Exco and the Runaway Truck
I left the optician’s shop and boarded the subway home.
Bracing myself against the shifting weight of the moving train, I replayed the conversations I’d had with the optician about the major brand companies. My fingers were already flying across my smartphone screen, hunting down related articles and blog posts.
At the same time I kept glancing at the letters and numbers posted throughout the car. Even without glasses, everything looked sharper than before. I was juggling four or more tasks at once and never once felt blocked.
People always said that once a man fixated on one thing, he became blind and deaf to everything else. Apparently that rule no longer applied to me.
I filtered the glasses manufacturers down to the publicly listed ones, compared them again, and began digging hard into the single company that had survived every cut. Web surfing alone made a proper evaluation difficult, yet somehow I never missed even the tiniest clue; the analysis simply flowed.
The firm that had caught my eye was a Korean company that owned a global eyewear brand: Exco. Besides ordinary glasses they developed and distributed contact lenses and AR glasses. Lately there had been talk that they were collaborating with a tech firm on smart glasses.
It was next-generation eyewear that grafted AI and IoT technology onto the frame—an attempt to seize the future market. I even wondered whether they might simply absorb the tech partner through a merger. The stock price looked heavily undervalued, and I could already see at least two technical breakout points.
Smart glasses that went beyond ordinary spectacles and incorporated augmented-reality tech were drawing serious attention these days, so the company was generating real anticipation. Most people weren’t watching, but when I examined the financial statements—sales, operating profit, net income—the numbers looked solid even after factoring in the considerable debt. Assets were rising, liabilities were falling. At a certain point, when the PER dropped and the ROE climbed, the whole thing would explode.
Not bad.
I switched off the phone and gave a silent nod. I’d watch it a few more days. If it still looked good, I’d put some spare cash in—nothing reckless.
With my head working this well, the entire world looked different. At the same time, this new version of myself felt a little frightening. Should I go back to the hospital, or simply accept the change? Something to think about later. Since the first day after the hospital visit I hadn’t had another headache, so for now I decided to keep observing. No point rushing in when nothing hurt.
I got off the subway and turned into the alley. The surroundings were already growing dark; the days were getting shorter as winter approached. As I entered the narrow lane that led to my one-room building, I saw a group of students holding the far end like a checkpoint. Cigarette smoke hung thick in the air; trash and spit littered the ground. The most eye-catching figure among them was, of course, the yellow-haired kid.
Persistent little bastard.
What kind of grudge did he have against me to keep coming back like this? I stepped forward without hesitation. At the same time the various combat sports I’d watched before falling asleep last night rose in my mind. It felt as if dozens of videos were playing simultaneously inside my head. Just by watching I understood every movement; I was certain I could do them myself. And now convenient sparring partners had appeared. Suddenly the yellow-haired kid almost seemed welcome.
“Hey—don’t come any closer! Stay right there!”
“Weren’t you waiting for me?” I asked, staring straight at him.
“J-just wait a second!”
“What are you mumbling about?”
When I walked toward them with complete confidence, the yellow-haired kid shuffled backward and shouted. His friends looked rattled too; their eyes flicked somewhere else. I followed their gaze and saw a young man who had been leaning against the wall smoking. He pushed off, flicked the cigarette butt away, and stepped forward. Solid build, tall, wearing a tracksuit—they’d brought a fighter.
“Hyung-nim. That’s the guy.”
The blue-haired brat was already bowing and scraping. Tsk. Playing gangster already at that age. Wasn’t this story a little too cliché? Even modern academy dramas didn’t use plots this tired anymore.
“What, just another commuting zombie?”
Commuting zombie? That was actually kind of fresh.
The buzz-cut in the tracksuit rolled his neck lightly and stepped up. What had he trained in—boxing, judo, kickboxing, MMA? The way he raised both hands and started bouncing on his feet told me it wasn’t judo. Finally, time to put the combat sports I’d only seen on video into practice. I watched his movement carefully.
“Ha! Scared stiff already.”
I was standing still because he looked like a monkey, that was all.
“Get on your knees and beg right now. I’ll let you off.”
You’re the ones who should be begging for forgiveness.
“Oh? Not begging? Look at that pride!”
Why wasn’t he attacking? At this rate the sun would come up. Fine—I’d provoke him first.
“You fight with your mouth? What are you, a trash-talker?”
A vein jumped on his forehead at my taunt. His clenched fists tensed; his pupils flicked reflexively to the left.
“What? You little shit! I was gonna go easy on you!”
At last he bounced in fast and threw a punch—a light left jab, then a twisting right cross that used his hips and shoulders. Exactly as expected. I simply dipped my waist and let the fist sail past. Boxing, then. He was fast and strong—no surprise, since the yellow-haired kid had called him in—but to my eyes every motion looked like slow motion. I slipped every continuing punch by the narrowest margin, taking the smallest possible steps while rotating my upper body left, right, down, back, freely toying with him. Everything I’d seen on video worked in real life.
