Rage (2)
"…May I see some identification?"
"Ha? Fine, then."
She pulled out her ID and handed it to Team Leader Park. He checked it carefully. It was exactly the person the client had flagged as someone to watch closely.
"Please put something on over that. This is a funeral home, after all."
"And why should I?"
"Excuse me?"
"I'm only here to lay flowers and leave."
"…Ha."
Team Leader Park silently unleashed a string of curses in his head. This woman was the mother of that angel of a child?
"Anyway, I can go in, right?"
"…You'll need to fill out a consent form first."
"Hey, Yuna. Forget it. I'll handle this. Please read this over and sign at the bottom."
"Ah, yes, Team Leader."
"Alright. Good work, everyone."
The woman signed the consent form without even glancing at it and vanished into the building. So this was what it felt like—a face so repulsive that mere proximity flooded you with revulsion. Team Leader Park barely restrained the sudden craving for a cigarette. Still on the clock. He'd smoke one on break later.
"Team Leader Park. Is that thing even human?"
"Ah, right—you're from Russia, aren't you? Even to your eyes she doesn't look human?"
"More precisely, I'm mixed. I've told you several times…"
"Sorry. My head's a little slow. You smoke?"
"No?"
"Then hold the fort a second. I can't take it. Never thought I'd see the day a person made me so disgusted I needed a cigarette."
"Yes, sir. Go ahead."
With a heavy clatter of the door, the woman—Oh Yeonjeong—strode straight into the building, utterly indifferent to the stares around her. She snapped at the funeral staff member who was gawking at her outfit in stunned silence.
"What are you doing?"
"Y-yes?"
"Give me a chrysanthemum. I came to pay my respects."
"Ah… yes…"
She all but snatched the flower from the staffer's hands and headed straight for the funeral hall. The gazes of the people around her were sharp, but Yeonjeong remained endlessly brazen. It wasn't as if she'd come somewhere she wasn't allowed.
The door slid open with a low rumble.
"Tsk. Couldn't even spring for better mourning clothes. Looks so pitiful."
"…You only sent a lawyer before. What face do you have showing up at the funeral?"
Jin Mingi, Soyun's father, felt little surprise at seeing Oh Yeonjeong's face for the first time in so long. She had always been this kind of person. A woman who lived however she pleased.
"Here. Sign this."
The papers she thrust at him were divorce documents.
"…You're coming all the way to the funeral… to hand me… divorce papers?"
Mingi felt a fury rising to the crown of his head for the first time in ages. That familiar sensation from living with this woman—how many times a day he had felt it—something he hadn't tasted since she walked out of the house a year ago without a word.
"Soyun's dead, so the custody issue's gone. Just sign and we're done."
"…Ha. You… you really…"
"What's the problem? You should've just agreed when I first asked for the divorce."
"Hey, Oh Yeonjeong…. You really haven't changed at all."
"You haven't changed either, oppa. Still living so shabbily."
"…Give it here."
Mingi drew a deep breath, forced the anger down, and carefully read the papers she held out. Something was off. They were slightly different from the ones her lawyer had delivered last time. The section on property division had been deleted.
"…What's this?"
"Oh, the property split? You think I don't know you're broke? Keep Soyun's life insurance money for yourself. You've got plenty of debt, right?"
"…"
Strange. This wasn't like her. This was the woman who had hounded him day after day about never having enough money. The woman who couldn't resist luxury brands and shopping—now calmly giving up her share of the assets? Even the clothes and bag she wore right now were the designer pieces she had always valued more than Soyun herself.
"You already sold the house you were using for Soyun's hospital bills, didn't you? I can be that considerate. What's the point of dividing property when there's nothing left anyway?"
"You really haven't changed a single bit."
"If you're done reading, just sign already."
"Fine. I'll do it. There."
Mingi took the pen and wrote his name in the signature box without hesitation. It felt liberating. Why hadn't he simply done this before? His past self seemed foolish. What had he been so afraid of—people pointing fingers at a motherless child—that he'd treated these papers like something terrifying?
"I'm leaving, then. I'll file them at the court right now."
"…Alright."
Mingi silently poured every curse he knew into his mind, then swallowed them again and again. Even curses were wasted on this woman. You avoid shit because it's filthy, not because you're scared of it. Yeonjeong skimmed the papers roughly and stuffed them into her bag.
Click. Click.
The sound of high heels rang out, utterly out of place at a funeral. Yeonjeong cut past the coffin where Soyun lay, intending to set the chrysanthemum down in some empty spot. In that instant—
"…Mom?"
From the right-hand corner, where a girl had been kneeling in silent prayer without the slightest movement, came a voice that should never have been heard. Both of them whipped their heads around, eyes wide. And froze on the spot.
Even Yeonjeong—a woman perfectly described by words like "self-centered" and "shameless"—could not help but stop. Because that voice… belonged to Soyun, the girl lying in the coffin right now.
"…What? Who are you? Soyun is… huh?"
