The Sound of the Sandbag

A deep shadow fell across her from above.

Harin looked up in bewilderment at the man who had strode over. Sharp eyes, a hard jawline, and long black hair falling loose around his neck gave off an atmosphere that was somehow heavy and strange all at once.

His deep-set gaze brushed over her for a moment, and when he spotted the cigarette smoldering on the ground, his brow creased slightly.

"Hmm……"

He tilted his head and let out an irritated breath.

"No smoking here."

The low, sardonic voice rang out, and a long, slender finger pointed toward the wall. His tone was flat, but the lines of his profile looked quietly displeased.

Hanging from the marble pillar between the convenience store and the gym was a paper sign, taped up with packing tape. The words NO SMOKING written in red had even been carefully laminated.

Harin stared blankly at it, then looked back and forth between the cigarette burning away at her feet and the ashtray sitting right beside it.

……A no-smoking zone with an ashtray?

Her face flushed with embarrassment as she scrambled to her feet. She should put out the cigarette, but she had no idea how.

Could she just grind it out with her foot? She was awkwardly picking up the fallen cigarette when—

"……Hng, huaaah!"

A child's wail, edged with terror, rang out, along with the urgent voices of adults.

For an instant, Harin felt a chill of dread.

"Wh-where is she……?!"

That tearful cry was unmistakably Hayul's.

A moment later, a small figure burst out from behind the alley beside the gym. The moment Hayul spotted Harin, he came sprinting, the cardigan wrapped around his neck flapping, and threw his arms around her waist in a fierce embrace.

"Oh……"

Surprise lasted only a moment. With his face buried in her stomach and his shoulders heaving, the boy's breath slowly soaked into Harin's clothes.

"Tsk, tsk. The kid's mother, apparently."

The man muttered low, as if the whole thing were pathetic, shaking the ash from the still-lit cigarette before tossing it carelessly into the ashtray.

What's with that look of contempt?

Harin was confused in more ways than one—and frankly, it was absurd. She'd only lit the cigarette out of curiosity; she hadn't known this was a no-smoking zone; and the child clinging to her wasn't her son but her little brother……

There was a mountain of things to explain, but right now, what mattered was Hayul.

"Found her! I found her!"

"Oh my, so that's where the little one's mom was!"

The hairdresser and the grandmothers with towels draped over their heads ambled over, belatedly.

……No, I'm not his mom, I keep telling you.

The grandmothers and the hairdresser, paying no mind to the man standing in Harin's way, piled up excuses as they talked.

Harin gazed down at Hayul, who still had his face buried against her, then crouched down low.

"What's wrong? Lift your head up for me."

The boy kept his head bowed, only sniffling.

"N-noona. C-can't you not throw me away? I'll be good. I don't n-need a sketchbook or cr-crayons. I'll o-only eat a little rice too."

At those words, a storm of fury welled up inside Harin.

What on earth had this child been through at their relatives' house, to be reduced to this……

"……Hayul. I'm not throwing you away."

At her words, Hayul lifted his head a little. His face asked—is it true? Is it a lie? Can I believe you?

Harin smoothed the tear-streaked face of her brother, then scooped him up into her arms.

"Look at the state of your hair. Let's go finish the cut and head home."

"Y-you won't throw me away?"

"I won't. I'm going home with you, Hayul. So you don't throw me away either, okay?"

Harin said it in a slightly brighter voice, and Hayul buried his face against her shoulder and answered through his lingering sobs, a small "Okay."

By the time things had settled and she lifted her head, the man was already gone.

In the spot where he'd vanished as smoothly as smoke, only the sound of a sandbag being struck echoed through the gym alley. That sound clung to her back like a lingering regret, but Hayul's tears soaking her shoulder snapped her back to her senses.

By dinnertime, Grandmother had come home.

"Hayul, did you get your hair cut today?"

"Y-yes! N-noona bought me clothes too!"

Harin watched Grandmother and Hayul chatting away comfortably on the floor, then turned her gaze to the winnowing basket set by the kitchen sink. Inside were a few bundles of wild greens left over—it looked like she'd brought back what didn't sell at the market after gathering them before dawn.

Harin quietly studied her grandmother's back, stiff and discolored with sweat. Her spine seemed even more bent than it had been a few years ago.

