Saturday (7)
Saturday (7)
Saturday (7)
The place we arrived at was a franchise cafe nearby, 'Starbox'.
Perhaps because it was evening time, the store was crowded with people. We threw our bags down at a corner seat and stood in front of the kiosk.
"Jin-hyeok-ah, what do you want to eat? You can order something expensive. Do you want to eat something like a Frappuccino?" Ga-young asked, pulling out a card.
"Ummm..."
I scanned the menu. Americano, cold brew, espresso... All just bitter bean water.
Honestly, I don't know the taste of coffee. It's just bitter, and when I drink it, my heart pounds. It feels like I'm paying money to drink poison.
In times like this, being honest is the best.
"I'll have a chocolate smoothie."
"Huh? Oh, really?" Ga-young hesitated for a moment, then smiled slyly and pressed the button.
"Alright, then I'll have the same thing too."
Anyway, we finished ordering and returned to our seats.
Through the floor-to-ceiling window, I could see the night streets flashing with neon signs.
'It's been a while since I've been out in the downtown area this late at night.'
Always school, home, exercise. Repeating only this routine made this scenery feel unfamiliar.
Of course, I was originally a homebody who loves being holed up at home, but after coming to this world, it seems like that condition has gotten worse.
'...Or not? Did I just become lazier?'
Ah, forget it. The chicken-or-egg thing doesn't matter.
The important thing is that there's a pathetic excuse... no, a legitimate reason why I don't go out.
—'Hey, look over by the window. That guy... wow, crazy.'
—'Amazing. Look at that physique. Did that girl save the country in her past life?'
It's because of those glances that pierce me just when I'm about to forget, like right now.
Maybe because it's such a crowded place, I kept feeling those sneaky gazes prickling at my back. I don't go out because I hate this tiresome attention. It's definitely not because I'm lazy.
I propped my chin and stared blankly at the vibration buzzer.
Zing- zing-
"I'll get it!" Ga-young quickly stood up and brought the tray.
Two chocolate smoothies piled high with whipped cream like a mountain. A visual that sends blood sugar skyrocketing just by looking at it.
I stuck in a straw and took a long sip.
"......"
Sweet.
A cold, intense sweetness, so strong it made my head ring, flowed down my esophagus. As expected, this is a hundred times better than bitter coffee.
While I was charging up on sugar in a half-dazed state, Ga-young across from me fidgeted with her straw and opened her mouth.
"Wow... but Jin-hyeok, your hands are really big."
"Huh?"
"The cup is a Venti size, but when you hold it, it looks as small as a Short size."
Ga-young kept alternating glances between my hand and the drink cup, murmuring as if amazed.
I looked down at my hand absentmindedly.
"Is that so?"
Without much thought, I spread my palm wide to show.
"Want to compare? See how much difference there is."
"Uh, yeah?"
"Let's try it. I'm curious."
Ga-young hesitated for a moment, then carefully extended a trembling hand.
Palm gently touching palm.
It was an overwhelming size difference, with more than one of my finger joints left over. Ga-young's white hand fit snugly into my palm, to the point of being completely buried.
'Whoa.'
My hands really are big.
Pya.
This is me.
While I was admiring myself internally, a strange sound came from across.
"Hehe... hihi..."
"......"
Ga-young's face was flushed as if about to burst. Her eyes had already lost focus, floating in the air. A screw-loose smile hung on her lips.
'What the. Why did she suddenly lag?'
Did she get overloaded the moment we held hands?
"Ji, Jin-hyeok's hands are really big..."
"Uh, uh... yeah."
I discreetly withdrew my hand. If I kept going, she might actually ascend to heaven.
I waited for Ga-young to calm down, slurping my smoothie with a jjokjjok sound.
After that, we exchanged various trivial chatter.
"Jin-hyeok, what school did you go to? An all-boys school?"
"Yeah. But I originally went to a co-ed school, then somehow transferred to an all-boys school."
"Really? What's an all-boys school like? I went to a co-ed school, but there were almost no boys at my school."
Ga-young's eyes sparkled as she asked. Did she have some fantasy about all-boys schools?
I chewed my straw and answered nonchalantly.
"Well... it's ordinary. If you're late, you climb the fence; during nighttime self-study, you sneak away from the teacher..."
No need to mention that there were crazy guys spinning their dicks like helicopters with their shirts off during break, or the story of breaking a window while playing baseball with a broom.
Even for the sake of a woman's fantasy, those are secrets that should be taken to the grave.
"Interesting. I thought an all-boys high school would be different."
"Well... life's the same everywhere."
Actually, this is a story from the world I used to live in. I don't know what schools in this world are like either.
