Kim Haseong (1)

"It's getting on five! Everybody wrap up and get ready to clock out! Come on, come on, let's move!"

"Yes!"

At the boss's word, the whole floor hurried to finish what they were doing. I was an employee here myself, so I rushed to close out my work with the rest of them. When the cleanup was done I changed in the locker room and headed for the front gate as usual, and before long the entire staff had gathered.

"All right! Good work today, everyone!"

"Good work!"

Everyone filed out through the gate. They didn't cluster up and head off somewhere together; they scattered, each on his own. I left the company—the factory, to be exact—and went straight home.

I don't particularly think my life went sideways. No. Maybe it did.

My childhood, I think, was ordinary, no different from anyone else's. The moment I began to understand that I was not like other people was middle school. The kids around me were growing in body and in mind, and while I couldn't speak for my mind, my body did not grow at all.

I don't know how it is these days, but back when we were students, everyone had lined up by height at least once. And no matter what happened, I stood at the very front of that line. Tell a roomful of adults to line up the same way, and I expect I'd still be standing there.

It wasn't that I never tried. From the day I realized, a middle schooler, that I was short, I did every kind of exercise meant to make a person taller, almost clear through high school. The results were wretched. I poured most of my hours into it, so my grades were wretched too.

Short. A face that was average—honestly, ugly. Couldn't study, so the grades were bad on top of everything else.

For a few months after high school I lived unemployed, shut up in the house. My parents never scolded me, but as time went on I started to hate me. That was how someone with bad grades and no job ended up hired at a factory, the one place a person like me could make any money. The factory was far from home, so while I was at it I went ahead and moved out on my own. A factory was a workplace either way. At least I wasn't unemployed.

For the record, part-time work had been an option too. Maybe it was my face. Nowhere would take me.

What a load of shit.

"...When did I fall asleep?"

I must have nodded off at some point. I checked the alert. Just an in-app ad.

"...Ha. What a weird dream. Was that my life?"

For some reason I had the memory of a dream in which I explained me with perfect objectivity. The feeling of it was rotten, and I shook my head hard to fling it off.

"Came home for once and just collapsed."

A whole year had already passed since I started at the factory. I'd finally wrung permission out of my fiercely opposed parents—the job, and living on my own. I'd thought I was fairly used to the work and to living alone, but my body, it seemed, had been worn through.

"...I'm hungry."

Maybe I'd been worn through because I was hungry. I got out of bed and opened the fridge. Nothing. No choice but to open the cabinet. There was, at least, a single pack of ramen.

I boiled it well enough, sat down at the computer desk, and ate while I scrolled the news.

As always, the articles were packed with hunters. It hadn't been a day or two of this. Every single time, another hunter story went up. As I remembered it, hunters had started drawing the world's attention back when I was in middle school, and that had simply continued until now. With time they drew even more of it. More frenzy.

The world, all those people, lost their minds over hunters because hunters had dragged a brand-new thrill into a world that had none. That was what I thought.

"Ah! Hot!"

My arm had grazed the pot.

"...Hoo."

I closed the news tab, pulled up UTube, and put the ramen away fast while some video or other played.

Sad to say, I had no interest in the hunters everyone else was wild about. Part of it was that I wasn't one. Put more bluntly, hunters got on my nerves. Not every hunter, to be clear. The annoying kind were the ones who caused problems, and the kids who strutted around crowing that they were going to awaken. The revulsion had probably started with the ones who went around talking like that back in school.

No. That wasn't it.

To say it even straighter, it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠turned my stomach to watch hunters do well. I was, it seemed, a selfish person.

"...I should clean up and sleep."

I had work in the morning, so I finished tidying in a hurry and went to bed.

"All right! Good work today, everyone!"

"Good work!"

Now and then I read stories online about factory work, and they always included some sweatshop grinding its people into the ground. A year on this floor had shown me none of that. If anything, they put on the chart's top hundred while we worked, and quitting time was kept to the minute. A place where overtime, in any real sense, did not exist.

I'd gotten off exactly on time, the way I always did, and should have gone straight home. Today I stopped for groceries first. Yesterday the apartment had held nothing but ramen, so I needed something. Anything.

"Hm?"