An indescribable guilt and self-loathing bloomed in her chest.

Bam, bam-bam!

The sound of gloves striking a sandbag rang faintly in her ears.

Her grand dream of becoming a national boxing champion and giving her grandmother an easy life had wilted like those roadside greens the moment her shoulder gave out—fizzling into nothing worth mentioning.

She had to stop chasing that dream now. So at the dinner table, Harin carefully spoke up.

"Grandma, I'm going to get a part-time job."

"And what about boxing?"

Grandmother asked as she laid a few sprigs of chwinamul greens on Hayul's spoon.

"……I just want to…… rest, for a bit."

Harin answered in a voice that crawled. She couldn't bring herself to say that her shoulder injury meant she could never compete again.

Whether on purpose or simply to spare her, Grandmother brushed it off as if it were nothing.

"Resting, and you're worried about a job? Don't you fret about money. Grandma's got plenty."

Someone with plenty of money gathers wild greens before dawn and hauls them to market to sell?

It was suffocating. She knew that saying more would only wound them both, yet the words slipped out of Harin's mouth all the same.

"Dad took all your money, Grandma. You know that."

Only then did Grandmother meet Harin's eyes.

Looking at her granddaughter's flushed, brimming eyes, Grandmother seemed to have plenty she wanted to say too.

"Your father's a good man."

At those words, Harin's face crumpled.

As the mood at the table grew heavy, Hayul began glancing around nervously, and Grandmother gently patted his back.

"Hayul, chew your food nice and slow now, hear?"

"Yes, ma'am……"

"Grandma's dizzy. I'm off to bed."

With a creaking groan, Grandmother slowly rose and made her way into the inner room.

Harin stared resentfully at the sliding door as it rattled shut behind her.

"Haah……"

She let out a long sigh and buried her face in both hands.

Ah…… this wasn't how it was supposed to go. This isn't it.

"N-noona, are you crying?"

Hayul, sitting across from her, mumbled the question around a mouthful of rice.

Right—better if I could just bawl my eyes out and pour it all out.

"No, I'm not crying. Hurry up and finish, brush your teeth, and let's go to bed."

"Okay……"

After clearing the dishes, she spread out the bedding and slid the living room door closed. Under the flickering light of the bathroom, she washed Hayul first and toweled his damp hair dry. Only after tucking the boy into bed did Harin head to the bathroom to wash herself. She stripped off her clothes and unwound the tape wrapped snugly around her shoulder. A vivid red mark was printed across her skin.

Harin stared silently at her reflection in the mirror above the sink.

At nineteen, twenty, her body had been harder than anyone's. The sleek muscles that had gleamed under the arena lights were gone, leaving behind only flat arms and a pale face.

As if shaking off the memories, she finished her shower quickly and threw on her pajamas, trying to soothe the raw ache somewhere in her chest.

Harin lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Cree-cree— cree-cree—

Outside, insects chirred in the grass; beside her, Hayul's small, even breathing rose and fell. She closed her eyes quietly, letting the sounds be her lullaby, but sleep wouldn't come.

Her eyes, long accustomed to the dark, drifted slowly across the living room wall.

At some point, the hands of the cuckoo clock had passed midnight. Beside it, a photo frame hung on the wall caught her eye.

It was a picture of her at fifteen, a silver medal around her neck from the National Junior Sports Festival. Grandmother and her father stood beside her.

Her father came only once a year—for her birthday, or for a competition. Always a face both strange and welcome.

Bam! Bam-bam!

In that moment, the sound of the sandbag she'd heard through the gym window that day overlapped in her mind again.

Something she'd tried to forget twitched awake somewhere deep in her body.

The heavy shock that had traveled up through her fingertips with every punch; the electric jolt that had spread through her whole frame when she caught the mitts. Those moments when, even with her breath burning at the back of her throat, she'd risen again and thrown her fist……

What's the point of wanting it now, after everything?

But unlike her reason, somewhere deep in her heart, she still missed boxing.

Even knowing her shoulder was broken, that she could never return to what she'd been.

Harin forced her eyes shut, listening to the steady breathing of Hayul asleep beside her.

The lingering ache refused to fade.

"……God, this really is the worst."

A small sigh drowned in the night air.