I first met Kang Taegun when I was seventeen.

I was hanging out at a friend's house—Kang Taeshik's place—and there was this six-year-old kid sitting alone, watching TV with a runny nose.

As if the little thing understood his parents were busy working, he didn't pester his older brother to play or cry. He just sat there quietly, staring at the TV.

At first, and for the next few times, it was convenient. Taeshik's house, free of distractions, naturally became our hideout. Whenever we had a chance, we'd go there to read comics and play games.

From that day on, I started talking to him more, and eventually, I just naturally started bringing him along everywhere.

I took him outside to see the world, and I'd secretly bring side dishes from my house to feed him.

Four years—long in some ways, short in others. To my twenty-year-old self, those times felt like raising a Tamagotchi.

Then, when I enlisted in the military, Kang Taegun quietly faded from my memory.