I was about to head up when I noticed a piece of mail in my box. Neither the maintenance bill nor the gas bill came due this time of year. I checked it anyway.

"...Ah? D-don't tell me?"

Still denying it, I took the envelope upstairs and went inside.

"No way. Please. Please!"

With trembling hands I set the bags down, opened the mail, and read from the top.

A notice telling me to enlist.

"No... but... seriously... ha, shit."

I flung the notice. It was only paper, so it didn't go far. I'd had my military physical last year and hoped maybe—but of course. I'd read online that the enlistment notice usually arrived within a year of the physical. That day had come.

I sat down and picked the fallen notice back up.

"...Ha. All right. Let's see."

I read the rest. Enlistment in three months. At least quitting the factory and clearing out the studio were possible. But I wanted to deny reality, and because I wanted to deny it, I decided to fill my stomach first.

When the food was gone I stared at the notice and brooded. No—I had no choice but to brood.

Enlistment. Deny reality all I wanted; the decision wasn't going to change. I could postpone the date, but postpone it once and I knew I'd postpone it without end.

"Right. I have to face it."

Tomorrow I'd go in, tell the boss I was enlisting, and quit. That would do. I'd taken the place month to month, and most of the furnishings had come with it, so I only needed to parcel back to my parents' house ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠what I'd brought and what I'd bought. There was a convenience-store parcel counter nearby. Easy.

"But first!"

I snapped a photo of the notice, edited my personal information out, opened CoffeeTalk—C-Talk—and posted it in the room with my friends. Replies came before long.

Laughing on sight. Friends, all right. Looking at the notice, all I could do was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠laugh too.

Right. I remembered. This bastard Ko Soonjae had pulled a Grade 4 last year and bragged himself sick about doing public service.

Lee Sungjun was active duty, same as me. That, at least, was a comfort.

I wanted to bite back, but he wasn't even wrong, and I couldn't get angry.

The last time the three of us had met was high school graduation. After that I'd come down to the provinces for work. The two of them had better grades than I did, so they'd gone to college—different schools—and hardly ever saw each other.

Most of the place had come furnished, but I'd bought plenty myself, and the thought of sorting it was already a wall. I wanted to call the two of them down to help. Unfortunately, even getting out here wouldn't be easy.

My friends had me feeling considerably better. Not that it changed the reality of enlisting.

"...Well. Nothing else to do."

If I was going up there to mess around with them, the faster I packed, the better. There was still a long time before bed, so I started on the luggage.

"This can stay... this gets tossed."

I hadn't had much when I first showed up. Living here, I'd managed to accumulate plenty. The problem was the in-between stuff. I couldn't tell. Out of options, I called Mom.

"Hello? Mom?"

Now that I thought about it, I'd gotten the enlistment notice and never told my parents. The first people I'd told were ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my friends, of all people. Even so, I don't think that makes me... an unfilial son.

"Ah, so... a notice came to the house. Telling me to enlist."

The volume spiked all at once, and I yanked the phone away from my ear. Only after it died down did I bring it back.

"Uh... says I have to enlist."

"Three months from now."

I understood the shock. She'd been dead set against me living alone, and against the factory both. Enlistment, though, was something even a parent's objection couldn't stop.

"S-so I'm quitting work, clearing out the studio, and coming up..."

"No—I got off work, came home, and the notice was there today. I'm calling right after I got it, I'm telling you."

I hadn't called the moment I opened it, but it really had arrived today. And as for telling someone by phone, my parents were still first.

"I'll go in tomorrow, tell the boss I'm quitting, and I ought to call the landlord tomorrow too, right?"

"Thanks. But the reason I called..."

I asked whether to ship most of what was in the apartment or throw it out. Whether a thing went or stayed changed the weight by a lot, so I'd had no choice but to ask.

"Got it. Then I think I'll send the parcels sometime tomorrow. They'll probably get there before I do."

"Not yet. I've got to start packing now, so you tell him."

"Got it. I'm hanging up."

Getting to this age and saying I love you was, honestly, a burden. Anyway, I decided to box up most of it and send it off.

"...Hoo. Packing's done."

I was throwing out more than I'd thought, but what was I supposed to do. And then something in the corner caught my eye. The one thing that had comforted me, the whole time I'd lived here. Even so, I couldn't take it home. Throwing it away was the only option.