Love That Discards Its Offspring
Ser Jae-a's mouth fell open in shock, leaving him speechless. At the same time, our ordered chicken stir-fry arrived. I started eating while waiting for him to find his voice. He soon followed suit. He probably needed time to think. To figure out what I really meant.
It took quite a while before Jae-a finally spoke. "I had no idea there were that many women getting abortions. But what does that have to do with your novel?"
"It just means the characters in my book aren't acting all that strangely. No deeper meaning."
Of course, I had no intention of shoving my views on women straight into some naive high school kid's head. I could offer guidance, but forcing it on him wasn't my place.
"You called my characters flat, right? Fair point. That's exactly how I meant to write them. Not every character has to be three-dimensional. The world is full of both rounded people and flat ones. I just made a choice. Sure, if it felt off, that's probably just my skill as a writer falling short a bit."
"...I see."
Jae-a's criticism was valid, really. My debut novel, The Boy's Womb, was something I'd started back in college, and it had plenty of flaws. My debut success felt like pure luck, nothing more.
Jae-a seemed lost in thought now, quietly devouring his chicken stir-fry. The kid had a healthy appetite, at least.
After we finished and stepped outside, Jae-a spoke up again. "I get what you're saying. But why frame it as 'feminine'? Plenty of women get abortions because they have no choice. That feels a little... misogynistic."
"Maybe, yeah? Just my take, though. No need for you to buy into it. I only mentioned it since you've read my stuff—and it ties into writing."
Maybe it was that earlier incident still bugging me, but I felt a spark of irritation and ended up saying more than I needed to a kid like him. Still, since we'd be seeing each other for a good while, hiding this side of me would've been weird. If he were a girl, I wouldn't have brought it up at all.
"Don't overthink it. It's just talk—not every woman is like that, and there are ones who aren't."
Probably.
"Honestly, it doesn't sound all that respectable."
"If I were that kind of guy, I never would've lasted under your dad."
"Dad's like that, yeah."
"Anyway, give me your number. Send it on CocoaTalk or whatever. Novel, whatever— I need the basics on what you wanna write."
"Got it."
That was how I parted with Seo Jae-a. I watched his back as he headed toward the building with Seo Jae-hak's office. My own appointment was coming up. I turned toward the bus stop.
Rode the bus to the station, then hopped on the subway. It took about half an hour from campus to his place. As expected, he wasn't at the meeting spot. No answer on his phone. Was I supposed to pick him up at his place or what?
At his studio apartment, I rang the bell. No response. Passed out again? I tried the doorknob—the flimsy door with its busted lock swung open without a fight. Still not fixed, huh.
"I'm coming in," I announced, stepping inside. The place reeked of booze. Figured he'd forgotten our plans after drinking himself stupid. But it was worse than that.
I pushed open the bedroom door and there they were: a guy and a girl passed out on the bed. He was practically naked; she was in her underwear.
"Ah, fuck."
I slammed the door shut. No thanks to walking in on that shit. Last thing I needed was her accusing me later of seeing her half-naked and calling the cops or something.
I shut the door and pounded on it hard, yelling at the top of my lungs. "Hey! Hwa-won! Get up, you bastard!"
Keep knocking, and he'd wake up. Sure enough, Kang Hwa-won mumbled back in a half-drunk slur. "Uh, yeah! You're here?! Sorry, gimme a sec. Hye-won, wake up."
I waited in the living room for about ten minutes before the door opened. The girl from before stumbled out in haphazard clothes, giggling at me. "Ahaha, hi there."
"Ugh, time flew. Sorry 'bout that. Had some work last night."
I shot him a sharp look. His name was Kang Hwa-won—novelist like me, college classmate, one of my few friends. I stayed silent, and he caught on, ushering the girl called Hye-won toward the entrance.
"Can't introduce me?" she whined.
"Nah, he doesn't like that shit. Head out for today—catch you later."
Ignoring me completely, they locked lips in a deep kiss right there at the door. Only after hugs and all that did she finally leave. At least she went quietly. Last time, some chick threw a fit about why she had to leave.
"Phew, she's gone. Sorry, man. Meant to just do one round, but she wouldn't let go."
"Bullshit. What if she MeToo's my ass later over this crap?"
"She won't. Girl's not smart enough."
