The Old Leather Diary

Late on a holiday night, buried under a mountain of paperwork, Kim Seong-ho let out a low groan.

"Hnn…"

With that short sound he pressed his left hand to his temple and lifted his head for a moment.

"This headache just won't go away."

As if the pain were nothing more than a daily companion, Seong-ho opened a desk drawer and took out a bottle of pills. The headaches had started years ago like a chronic illness, and the intervals between them seemed to be growing shorter and shorter.

He tipped the painkillers into his mouth and looked back down at the documents. But tonight the medicine refused to work. The headache returned with a vengeance. Seong-ho flung the file folder onto the desk and clutched his head in both hands.

"Did I push myself too hard? Haa… Looking at this in my condition is useless. I'd better get a few hours of sleep and come back to it."

Breathing hard, he muttered to himself. Then, as he rose from his chair to head home, he collapsed where he stood.

Thud.

Dark crimson blood streamed from the nose of the man who had crumpled without strength.

Knock, knock.

At that very moment a knock sounded at Seong-ho's office door, and a young man stepped inside.

"Managing Director, excuse me. The team leader asked me to—"

The man, arms full of documents, froze at the sight of Seong-ho on the floor and cried out in shock.

"Managing Director! Managing Director, stay with me! Managing Director…! First, call 119—"

Panicking, the man yanked out his phone and began frantically dialing.

Jo Byeong-jin and Park Dae-su, Seong-ho's friends, arrived at a quiet hospice hospital in Yongin. Their faces were a tangle of shock, confusion, and rage as they opened the door to the second-floor ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠room and stepped inside.

"Seong-ho!!"

Jo Byeong-jin stared in stunned disbelief at Kim Seong-ho, who sat propped against the head of a bed near the window. Seong-ho, who had been gazing out at the scenery, turned his head with difficulty and forced a smile.

"You got here fast."

"What is this? What the hell happened?"

Byeong-jin looked him over with wide, shocked eyes.

"We saw you three months ago and you were fine… So what is this?!"

Back then Seong-ho had looked gaunt and worn down, but Byeong-jin had assumed it was simply the crushing workload. He had known perfectly well that an insane volume of work sat on Seong-ho's shoulders as if it belonged there. Now, though, the man before him looked like someone who had already been given a date of death—burning down the last of his wick.

Byeong-jin and Dae-su both stared at him, eyes demanding an explanation. Seong-ho looked at his friends and gave a bitter smile.

"The cancer cells have spread through my whole body. There's nothing they can do."

"Cancer?! Wait—you didn't know until it had already metastasized everywhere?"

"I didn't know."

"You must have had checkups, right?"

"When would I have had time for a physical…? You both know. I barely had time to sleep."

Seong-ho's bitter smile finally broke Byeong-jin's restraint. He raised his voice.

"That insane family worked you like a dog until they drove you to this, didn't they? That's it, right? They piled so much work on you that your body fell apart and you never even noticed!"

Byeong-jin looked at Seong-ho with eyes brimming with tears. Listening to them, Park Dae-su could no longer hold back. He seized the collar of Seong-ho's hospital gown in a crushing grip.

"You bastard. What is this? How did you end up like this…?!"

With a hand so thin it barely had strength left, Seong-ho patted the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fist locked around his collar.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for? Huh? What did you do wrong that you need to apologize? The ones who should be apologizing are those Ilhyeon Group bastards!"

Dae-su released him and asked again.

"They really said there's no way…? Surgery? They can't even operate?"

"Surgery… When they first found it, they were going to try. Then they changed their tune. I went to three different places just in case. All of them turned me down."

"So that's why you ended up here? Because of those Ilhyeon Group bastards you couldn't get surgery, and now you're in a hospice—the place people go when they've already been handed their death date?!"

At Byeong-jin's words, Seong-ho gave another bitter smile and nodded. Tears welling, Byeong-jin buried his face against Seong-ho's shoulder.

"You bastard… Didn't I tell you not to? I said that family was wrong for you… A chaebol is one thing, but those people are demons. I told you not to go. What is this, you bastard…"

Still clinging to him, Byeong-jin went on.

"It wasn't like this when Gyeong-eun was alive. The second she died they locked you down so you couldn't move and worked you like a dog until they ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠finally killed you… Why didn't you call me even a little earlier? Why only after it got this bad?"

Watching Byeong-jin shake and cry, Seong-ho gently stroked his friend's shoulder.

"Look at you. You're this torn up—how was I supposed to tell you early? I'm fine."

He spoke to his grieving friends in the most casual voice he could manage.

"If anything, I feel lighter now that it's come to this. So don't be too sad. More importantly—did you bring what I asked for?"

Byeong-jin, who understood exactly what "lighter" meant coming from Seong-ho, let out a deep sigh. Dae-su's face twisted.