Flustered, Yeonjeong stammered out the question, but the girl with closed eyes only wore a strange expression—half smile, half sob—and said nothing else, simply staring in Yeonjeong's direction.
"Who the hell are you!?"
Yeonjeong's nonexistent patience bottomed out in an instant. She raised her voice even though they stood inside a funeral hall.
"Me? Who am I? Mom, are you seriously asking because you don't know?"
"…What on earth…"
"Who am I? Heh, hi… hihihi…"
Ayeon laughed in a way that clashed darkly with her bright voice, then covered her face with both hands. She began murmuring to herself.
"What do I do? I never imagined a situation like this. How am I supposed to act? Should I laugh? Or cry? Hey, come out. I'm so angry right now. This… this is supposed to be my mom?"
"A-Ayeon?"
Mingi spoke into the bizarre atmosphere.
"Dad! No—my name is Soyun, remember? Can't you even remember your own daughter's name?"
"Uh… uh…?"
With a sudden rush, Ayeon threw herself into Mingi's arms, the earlier eerie expression completely gone, smiling brilliantly. Mingi held her close, tears falling at the sensation that the real Soyun had come back to life.
"Dad, why are you crying?"
"I'm not crying…"
"You're such a terrible liar!"
"Ah…. Soyun, Soyun…"
It was Soyun's voice. Soyun's way of speaking. Even this small frame, even this warm body heat—everything he had thought he had buried in his heart was Soyun. Mingi no longer tried to stop the tears that had burst free. He couldn't have even if he wanted to.
"…She's gone completely crazy."
Watching the scene, Yeonjeong muttered that the two of them had simply lost their minds. Hearing it, Ayeon gently pushed Mingi away, turned, opened her eyes, and fixed her gaze on Yeonjeong.
…Red?
No—calling it red was too mild. Blood-crimson would have been more accurate. Yeonjeong's thoughts cut off there, because the mad girl in front of her began saying strange things.
"Ajumma."
"Wh-what?"
"Oh, is that word forbidden? But if you have a twelve-year-old daughter you have to be over thirty, so ajumma fits."
Yeonjeong ground her teeth.
"Listen, little girl. Exactly which part of this unnie looks like an ajumma to you?"
"You just look like one at a glance, so I called you one. Is that a problem?"
Faced with a tone that scraped her insides raw, Yeonjeong—left with nothing but her pride—did what was, in a way, only natural.
Slap!
"Ah!"
Crash!
"Hey, Oh Yeonjeong! Have you completely lost it?!"
"W-what? No, I didn't hit her that hard…"
Just like always—the same way she had always "gently" touched crying Soyun's cheek—she had only given a light smack. Yet the girl crumpled to the floor.
"Hey!! Kid! Stop exaggerating!"
"D-Dad…"
"So—no, Ayeon… You, you bastard!"
Ayeon's family, who had been keeping vigil at the funeral hall and had stepped into the next room for a short rest, slammed the door open as if they meant to smash it at the sound of the scream.
What greeted their eyes was a woman who had chosen an outfit so inappropriate for a funeral that shooting her on sight would have been justified, now raging—and Ayeon collapsed beside Soyun's coffin, with Jin Mingi shielding her while checking her condition.
"Wh-what is this…"
"Little sister!! Are you okay!?"
"Is everything all right?!"
"We have an emergency here!"
The funeral staff, who had been monitoring the situation, summoned the security team on standby. In an instant the funeral hall descended into chaos.
"Ayeon, are you okay?"
"Dad…. Hold me."
"Huh? Y-yeah. Of course…. Ayeon, Ayeon?"
Mingi's heart plummeted as Ayeon lost consciousness the moment she finished asking to be held.
"Manager Kim!! Please look at Ayeon—check on Ayeon!"
"Restrain her!"
"Ack! Let go of me! Do you know who I am?! I'm the wife of a professor at this hospital!!"
"This crazy bitch. I knew she'd cause trouble. Anyone who shows up to her own daughter's funeral dressed like that was never going to be normal."
"Hey! You finished talking?"
"I'm done. If you've got something to say, say it now. You signed the consent form earlier, right? It clearly states that if you cause a disturbance or raise your voice, you may be physically restrained. Be careful."
"I never saw that clause!"
"Tsk. Yuna, press harder. This is a completely insane woman—no telling what she'll do next."
"Yes!"
"Ack! Aaaah! Police! Call the police! I'll sue every last one of you!"
"Go ahead. Sue all you want. Everything's being recorded on CCTV right now. And you—prepare yourself. Hitting a child? You know this is a criminal case, right?"
"Criminal this, criminal that! Let go of me!"
"Heavens, listen to her carry on. Kim, do as this lady wishes and call the police. She's curious what holding-cell meals taste like!"
"Yes, sir!"
Joohyung, who had been watching the entire sequence of events, abandoned his lunchbox mid-bite, left the commemorative gifts behind, and started running. This was front-page material.