This is actually fun.
“You bastard!”
When I kept slipping away as if mocking him, he got excited and started swinging big. As his power drained and his movements grew larger, more openings appeared. Time to use what I’d learned from the videos properly. I dropped my hips just enough to slip a hook aimed at my chin, then rose again and drove my left fist up into his jaw.
Crack!
“Gah!”
I hadn’t hit him hard at all, yet he lifted slightly off the ground and toppled backward, limp. Clean hit.
“Huk! Taehwan hyung!”
“Ugh…”
Yellow Hair and the others rushed to the fallen man and tried to haul him up, but his legs had already given out; he couldn’t support his own weight.
“Hyung, you okay?”
“Ahh…”
Meanwhile I looked down at my own fist with mild curiosity. That solid, heavy sensation when it connected with his jaw—there was a real rush to it. So this was why people trained combat sports?
Hmm… I want to do more of this.
Maybe I should find a gym. First, though, I needed to clean up here.
When I walked slowly toward them, Yellow Hair and the students’ faces went paper-white. I looked down at the kids and pointed at the cigarette butts scattered everywhere.
“Butts and trash. You gonna pick them up nicely, or after I hit you?”
“Y-yes, sir! We’ll just pick them up!”
They scrambled to gather every piece of litter and every cigarette butt in the alley.
“Yellow Hair. Front and center.”
“Y-yes! Yes!”
He shot over to me while still clutching a butt. I slung an arm around his shoulders.
“Live clean, okay? If you’re a minor, act like one. Learn everything you can. Got it?”
“Y-yes, sir! Understood!”
He stood ramrod straight as he answered.
“Come clean this alley once or twice a week. These kids smoke way too much. And look—I won’t lecture you about smoking itself, but clean up after yourselves.”
“Y-yes… okay…”
“Good. Get to work.”
I patted his shoulder and headed home. Before bed I really needed to dig up more combat sports videos.
The next morning the same routine began again without fail. I woke at the same time, rode the subway at the same time, and arrived at the company headquarters at the same time. From that point on, however, things started to change.
While I was walking toward the main gate, a luxury sedan rolled in. Of course I knew who was inside: Choi Kangho, president and CEO of LK Telecom, the LK Group affiliate. He was nicknamed “Choi Tiger”—charismatic, decisive, the kind of man who cut straight through everything. Seeing him arrive wasn’t unusual.
But my instincts flared hard. Something was about to happen.
Vroooom— Vrooooom—
A ferocious engine roar. My eyes snapped toward the road beyond the gate. The engine noise grew closer, mixed with the screech of brakes slammed in panic. I broke into a full sprint toward the entrance. A vague, absolute certainty that something was about to crash down filled my head.
Right then—
Boom!
A one-ton truck that had been racing down the middle of the road suddenly lost control, mounted the median flower bed, and charged straight at the main gate of the LK building. President Choi Kangho had just stepped out of his car and was walking toward the entrance when the impact made him turn. He saw the truck hurtling toward him.
Screeeech—
The driver wrenched the wheel and stomped the brakes, but the truck was already at speed. It lost its center of gravity and toppled onto its side. The cargo it carried spilled out in a roaring cascade. Choi Kangho could only freeze, staring at the avalanche of freight about to bury him.
I poured every ounce of strength into my legs and sprinted. Time seemed to freeze into slow motion while I alone shot forward at full speed. The instant time snapped back to normal—
“Get clear!”
Thud!
“Wha—!”
In my haste I shoved President Choi hard to the outside, then launched myself into a desperate jump to clear the falling cargo. There was simply too much of it. My lower body was pinned beneath the freight.
Crash! Boom! Thud-thud!
“Kh—!”
Dust and smoke billowed. Wooden crates burst open and layers of clothing spilled everywhere. In a single moment the front of the headquarters had become pure chaos. Through my blurring vision I caught a glimpse of Choi Kangho, who had safely escaped the cargo.
Did I… succeed…? He was so far away…
Then my vision went black and memory cut out.
Seoul LK General Hospital. Eighth-floor VIP ward.
“It’s nothing short of a miracle. An accident that should have crushed both legs, yet all you have are incomplete fractures of both fibulas and a few bruises. Nothing else.”
“Ah… is that so.”
Crushed? What kind of doctor casually said that to a patient? Still—cargo that heavy had only cracked a couple of bones. Then again, I could already feel that my body was no longer the same as before.
“You were lucky. If the crates had been filled with something other than clothes, it could have been far worse. Looks like heaven rewarded a good deed.”
“Ah, yes. That’s fortunate.”
I gave an awkward smile and a small nod. A doctor who believed in God—now that was something.