Chapter 111: Parents Came Up from the Countryside
They'd said they were coming up from the countryside this Friday evening to stay at my place over the weekend and head back down on Sunday.
"Juhan's here!"
...And they'd come straight to the office.
Mom and Dad were sitting side by side on the sofa, with Kang Minjae plopped down right across from them. I'd just lost rock-paper-scissors to him after lunch and bought his coffee from the cafe downstairs too—only just making it back up now.
"Whoa, Lawyer? Your parents dropped by?"
And for some inexplicable reason, Kang Minjae was chatting away with them all bright and chummy, like he was their own son. He didn't even notice me walk in until he heard Dad's voice.
"Lawyer, your mom brought food for us to eat. We haven't had lunch yet—perfect timing, right?"
Kang Minjae pointed at the pink cloth bundle next to Mom. As if he hadn't just scarfed down a massive plate of spicy pork stir-fry like it was his last meal.
"Not sure if we should eat in the office... might make the place smell."
"What are you talking about, ma'am? A little ventilation and it'll be gone in no time! Lawyer, grab a seat. Want me to run down and get some instant rice, Mom? There's a convenience store right on the first floor."
"Oh, really? That's handy. I did pack some rice, but it's all gone cold."
"Nah, we'll eat what you brought."
Mom set the cloth bundle on the table and unfolded it, revealing an eight-tier lunchbox inside.
"No, no—it's all cold. Instant rice is better. Juhan, go grab some."
Mom gestured at me, still standing there frozen with the coffee carrier in hand. Kang Minjae jumped up, shoved me onto the sofa, and bolted for the door.
"I'll get it, Lawyer. You want the big pack or the small one?"
"......"
"Got it, small pack. I'll take the big one."
While he was gone, I settled onto the sofa. I awkwardly helped Mom and Dad unpack the lunchbox onto the table. A heavy silence fell.
They were my parents—why did the conversation grind to a halt the second Kang Minjae stepped out? I couldn't wrap my head around it.
"How've you been, Juhan?"
Dad asked once the side dishes were laid out.
"Fine. We talked on the phone yesterday."
"Right, we did."
"You said you'd arrive this evening—how'd you get here so early? I could've picked you up if you'd told me."
"Your mom was nagging me to leave early. Guess she missed you bad. But she conked out on the bus right after we got on, so we forgot to call."
"How'd you find the office?"
"We got here way too early. Figured it was better than making you trek out to the terminal. Gave the taxi driver your business card, and he dropped us right here after checking the address."
Mom chimed in as she poured soup from a thermos.
"That Kang Minjae kid—you've been working together for two years now?"
"A little over a year."
"He seems cheerful, polite. Real respectful to his elders. Looks like he was raised right."
Mom said, handing over some disposable chopsticks. I still didn't know much about his family. He'd never mentioned his parents, only his grandfather—so I figured there was some backstory there.
"Yeah?"
"Heard he admired you back when you were a prosecutor and followed you around."
"Admired? We're only a few classes apart."
The conversation stalled again. Dad leaned back on the sofa, glancing around the office for no reason. Mom, unable to stand the quiet, pushed a side dish container my way.
"Juhan, I made japchae—you love that. There's more here; stick it in the fridge. How can you skip meals like this?"
She pulled a big container from a paper bag and handed it over. It looked like it might be full of fermented kimchi, but through the translucent lid, I could see it packed with japchae. I stashed it in the fridge and said,
"That's a ton. I barely eat at home anyway."
"Come on. You can at least eat breakfast before heading out."
"I grab something quick right after waking up and rush to work. Miss it half the time. No time to cook proper meals."
"Just wake up thirty minutes earlier, eat breakfast, and go—you'd feel full and ready. You're almost forty now. Eat right, take care of your health. Doesn't your doctor friend Dongjin obsess over his? Learn something from him."
"Forty's still a ways off. I'm thirty-five."
It was strange. In my past life, I'd regretted not treating them better a thousand times over after they passed. But now, sitting face-to-face, the words just wouldn't come easy.
"Hot hot hot! Instant rice, warmed and ready!"
Right then, Kang Minjae burst back in, juggling two packs of rice—one big, one small, just as promised.
"Aren't you two hungry, ma'am, sir? Even if you ate, it's been a while. Want me to scoop some for you?"
The mood lightened the instant he appeared.
"No, we're good—we ate plenty."
"Then how about some coffee?"
He set the two cups I'd bought earlier in front of my parents.
"Thanks. Eat up, boys. Juhan, dig in."
And so our second lunch began. I'd already eaten my fill, so even Mom's home cooking—long missed—barely went down. I set my half-empty small pack aside, but Kang Minjae attacked his with gusto, talking nonstop all the while.
"Whoa, Mom—this is insane. Best bulgogi I've ever had. You'd make a killing if you opened a restaurant."
"Really? Maybe I should. Hehe. Eat up. Juhan, have more."
