The Diary in the Attic of His Heart

It must have been a suggestion neither of them had considered even remotely, because both of their mouths fell open at the same time.

"You—right now…."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

It was Lee Seul-myeong who spoke first.

"Ha!"

She burst into a hollow laugh and pressed a hand to her forehead.

"Stay out of your lives? That's what you have to say to the parents who raised you for decades?"

"Granted, that's the kind of thing an unfilial son would say. I have no intention of denying it. But I've done enough filial duty to last a lifetime, so please take that into consideration. From now on, I'm going to live for myself."

"You've been dutiful? With what? What have you ever done? Do you even have a conscience?"

"Now, dear."

It was Yoo Tae-ho who reined her in as she grew more worked up with every word.

He stepped in for his wife, his face utterly expressionless, and said, "Live for yourself…. Yes, I think I understand what you're trying to say. But have you forgotten who gave you that life?"

Then Yoo Tae-ho rattled off every line I'd predicted, one after another. If it weren't for us, you wouldn't even exist in this position. The world won't bow to you, you know. Without us, you're nothing. You were always like this. You acted foolish and selfish, got burned by the world, and came crawling back to our arms. And every time, we took you in. And so on and so forth.

My ears are going to rot off.

When was this lecture going to end? But wow, an actor really is an actor. Even in the middle of all this, his enunciation was phenomenal.

Only after a long stretch of drifting off into my own head did the endless stream of venom finally begin to wind down.

"Legally you're an adult, so we have nothing more to say. Do as you please. Go live your life. But remember this: we did our very best for you. No parents on earth have ever given their child what we gave you."

"Actually, I read an article recently."

My words, dropped abruptly into the room, made the woman's brow crease.

Whether she frowned or not, I recited the rest the way an actor delivers a monologue, letting the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rhythm carry it.

"It was about narcissistic parents. And while I was reading it, I thought, 'wait a second.' Then I kept reading, and it hit me—'Oh! This is about MY parents!' You know how it is?"

"……."

"It was strange that I hadn't realized sooner. It read like a chronicle of our own household. So, please, both of you, listen too. See how much of it actually applies to you—and how much of it doesn't."

I hammed it up with theatrical gestures, like an actor playing to a full house.

Then I poured out the passage I'd memorized in advance without taking a breath.

"First! They emotionally isolate and ignore their children from childhood! Second! They credit their children's successes to themselves! Third! They manipulate their children by provoking guilt! Fourth! They actively sabotage their children's independence—and once independence is finally achieved, they either torment them or—"

"Enough!"

The one who cut me off was Lee Seul-myeong.

Trembling from head to toe, she screamed like a bolt of lightning had struck the floor between us.

"You've thought of us this way all along? After everything we've given you, how DARE you say such things?!"

"Oh? That's a textbook maneuver from the narcissistic-parent playbook, by the way."

"YOO SEUL-HO!!!"

A scream like something tearing clean down the middle shook the whole house.

This time, Yoo Tae-ho didn't intervene.

I just smiled and gave a shrug.

"I'm not asking you to reflect on any of this. I know you won't. And regret? Naturally, that's out of the question too."

"What on earth is wrong with your mouth today? Have you lost your mind?"

"Then what about you, Mother? Why do you get to talk to your son that way?"

"……Who are you?"

Both of Lee Seul-myeong's eyes wavered with open confusion.

Right up until this moment, she had been playing the part of 'shocked parents confronting their son's lunacy' to perfection. But in this instant alone, she stared at me not as a son, but at something altogether unfamiliar.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I raised you for twenty-five years, but… the number of times you've called me Mom could be counted on one hand. The last was before you started elementary school. And after that, you never once called me that—even by accident. So why, all of a sudden…."

"Mom or Mother—does it really matter which one I use right now?"

"Disrespect toward one's parents is always a serious matter. Is that how I raised you?"

Ha.

I felt a creeping frustration dealing with someone who simply could not follow a single thread of logic.

I choked down the reflexive scowl and forced myself to respond.

"You missed the entire point of what I just said? I'm telling you I've been hurt—by the two of you—all this time."

"I've been hurt by you, too! We suffered because of you as well!"

Unbelievable.

This is a total dead end. Nothing is getting through.

Ah, exhausting. In that instant, the whole situation turned viscerally, unbearably tedious.

I'd been in this house for less than an hour and I already felt like this—how on earth had Yoo Seul-ho endured twenty-five years of it?

Yeah. I'm out. I give up.

I had debated whether I should fight on Yoo Seul-ho's behalf, even a little—push back, negotiate, try to find some middle ground—but it had clearly been a waste of time.

Parents who had killed their own son were not worth engaging with.

"I truly can't understand it. How could we possibly have raised you to say such things to us…."

"Oh, roughly like this, I'd say."

So I simply stared at them, as if to say, and what of it?

Once I'd reached my conclusion in my head, there was no longer any need to keep up the act with my expressions.

"You…. You…!!"

Lee Seul-myeong trembled so violently she looked ready to collapse on the spot.

