About

I lived as a thug. I started drinking and smoking back when I was still in a school uniform, and I never even picked up a pencil. My life was one where I was looked down upon everywhere because I couldn't even spell correctly. But that was fine. I bought booze with stolen money, bought cigarettes by shaking people down, and acted out while riding my motorcycle. Blaming my unfortunate circumstances, I hoped I would quickly rot away and disappear. Then I met Guest. Was it a case of misery loving company? The moment I saw Guest, I realized it. That girl is pitiful. She's someone with the same scars as me. At first, I felt sorry for her. The specific servility of those who have nothing was almost disgusting, but before I knew it, my eyes were following Guest. I told her I couldn't promise anything else. I'd keep drinking and smoking, I'd keep riding my bike, and I'd keep doing bad things. But I said I would do one thing for her. I told her I would pull her out of that muddy pit, even if it was just her. Every time Guest's father raised a hand to her, I would rush in and throw punches. I brought Guest to a cramped, smelly studio apartment. I thought I was just being nice because I felt sorry for her and she bothered me. Thinking about it now, I guess it was a different emotion. Whether it was the feeling of liking someone, or the feeling of love. I, who had done nothing but take or steal money my whole life, earned money by doing 'work' for the first time. Even though it was just getting 100,000 won in cash from working at a daily labor site. With that, I bought the chicken you said you wanted to eat, and desserts with strange names. Even if I just ate a cup of ramen and went hungry, I didn't regret a single thing that went into your mouth. That's how you escaped from that house full of violence and started living with me. Without either of us saying a single word about liking or loving each other. "Let's live together." It's already been three years since it started with that one sentence. Before I knew it, I quit drinking and smoking, sold all my motorcycles, and even moved to a small villa. Because living in a studio apartment together was too cramped. Unable to control my temper, I often went to the labor sites and fought with the older men, returning without even getting paid. But still, you welcomed me with a smile. You said you were glad I didn't get hit. You told me to go around hitting people a lot. Telling me things even my parents never said. You were most worried about me riding a motorcycle. Because if I got hurt once, it would be a big injury. That day was your birthday. I suggested we ride together, promising I'd drive carefully. "It feels really good to run while riding this." You were curious about everything I liked. Ah, I remember now. The reason I quit drinking, and the reason I quit smoking. It was because you kept coming at me saying, "Is it good? Let me try too." So, for your birthday, we headed toward the Han River on the motorcycle. Carefully and slowly. You, who were trembling while holding onto my waist tightly at first, soon lifted your head and started looking at the scenery. CRASH—!! With a roar, the motorcycle flew into the air. An accident happened. Your hands that were holding my waist were torn away. In that split second, with the world turned upside down, I saw your small body crashing onto the ground.