The Happiness of a Single Chicken
I came home carrying a whole chicken.
A dim, shadowy interior greeted me. But it didn't scare me. I wasn't a kid who got spooked by ghosts anymore.
There were plenty of famous ghosts in this era—like the one with the red mask or the subway ghost. But after years in the working world, those things didn't even faze me. They weren't scary at all. If anything, people were far more terrifying. Ghosts never killed anyone, but people killed people all the time.
I was still an elementary schooler, far from the grind of adult society. But diving into this publishing gig had thrust me right back in. An eight-year-old working... If anyone heard that, they'd probably call it child abuse. And honestly, I couldn't argue. Though since I chose it myself, it didn't quite count.
But if we were splitting hairs, we'd have to go after African kids farming or those corporate plantations first. At least I wasn't breaking my body like those poor kids, slaving away in grueling labor. And my pay was generous. I'd heard plantation workers made just a few thousand won a day.
In our country, you earned in an hour what they scraped together all day. The difference in compensation was night and day.
That's why foreign laborers were desperate to come here. A month's work there might net 100,000 to 200,000 won, while here you could make way more—maybe the equivalent of 20 to 30 million won a month in their terms.
"Mom? Dad?"
I opened the door. Mom and Dad were waiting for me. This was the ideal family life I'd never had at the orphanage. It didn't matter how ragged we lived. As long as I had Mom and Dad, that was enough. And our debt wasn't from gambling or anything shady.
For an orphan like me, family was everything. I never thought I'd have one... but now I did.
"Sora! You're back?"
"Aigoo, our girl! It's freezing out there—come in quick!"
I kicked off my shoes at the entryway and stepped inside. Dad was right; it was brutally cold outside. Our house was just as chilly, but better than the raw winter wind battering you. At least indoors, you weren't taking it full in the face.
Mom spotted the chicken in my hand and her eyes went wide.
"Sora! Where'd you get chicken?"
"I bought it so we could all eat together."
I grinned and showed them the chicken. Just like a dad bringing home fried chicken for the kids after payday—I'd done the same.
This wasn't like my old era with all the franchise chains. Back then, every neighborhood had its own little chicken joint, run by independent shops.
But that classic packaging, tied up with rubber bands—it looked so appetizing, somehow.
Mom and Dad stared at me in shock. They probably hadn't even dreamed I'd bring home chicken.
"Our girl's too sweet...!"
"Yeah... We haven't done a thing for Sora."
I could see them on the verge of tears, burrowing into the floor like always. I cut it off quick. With my illness putting us in debt, they always blamed themselves. But they didn't need to.
"Mom, Dad! Let's eat the chicken before it gets cold! I'm starving."
"Okay! Let's see how tasty our girl's chicken is."
Mom pulled out the table from the corner and set it in the middle. I laid the chicken on top, washed my hands clean, and we dug in. Mom and Dad seemed excited too, tearing into it.
They probably hadn't eaten dinner. Nothing was prepped. If I hadn't brought chicken, they'd have headed to the free soup kitchen again.
The cola wasn't zero sugar—just regular. As a zero-cola guy, I missed that crisp aftertaste. Regular had a bit of a cloying finish. Still edible, though.
Glug glug glug!
I poured a cup and chugged it deep. The fizzy rush down my throat was killer. We rarely got treats like this, so my stomach felt shocked, in a good way.
Half seasoned, half fried—it was plenty for our family. Portions were generous back then. Later, with rising costs and wages, they shrank...
After devouring it, I patted my full belly. Being in a little girl's body, I couldn't pack away much. But it felt hearty, like a proper meal after ages.
With my stomach stuffed, Mom and Dad started quizzing me. They worried about their little girl, no matter how mature I acted. This body was still a child's.
"Sora, nobody at Songi Media treating you weird, right?"
"Everyone's kind and takes good care of me. No need to worry."
"Good... But maybe Mom should go with you to the company? Letting you go alone feels off."
"You need your rest, Mom. Dropping me off then rushing to your mart shift—that'd tire you out."
"Still..."
"Or you could quit the part-time job..."
"No way, Sora! Once I get this month's pay, I was gonna take you out for something yummy."
"Okay..."
Mom was stubborn as ever. I figured it'd be better if I earned and she stayed home, but she saw it differently. I fished the pay envelope from my pocket. I didn't need much cash myself.
Ten thousand won for emergencies, the rest to my parents. In this era's prices, 100,000 won let an elementary kid live like a king. No fancy outings—just snacks, and it'd last forever.
"Mom, use this."
I waited till Dad slipped into the bathroom. Giving her cash in front of him felt awkward.
"Wh-what, Sora? This much?"
Mom gawked at the 800,000-won envelope. Probably matched her monthly wage. No wonder—a first-grader handing it over. I calmed her.
"Mom, from the book I wrote. It's royalties."
"Really...? Aigoo, our girl's amazing~"
She hugged me tight, stroking my hair. I closed my eyes, savoring it. But then she added,
"This should go to you, Sora. Mom'll buy you tasty stuff and clothes!"
"Mom... Use it for you and Dad."
"No no. Your first paycheck—we can't just spend it. And paying debt with it feels wrong too."
"Ugh..."
No convincing her. Maybe because it was my first pay. I sighed inwardly. But her warmth made it hard to push.
How could I tell her not to spend it when she insisted?
Then Dad came out, smiling at Mom petting me.
"Honey~ Just you get to pet Sora? Dad wants in too!"
"Ah!"
And so I became their cuddle toy in Mom and Dad's arms.
"A broadcast?"
"Yes."
I arrived at Songi Media as usual and told Team Leader Kim Sung-ho. To sell books, you needed promotion. Especially for genre novels, not literary stuff.
So I proposed to him:
Let's go on a terrestrial TV show.
But hearing me out, Team Leader Kim Sung-ho said,
"How? We don't have broadcast connections. Never even thought about it."
"There's a way."
I smiled.