!
"……."
While I stood there frozen in bewilderment, my father came closer, looked back and forth between me and the Tiffany in my arms, and said:
"You old enough to be keeping a woman now?"
I couldn't manage a reply.
Word was, my father and Mr. Park had both served in some special forces unit back in Korea whose name they weren't permitted to reveal. They'd distinguished themselves in Vietnam, mustered out for reasons they couldn't discuss, and crossed over to America.
My father then married my mother — an orphan — and had me. Mr. Park's situation was much the same; his son, I heard, was studying hard at university these days.
And so the two of them had gone from outsiders to something like the fixers of Koreatown, the men who solved its problems. When the L.A. riots broke out in '92, they'd supposedly rallied the Koreans and defended the neighborhood.
That was just how things worked here. The first Koreans to arrive on this faraway shore had leaned on one another and forged themselves into one enormous community.
…Which meant there was a distinctly Korean, family-style culture at play — one that left ordinary Americans feeling rather baffled.
For example: right now.
Our parents and the neighbors had shown up for a social gathering at exactly the same time, in exactly the same place, as us.
Tiffany, who had tagged along at first saying she wanted to meet my mother, was now thoroughly cornered by eight married women.
"Lawd, is this Junho's bride?"
"Sexy…?"
Every last one of them spoke only Korean, and Tiffany understood absolutely nothing.
"Junho's brought himself a fine, proper young woman. Well? Decent enough daughter-in-law material, wouldn't you say?"
"Hmph! No woman of mine who can't make kimchi!"
Mom, come on. You said anyone was fine.
As I watched the scene with mounting anxiety, my father, standing beside me, handed over the enormous knife.
"Junho. Go carve up the head."
The men had gathered to butcher the boar, while the children ran off to play.
"Y-yes, sir…"
Feeling thoroughly out of my depth, I set about slicing into the massive boar's head alongside my father.
"Now that's good blood."
"You'll get parasites…"
"You eat the parasites too."
"…."
"BAHAHA! Kim, you really could eat anything! Ran out of rations in the Vietnam jungle, so you went catching snakes!"
"We'll have a drink over it sometime."
I gave up on thinking. I poured every last scrap of my attention into worrying whether Tiffany would actually survive this.
Astonishingly, the Korean mothers seemed to have picked up on her flustered state, because they began fussing over her with one thing after another.
First up: Korean-style coffee.
"Oh…!"
"The girl likes it!"
"Now, what was her name again?"
"Tifflehead?"
"Don't you dare go calling my future daughter-in-law Tifflehead!"
Mom, you said you didn't like her.
"What was her name in English?"
"Name! Her name!"
"Uh, hey! Girl! Name!"
"Wh-what?"
"You name!"
"Oh — Tiffany Maxen."
"Tiffany?"
"Why, that's the same name as the heroine in the drama my husband and I watch!"
"What does your father do?"
"Father! Job!"
It was frankly staggering that any of that English landed.
…And truly astonishingly, most Koreans of my parents' generation lived entirely within their own circles, so hardly any of them spoke a word of functional English.
"M-my dad is chairman of—"
"JUNHOOOOO!!"
Mom called for me. The incomprehensible English had finally arrived, I supposed.
"Go on, now."
"Uh, what about butchering the boar?"
"Go be filial to your mother."
"Yes, yes."
My father said it like a lecture. It had been quite a while since we'd last seen each other face to face — I supposed he was telling me to look after her a bit.
And so, having run into me by pure chance, Mom looked to be in a splendid mood. I spoke in Korean.
"Mom, what is it?"
"What does his father do for a living?"
"Why does that matter—"
"Because! Marriage is between two families, always! I have to know the household we'd be joining — that's how I'll find you two a newlywed home, too!"
"Uh…"
Flustered, I turned to Tiffany, who sat with her back ramrod straight. Perhaps she'd sensed the Eastern etiquette, because her hands were folded neatly in her lap. She was smiling — but her eyes, fixed on me, were pure bewilderment.
I spoke in English.
"Tiffany, let's talk after I have a word with my mom."
"P-please, take your time."
The wives glanced back and forth between the two of us.
"What're they whispering about over there, in English no less?"
"They're cooing sweet nothings, obviously!"
No. We are not.
"Junho! Out with it! Are you telling me your mother can't manage even one house for your wedding?!"
"No, it's… it's a little complicated. Her father, you see…"
My worst possible opponent.
"Business! He runs a small business!"
I blurted out the first thing I could.
"What kind of business!"
"H-he sells wrestling T-shirts!"
"Ah, a wholesaler!"
"Wholesalers are notorious tightwads, they say. Better tell the girl to bring a proper trousseau!"
And once again the friendship-circle wives launched into another round of back-and-forth chatter.
Meanwhile, I quietly drew Tiffany off to the side and explained the situation.
"Uh, so. Sorry about that. The ladies got a little… personal, huh?"
"Not at all. Honestly, I was having fun."
"Glad to hear it."
"So what were they all talking about just now?"
"Ah… what your father does for a living, that sort of thing?"
"Huh? Why would that matter?"
"…In Korean culture, marriage is between two families."
"M-marriage?"
Tiffany's face went scarlet.
"Marriage?!"
She said it twice.
"Are we doing that?!"
Why are you asking me?
Her eyes were sparkling. She seemed to be waiting for an answer of some kind, so I gave a wry smile.
"Not right this second."
"…Then do it with me."
Marriage isn't a group project, you know.
"Understood?!"
"Y-yes, understood."
I slipped away from a huffing, puffing Tiffany and turned casually aside.
…The mothers were watching the whole display with great interest.
Ma'am, please put down that popcorn tin.
"Me and my old man used to carry on just like that, you know…"
"And now?"
"I wish he'd drop dead."
The wives nodded in deep sympathy.
I offered a brief silent tribute to the 'old men' sweating away nearby, diligently dismantling the boar.
And the conversation among the friendship-circle wives pressed onward.
"Anyway, the girl's got skin white as porcelain — she looks like a movie star. Lawd, don't tell me you're not itching to see grandbabies already?"
"I raised three daughters and three sons!"
"…."
"You heard me! Junho!"
"Junho?"
Tiffany's eyes went round.
"…Come to think of it, it is Kim Junho, isn't it?"
"…That's right."
"Junho. Junho. Something about it sounds cool."
Saying my real name a few times over, Tiffany broke into a wide grin and took my hand.
At that, the wives grew even more excited, words tumbling out of them.
"Would you look at that, Tiffany can say Junho proper!"
"Well, sure! Americans say Junho just fine!"
"Only fools who've never once set foot in America go around thinking Americans can't pronounce Junho!"
"…."
The Americans I knew weren't like that, though. Maybe those particular guys had just been strange.