Chapter 16
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Head in the Box (16)
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“…Where did you get something like that?”
Jeonghan asked, his face stiff.
“Simpler than you’d think. If someone died from an epidemic, there’s no way a couple of news articles wouldn’t stick around, right?”
Jeonghan had said Jeonghwan died from the flu that was going around back then. So of course, there’d be articles about it.
“Especially since it was a student dying from an infectious disease. It would’ve made headlines.”
The death toll back then was dozens, nearly a hundred. Quite a lot for just the flu.
“Of course, most of the victims were elderly. There were only three teenagers who died. Two girls and one boy.”
By now, it was obvious.
“The article was anonymous, but it detailed where the disease started, how it spread, and to how many. So tracking your friend’s movements right up to his death wasn’t hard.”
It was in the papers that friends from various high schools had gone to the ski resort together, and that the flu had spread badly there.
“All the people there seemed to catch the flu. And two of them ended up in critical condition.”
Articles on the others were harder to find, so they probably just shook it off as a bad cold.
“It didn’t name who was in critical condition, but it did say which school’s students, so I could figure it out. You and Mr. Jeonghwan.”
And in the end, one of them died. Not much of a twist.
“One lived, one died. Tragic. Even the survivor can’t just be happy about it.”
Jeonghan kept his expression rigid and said nothing as Taeju spoke.
“Up to here, it’s a tragedy, but nothing strange. The weird part is you acting like you have some kind of guilt over your friend’s death. There’s no reason to feel guilty about someone dying from illness.”
Maybe with an accident, but illness? Especially a contagious epidemic? Rare.
So the reasons he might feel that guilt were limited.
“Were you the one who insisted on going there?”
“…No. Jeonghwan was the one who suggested it.”
Taeju nodded, as expected. The passive Jeonghan didn’t seem the type to push for it.
“If not that, were you the first one to catch it?”
Jeonghan didn’t answer. His face just went pale, like he had a hunch.
“…I’m not sure.”
Jeonghan said, trembling.
“But you can’t shake the suspicion yourself.”
Taeju didn’t say if that thought was right or wrong.
Impossible to know now anyway.
What mattered was that he suspected it himself. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter anymore.
“Now it makes sense.”
Taeju said, looking straight into Jeonghan’s eyes.
“Why you put yourself at the center of relationships, even when it doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m at the center?”
Jeonghan asked.
“If you’re not the center, who is? Even the Dokkaebi, who isn’t human, saw you that way for a reason.”
“…”
As Jeonghan looked confused, Taeju continued.
“If I may be rude, when I went to your place, I glanced at your friends’ contacts and other odds and ends. Occupational habit.”
“You went through my house?”
Jeonghan narrowed his eyes, and Taeju shrugged once.
“‘Went through’ sounds bad. They were just sitting there on the desk, caught my eye.”
Taeju said it shamelessly.
“There was a paper calendar on the desk. And it had all sorts of dates organized, memos and Post-its everywhere.”
To be honest, he’d searched rooms for clues before, but this time he didn’t even need to.
“Seeing all that scattered around, guess what I thought?”
Jeonghan didn’t answer. Taeju wasn’t asking for one.
“It was like an office. Workload didn’t look light either.”
The calendar was packed with appointments, meticulously arranged so nothing would be missed.
Woli had said Jeonghan lived tired. Taeju was startled by the phrasing but didn’t deny it.
“Your calendar was full of schedules. Even stuff that wasn’t yours or family—like celebrations and funerals.”
Birthdays, ancestral rites, someone’s father’s death anniversaries. More filled squares than blank ones.
If things you had to remember outnumbered the ones you didn’t, it was work.
“Is that a problem?”
Jeonghan protested.
“Not a problem exactly, but definitely not normal.”
It wasn’t just diligence. It bordered on obsession.
“Not normal behavior.”
It was like he was driving himself into a corner.
“You’d say you do it because you want to.”
Taeju preempted what Jeonghan would say.
“But to me, it looks more like a situation you can’t not do.”
Taeju said it with genuine pity.
“Especially since you’re doing it all out of self-blame.”
Jeonghan couldn’t refute it.
“You keep comparing yourself to your dead friend and tearing yourself down.”
In that sense, the Dokkaebi’s appearance wasn’t some huge tragedy for Jeonghan. His life was already pure suffering.
“If a relationship is nothing but pain, it might be better to end it.”
Taeju said softly. That was one way. Though the other side wouldn’t accept it.
“How could I?”
Jeonghan said. His face looked ready to crumple into tears.
“Yeah, I get it. I’ve seen a few people like you.”
What the dead leave behind becomes nothing but pain for the living.
But if the dead were that precious, the living can’t let it go.
“That’s exactly why you can never show the Dokkaebi anything of value.”
Maintaining the relationship was already a penance for Jeonghan.
“How can you call it valuable when you suffer just keeping it up?”
That’s what made Taeju sad.
What Jeonghan went through could be called a common tragedy.
And because he took it that way, he’d been too young back then.
* * *
To Jeonghan, Jeonghwan was his closest friend, no matter what anyone said.
For Jeonghan, who couldn’t even fake being sociable, Jeonghwan was his savior through school.
“Your name’s Jeonghan? Whoa, similar to mine!”
“Uh… yeah.”
Jeonghan still remembered their first conversation as middle schoolers. Unforgettable.
The start was simple, but that’s how friendships form. Not always from something special.
They just clicked perfectly by chance, and for reasons beyond explanation, became inseparable.
Sure, their personalities differed. But that didn’t push them apart.
Thanks to Jeonghwan, Jeonghan made lots of friends. Thanks to Jeonghan, Jeonghwan learned things he didn’t know.
Started as two, but hanging out drew in more. Ended up around ten.
The group got so tight-knit that everyone being together felt natural.
A miracle for Jeonghan. Friends he’d never have met alone.
But they couldn’t stay middle schoolers forever. High school split their schools.
They still kept in touch, but everyone knew they couldn’t hang out like before.
Time for college prep. Mid-teens flowed into late-teens.
Jeonghan and Jeonghwan went to different schools. Some they saw often, others rarely.
They buried a time capsule to have an excuse to meet, but digging it up meant ten years later.
So the idea came up to go somewhere together over winter break.
If not now, they might never, Jeonghwan said. Force it if needed.
Some agreed right away, some hesitated. It was rushed.
Some said go after high school graduation, but Jeonghwan persuaded everyone.
“Think about it—could be years otherwise. Hope no one retakes, but if someone does, even harder. Or if someone goes to a U.S. college! Uh, great for them, but… anyway! Stuff keeps coming up, and right now we’re the most free!”
Everyone caved to Jeonghwan’s argument. A bit of urgency that now or never.
Convincing parents and saving money took time. Rough, but all ten made it to the ski resort. Four days, three nights. All in.
Everyone enjoyed their way.
Some sledded, some skied, the athletic ones snowboarded.
That day, Jeonghwan taught Jeonghan skiing and snowboarding. Jeonghan mostly followed. That’s when he learned he wasn’t totally uncoordinated.
Friends skied till closing. Lost count of lift rides.
Even after night skiing opened, they kept going, collapsed from exhaustion, ate cup ramen, then back at it. Not to save money—to save time. Ramen and right back out.
Ask if they wanted to go again, they’d all shake their heads— that’s how all-out they went.
Jeonghwan was at the center. No one could deny it.
The trip was a success. Memories made for sure. Couldn’t have been more fun.
Except for one thing.
“Heh-chwi!”
“Who’s that? Coughing weird.”