Thirteen Unhappy Years

"Yeonjae. You…."

Jeonghyeon hummed thoughtfully.

"Do you really think that? That you'd have lived a useless life without me?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

The sudden seriousness in his face startled me, and I braced myself. I opened my mouth to apologize, wondering if I'd said something offensive, but Jeonghyeon quickly raised a hand.

"Yeonjae, I'm not angry. You don't need to apologize."

"……Okay."

"It's just… it really hurts."

Hurts?

"Honestly… it hurts so much I could cry."

Out of context, it might have sounded like whining, but his voice came out bitter and heavy.

Why would that hurt him?

As I hesitated, wondering if I'd missed part of the conversation, Jeonghyeon pressed on.

"Yeonjae. Did you say that to make me happy?"

"…? Say what?"

"That you'd have lived a useless life without me."

He was clearly forcing a smile, trying to manage his expression. I asked back, puzzled.

"No. I just said it because it's true…. Did that make you happy?"

"No, I told you—it hurts. It hurts a lot."

Then why does it hurt?

When I frowned in genuine confusion, Jeonghyeon let out a long sigh.

"Yeonjae, I'm not going to yell at you, so don't be scared. Let's just go through this step by step, one thing at a time."

"Okay."

"You know I love you, right? Like, a lot?"

I nodded right away.

"And you love me too, don't you?"

"Yes. I do."

The answer came without a flicker of hesitation, and I hastily tacked something on.

"Also a lot."

Despite my clumsy delivery, Jeonghyeon managed a smile for me.

"Good. I love you a lot too. Now let's flip it around. If I told you, 'Without you, I'd have lived a useless life'—how would that make you feel?"

His tone was gentle, as if trying to soothe me, but the question only deepened my confusion.

"Why would I be useless without you…?"

What kind of person would say that about themselves?

I scrunched my brow, unable to make sense of it.

"It's a hypothetical."

"But the hypothetical doesn't make sense. You were living happily just fine before you met me. What does that have to do with me?"

"Then were you… unhappy before you met me?"

The question came cautiously. I answered instantly.

"Yes."

"……"

He fell silent, as if he'd run out of words, and watching him, I realized my mistake a beat too late.

"Oh—well, I did owe an enormous debt to the orphanage director. She gave me a life I hardly deserved. Three proper meals a day, school. I'm truly grateful for that."

In fact, I still visited every month and worked there, trying to chip away at that debt even a little. But gratitude for not starving to death was one thing. Whether that life had been useful was another question entirely.

If I hadn't met Jeonghyeon and started acting, I would still be living a life spent scrambling just to outrun misfortune.

I never would have gotten close to anyone properly, terrified that today's misfortune might not clear away in time. A life like the one I had now wouldn't even have been a dream.

Jinbae, who was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠always by my side. Bihyeok, chattering away endlessly. Everyone around me who cherished me, and the fans who loved me.

That I could enjoy any of this was entirely thanks to the man in front of me.

"Because of you, I found out I love acting. I even have fans who like me now."

"Yeonjae, the fans love you because of you. That has nothing to do with me. Do you really think Biyeon likes you because you're friends with Lee Jeonghyeon?"

"Of course not."

I still didn't fully understand why Biyeon liked me, but I did know it had nothing to do with Jeonghyeon.

When I agreed so readily, his voice rose.

"Right! Everything you have now is what you worked for and earned. You got it all through your own effort."

"Yes, I know that."

"Then what on earth—"

As he moved to argue that nothing made sense, I met his eyes.

"That's a separate issue from effort. I'm talking about the opportunity you gave me."

"……"

"I don't think everything I have now is thanks to you. I have Jinbae, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so many people have helped me…. And like you said, some of it is what I worked for."

But anyone can work hard. What matters is the opportunity.

"If you hadn't urged me toward acting again and again, I never would have even had the chance to try. That's why I said that without you, I'd have lived a useless life."

