The Prettiest When She Smiles
There was a way to win.
That was exactly why I had deliberately chosen a place drowning in water, where Aquamarine could unleash the greatest power she had. I had to beat her on what she could honestly call her home ground—Hangang Park—if I wanted to finally break that arrogant bitch's pride.
"That's all. My challenge is over."
I stood up without a shred of hesitation.
"Wait, please do an interview before you go!"
Yang Jongcheol, was it? The news director came rushing out and caught hold of me. I turned on him with a look that had gone ice-cold, and he flinched, letting go of my collar.
"No. I've said everything I needed to say. Give me back my USB."
It was a 128-gig high-capacity drive. That thing had been expensive.
"Even so, if you could just give us an interview..."
"Can't be bothered. I have to go feed the kids."
"Is that so... Well, I suppose it can't be helped. Ah, there is one proposal I'd like to offer you, though."
In the taxi heading home, I sank into thought.
Given Aquamarine's personality, she wouldn't kick a declaration of war like this to the curb. Her accepting it was a given. What remained now was the real problem: how to bring her down even more humiliatingly.
"We've arrived."
"Thank you."
The moment I stepped out of the taxi, a rich, toasty smell came riding in on the wind. That greasy, savory smell...
Hmm.
As if spellbound, I started walking toward the first floor of the building across the street.
A little bell chimed over the door.
"Hello—can I get this to go?"
A wave of heat rolled over me the instant I stepped inside. The weather was chilly, sure—but they were already running the heat this hard? Not that it was any of my business.
"Of course you can get it to go~!"
I scanned the menu. Let's see. Kabe, Bedel, Dusick, Sohee, Chilho, and the Mains. Plus me... if two people shared one between them...
"Twelve chickens. Spicy, seasoned, original fried, and soy sauce—mix them up evenly. How long will that take?"
Chicken. Life was all the same when you got down to it—meat here, meat there. When you were tired and worn out, you went where the meat was.
"Oh my, it'll be ready in no time! Though with that many birds it'll take a fair while—shall we deliver it to you?!"
You just said it'd be ready in no time, and now it was going to take a fair while. Make up your mind...
The owner looked busy frying chicken in the back, so the woman who came out to the counter—his wife, or perhaps the co-owner—greeted me instead. Well, twelve chickens was basically a whole day's business, wasn't it? No wonder she looked happy to see me.
I considered asking for delivery, then thought better of it. Chicken was best when you carried it in yourself. I wasn't sure I could manage twelve birds on my own, but I could always call Dusick or Sohee. With that, I shook my head.
"No, I'll wait."
It was a brand I'd never seen before. Not a franchise—probably just some neighborhood shop that had cooked up a name of its own. The place was tiny, with only two small tables in the dining area. I walked over to one of them and pulled out a chair.
"Oh..."
I knew chicken shops didn't usually bother much with the dining room, since almost nobody ate in. But this, I hadn't expected.
"Bab, bab, baaa."
A baby who looked like she might have just had her first birthday—or maybe not quite—was lying in a little seat tucked into the corner of a chair. I'd thought the heating was excessive. Turns out there was a reason for it.
And wow. This baby was really beautiful. Lying there all alone, not even crying, just staring up at me with pitch-black eyes.
"Oh, that's our daughter. We're both working the shop, so there's no one to watch her. It's a bit embarrassing."
"Embarrassing? How many months is she? She's absolutely adorable."
There was nothing embarrassing about raising a baby right there in the middle of the life her parents were working so hard to build. And the baby really was adorable. Cute enough that I wanted to pick her up right that second.
"She's seven months now."
"A little past her hundredth day, then."
Well. More than a little, actually.
I picked up the rattle sitting beside the baby seat. Surely they wouldn't mind if I just touched it this much.
Rattle, rattle.
"Kyahaha, baaabuuu...!"
It was just a rattle, but she burst into laughter like it was the best thing in the world. Her tiny fern-shoot hands kept reaching and grabbing for it, so I set it in her grip.
"Baabuu, babub!"
"Hey now. No-no. Don't put that in your mouth."
Like most babies, the second something landed in her hands she tried to stuff it in her mouth. I gently stopped her from gumming the rattle.
"You can hold her if you'd like~"
"She doesn't seem shy around strangers."
"She runs into so many people here, after all."
Even so, I wouldn't have thought you'd just let a stranger pick up your precious baby... But more than that thought, I wanted to hold this child so badly it surprised me. Those plump little cheeks. Those chubby arms and legs. The drool trailing from the corner of her mouth, the way she wriggled around so frantically, with no idea what to do with herself.
Before I knew it I was reaching out, unbuckling the belt on the seat, and lifting her into my arms.
A baby's body heat is always a little too high, and the moment that warmth settled against me I felt myself growing warm too. No—it wasn't just a feeling. I was actually getting warmer.
"Bab, baa, oobab!"