"Yeah. Even like this, getting free of the Ilhyeon Group might actually feel like a relief to you."

Byeong-jin nodded, then opened the bag he had brought and took out a diary in a worn leather case. The diary was so stained with use that it had yellowed, and so frayed that its original form was almost impossible to make out. He set it carefully on the bedside table in front of Seong-ho.

"Just like you said—it was in the drawer by the head of your bed. But what is this that you wanted it so badly?"

"My journal."

Byeong-jin and Dae-su both looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"A guy who's been handed his death date wants a journal for what?"

"It's just habit. Thanks."

With effort, Seong-ho thanked them and gently stroked the diary's cover. It was the first gift Lee Gyeong-eun had ever given him after they married. From the day he received it, Seong-ho had written down whatever happened, whenever it happened. Even after Gyeong-eun died he never threw it away; he kept writing in it every single day. By now it was pure habit—something he could not discard even with death staring him in the face.

Park Dae-su, still stationed as a provincial prosecutor, came whenever he could spare the time. Jo Byeong-jin, who worked at the same Ilhyeon Group, came every day starting the next morning. Both of them tried to keep Seong-ho company and give him courage. But watching him grow thinner and more lifeless with every passing day tore at their hearts.

About a week later, for the first time, visitors other than Jo Byeong-jin and Park Dae-su came to Seong-ho's room.

"Hang on a bit. I'm heading home and I'll be right back."

As always, Jo Byeong-jin had come to Seong-ho's room. He gave Seong-ho's hand a light squeeze and left.

"…"

Seong-ho's condition had deteriorated so badly that he could not even manage a simple "take care." Roughly ten minutes after Byeong-jin left, two men in black suits entered the room.

"This the place?"

The first man through the door checked the figure lying in the bed, then nodded with a smile.

"Yeah. This is it."

The man who followed kept glancing nervously toward the door and urged him on.

"Just hurry up and let's go. If we take too long, someone might walk in."

"Relax. Managing Director Kim's friend, that Jo guy—his house is in Eunpyeong-gu. Going home and coming back will take a solid three or four hours at least. And that prosecutor, Park Dae-su, won't show up on a weekday. Besides, the hospital doesn't care much about a man who's already been given his death date."

"Still, if anyone happens to come into the room…"

"Ah, for God's sake. I said it's fine."

The first man glared at his companion until the other man shut up and looked away. Smirking at the reaction, he walked over to the bed where Seong-ho lay.

"Oh, Managing Director. Why go and call your friends over and make so many people tired?"

"Park… Secretary…"

Seong-ho's eyes flew open as he recognized Park Tae-hoon—secretary to Lee Mun-jong, older brother of his late wife Lee Gyeong-eun and Chairman of the Ilhyeon Group. Park Tae-hoon chuckled lightly at that stare and nodded.

"Yes. It's me. Park Tae-hoon."

He glanced around the room, then went on.

"Wouldn't it have been so much better if you'd just stayed here quietly by yourself and passed away? Without making everyone else work so hard."

Park Tae-hoon picked up the pillow at Seong-ho's feet, struck the middle of it with his hand to fluff it, and spoke.

"The Chairman asked me to pass this along. You've worked hard all this time, so go on up and take good care of your younger sister."

"You— mph!"

With that, Park Tae-hoon pressed the pillow over Seong-ho's face.

Seong-ho had already been given his death date. But his elder brother-in-law—Lee Mun-jong, Chairman of the Ilhyeon Group—had no intention of waiting that long. Jo Byeong-jin knew the company's inner workings inside and out, and even if Park Dae-su was stuck in a provincial backwater post, he was still a prosecutor. The thought that a dying Kim Seong-ho might leak the group's secrets to either of them was more than Mun-jong was willing to risk.

As his breath was cut off, Seong-ho felt his mind begin to blur.

They couldn't even wait for my natural death? For Gyeong-eun's sake I gave everything I had to the Ilhyeon Group… and they couldn't wait even that long before ordering me killed…!

Just as Seong-ho's resentment and fury reached their peak, an endless darkness swallowed him whole. The rancor and rage he left behind flooded the hospital room.

After a long while, Park ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Tae-hoon pulled the pillow off Seong-ho's face and checked whether he was dead. Once he confirmed that Seong-ho was no longer breathing and that no pulse remained, he nodded.

"He's definitely dead. Hey, Lee Ju-yeong—it's over, so stop fretting already."

Still watching the door with anxious eyes, Lee Ju-yeong came closer and asked,

"You sure his breathing stopped?"

"Yeah. Let's go. I'm hungry, though—want to grab some gukbap on the way out?"

After the two men left, tears slid slowly from Kim Seong-ho's cooling eyes. And the last of his obsession, together with the resentment and fury that filled the room, began to seep into the old leather diary.