"Do you believe life is fair?"
The old uncle asked while sitting on the platform, a cheap cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers.
The boy beside him did not answer right away. He only shook his head slightly and stared at the street ahead.
It was crowded. Too crowded.
People moved past them in waves. Some walked confidently, dressed in clean clothes, buying expensive things without hesitation. Others stood at stalls, counting coins carefully before choosing the cheapest option. The boy noticed a familiar figure among them, an aunty buying fish from a roadside vendor.
"I don't believe it," he finally said.
His voice was calm, but his eyes were tired.
"My father told me life is a race. He spent his whole life running in it."He paused."I also heard no one ever really wins. Some say it takes generations. Some say the game only ends when you are dead."
He turned to the old uncle."How about you, unc? Did you beat the game already?"
The old man sighed, then laughed softly. But the boy saw it clearly. Tears slowly gathered in the corners of his eyes.
Before he could say anything else, the aunty with the fish approached them.
The boy quickly put out his cigarette and slipped it back into his pocket. He could not waste it. He only allowed himself two cigarettes a week.
"Mom," he said, standing up. "Is it heavy? Let me help you."
She hesitated and said it was fine, but he could hear the exhaustion in her voice. His heart sank. No son wanted to see his mother tired like this.
As the eldest, the weight on his shoulders felt heavier than before.
He took the basket from her hands and walked beside her toward their apartment.
Halfway home, a foul smell drifted through the air.
"Must be rotten fish," he thought.
Then a breeze passed, and the truth hit him.
It was not the fish.
It was from his mother.
The apartment they lived in was cheap and broken. Even though they paid the water bill every month, the water never worked properly. The water they used for cooking could not be used for bathing.
Water was precious. So was health.
They had to draw lots to decide who could shower.If he bathed today, his mother would have to wait two more days.
"That's fine," he told himself. "I can wait."
Suddenly, a car stopped beside them.
His body stiffened.
He hated that car. He remembered the license plate by heart. That family, no, their entire bloodline, had brought his family nothing but humiliation and trouble.
His teeth clenched, but he forced a smile.
The car window rolled down.
"Hello," an aunty inside greeted them brightly.
They greeted her back.
His mother's face turned stiff. As her eldest son, he noticed it immediately.
The aunty began talking, praising her son endlessly."How much does your son earn these days?" she asked with a smile that did not feel kind.
"It's none of your business," the boy replied.
She laughed lightly. "Come on, Min Seo."
He smirked. "Two thousand a month."
Her eyes widened for a second. Then he saw it. The satisfaction. She enjoyed seeing others beneath her.
She cleared her throat and changed the subject."My son is an assistant manager now. Eighty five thousand a month."
"Good for him," his mother said quietly.
The aunty nodded proudly. "A gift from heaven."Then she added, "He always beat your son in school too, didn't he?"
The boy's hands tightened.That was not true. The truth was complicated. But his mother kept agreeing, trying to end the conversation peacefully.
Then another car window rolled down.
From the passenger side.
What he saw made his blood boil.
Her son, YP, was sitting there with a girl in his arms.
Soo Ya.
His closest friend.
His chest burned. His thoughts shattered.
"We have things to do," he said coldly. "Goodbye."
He grabbed his mother's hand and pulled her away.
By the time they reached home, his emotions collapsed. Anger. Guilt. Fear. Depression.
What had he done with his life?What had he achieved?Was this all his future held?Was his family destined to always be looked down on?
The thoughts crushed his chest.
He locked himself in the bathroom and smoked his last cigarette.
"Damn it," he muttered. "That was my last one for the month."
Tears fell silently.