Back when I was around eight, I had this boy in my class.
"A child… a child just fell from the sky!" he'd shout in the middle of a lesson, having jumped up from his screechy, wooden chair. His eyes widened in shock, one trembling finger rising to point outside the classroom window.
"A child… a child…!" he'd keep repeating, his free hand reaching up to tangle in his brown hair, tugging at the short strands.
A loud bang would echo through the room, followed by a sharp, "Ho-jae, snap out of it," from the very front of the classroom. Sir Kandae, his fist now slammed against the whiteboard.
"For goodness' sake, can't you take your medicine?" Kandae would grumble, brushing off Ho-jae's delusions like swatting a fly. He was used to it. His delusions, I mean. Kandae would turn around after, resuming his scribbling on the whiteboard in front of him.
Usually, Ho-jae would be out of it by then. But that one particularly sunny day in elementary school, he wasn't.
He sat back down on his chair after Kandae's lecture, but his expression was hard to read—very unusual.
His posture was stiff, like lightning had struck him. His eyes were dazed, seemingly unaware of all the eyes watching him. Normally, he'd be hiding his face by now.
I remember observing him. I never understood it—how easily Ho-jae was dismissed. "Hey, Ho-jae," I whispered that day, leaning over my desk, careful not to get caught by Kandae.
Ho-jae turned around so fast it made me jerk back, startled. His eyes were cautious, as if he expected me to strike him.
"Y… Yes..? Uh…"
"Yuna."
"Yes, Yuna… What is it…?"
"It wasn't real."
"…"
"The child, I mean. It was all in your head. Nothing fell from the sky."
Ho-jae blinked once. Twice. Then he seemed to snap out of it, slowly realizing the meaning of my words. "Ah… yes. Thank you," he mumbled, turning back around afterward.
"Thinking back now, that was you, wasn't it? Jin Ho-jae," Yuna spoke with calm conviction, legs crossed on a red plush chair. The cut of it resembled a throne.
Across from her sat a boy—messy brown hair, fair skin, eyes dark enough they absorbed every ounce of light. He didn't look a day older than eighteen.
A gun rested on his lap, his fingers expertly polishing the barrel with a white cloth. He looked up at her, his brows twitching for just a second.
He huffed—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ma'am," he denied.
"Yuseon Private Elementary School, Class 3-2. Our homeroom teacher was Kandae."
"No idea still."
"You're a bad liar."
"I wouldn't dare lie to you, Ma'am."
"Then wipe that smirk off your face if you want to sound believable."
Ho-jae cast his eyes back down to the firearm nestled between his legs, staring at it in silence.
"Well," Yuna said, rising from her seat, "aren't you going to take care of him, eh?" Her head tilted slightly, mock-innocent.
Someone—no, a body—slumped in the far corner of the room. A hole punched clean through the back of the suit it wore. Unmoving.
"He's dead."
"I'm aware."
"Then why ask?"
"The corpse isn't going to disappear on its own, is it?"
Ho-jae paused. Then let out a long, reluctant sigh and pushed himself to his feet.
"You shouldn't have killed him."
"But I didn't. You did. Did you forget?"
Ho-jae sighed again—deeper this time, more irritated.
"I didn't agree to take the blame. Ma'am, I didn't agree to lie," he said firmly.
"Well, that's too bad," she replied, almost playfully. "You're a murderer now."
He huffed again, but didn't argue. He'd have to be a fool to defy Seong Yuna—Chairman Seong's only daughter.
"Hurry up, murderer boy. I've got an appointment with my father." She brushed imaginary dust off the shoulder of her jacket, stepping over the corpse like it was a discarded toy. The men in suits guarding the doorway didn't flinch as she passed.
"This way, Ma'am," one of them said, guiding her out. Another slipped into the room behind her, prepared to deal with the body. "The Chairman is expecting you."
Ho-jae watched the scene play out through the room's open door. He didn't look away until she settled into the car waiting outside.
"Haah…" he exhaled, slow and bitter. Gazing at the sorry corpse. "How did I end up here?"
His eyes drifted to the gun's barrel. His thumb paused over the engraved letters on the metal: YS.
He tucked it into his pocket.
"Ho-jae, lighter."
"Yes."