Puberty and Menopause (2)
“Why are you staring like that?”
“Huh? Oh, just... it’s so unexpected.”
Jin Yeo-rip scratched his head, squinting one eye at Jin Ha-seong’s question. He hadn’t imagined it. That the leader of Cheongeumbang would be waiting for him at a noodle shop in the Outer Market alley. And at this hour of dawn, no less.
It meant he already knew his movements—and had been keeping tabs on him.
Well, if even Han Iggeom knew and plotted an ambush, how could the head of Cheongeumbang not? He had countless underlings at his beck and call.
“Are you just going to stand there gawking all day?”
“Pardon?”
“Come sit.”
Yet his tone and expression remained as cold as ever. Was this really the only way he knew how to talk? Even Lady Yang Sojin, who treated him like a thorn in her side, put on a facade of concern and sweet smiles in public. What would it hurt to show a little warmth?
“What are you doing? I said sit.”
“Sigh, fine.”
As Jin Ha-seong gestured to the seat beside him with his eyes, Jin Yeo-rip dragged his feet over, his face twisted in dissatisfaction. It was burdensome. He could guess why he’d come after yesterday’s events, but calling him to Da Geumgak would’ve been one thing—coming all the way out here to the Outer Market was another.
And because of his presence, the merchants who should’ve been prepping for business since dawn had frozen in place. Not content with prostrating themselves flat, they trembled under the menacing aura of the Bi Hwangdae warriors standing guard to protect their leader.
It was a nuisance all around.
“Y-Young Master, your n-noodles...”
Even Jang Il’s hands shook as he spoke. As if he could serve noodles like that. Look, the strands were falling apart already.
With a sigh, Jin Yeo-rip bowed properly toward Jin Ha-seong.
“Father.”
“Speak.”
“You didn’t come here just to eat noodles, so if you’re here for me, this isn’t the right spot.”
“The spot?”
“Yes. Go to Da Geumgak or Unjeong Pavilion instead.”
“Why bother?”
“Pardon?”
“We’ve already met. Why move again? I’m fine—don’t worry about it.”
Misunderstanding. It wasn’t about him. But judging by his expression, he had no intention of relocating.
“Then at least dismiss the warriors first.”
“Hm?”
“Can’t you see them?”
Jin Yeo-rip scowled and glanced around, prompting Jin Ha-seong to chuckle softly.
“Uncomfortable?”
“Of course it is.”
“It’s routine. And not your concern. The Bi Hwangdae warriors are just doing their jobs.”
...Not that. Who said anything about the warriors?
Well, he’d been born high and lived high his whole life—merchants in the Outer Market probably didn’t even register.
This was why people needed to experience hardship.
“Just head inside.”
“What?”
“If you weren’t here, the Bi Hwangdae wouldn’t be either, and the merchants wouldn’t be stuck prostrating instead of working, right?”
His calm words carried a sharp edge, and Jin Ha-seong stared at him silently. A strange tension hung between them. Im Pilsaeng sidled up to Wang Seok, who stood at a distance, and whispered low.
“Hey, what’s going on? Why’s the gang leader here at this hour?”
“You don’t need to know, bro.”
“You little punk?”
“Hey, watch your mouth. The gang leader’s right there. Use some common sense, will ya?”
“Common sense my ass.”
Im Pilsaeng raised a fist threateningly at Wang Seok. Their hushed murmurs carried clearly despite the distance—thanks to daily practice of the Twelve Flows, which had lately elevated his senses beyond the ordinary.
Bro? Their friendly banter suggested they’d known each other for a while. Made sense—one was the gang leader’s guard, the other had once guarded the former lady of the house.
Unlike those two bickering oblivious fools, Jang Il—caught between the leader and his son—sweated bullets.
What shrimp could wriggle free between warring whales? No, he was worse off than a shrimp. At least a shrimp could try to escape; Jang Il couldn’t.
“Y-Young Master, if it’s because of us, it’s fine. It’s an honor to see the gang leader like this. So please, don’t mind us and j-just talk comfortably.”
Comfortably? If he was really fine, his voice wouldn’t be shaking. Jang Il waved his hands frantically, his face drained white from the father-son staredown, and it irked Jin Yeo-rip for no reason.
Why were they apologizing when they’d done nothing wrong? The one who should apologize was the father who’d shown up unannounced without a word.
“You stay out of it.”
“Y-Young Master...”
Jang Il looked on the verge of tears, but Jin Yeo-rip met Jin Ha-seong’s gaze without flinching. He knew. So Hye had told him repeatedly: there was always a reason for his coldness. His words and actions were always meant to protect him.
But that was that, and what grated still grated.
“Ahem. That’s no way to look at your father after so long.”
Perhaps irked by the glare, Jin Ha-seong cleared his throat, looking displeased. Jin Yeo-rip ignored it.
Filoal son? Pass. That sentiment had faded long ago. If he’d just cut him a small stake and told him to live quietly, maybe he would’ve. But no—they’d treated him like he didn’t exist!