Yoo Tae-ho hastily steadied his wife's body and glared at me as if he were about to beat me to death with his bare hands.

Is he going to swing at me?

No matter how good a physique Yoo Tae-ho had, when it came to a fight, I had the overwhelming advantage.

So it wasn't really a worry—but a thought did cross my mind for a moment.

Did Yoo Tae-ho ever actually hit Yoo Seul-ho?

Granted, the verbal abuse alone up to this point had been abuse by any definition.

But had there been physical abuse too? If so, that would change the calculus somewhat.

Because physical violence leaves traces on a victim's body.

I'm not talking about visible marks like bruises.

Even when nothing shows on the surface, wounds carved deep inside the mind torment their victims without end.

That's exactly why the male lead of Space of You and Me couldn't bring himself to defy his brother, even after growing into a body more than capable of fighting back.

The sheer continuity and relentlessness of violence piled up over the years makes a victim flinch, unconsciously, in front of their abuser—without the victim even realizing it.

I was wearing Yoo Seul-ho's shell, after all, so I'd deliberately tensed my body in case his conditioning still had its hooks in me. But….

"I can't stand the sight of you. Get out of this house."

Yoo Tae-ho took a moment to steady his breathing, then ground the words out through clenched teeth.

"Think whatever you like. If you want to believe we're bad parents, go right ahead and believe it. Nothing you think is going to change the truth."

"Perfect. Since you're not bad parents, you won't be demanding repayment for raising me, then? You're far wealthier than I am, after all."

I swept my gaze around the cavernous interior of the house as I said it. No answer came back.

I held the man's eyes steady as they brimmed, ready to spew curses at any second.

Hm.

I deliberated briefly, then opened my mouth.

"A dog that doesn't recognize its own master is better off not existing. Wouldn't you agree?"

"……."

In that instant, Yoo Tae-ho's pupils shook violently.

I had reproduced, word for word, something I'd once read in the private investigator's report—and his reaction was fiercer than I'd expected.

"From now on, stop sending your agency people and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠your reporters to interfere with me. It'll make life easier for both of you, won't it? That's the only way all three of us get to keep being actors. All three of us… if you follow."

I knew perfectly well the warning wouldn't land.

The only reason I said it anyway was that I wanted to plant something firmly in both of their skulls.

That their meek, obedient son no longer existed.

That the possession they'd always treated as theirs to toy with would never again move according to their will.

"Then, goodbye."

I turned my back at once and walked out of the house.

It had been maddening, talking to a wall—but having said everything I needed to say, I felt lighter for it.

I wanted out of this place as fast as possible, and I was striding briskly toward the front gate when—

'…?'

In a corner of the immaculately maintained yard sat an old doghouse, left to rot.

It must have gone unused for at least ten years, and it was completely empty. What the…?

Did they keep a dog once?

Then why hadn't they thrown it away?

It was a jarring eyesore amid the pristine grounds, but I had no desire to linger over it, so I made my way out quickly.

Yeesh.

Definitely not coming back here. Ever.

The moment I got back to the hotel, I stretched out my arms. Ahhh.

Every muscle in my body aches.

All I'd done was go out for about three hours, yet I felt like I'd been gone for three days.

But I did it.

I was exhausted—yet my mood was remarkably clear.

It was a debt that had to be settled sooner or later.

Warning Yoo ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Seul-ho's parents. And finding that thing.

"Hoo."

I pulled the bundle of notebooks out from inside my jacket, where I'd kept them hidden the entire time.

Truthfully, I hadn't expected this to actually exist.

But now that I'd actually found it, my heart was beating strangely fast.

Thank god you were the kind of guy who kept a diary, Yoo Seul-ho.

That's right. These notebooks, smuggled out of the family home, were Yoo Seul-ho's diaries.

I hadn't had the chance to read them properly back there—everything happened too fast—but one glance was all it took to know exactly what they were.

Nobody keeps a diary these days.

Among men, the practice had all but gone extinct.

And yet I'd been half certain the diaries would exist, for one simple reason: Yoo Seul-ho had no social media presence whatsoever.

Everyone in modern society lives with their true feelings locked away inside.

Then, when they feel like they're about to boil over or lose their minds, they search for ways to let the pressure out.

They call the people around them. They post half-veiled confessions on social media. Things like that.

But Yoo Seul-ho showed no trace of either—no contact list of close friends he called now and then, no secret account lurking anywhere.

Granted, I only have a rough picture of his past from the investigator's report.

Still, I had never once heard the man's real, unguarded heart.

The thought that I was finally about to meet him face to face made me feel almost giddy.

Somebody ought to understand how Yoo Seul-ho felt. Might as well be me.

Every time this kind of sentiment welled up, I wondered if I was getting old.

I knew perfectly well that misplaced sympathy ruins deals—yet there was nothing I could do about it.

"Hoo."

I took a light, steadying breath and opened the first page of the notebook.

As I'd predicted from the moment I saw how desperately and carefully they'd been hidden away where no one could ever read them, the pages were filled with the deepest contents of Yoo Seul-ho's heart.

And the very first sentence to catch my eye was this one.