The Story of How I First Met That Man -4-
There were so many things that happened.
Like the time Mikhail had his entire begging bowl stolen by thugs and sat on the ground sobbing his heart out.
"Sniff... h-hic..."
"Why are you crying?"
"I collected so much today... I wanted to brag... I was gonna buy cream bread today...!"
"I'm fine, at least. They took yours instead of mine, so no loss."
"It's not fine at all!"
"You earn more in an hour than I do."
"..."
Or after begging was done, we'd lie under the bridge and watch shooting stars fall.
"Whoa... so many falling."
"Yeah, tons."
"Let's make a wish! Mom said wishes on shooting stars come true."
"They don't. I've wished on so many."
"..."
I'd correct Mikhail's misconceptions while watching those falling stars. Kids with wrong knowledge from the start could grow up with twisted ideas.
"You know what?"
"What?"
"Those are just rocks. Huge rocks."
"..."
"Wishing on them does jack shit. Better off praying to that statue that looks like your grandpa... Ow! Why'd you hit me?!"
"You're no fun."
Small things like that happened a lot. Like when Mikhail almost got sold off to some gangsters, or I'd console him after he followed a stranger thinking she was his mom.
"Hey! That's not your mom!"
"...Not our mommy?"
"Ha... fuck. What do I do with this."
"She looked like Mom... smelled like her."
"You a dog or something? Sniffing people out."
During that time, Mikhail started venturing out from under the bridge and making friends in the slums. He was wary, so not many, but his world was expanding.
The most memorable? Probably that one. The day it rained dust from all the beatings. So unforgettable it stuck in my memory.
It was trivial. The kind others might laugh at. But when I think of "childhood Mikhail," it's the time thugs snatched his ever-clutched bear doll.
"Waaah! Give it back! Give it baaack!"
"Puhaha! Look, the kid's crying."
"Give it back! Mom bought it for me!"
"Mom? You don't even have a mom, you orphan shit."
"Give it baaack!"
It was a disaster a little kid couldn't handle alone. Common in the slums. No one helps; everyone just looks out for themselves. You just take it.
Heading back from begging to the young lady, I heard Mikhail's pitiful sobs at the alley mouth.
"It's mine... mine... please give it back."
"Puhahaha. Hey, watch this—your bear doll cooking."
"Don't! Please don't...!"
Riiip...!
"Kyaaaah! Stop it!"
"What the...?"
Seeing Mikhail's torn bear doll, I felt killing intent for the first time, I think. Him scrambling on the ground stuffing cotton back in. The bastards laughing like it was hilarious. Every single one pissed me off.
"Ah... they really fucking pushed it."
I swung my wooden sword like a madman.
"If you don't wanna meet your ancestors in heaven, cut it out. Though you're heading there today anyway..."
I got beat till I thought I'd die that day. Cool entrance, but size difference meant I was no match. Just a punk swinging a crude stick like a dog. I'd been mouthing off in the slums, so they targeted me extra.
"Hey! Stomp this fucker!"
"Die! Die!"
"Fuckin' worthless punk acting tough!"
Unable to do shit, I clutched Mikhail's bear doll tight. Kicks hurt, but I'd struck a pose once—getting wrecked now would be embarrassing. Curling up seemed less shameful, so I just took it.
After a while of beatings, I played dead, and the thugs ran. I vowed to smash bricks into their foreheads that evening, then stood casually.
"Let's go."
"Huh...?"
"Hungry?"
Mikhail, tears stopped, stared at my battered body. I grabbed his hand, flashed a grin, and headed under the bridge.
I fiddled with his cute little fingers nonstop.
Down there, I skillfully sewed the bear doll. I'd mended tons of clothes in my past life—could do it blindfolded.
"Sniff... you okay?"
"What?"
"You got beat bad."
"Didn't get hit once. Didn't you see me dodge off your shoulder? I was fast."
"Liar. You got hit every time."
"Didn't."
"You got hit 'cause of me."
"...Doesn't hurt."
"Here, you got hit."
Poke.
'Assassination?'