But what does it matter. It's something I experienced myself, so it's not a lie.
As a brief silence flowed, Ga-young hesitated and opened her mouth.
"Um, but hey..."
She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, then asked as if she had made a big decision.
"Ji, Jin-hyeok-ah. Have you ever had a girlfriend?"
"......"
Is this also within the category of small talk? Or is it a sensitive topic?
I'm not sure, but there's no reason to hide it.
I answered with a tone of not really caring.
"No. Why?"
"Ah, no! Just curious..."
Ga-young let out a small sigh of relief at my answer, then cautiously added while checking my reaction.
"Well... for your information, I don't have one either! A boyfriend."
"......"
"Really, none! I'm a lifelong single! Just... that's how it is."
Ga-young even waved her hands frantically to explain. Anyone would think she got caught cheating.
"Really? That's surprising."
I stirred my smoothie with the straw, and without much thought, casually blurted out.
"I thought you'd be popular since you dress well and are pretty."
Just a passing comment. A polite lie in the context of social life.
But Ga-young's reaction was like a broken radio.
"Pr, pretty...? Me, me...?"
"Yeah."
It was really just out of courtesy.
I briefly affirmed and went back to slurping my smoothie with jjokjjok sounds.
Then, as if waiting for it, I heard murmuring around.
—"Wow... crazy. Did you hear that?"
—"I'm jealous... I want to hear a guy call me pretty too..."
The whispering of the nearby girls brushed past my ears like auditory hallucinations.
'......'
I heard that Hemingway, who won the Nobel Prize in Literature, suffered from delusions that the FBI was watching him in his later years and even developed mental illness. And here I am, going through this since my tender early days in society.
Man, life sure is messed up.
'What the hell is there to be jealous of?'
It's just something I said without any thought.
That was when.
Someone approached our table and cast a shadow.
I looked up to see some unfamiliar woman standing hesitantly, holding her phone.
"Excuse me."
"......"
"Sorry, but could you give me your contact?"
"Huh? Me?"
When I pointed at myself and asked, the woman shyly nodded.
"Yes. You're exactly my type... I want to get close to you."
"Ah, I'm sorry. I refuse."
I cut her off sharply without a second's hesitation.
Giving my number to a stranger. That's completely out of the question.
What kind of world is this nowadays? It's common to have your nose cut off while your eyes are open—an era where personal information is looted like public goods just by breathing.
Voice phishing, smishing, multi-level marketing solicitations, cult proselytizing, illegal gambling site promotional texts... If your number gets leaked once, life becomes a hassle in an instant.
I have no intention of watching my precious smartphone become a trash bin for all kinds of spam messages.
At my firm rejection, the woman bit her lip in apparent embarrassment. But she showed no sign of backing down easily.
As if to secure a second-best option since she couldn't get my number, she hurriedly pulled out a pen and paper from her bag and held them out.
"Th, then... could you at least give me an autograph?"
"......"
What kind of new trick is this?
"No, why would I give an autograph when I won't give my contact? I'm not a celebrity."
"I know! It's just... I want to keep it as a collector's item..."
"I won't."
I frowned and refused again.
What do they intend to do with my autograph? Maybe use it to forge a loan guarantee or sell my name in some black market deal.
Personal information leaks always start from such trivial carelessness.
I glared at the woman with eyes full of suspicion.
"Oh, no! That's... I'm not really a weird person..."
The woman made a pouty face as if wronged by my fierce glare. But soon, as if making up her mind, she clenched her fists and took one step closer.
"Well... I happened to overhear your conversation earlier..."
The woman blushed and brought up the main point with a twisted body gesture.
"If you don't have a girlfriend... how about me...?"
"......"
"I'm really not a suspicious person, and I'm capable too! I earn good money! I'm confident I can protect you well!"
?
What is she talking about.
I stared blankly at the woman.
I tried to interpret this situation rationally somehow.
I thought it must be a new type of multi-level marketing, a cult solicitation, or a new approach by an organ trafficking organization. I wanted to believe that the flushed cheeks were a kind of acting, and the twisted body gestures were some sort of hand signals.
But I had no choice but to acknowledge the reality I had tried so hard to ignore. This was not any kind of marketing tactic or scam, but an utterly baseless confession attack.
No introduction, no buildup, no plausibility even if you scrub your eyes looking for it—a raw, spontaneous lunge. I tried not to think about it, but my brain came to a conclusion on its own.
That aside, what exactly does she mean by protecting me? Protect? Me? Why?
Is there some assassination faction threatening my safety?
Anyway, it's a really out-of-the-blue confession attack... My mom said never to follow strangers.
Even if she's a rich and capable noona.