Of course, an acting opportunity might have found its way to me without him. But that was unknowable from where I stood, and either way, it was thanks to Jeonghyeon that I started acting at all.

Why is he upset?

Which part of a statement no one could dispute had stung him like this?

The question gnawed at me, but soothing him came first.

He was wearing the expression of a man who'd been stabbed.

"If I'd known it would upset you, I wouldn't have said it so lightly. I'm sorry."

"No. Don't apologize. I just…."

Jeonghyeon went quiet for a long while.

He stared at the floor in silence for what felt like ages, and then he asked:

"How old were you when we first met?"

"Hmm, I'd just turned thirteen."

It was an abrupt question, but I answered easily.

He chewed over my answer in silence, then murmured, barely audible.

"I'm sad, Yeonjae."

His voice was so quiet I would have missed it entirely if I hadn't been focused on him.

I was about to ask what was making him sad when he beat me to it. Jeonghyeon lifted his head.

"That I couldn't have met you sooner…."

"……"

"That you spent thirteen years unhappy. That is what hurts."

The eyes that met mine were full of anguish.

Even in that moment, faced with those soft, tender eyes, I bit my tongue.

He really can't help himself, can he.

Should I attach a GPS tracker to the man?

What am I supposed to do with someone this relentlessly kind?

I was honestly terrified he'd end up co-signing a loan for some stranger one day. There was a great deal to worry about on every front, but for now, I took his hands in mine.

"Still, I'm happy now, being with you."

"……"

"The me before all that doesn't matter."

Saying I'd have lived uselessly without him was the same as saying the life I'd lived before meeting him had been useless. Which meant everything that happened before I turned thirteen was useless.

No point agonizing over useless things.

Looking into those gentle eyes, I made the vow to myself once more. I would not be the fool who dwelled on what had already passed.

And so the two of us sat there, holding hands, for a very long time.

Until a staffer's voice announced through the tent that filming was ready.

"Yeonjae, this is fake blood. If you press here, it bursts."

"Got it."

Lee Jeonghyeon watched as Lee Yeonjae listened carefully to the staffer's instructions.

Yeonjae probably thought he was hiding it well, but nothing escaped Jeonghyeon's eyes.

Fear—the fear that his own mistake might derail the shoot.

He's better than he used to be, at least….

It was a different face from the one Jeonghyeon had seen during the filming of The Butterfly Flower on the Zelkova Tree. Improved, unmistakably, from back then. And ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠yet something remained unchanged.

The frustration that had been building since their conversation earlier pressed against his chest. He pushed it down hard and sighed.

Hah. I can't just leave this alone.

He no longer had the luxury of waiting and hoping it would resolve itself someday.

Lee Jeonghyeon went straight to find Ahn Jinbae.

"Jinbae."

The eyes that had been fixed on Yeonjae turned toward him.

"Yes, Actor Lee."

"Are you free after filming wraps today? I want to talk. Without Yeonjae knowing."

"……Without the actor knowing? Is something wrong?"

The man's face shifted to worry in an instant. Jeonghyeon said,

"You remember. When Yeonjae was going to the hospital all that time—what did the doctors say?"

"……"

"Back then I couldn't ask. It wasn't my place to intrude. But I can't stand by anymore. Tell me too. The test results, all of it."

This wasn't something he'd blurted out on impulse. Jeonghyeon knew. No matter how dearly he cherished that boy, he was, plainly, just a man—no blood relation, no legal guardianship, nothing. But still….

Without you, I'd have lived a useless life.

Yeonjae was a sweet, good kid.

A kind kid who should never have to think thoughts like that.

"I want to know too. No—I have to know."

Having heard those words, the responsibility was his now too.

Ahn Jinbae studied Jeonghyeon's grave face, deliberated for a moment, then nodded.

"Ppulppuri, if you finish today's experiment well, let's get something delicious with hyung. Fighting today too."