"Lawyer, what're you doing? Eat."
"I'm stuffed. Kang, eat up."
I watched him from the sofa, chopsticks flying. Dad shot me a disapproving look.
"Juhan's got no appetite."
"Totally. Whenever we eat together, he puts his spoon down first. And the food's this good."
"Kang eats well—good to see."
"Call me Minjae, sir!"
"Haha, can't do that—you're a lawyer. Oh, hey—there's japchae in the fridge your mom made. Take some home. Juhan never finishes it."
"Aw, really? But she made it thinking of him."
Kang Minjae glanced at me. Dad slapped his knee.
"Exactly—the poor woman's effort goes to waste rotting in the fridge. Someone who'll appreciate it should take it."
"Haha, then I'll shamelessly snag some. Thanks."
He polished off the japchae container—spotless, like he'd just washed it—before finally setting down his chopsticks. Clutching his belly, he kept moaning about how full he was.
"That was amazing, Mom, Dad. If we'd known you were coming, I'd have taken you somewhere nice. What now that you've fed me like this?"
"Nonsense. It's nice seeing you enjoy it."
Kang Minjae cleared the table in a flash, then fetched fruit from the fridge—stuff Jeong Yeongjun had brought last time. He kept the chatter going endlessly: praise for me mixed with light teasing. Probably just what my parents wanted to hear.
Listening to him, I realized I should've said stuff like that on our calls. Time for some self-reflection.
"Must've been proud seeing Lawyer on the news."
"Proud, sure—but tell us ahead if you're gonna be on. We watch NBS, but cousins called saying you were on News9, so we switched channels. Missed the first ten minutes."
"Your bad, Lawyer—that was the best part. Oh, I clipped just your segment and saved the video. Wanna see?"
"Really? Show us!"
Kang Minjae orchestrated a full screening of my news appearance. Overkill much? He even dimmed the lights and hooked his laptop to the TV. I couldn't stop him—my parents were eating it up. I'd watched the clip once already, but seeing it again with them felt awkward as hell.
"Your parents must love you, Lawyer—such a sweet kid. We've only got the one, and he's all quiet and gruff. No fun. Even on calls, it's just 'yes' and done."
Mom chuckled. Kang Minjae scratched his cheek.
"No parents—just my grandpa. But he scolds me for talking too much. Wish he'd find my antics cute. Haha."
He grinned wide, but the room froze solid. News to me too. Even chatty Kang Minjae had held back for a reason.
"Oh... sorry. Shouldn't have pried."
"No, no—it's fine."
Mom floundered awkwardly; Kang Minjae waved it off.
"My grandpa wants a grandson just like Lawyer. Thinks I'll steal your spot as their son."
"Haha, we'd love that!"
And just like that, he was their Minjae.
After 5 p.m., Kang Minjae hustled us out, insisting they come to my place. No new clients seemed likely, but just in case, he'd stick around till 6, lock up, and head out.
Couldn't keep my parents cooped in the office for hours, so I left him in charge. He loaded their scant luggage into my car, then stood there "saying goodbye"—which turned into more chatter. Getting nowhere, I cut in.
"Kang, I'm heading out first. Call if a client shows."
"I can handle consultations solo."
"Call."
"Got it. Head on in. Mom, Dad—have a great weekend and safe trip back! So thrilled to meet you!"
"Us too. Don't work too late, Kang."
"Will do! Drive safe!"
In the car, Mom and I bickered the whole way home about how she didn't need to clean—I had a weekly housekeeper now. Must've told her to rest three times. Exhausted from the back-and-forth, I turned to Dad.
"How're your joints, Dad?"
"Joints? You ask every call. All good now. Quit work, no more pain."
"Glad to hear. If they flare up, tell me first—no random shots just 'cause the doc recommends."
Dad nodded. I'd gotten him to retire, but at his age, couldn't let my guard down. I'd drilled it into him endlessly—couldn't emphasize enough.
It was the start of every tragedy, after all.
"Oh, spoke to Chief Choi recently?"
"The one from Pyeongtaek?"
"Yeah. He struggled with arthritis too, but he said that drug you mentioned—Antrozol?—helped a ton. Seems fine. Why'd you say not to take it?"
Antrozol hit me like a brick. I nearly slammed the brakes.
"He's on Antrozol?"
"Yeah. Told him our son said skip it, but the doc said it's all good."
I sighed. Antrozol became an issue because its formula changed midway. Before, it did squat. Then around 2010, articles exploded about patients finally seeing results after steady doses. Not steady dosing—they'd swapped in a risky new ingredient, sparking sudden improvements.
That change was a key point in the lawsuits from side-effect victims. But Myeonghwa Pharma tweaked it in late 2010. I remembered the exact date. Here in 2009, the current version was harmless—no grounds to pull it yet.
"......Still, mention it again."
"Yeah, yeah. That your place?"
We'd pulled up to the house.
"Yep. Tired? Let's head in."