"Gangnam Elite Flaw: No Clue on Coin Laundries" "I Know How." "How'd Ya Know, Schoolrat?"
I shoved the clothes—fresh out of the coin laundry's rapid wash and spin cycle—straight into the quick dryer. While they tumbled, I was wearing some cheap tracksuit I'd grabbed from a nearby clothing store.
The schoolrat plopped down on the waiting bench with a pouty scowl, propping his chin on his hand and silently glaring at the spinning washer.
I glanced at the darkening sky outside, then sat on a bench about three meters away from him. One meter was too close, two made us look like buddies—which was embarrassing. Three was just right.
"Plenty of seats here—why sit there?"
"I've got a few smells I hate more than anything in this world, and top of the list is that milky kid-stink. The kind you brats give off? It's so fucking vile it could wake me from a dead sleep."
"Then why'd you stick around earlier?"
"'Cause I had to smack you every time you spouted bullshit. Obviously easier from right next to you."
"And now?"
"Now you're good. I've stacked up your bullshit quota—gonna unload it all at once later."
Hah. The schoolrat clicked his tongue and shot me a venomous glare, like I'd personally ruined his day.
"Just admit it. You're creeped out by me, too, so you're keeping your distance 'cause you don't wanna touch me even if it means taking my money. Total coward."
I jumped up, smacked his cheek with a sharp slap, and sat back down.
"That just maxed out your stack."
"......"
"That's your problem, you schoolrats. Won't listen unless you get hit. Back in the day, teachers low-kicking students and paddling asses was standard issue. Only way to tame wild horses like you. Can't control brats spraying milky stink everywhere."
"Yeah, you're not right in the head. Got it."
"Think I'm crazy? Says the kid who crawled into a criminal den on his own two feet for cash. Oh—did that hit too close to home? Sorryyyy~."
"Ugh, seriously... Why's everyone around me a freak? Pisses me off."
"Quit whining, dipshit."
Watching these brats act like their petty issues were the end of the world always made me itch to smack 'em.
Right on cue, the rapid wash finished. I yanked open his washer, pulled out his clothes and undies. The kid shot up like a Tiananmen protester hearing tank treads.
"Hey! Why're you touching my stuff?!"
"Gotta finish quick and grab food! You wanna eat or not? You Korean or what? Native Jap spy?! I'm an American lapdog, so burgers it is!"
And that goddamn burger joint's dinner event was about to end. Order a set now, get free chicken nuggets! Free nuggets vs. preserving the schoolrat's fragile dignity. No contest.
"Burgers aren't real food! Just bread, veggies, and meat shoved together!"
"Exactly why I'm an American stooge! To me, that's dinner!"
I jabbed his forehead with my fingertip, forcing him back down, then crammed his uniform, undies, and socks into the quick dryer.
"Save your bitching. Life's unpredictable—who knows when it'll spin out. Eat when you can, rest when you can. Think those sayings are bullshit? Life's an endless marathon with no finish line."
"So cringey. Stole that from a movie?"
"Who cares? Fictional heroes ain't coming for royalties. If it blows up later, just say it was an homage."
Once the dryer dinged, I chucked his clothes at his face and pointed to the changing room.
"Quit yapping and swap back into that evil schoolgirl corset men exploit for sex commodification. Women's rights and all."
"...Tacky."
Said that, but he scurried off anyway. Deep down, he preferred the uniform over tracksuits.
Waiting out front, the freshly changed schoolrat poked my side—the spot where the knife had been pulled out.
"Doesn't that hurt? Was gonna drag you to the hospital if you cried like a baby."
I bashed his head instead of answering.
"Does that hurt?"
"Hell yeah!"
"But I ain't taking you to the hospital even if you whine. So cut the crap and let's get burgers."
"......"
Clear as day he was scheming to avoid going home. But people need a proper home to live like humans. Gotta form society for that.
We ducked into a nearby burger franchise. The savory, comforting aroma hit us like a wave.
I punched in my order and his on the kiosk, then stuck out my hand.
"...What?"
"Cash only for me. Spent it all on your clothes. Hand over your card."
"Un-fucking-believable."
Grumbling, he pulled out the card he'd hidden from his foster mom. Stealing from foster dad's safe? Dad'd just cancel it. Smart fake-out with mom's card. Even criminals hadn't swiped that. Clever for a schoolrat.
Orders done, we headed upstairs to a corner window seat. I preemptively revoked his jaw's 10-minute free-use pass—he was already revving up for complaints and bullshit. Even a bottom-feeder like me had limits on kid-whining during meals.
Luckily, he was starving. Devoured his food the second I brought it.
"You sure inhale burgers."
"...*Munch munch.*"
I dumped fries on the sanitary paper liner, pooled ketchup on one side. Chicken nuggets and sweet chili sauce ready—a feast fit for a king. Finally unpacked my burger and chomped a massive bite from the salt-sugar-fat bomb section.
Unlike that 10,000-won morning toast, this was pure working-class comfort. Yeah, this hits.
Stuffing my face with mystery-meat patties like a soldier in battle, I noticed the piglet eyeing my fries—too late, she'd already struck.
"You starve yourself?"
"I can eat tons without gaining weight. That's why I gotta chow down normally, but those bastards controlled my diet at home. Been dying till now."
"Then pig out. Ain't my money anyway."
"Damn right."
Like she'd beefed with potatoes and chicken in a past life, the schoolrat demolished two portions of fries and nuggets, then patted her flat belly triumphantly. Hire her for mukbang? Uncle fans'd scrape their accounts dry for donos.
"Still hungry—another round? That one probably didn't fill you either."
"Dunno. Never been full enough to tell."
I chewed the last burger chunk, crumpled the wrapper into a ball, and trash-shot it into the recycler.
"Never got what 'full' even means. Some folks say watching others eat fills them up. Never felt it—makes no sense to me."
Bouncing between relatives, skipped meals were routine. No one ever cooked for me with care. Friends' parents tossed pity scraps sometimes, but it was just spare change to a beggar—not heartfelt.
Hell, I could stuff myself till my guts burst. But no urge. Hunger's so familiar I know mealtime by it; fullness is alien, so I miss the stop signal.
Forcing fake satiety now? Pointless. Just wastes food and cash.
"So I ignore the unnecessary. Done eating? Let's hit your place."
"Why end sentences like you're mid-shit?"
"No fancy uni for me. Schools I went to never taught proper speech."
I glared at the store lights starting to flicker, then stood. Promised staff I'd be back by tonight—gotta keep my word as boss. Demon to exorcise, after all.
Heh.