"How many times do I have to tell you—stop calling me Ppulppuri!"

Even as Horn snapped back in irritation, he waved at Kang Seok with a smile on his face.

Then he walked straight into the laboratory.

Inside, a couple dozen strangers stood waiting.

Seeing the adults eyeing him warily, Horn's expression turned bored.

The moment the voice crackled from the ceiling speakers, Horn's posture changed.

He drew the gun from inside his jacket and lunged at the nearest target.

Slipping quickly between the bodies, Horn's hands moved fast.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

At the gunfire that rang out without a shred of hesitation, men crumpled with strangled cries.

Watching through the camera monitor, a staffer breathed out in awe.

He's… seriously good.

Horn—or rather, Lee Yeonjae—used his body far better than anyone had expected.

Frankly, I wasn't expecting much on the action front.

Everyone knew Lee Yeonjae could act. But he was still fifteen, so hoping for action scenes on top of that had seemed like too much to ask.

And yet, astonishingly, he could do action too.

"Ugh, yeah, yeah, I know."

Horn snapped back at the voice pouring from above.

Rolling to dodge an incoming attack, he flicked his fingers.

One after another, the men he'd shot burst apart and collapsed.

At this rate we might not even need the stunt double.

A stunt shoot was scheduled to follow immediately after Yeonjae's portion wrapped. But watching Lee Yeonjae move with such force and fluidity—powered by nothing but his own body, as if suspended from wires—the staffer could only stand there slack-jawed.

Then it happened. Horn, his fingers busy mid-snap, failed to notice the enemy latching onto him from behind. A pair of hands closed around his throat.

"Ghk."

Caught completely off guard, the gun slipped from his hand and clattered away.

Strangled, Horn could barely squeeze out a sound. His eyes darted rapidly.

One man left—the one currently strangling him.

Horn stretched his hand out desperately, trying to escape the crisis somehow, but the gun was too far away.

"Heok—!"

He made a sound like his breath was about to give out entirely.

Half-dazed, the death-row inmate strangling him glanced furtively up at the ceiling.

"Uh—should we, maybe, call it…?"

The condemned man was checking whether the staff watching this scene wanted to intervene. From the ceiling speakers, no answer came.

It sounded like they were conferring over whether to halt the experiment.

No.

Horn clenched his teeth.

If today wraps well, I get to have dinner with hyung.

The experiments hadn't been going well lately, and it had been ages since hyung would eat dinner with him.

He couldn't let slip the first chance he'd gotten in so long.

Veins stood out at his temples, his breath on the very edge of failing him—and Horn raised his hand.

Then he sank his teeth into his own arm, as hard as he could.

Crunch.

The hard bite of his teeth tore through Horn's fragile flesh.

He lifted the arm where blood was now streaming freely.

And swept it straight across the face of the man gripping his throat.

"Ugh!"

Blood spattered across the inmate's eyes and nose. Reflexively, his hands let go.

Horn didn't waste the instant of separation—he snapped his fingers.

Tak. With the crisp crack of a finger snap, the man's face burst apart.

Perhaps because the blood that detonated was only smeared on the surface of his skin rather than driven deep by a bullet, the man died slowly—screaming, thrashing in agony.

"Hah…. heok…."

Horn sank to the floor for a moment, catching his breath.

Everything around him was a sea of blood.

"……"

His own arm was no different.

A hand drenched head to toe in red filled his field of vision.

Just then, the heavy door swung open and Kang Seok walked in.

"My Ppulppuri! You were incredible today! The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠best!"

Looking at Kang Seok's beaming face as he entered, Horn flashed a bright grin.

"Was there ever a day I wasn't the best?"

"Haha! Now that's my Ppulppuri. What do you want to eat? Hyung will get you anything."

As Horn answered the grinning Kang Seok, he quietly tucked his hand behind his back.

The wound on his arm, still gushing blood, was of interest to neither of them.