Don't Lie
“Welcome.”
This was the first time I’d ever come to the convenience store during the day.
That made sense, though. Every other time I’d come, it had been the dead of night.
Those quiet hours when the crickets would chirp until I got close and then fall silent—when I went to the store then, I never heard a cheerful greeting like this.
Just a male part-timer who looked like he couldn’t care less about anything, manning the register.
I remembered him watching a muted League of Champions broadcast, ringing me up whenever I brought something over.
When I asked if they had a box of the small cup ramen, he’d first said no in the most put-upon tone imaginable.
Whether it was my eyes or my leg that made him change his mind, I never knew.
Then, grumbling, he’d said he’d ask the manager to order some and told me to come back in three days.
I’d ended up owing him twice like that.
A box of the small cup ramen held twenty-four cups.
I’d finished one box over the course of a month and was halfway through the second when the first one started running low.
Even while living with the constant thought that I should just die someday, I’d still gone to the convenience store to keep myself alive a little longer.
When I asked if he could order another box, the part-timer had handed one over right away. I still remembered that.
I knew it was kindness born from seeing my disability.
Maybe pity. Or maybe just a little extra consideration.
Whatever the reason, that was why it stuck with me.
So the cheerful voice of a female part-timer greeting me felt completely foreign.
At night there had always been that surly guy who somehow still looked out for me in his own way.
“Ah… hello…”
She’d greeted me first. I couldn’t just ignore that.
I mumbled a greeting back, awkward and stiff, then headed for the refrigerators at the back of the store.
Finding the alcohol wasn’t hard.
Everything—beer, soju, the works—was clustered on one side of the fridges.
The real problem was that I had no idea what kind of alcohol I should buy.
It wasn’t my first time drinking.
The day the college entrance exam ended, my father—who had still been kind to me back then—had taught me how to drink.
On the college orientation trip I’d followed those lessons and stayed sober while putting away a lot of alcohol.
If I had to measure my tolerance, I was probably stronger than most people my age.
But all I knew was how to drink whatever was handed to me.
If someone asked what kind of alcohol I liked, I wouldn’t have had an answer.
I hadn’t come here because I enjoyed the taste. I’d come to get drunk.
So I jammed one crutch under my armpit and pulled my phone out of my hoodie pocket.
Luckily, I had viewers.
If I didn’t know something, I could just ask them.
“I’m at a convenience store. What’s a drink that’s not too bitter, doesn’t reek of alcohol too much? Bonus points if it’s high proof for the price.”
The chat was actually giving me solid information.
Good thing I’d left the stream on.
There was some dumb trolling at the end, but I wasn’t about to fall for the kind of bait you saw all over internet communities.
“The camera lens and the glass are at completely different angles. There’s no way my face would show. And if anyone actually saw my face, the first reaction wouldn’t be that—it’d be ‘gross’ or ‘creepy.’”
“Right? That’s exactly why not showing my face is better for all of you too. Anyway… vodka, then?”
What I’d wanted was something small in volume but high in calories. That was vodka.
Higher alcohol content meant higher calories, basically.
From what the viewers said, the raw price was a bit steep, but if it was cheap for the proof, I was willing to buy it.
I still hadn’t touched the money I’d gotten for medical bills—it felt too dirty—but the settlement money was fair game to spend a little of.
Except there was no vodka in the refrigerators.
Beer, fruit liquors, soju, even little bottles of wine… but no vodka.
Maybe that was something you had to go to an actual supermarket for.
“Looking for something?”
Maybe I’d been standing in front of the fridge too long.
The female part-timer from the counter appeared behind me.
I flinched without meaning to.
The body that had been balancing on one crutch and one foot lost its equilibrium in an instant.
“Whoa—are you okay?”
Thankfully she caught me, so I didn’t end up sprawled on the floor.
In a store this narrow, if I’d gone down and hit a display, something would have gotten torn open for sure.
“…Thank you. Um, I’m just looking for something called vodka.”
“Vodka? That’s alcohol. Sorry, but could I check your ID real quick?”
“Ah, sure. Is a mobile ID okay?”
“Of course.”
I minimized the stream window and opened the mobile ID app.
The stream itself kept running in the background.
The viewers would understand why I couldn’t talk to them for a moment.
Before I closed the browser, there had been a few comments about how cute or pretty someone was.
Those were definitely about the part-timer.
…If they’d actually seen my face, the comments would have been “gross” or “creepy.”
Maybe the part-timer was pretty enough to drown that out.
I still found it hard to look people in the face, but I knew convenience stores, cafés, and PC bangs preferred female part-timers for the morning and afternoon shifts.
Pretty faces brought in customers, after all.
Or maybe they were deliberately holding back the mean comments out of consideration for me.
Either way it was kind of them, but later when I talked to the chat again I’d have to ask them not to discuss anyone’s face.
It had only shown by accident.
“Here.”
“Ah… okay. You’re of age. Vodka’s on this shelf over here. We keep it at room temperature.”
“Ah.”
And then I understood why the viewers had recommended vodka.
The prices jumped around a bit, but the proof sat around forty percent across the board.
I didn’t go around memorizing alcohol percentages, but I knew soju didn’t even hit twenty.
Beer was something like four.
Compared to those, this was ridiculously strong stuff.
So I picked the cheapest bottle that still gave decent volume.
Seven hundred milliliters. Clear, thick glass.
Less than ten thousand won.
“I’ll take this one.”
“Nine thousand won. Want a bag?”
“Uh… yes. Wait, no. I think I’m fine without one.”
In the span of a second I changed my mind.
At first I’d thought carrying it around in broad daylight would look weird, so a bag seemed necessary.
Then I realized I could just stick it in my pocket.
“Thank you, have a good day!”
“Yeah… take care…”
I finished paying, got another bright goodbye, and only once I was outside the store did I pull my phone back out to warn the chat.
“Guys, no matter how pretty the convenience store part-timer is, you can’t keep talking about it. It only showed because I almost fell—it was an accident. We agreed not to discuss personal info, and that includes other people too.”
Maybe they felt guilty for only calling the part-timer pretty and cute.
Or maybe they thought I was jealous when I told them to stop talking about it.
Either way, the viewers started throwing nothing but flattering lines straight at my face.
Even empty compliments needed to stay within reason if they were going to feel good.
What was supposed to be nice about a face so bad that even my own family called it disgusting?
“Don’t lie. My own father beat me while saying my eyes were creepy, unpleasant, disgusting. There’s no way a face like that looks good to anyone.”
“It’s fine. I’ve heard plenty of people trash my looks before. And honestly, if you play League of Champions, insults barely even register anymore. But talking about personal info is a completely different thing.”
Thankfully the viewers seemed to get what I meant.
That let me head home with a lighter heart.
Now it was time to reheat the cold chicken and eat it with the vodka.
I stuck the chicken in the microwave one more time and went back to my room, planning to have a drink with the chat while I waited.
But there was already an uninvited guest sitting on my bed.
“Oh… Sis…?”
“I was wondering where you went. You went outside? Convenience store?”
“Ah, yeah.”
“But why aren’t you holding anything? Hmm. Are you hiding something from your unnie?”
“….”
I was an adult.
So drinking shouldn’t have been wrong at all.
Somehow I still swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry.