The First Drag

Her father was missing.

Frankly, Harin wasn't the least bit surprised. Her father might have been a detective, but there had been a time when he ran with gangsters so badly that the whole family ended up under investigation.

"I told you everything back when I was questioned. I don't know anything beyond that."

The call came from a junior detective who had once served under her father, a former captain of the violent crimes unit, and this time the irritation slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

The voice on the other end of the line grew distant, dissolving into static.

"……If I find anything out, I'll call you again."

Before he could even finish, Harin swallowed a sigh and wrapped up the call.

Even after hanging up, she stared at the number on her phone screen until it went dark. Part of her considered blocking it outright, but when it came down to it, something felt too uneasy about actually doing it.

She shoved the phone into her jacket pocket, picked up the spatula, and laid a fully fried egg over the rice. Then, in a voice completely different from before, bright and easy, she said, "Come eat."

The boy who had been sprawled face-down on the wooden veranda scrambled to his feet and hurried over to the table.

Harin quietly watched the boy's small, fern-frond hands as he scooped up rice with an enormous spoon.

Eight years old, and he never once fussed about the side dishes—kimchi stew, seasoned spinach, and a fried egg were all there was. He was a good kid, and it made her heart ache a little.

She picked at the fried egg in her own bowl with her chopsticks, stealing a glance at him. The boy kept his head bowed low, eating in silence.

To catch his attention, she would have had to call his name—but Harin hated doing that more than anything.

Jang Hayul.

She smoothed the tablecloth and tried the name silently in her mind.

The name of the half-brother born without her knowledge was far too similar to her own—Jang Harin. As if they were full siblings.

A revolting man.

She resented her father. After her mother's death, he'd used his demanding detective work as an excuse to leave Harin with her grandmother and remarry—and she didn't learn about any of it until she was eighteen, right before moving to Seoul.

Though I never imagined there'd be a kid, too.

Harin looked quietly at Hayul. His long hair kept poking into his eyes and ears, and he kept rubbing at his face with his hand.

The clothes he wore—she couldn't tell how old they were—had faded to a ghost of their color, printed with cartoon robots from some bygone era.

I can barely keep my own head above water, and I still went and dragged this poor kid home with me. I must have lost my mind.

It was during the police interrogation that she first saw him. Hayul's mother, they said, had walked out when she heard the father was tangled up with gangsters. The boy had come with the relatives, and the moment he laid eyes on Harin, he'd teared up and begged her to take him with her.

With no idea how to raise a child, she had settled her life in Seoul and come down to her grandmother's house with Hayul in tow.

Perhaps because she'd explained everything beforehand, her grandmother had only said, "Sweet child," when she saw the boy, and left it at that.

Clatter.

Lost in these tangled thoughts, she looked up to find Hayul had finished his rice and set down his spoon. He was now staring fixedly at her fried egg.

"Want it?"

At her question, Hayul nodded.

She transferred the fried egg to his bowl and ventured carefully, "Finish all of that, and then come out with me for a while, okay?"

Hayul nodded again, chewing the egg with an air of supreme indifference.

They took the bus into town. The scenery hadn't changed much in ten years, so finding the market was no trouble at all.

Summer in the mountain-ringed city of Gohyeon was cooler than Seoul, but the July sun still beat down like raw silk laid over the skin.

Harin had just brushed the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand when Hayul called to her in a small, halting voice.

"H-harin. I-isn't it hot?"

The boy asked while carefully tugging at the sleeve of her thin cardigan, then stared blankly down at her hand.

Does he want to hold hands?

She hesitated a moment, then took his small hand in hers and squeezed.

"Why? Is it that hot?"

"N-no, it's just… you're s-sweating, so why are you w-wearing long sleeves?"

Caught off guard by the question, Harin stopped mid-stride. She searched for something to change the subject, but nothing came to mind.

"I-is it because of the r-rainbow tape?"

Rainbow tape?

Only then did Harin remember the sports tape she'd wrapped around her right shoulder.

He saw me taping it up?

Her shoulder ached for no reason. As if taping it would ever bring back a joint and muscle that had already been torn apart.

Chiding herself for the lingering attachment, she brought a finger to her lips and whispered, "It's a secret from Grandma."

"A secret……? Okay!"

This first secret between him and his sister seemed to leave Hayul both awkward and thrilled—he nodded again and again, his face flushing pink.

The two of them wandered the inner stalls of the traditional market, dense with food vendors, and gradually worked their way out toward the edge.

First they stopped at a children's clothing shop and bought Hayul new clothes. From there, they picked up a stack of sketchbooks and crayons at a stationery store.

"Those sketchbooks are heavy. Let me carry them."

"N-no. I've got them."

Hauling the bundle of sketchbooks and crayons—nearly as big as his own torso—all the way, Hayul beamed. "Hee hee."

His shy smile hit her squarely in the chest. She was glad to see something he loved, yet it made her chest tighten to think of what kind of life he must have led until now.

The last stop was the barbershop. She couldn't just leave that long hair hanging over his eyes and ears.

"Well hello there, little one. Here for a haircut? How would you like it done?"

The hairdresser, her purple perm bouncing, smiled warmly down at Hayul.

Inside the shop, the grandmothers with their rolled perms and towel-wrapped shoulders turned as one to look.

Hayul, embarrassed, pressed his lips shut and stood frozen.

"Just trim it, please. Keep the shape as it is."

Reluctantly, Harin answered for him.

"Of course, ho ho."

The woman draped a cutting cape around Hayul's neck and picked up her spray bottle and comb.

Harin sank into a chair with deep cushions and let her gaze drift idly out the window.

Across the street, a cluster of construction workers in yellow hard hats stood gathered together. Cigarette smoke curled slowly up into the air between them.

Something about their slumped shoulders and long, slow exhalations looked strangely, enviably at ease.

She caught herself studying the scene one more time, then stood, her throat dry.

She looked around—no water bottles, no water purifier in sight. She didn't want to interrupt the humming hairdresser to ask for water, nor break into the grandmothers' animated gossip.

"I'm, uh—I'm going to run to the convenience store real quick."

"Mm-hm, go right ahead."

Trudging through the blazing sunlight toward the store, Harin's gaze was pulled sideways by the familiar sound of impact—whap! whap-whap!

A clean, crisp sign came into view, red and blue lines struck across a white background.

There was a gym here, of all places?

She stole a glance inside. Several people were pounding heavy bags or skipping rope.

Barely a few months ago, she had been the one sweating in a place just like it. But now…… her chest went heavy and hollow.

Harin took a step back, intending to head straight into the convenience store beside it. But her foot froze halfway to the ground, caught by a sloppy sheet of A4 paper taped to the gym's front door.

A half-hearted help-wanted notice, scrawled out with no real effort.

Does a front-desk closer really need experience? Knowing her luck, they probably had no intention of hiring anyone at all.

Feigning complete disinterest, she walked into the convenience store, grabbed a bottle of water, and headed straight for the register.

"That'll be 900 won."

Just as she was about to pay, her eyes caught on the row of cigarette packs behind the clerk.

The image of those workers flashed through her mind—their slumped shoulders, their backs as they exhaled long ribbons of smoke. It had looked so damned restful.

Harin stopped midway to her wallet and opened her mouth.

"Cigarettes…… which ones sell the most here?"

The clerk gave her face a quick once-over, then pulled out a blue pack and held it up.

She had no idea what it was, but she just said she'd take it. Cigarettes and a lighter together came to 6,400 won.

She crouched down in front of the butt can wedged awkwardly between the convenience store and the boxing gym. Her fingers felt clumsy tearing open the packaging.

Twenty-six years of never touching a drop of alcohol or a single cigarette, all in the name of her athletic career—and this was how it all came crumbling down. A hollow laugh escaped her.

She flicked the lighter, put a cigarette to her lips, and as the smoke rose, drew in a slow mouthful.

The acrid air stabbed down her throat and clamped around her lungs like a fist.

"Cough—cough!"

The coughing came in waves. Her throat burned until tears pricked her eyes, and her heart pounded like mad.

Why does anyone smoke this stuff?

She dropped the awkward, smoldering thing far away from her and stared at it blankly.

That was when it happened.

A sleek, expensive-looking black sedan came gliding slowly down the quiet road. It passed the butt can—and stopped right beside it.

The engine cut. The driver's door swung open, and out of the gleaming body stretched a pair of unexpectedly long legs.

Black dress shoes, a tailored suit—a young man about her own age stood up to his full height.

The way he stretched lazily the moment he stepped out of the car stole Harin's attention.

Polished shoes, broad shoulders pressing hard against the line of his suit jacket. The drowsy country air seemed to grow heavier and denser with that one man in it.

She was idly running her eyes over him when his gaze swung back and locked onto hers.

She ducked her head quickly.

But she could feel his stare clinging to her. It was a relentless gaze, burning against the side of her skull.

What's his problem? Did I offend him by staring too much?

Harin let only her eyes slide sideways to check on the man's movements.

And the man began walking, step by unhurried step, straight toward her.