"She's at that age where she babbles nonstop. Quite the chatterbox, isn't she?"
"She's so cute."
She really was. So cute, so pretty, that even the tiny helpless wriggling in my arms was so, so pretty.
My chest ached.
The corners of my eyes stung.
Holding this child—growing up wrapped so completely in her parents' love—brought my own childhood rushing back.
The oldest memory I have—reaching all the way back through the years when I was still a man—is the orphanage.
Winters when the government subsidies weren't enough, when they lit a single kerosene heater and every child in the place huddled around it, surviving on one another's body heat. A box of twelve Choco Pies that had found its way in somehow, and more than thirty children watching each other, waiting to see who would dare reach first. Hiding in the bathroom to cry whenever a child got adopted, so sick with envy I couldn't stand it.
Accidentally calling the teacher Mom during class, then bolting from school after getting scolded for playing the orphan. Parent observation days, forcing myself over and over not to look behind me. Graduation ceremonies, grabbing my diploma and getting out of there as fast as I could. A diary where I wrote Mom, Dad, erased them, wrote them again, erased them again, over and over.
Nights the director had been drinking, pulling the blanket over my head and pretending to sleep so our eyes wouldn't meet, terrified he might hit me. Counting down the days until I graduated—until I could walk out of that godforsaken place and into the world.
Memories like those.
"Um, miss?"
"Yes?"
"If you don't mind, here..."
The woman was holding out a few tissues.
"What's this for...?"
"Well. You're crying."
Crying?
Me?
I handed the baby back to her mother and touched the corners of my eyes. It was true. And I'd apparently cried quite a bit—not just damp. Soaked.
God. How embarrassing.
I wiped my face with the tissues she'd given me and pressed hard on my eyelids. I'd heard that kept them from swelling the next day. I hoped it was true.
When I lifted my head, I caught the mirror hanging on the opposite wall. A cold, composed expression. Pupils slit vertically like a reptile's, nothing like an ordinary human's. Crimson irises. And tear tracks running down from those eyes.
"Sorry about that. Is the chicken...?"
"Just finished! Soy sauce, spicy, seasoned, and fried! Three of each!"
"Perfect timing. I'll pay by card."
"Yes, thank you!"
I opened my wallet, started to pull out the company card, then shoved it back and took out my personal one instead. Get a taste of the mom card, you little brats.
I grew up without a mom or a dad. But you kids aren't going to. Not while I'm here. You're not.
Looking at the stacked boxes, this was not an amount I could carry alone. Not that I lacked the strength—my hands were just on the small side, so there was a limit to how many bags I could hold. I could take four...
"Shall we deliver it after all?"
"Ah, no. It's fine. You need to watch the baby."
I pulled out my phone.
I hung up on a thoroughly puzzled Dusick and sat down in a chair to wait for Chilho.
"Your baby is really beautiful. Her mom and dad must love her so much."
"Oh, come now, it's not just our kid. What parent doesn't love their child?"
A laugh slipped out of me. Yeah. What parent doesn't love their child?
Kabe's face rose unbidden in my mind, sobbing her heart out—Mom, I'm sorry I lied and said the curry was delicious when it was so bad—and I couldn't help smiling.
"Babub, buaap. Abub."
I gently let the baby wrap her hand around my finger as she waved toward me. Following instinct, that tiny hand squeezed tight. The feeling was so nice I smiled too.
The bell over the door chimed.
"You here?"
"Hey, Noona. I heard you called for me, so I came."
He got here fast. Chilho came through the door in fairly light clothes. He already had a long, slender build and was on the tall side, so even a black tracksuit with nothing but a white puffer vest over it looked good on him.
"Yeah. You got here quick."
"Flew right over 'cause I missed you, Noona."
No matter when I saw him, this kid always knew exactly what to say. How was it that every last one of my kids had turned out this sweet? It was almost uncanny.
"Grab those. I'll take four, so you take the rest."
"Whoa, you bought a ton, Noona."
Being a guy, his hands were big enough that he scooped up eight chickens without the slightest trouble—four in each hand.
"We'll come again."
"Thank you~!"
Just before the chicken shop door closed behind us, Chilho looked at me, then set the bags down on the ground.
"Noona, give me a second."
He left me standing alone under the white glare of the streetlight, ducked back into the shop, and came out again a moment later.
"What? Did you forget something?"
Had there been something to forget?
"No, it wasn't that."
Chilho's hand came to rest against my cheek. Taller than me, he stood there looking down, his palm still against my face.
"What are you doing?"
"Pardon me."
A tissue brushed across my skin. Ah. The tear tracks had still been there...?
"Noona, were you crying?"
No point lying about it. I nodded, slowly.
"I just wiped the marks off. Can't have tear stains on Noona's face."
"Why not?"
"Well, that's obvious, isn't it?"
He looked down at me. His hand was still on my cheek. And then Chilho smiled.