Hwa-won laughed it off, casually trash-talking the girl he'd just fucked. That was him in a nutshell. I didn't like women either, but Hwa-won was a different breed. He swapped girls every other day. Sweet playboy on the surface, but around me, he'd call them sluts, airheads, whores. Loved pussy like it was half his lifeblood, but deep down, he was cut from the same cloth as me. Just aimed a bit differently.
"So why'd you call?"
"What, you think it's business? Nah, just come drink."
"Drink? Again?"
"Wait up. Gonna shower quick."
He bolted to the bathroom without waiting for a reply. Guy loved his booze, but he wasn't the type to lose control like this. Something was up.
His place looked the same as always—no red flags. He dragged me out after a quick rinse, straight to our usual dive bar.
"So, what's the deal?"
"Drink first, talk later."
He downed a shot of soju before the snacks even hit the table. Something was eating at him, but clamming up made it frustrating. We traded shots back and forth until I was buzzed, and finally, he opened up.
"Contest rejection."
"Ah, rough."
Nothing special there. Hwa-won was a novelist—or aspiring one, anyway. Still unpublished. I called him a novelist out of habit, but he wasn't quite there yet.
But that alone wouldn't drive him to chug like this. Lazy rich boy or not, he was no lightweight. And money troubles? Nah, daddy's cash covered that.
There had to be more. "And?"
"Dad says if I don't show results in a year, come home and take over the company."
Ah, that explained it. The kind of rich-kid dilemma that'd make anyone wanna smack him. I wasn't thrilled either, honestly. But knowing his passion for literature, I kept it cool.
Playboy, slacker, troublemaker—he faced writing dead-on seriously. That's why he'd run off from home for this life.
I topped off his glass wordlessly. One shot. No words needed.
"Am I just talentless?"
How to answer? I strutted around calling myself a novelist, but I wasn't some big shot. Just a young writer scraping by with mild lit-crit respect—no massive fanbase.
Weighing in on Hwa-won's talent felt impossible. And scary. One wrong word could shape his future.
As I sat quiet, he gave a bitter smile and refilled mine. "Yeah, pointless talking this shit. Three years, zero wins."
"People succeed after ten years of nothing..."
"Shut it, dumbass. I'm too full-bellied for this. No desperation. Can't be a novelist when you're not starving."
Was desperation the key? Had I debuted from sheer hunger, while his cushy life held him back?
I had no answer, so I stayed silent.
"Anyway, why'd Professor Seo call you?"
"Oh, asked me to tutor his son. Just met up."
"Tutor? For college entrance?"
"Nah, just writing lessons. Still figuring it out."
"You doing that? Thought you'd bail with your attitude."
"Nothing better lately. Plus, he hooked me up with a TTBS interview spot."
"Interview? Holy shit, you're blowing up! Getting press now?"
"Not a big deal. Feels like he dangled the tutoring to set up the interview."
"Still, articles and buzz. You're killing it."
Hwa-won eyed me enviously. From his spot, I must've looked like the guy with what he lacked. Fair enough.
We drank till we were smashed that night before parting.
~
Back home, I was already hammered. Barely remember what state of mind I was in. Somehow, I dialed without knowing what I even wanted to say.
House of Love. Where I grew up.
Late night call—reasonable to be pissed—but the voice that picked up was as warm as ever.
"...What's up, Guk-ah."
"Di...rector... It's Seol-guk."
"You're totally wasted. Everything okay?"
"No... nothing. Just... calling."
Words slurring.
"Sounds like good news."
She could tell from my voice alone what I was getting at.
"How'd you know?"
"You only call with good stuff."
Ah, right.
"You can call anytime you're struggling, too."
"Of course. Who else would I turn to? It's you, Director."
"What's today?"
"I... got an interview. On TTBS."
"Good for you. Glad you're doing well."
My lips curved up without thinking. Talking to her always did that.
"Thanks. All because of you."
"I'm proud of you."
Thanks. Don't remember what else we said. Blacked out right after.
I always called her with good news. College acceptance, debut, first book—every time.
The interview mattered partly for promo. It'd spotlight the orphanage naturally.
Money was the issue, ultimately. I donated over half my earnings, but they were still strapped.
Every plea from her I had to turn down for lack of cash—it killed me. Now with stability, I could give steady. But alone, I couldn't fix their books.
I'd talk about House of Love on the interview. Knew it wouldn't be huge promo—just a small spot, maybe one or two online articles.
Still, I wanted to do what I could.