"Ow!"
"See? Hurts."
"Doesn't."
Mikhail apologized, saying his existence was a burden.
"Sorry. 'Cause I was dumped here..."
"Don't even joke like that. Not your fault—why say it."
Honestly, not his fault, blaming anyone was weird. I nodded, accepting his apology.
"Um..."
Mikhail peeked at me, fidgeting fingers, then took a deep breath and spoke shakily.
"Why'd you do it?"
"Do what."
"Why take the beating for me?"
"'Cause you're weak."
He shook his head.
"I'm not."
"Oh yeah?"
Couldn't see his face sewing the doll, but probably touched. Sounded cool, after all. If Mikhail were a girl, I'd have fallen already. I hid my rising smile, acting casual.
"That's why I protect you."
"But why...?"
"Just 'cause. I wanted to."
"If I get stronger?"
"Won't happen even if you die."
Or will it?
"When you're stronger than me, you protect me then. Right?"
"Me protect you?"
"Yeah."
"For real?"
"Yeah."
I smiled faintly.
"Till then, I'll protect you."
My swollen face made smiling hard, but I hoped it'd cheer gloomy Mikhail a bit.
"It's a real promise."
Staring long, his eyes sparkled as he spoke.
"Hey..."
"Yeah."
"I thought about it."
"Yeah, thought about it. Gotta repay me, right?"
"No. I wanna be someone who protects weak people like you."
"What?"
"Like! When bad guys like those show up, swing a sword and say 'Scram' all cool!"
"Did I do that?"
"Yeah."
"That's way distorted."
Wanting to be like the beaten guy was hilarious, but I smiled and played along.
"Yeah."
I told him,
"You can do it."
As someone who knew the novel. And who'd seen slum Mikhail.
I said with conviction he'd succeed.
"I'll cheer you on."
"Cheer...?"
"Yeah, cheer."
That day, Mikhail asked me for the first time,
"What's your ideal type?"
"Not you, Lee Min-hyuk."
"Lee... Min-hyuk?"
"..."
"Lee-ee Min-nuke?"
"Don't nuke a normal name."
I chuckled, watching him clench fists trying to say it. Seemed hard for others.
I petted his striving head.
"Enough. You're the best at turning Lee Min into a nuke."
"Mi...n-hyuk..."
"Stop. Getting worse."
Mikhail muttered regretfully, like 'Just a bit more and he'd nail it.'
I smiled, looking at him.
"Why ideal type? Gonna introduce someone?"
"No!"
"Then why?"
"Just... curious."
His shy fidgeting made me fist-pump inwardly. Play right, maybe score busty beauties later.
I smiled, answering.
"Listen close, saying it once."
"Yeah...!"
"Kind."
"Yeah."
"Pretty."
"Yeah..."
Why write it down? Such a good friend.
I pictured my ideal, saying,
"Ideally, unique hair color."
"Hair color?"
"Yeah."
Mikhail flinched, burying face in notebook, not lifting head. Too picky? He pondered.
Cared, but couldn't help. Picking life's partner—had to be picky, given my situation.
I'd suffered to brighten his childhood; this nuisance was fair trade. With a wry smile, to teach mercy's risks,
"Last: great figure."
"..."
Sudden silence. Pen stopped, ears red.
"Why...?"
Too much? Lowering bar, but he whispered too soft,
'Mom's big too... so me...'
Didn't catch, but he perked up, grinning.
"That's it?"
"Huh?"
"Can she be your bride then?"
"Uh... probably? But my dreams big—gonna have lots of wives."
Should've said early. Adult Mikhail seeing my shameless marriages might draw sword. Train young.
Sure enough, cheeks puffed,
"Shameless."
"Can't help. Too awesome."
"Annoying."
"..."
He grinned bright.
"But I'll allow it."
"Love the main wife most, done."
Ended well somehow. I smiled.
"Anyway, thanks."
Beating early was best.
And so time passed.
When Mikhail's pain over his mother had somewhat faded.
Rain fell.
Yes, rain.
A very sorrowful rain.