Parabola Episode 5
I am in pain.
The mental illness that erupted after I entered high school had torn everything apart by the roots.
No—by now my memories were so faded I could barely even tell what had changed.
From the time I was little, Mother had raised me alone while working as a housekeeper. Even if I spent my whole life repaying her it would never be enough, yet on top of everything I had fallen ill, and that fact alone seemed to drag me deeper into the mire.
In our penniless household she had run herself ragged trying every possible treatment for me, but nothing improved. The black shadow that crept toward our fragile mother-and-son pair with its jaws wide open was neither dog nor wolf—only credit-card debt.
And in the summer of my second year of high school, Mother left me.
Of course that did not mean she abandoned me.
Quite the opposite, actually.
The daughter of the family she had been working for was going to study in America and needed a live-in nanny. They offered Mother a generous salary to come with them. Unable to cover living expenses and medical bills any other way, she had no choice but to accept.
To protect her own child she had to leave that same child—who paradoxically needed a guardian’s care—and go look after someone else’s. Honestly, I doubted I could ever fully understand how that felt.
Yet after more than two years of that life, even though I knew perfectly well she had left for my sake, there were still moments when resentment welled up at the empty space she had left behind to care for another family’s child.
Whenever those childish thoughts surfaced, I only criticized and berated myself more harshly.
Beep-beep—.
Beep-beep—.
The yellowed, faded alarm clock on the nightstand rang, wiping away the reverie. I pushed myself up from the worn mattress.
In this day and age a bedside alarm clock might seem strange, but I simply did not like smartphones. Because the world already appeared to move slowly, the number of frames per second on a phone or television felt even fewer to me, and the dizziness hit far harder than it did other people.
Every now and then Mother would call through an international calling app; otherwise I barely used the thing.
“Haa…”
I let out a long breath and pulled on my clothes piece by piece.
These days the only real comfort I had left was the street basketball I was about to go play. For reasons I could not explain, the pain receded for a little while whenever I was on the court, and that alone made life feel almost bearable.
Thud—.
“Yeon-woo!”
The moment Son Jin-uk shouted, Yeon-woo stretched out his hand at the perfect instant and snatched the opposing team’s pass clean out of the air. He drove straight to the basket and slammed the ball home without mercy.
Heh… At that level he could probably hold his own even in the pros. Guess overwhelming talent really does exist in this world.
Watching from the sideline, Jeong Cheol-min shook his head in open admiration.
Whistle—!
The final buzzer sounded and everyone collapsed wherever they stood. A few members of the neighboring amateur team they had challenged for the friendly went off to grab water; the rest simply dropped onto the court.
“Whew, that was rough. Cheol-min hyung, where’d you dig this kid up? He’s no joke.”
The opposing captain plopped down beside Jeong Cheol-min and asked with easy familiarity.
Jeong Cheol-min grinned.
“Right? We just ended up playing together somehow, but yeah—he’s the real deal.”
“What was that guy’s name again? The one who used to wear those military-style pants on your team. This kid’s ten times better.”
Jeong Cheol-min nodded. The “military-pants guy” the captain meant was all talk and zero substance, a walking liability they had kept only because filling the roster was hard enough. Ever since the new face named Ryu Yeon-woo appeared, they had never called him again.
“By the way, you guys entering the tournament?”
“Tournament?”
“You haven’t seen it? They posted it on the café yesterday. Amateur basketball tournament co-hosted by the pro association and the Ministry of Culture. Big prize money, and if you do well they even give you a shot at the pros.”
Jin Yu-han, who had been resting behind them, shot to his feet.
“A shot at the pros? Like the rookie draft?”
“Dunno the exact format, but basically if the pro teams spot talent worth scouting, they’ll take them.”
Jin Yu-han immediately strode over to Jeong Cheol-min.
“Hyung! We’re entering!”
“Huh? Fine by me. Basketball’s what we do every day anyway.”
Behind them Son Jin-uk, who had just finished searching on his phone, raised his voice with interest.
“Oh-ho? Just checked the rules—if you make the final four they send you to watch an actual NBA game in person. Madison Square Garden! New York Knicks! That’s insane.”
“Come on, every flying hotshot amateur in the country is gonna show up. Final four won’t be easy.”
Even while finishing a call with his girlfriend, Dong-ha flashed a confident smile.
“Why not? Let’s just charge in. Our form’s been crazy lately.”
He glanced toward the corner where Yeon-woo was quietly catching his breath. Ever since Ryu Yeon-woo joined, the final puzzle piece had clicked into place and the team’s quality had skyrocketed. On top of that, Yeon-woo absorbed basketball at an absurd speed; every time they played it felt like he leveled up every other day.
“Hyung Yeon-woo. You’re coming with us, right?”
At Dong-ha’s question Yeon-woo turned his head with the unnatural stiffness of a robot missing a few screws.
“I-I…”
He began in a clumsy mumble, then shook his head.
“I just w-want to play around the neighborhood. Don’t wanna.”