The future? He’d claim it with his own strength now. With his mind set, the thirty-year-old man vanished, replaced by a sulky teenage boy’s emotions spilling straight from his mouth.
No, even a thirty-year-old would feel the same. Try adding a hundred years in front of your dad. Sons were sons, fathers were fathers. Father-son relationships were always awkward and distant by nature.
“Same here, no?”
“What?”
“Forgot already? How you treated your son after fourteen years? Well, you’re busy with work, so maybe it slipped your mind. Or is it because of yesterday?”
“...”
“Not thrilled to see me, but blood’s blood, so you’re worried? Don’t be—I handled it fine on my own.”
Jin Ha-seong let out a chuckle at the sarcasm-laced retort.
“Feisty temperament, huh?”
“What’d you say?”
“What, you wanted me to rush over and check if you were hurt? Or drag those scum in and lop off their heads?”
Jin Ha-seong spoke words he didn’t mean either.
“Everyone praised your guts yesterday, so I figured you had some spine. Tsk tsk.”
His tongue-clicking ignited Jin Yeo-rip’s temper, and he scowled back.
“Who? Who said that? That I have guts?”
“Don’t you?”
“...”
“Then what was cornering Han family’s son and storming the academy?”
“That was—!”
“Deliberately gathering witnesses, making them confess as if plotting your death—what about that?”
“Making them confess? They kept egging Han Iggeom on!”
He couldn’t quite explain gaslighting. They wouldn’t get it.
“Instigation isn’t a crime.”
“What?”
“Think you’re so clever? It was blatant overreach. If the elders hadn’t panicked, you’d have been the one counterattacked.”
“I...”
He knew. It was a nonexistent concept, so he’d drawn out their confessions on purpose. To make them admit guilt themselves. And since he hadn’t acted directly, he could dodge responsibility.
Pressuring the elder council and forcing surrender had relied heavily on coercive tactics and a few elders’ paternal affections toward their dead son.
But still, a “well done” would’ve sufficed.
“You came all this way to scold me? To teach me my actions were wrong?”
“Never said that.”
“Then what was that just now?”
“Don’t repeat the mistake. Your enemies aren’t pushovers.”
“Oh, really?”
Unable to stomach the endless nitpicking and lectures, Jin Yeo-rip shot to his feet.
“Why stand? They say you lounge here for hours.”
“I’d choke if I ate noodles now.”
“Tsk tsk, so petty. Hurt feelings after a few words?”
The tongue-clicking grated. Couldn’t he tell it was about himself? But that was his secret. In the end, blood tied them inescapably...
Was it right for such a father to show up after his son nearly died and just chew him out? Of course it stung.
Heart Sutra of Prajna? He didn’t even want to memorize that crap. Damn it—past life or this one, why was his father luck so rotten? What made this different from being orphaned?
A father in name only. That’s why the words bypassed his brain and blurted out.
“Yes! I’m hurt. I’m in puberty, so even a breeze makes me sway like a reed all over the place.”
“...”
“You know? How teenage boys are? Stormy period, right? Hate parents meddling most. Lately, I snap at anything. Thoughts flip-flop too.”
“Pfft!”
Jin Ha-seong, who’d stared through the nonstop griping, burst out laughing.
Ah, mortifying. All he could come up with... puberty this, puberty that.
His face burned red under Jin Ha-seong’s laughter.
“Hm. Looks like Young Master’s got a lot pent up.”
“Wouldn’t you? Craving affection. No parental love, long years at Shaolin, and back to coldness from his father.”
“Makes sense.”
“Gang leader’s too much.”
“Yeah... I admit it.”
Im Pilsaeng and Wang Seok’s sympathetic mutters carried from afar, as if they read his mind.
Those jerks... laughing? Say it via transmission, then. Hah, he’d acted like a real sulky teen, age be damned.
“Fine, since you care about them, I’ll do as you wish.”
Jin Ha-seong waved off his laughter, and Im Pilsaeng and Wang Seok withdrew the Bi Hwangdae.
“You too, bro.”
“Yeah, gotta.”
Jin Ha-seong then turned a stern gaze on the still-prostrated merchants.
“All of you, rise and get back to work. Ignore us.”
Despite his words, they peeked cautiously, hesitating.
“That’s an order.”
“Yes!”
An order—who could defy it? They rose at last, but moved so silently business prep wouldn’t go smoothly. They’d heard everything, no doubt. Even more embarrassing.
“See? I shouldn’t be here. Enjoy your noodles. I’ll head out first—gotta finish training before academy.”
“Sit.”
“No thanks. Puberty’s got me contrarian. Telling me to sit makes me want to stand more.”
As Jin Yeo-rip sulked on, Jin Ha-seong watched a moment before speaking in a heavy tone after a long pause.
“I’m in menopause.”
“Pardon?”
Jin Yeo-rip blinked in bewilderment, catching his father’s lips twitching.
Ah, trolling him. Because of the puberty bit. This jerk! Wanna commit filial impiety today? Fire-attribute good son? Nah, just straight fire-attribute.