The delivery was awkward, but the refusal was absolute.
Jin Yu-han’s eyes, which had been sparkling at the mention of pro scouting, instantly flattened into slits.
“What? This great former player has been sacrificing precious time every single day to train you specially, and now you’re freeloading? Repay the favor, you punk.”
Jeong Cheol-min shook his head. The kid clearly wasn’t in a normal state; forcing him would be too much.
“Hey now, everyone has their own circumstances. No pressuring. We’ll just look for other members for the tournament.”
Son Jin-uk smiled at Yeon-woo.
“But you’ll still run practice games with us when we play around the neighborhood like this, right?”
“Yes.”
Yeon-woo nodded slowly. Son Jin-uk gave him a thumbs-up.
“That’s enough. Then at least join our group chat? Calling every time is a pain.”
“I d-don’t really use my phone, so the apps…”
Dong-ha hopped over and snatched Yeon-woo’s ancient smartphone.
“I’ll install it and get you into the chat. Whoa, what year is this model even from?”
He turned the relic over with open curiosity, then installed the messenger.
“Huh? You’ve got an account at least. Just no apps.”
“Probably M-Mom…”
“Ahh, got it. Wow, you’ve got a ton of messages piled up. Lagging like crazy. Okay, you’re in the group chat now—just check this and come out to play.”
Dong-ha handed the phone back. Yeon-woo nodded, glanced at the screen for a second, then shoved it into his pocket as the dizziness hit.
With leaden, exhausted steps Yeon-woo passed through the shared entrance of the multi-family house and climbed the narrow stairs. Once home he washed the sweat and dust from his body, then sat on the mattress with his back against the wall, staring blankly into space.
Outside it must have been raining; raindrops sliding down the window tapped the boiler pipes in a steady rhythm.
It was so humid and hot earlier. Good thing I did the laundry yesterday.
Bzzzt—.
His old smartphone vibrated.
Is Jeong Cheol-min hyung telling us tomorrow’s start time?
Yeon-woo lifted the phone and opened the messenger app.
Yeon-woo nodded at the message. It was raining steadily now, but by eight tomorrow evening the court would probably be dry.
He was about to close the app because of the dizziness when a red circle and a number caught his eye.
The chat listed right below the group.
Fifty-six…?
His heart plummeted straight to his stomach. Whether the urge to vomit came from the screen’s refresh rate or something else entirely, he could no longer tell.
With trembling fingers he opened the messages from his mother.
The moment he finished reading, his head spun. He was sitting perfectly still, yet the ceiling seemed to whirl in circles.
How lonely must Mother have been, unable to speak a single word of English, in that faraway land with no one she knew?
His chest tightened so suddenly he slammed a fist against it.
“Ahh…”
Why am I so cruelly stupid and useless?
All at once he missed his mother so much it hurt. There was nothing he could really do, yet he felt as if he could do anything.
Then, out of nowhere, Son Jin-uk’s voice from earlier that day rang in his ears.
—If you make the final four they send you to watch an actual NBA game in person. Madison Square Garden! New York Knicks!
Yeon-woo shot to his feet. He staggered from the dizziness, but without even putting on socks he jammed his feet into battered Converse sneakers and flung the door open.
He hurried down the narrow stairs of the multi-family house. The sight of him reeling downward stood in stark contrast to the leaden climb he had made only a short while earlier.
After the friendly game, Yeon-woo’s steps on the way home had looked like those of someone who had lost his destination even though he was heading home. Now, though he staggered and looked even more precarious, those same unsteady steps seemed to carry a clear destination.
Beneath the orange streetlights, rain poured in sheets. A thick, damp smell rose from the wet asphalt.
Yeon-woo ran through the rain like a madman. The figure he cut was pitiful, fragile, and endlessly lonely.
Soaked to the bone and looking like a drowned rat, he finally stopped in a residential alley and pounded on a deep-green gate. It was an ordinary old house with a small yard.
Bang bang—!
“Hyung!”
At the racket outside the dark house in the dead of night, Son Jin-uk opened the front door.
“Wh-what? Who is it?”
“It’s Yeon-woo!”
“Huh? Yeon-woo?”
Son Jin-uk slipped on sandals and walked toward the gate in his shorts.
Creak—.
“Aigoo, look at this kid—you’re soaked through. What’s going on in the middle of the night?”
“…I want to enter the tournament.”
“…Huh?”
Yeon-woo shook his head. Then he spoke again.
“No. Please make sure I can compete. I’m going to take first place no matter what.”
Clenching his fists so hard he squeezed out strength he did not have, Ryu Yeon-woo answered. In his eyes, distrust of himself, fear of the challenge, and—overwhelming both—a fierce fighting spirit and longing for his mother all existed at once.
With Yeon-woo’s final line, the Wednesday broadcast of week three came to an end.
And in that same instant, everyone who had still been questioning the protagonist Ryu Yeon-woo’s role and acting ability fell naturally silent.