AGC | Chapter 1.1

Even when he was out of breath, Yoon Jiwan couldn’t stop running. Only after gasping as if he was about to cough up his insides did he finally manage to catch a taxi. The driver glanced at his unusual passenger with curiosity.

“Huff, huff…”

There was only one place to run to. He recited the address of his grandmother’s place, urging the driver to start quickly. The driver hesitated, surprised by the long distance to a rural area.

“Just start driving. I’ll give you the exact address on the way… Hurry.”

Forcing himself to swallow his breath, he barely managed to speak. He felt like he might throw up from running so fast.

The driver seemed more pleased about getting a long-distance fare than worried about the strange passenger, humming a tune. Meanwhile, Jiwan’s heart grew heavy. All the money he had would likely go to this taxi fare.

The reason he suddenly became a fugitive was all because of his father. More precisely, it started today, right after his father’s three-day funeral.

When he heard about his father’s death, he wasn’t shocked or sad. He was more curious about where and how his father got stabbed and ended up in a field. Considering his father’s lifestyle, it wasn’t surprising that he got stabbed by someone somewhere.

“How can there be so few mourners?”

“Shh, keep it down. It doesn’t seem like he died for a good reason.”

Jiwan overheard the funeral hall staff whispering while he stood by the empty funeral parlor. Their voices were so loud it was as if they wanted him to hear, but he didn’t bother picking a fight. He hadn’t had a good relationship with his father to be offended by insults. Besides, the police had come by.

“Mr. Yoon Jiwan, we have a few questions. How was your relationship with your father?”

“It was bad.”

“Did your father have any financial issues or grudges?”

“A lot. It wouldn’t be surprising if he died anytime.”

The police left with a weary look at his indifferent attitude, telling him to stay informed as it was under investigation.

No acquaintances of his father showed up at the funeral. Jiwan recalled the saying that weddings are for the parents’ friends, and funerals are for the children’s friends. Neither he nor his father had any friends to come.

Listening to other families wailing at the crematorium, he watched his father’s coffin burn. He chose the cheapest urn and didn’t bother checking if it was properly placed. His eyelids were swollen from staying up all night, hoping someone might come. He just wanted to go home quickly.

As he walked away, someone stopped him.

“You have a good impression.”

“What?”

How could anyone say he had a good impression with this tired face? Jiwan let out a dry laugh. He knew better than anyone how disheveled he looked, not having washed properly for days.

“If you perform ancestral rites, your future will be bright.”

Normally, he would have ignored a cult member, but he stopped.

“I cremated my dad today, and you say I have a good impression?”

The cult member’s face twisted as if he was looking at a madman.

“Perform rites? Are you crazy? Why are you suddenly quiet? Say more.”

The man, realizing he messed with the wrong person, left with a sour expression.

Jiwan frowned. His head, already heavy, felt even more dizzy. He thought yelling might make him feel better, but instead, he felt worse for taking it out on an unrelated person.

Anyway, he had no one to talk to about his father’s death, which was of no help to his life. He had no one to share the satisfaction or the lingering discomfort with. Jiwan was sure he had lived his life in vain.

“Ha, really… I should move.”

The steep uphill road was so snowy in winter that it could open as a sledding slope. Jiwan gritted his teeth and dragged his heavy legs. He wiped the sweat off his nose with the back of his hand and headed to the crumbling old villa.

He wanted to get in, wash up, and rest as soon as possible. He was afraid his father’s spirit might haunt him. Now, no one would look for him or care about him, so he just wanted to sleep quietly for a long time.

As if to refute that thought, his phone, which never rang, buzzed loudly.

“Hello.”

He answered while rubbing his wet hair with a towel, but there was silence on the other end.

“Hello?”

Jiwan asked again, not hiding his irritation. He was tired.

“Jiwan-nim, you’re home, right?”

It was a stranger’s voice. A low yet strangely kind voice.

“Someone will be coming to you soon.”

“What?”

“Just relax.”

What are they talking about?

He tried to ask more, but the call ended abruptly.

He thought for a moment while drying his hair with a towel. Was it a prank call? Who would pull such a prank? Lying on the bed that filled his tiny studio, he couldn’t figure it out.

Soon, a small anxiety began to rise in Jiwan’s chest.

A tiny studio, rent, money, his father’s death, someone coming here…

As his thoughts connected, his body sprang up like a spring. This wasn’t a prank call; it was a warning.

“…Crazy…”

Pulling back the curtain, he saw expensive-looking black sedans pulling in. They were cars that didn’t belong in this villa neighborhood.

The red alert in his mind blared louder. He hurriedly pulled out the green suitcase stuffed under the desk. The suitcase hit his foot, but there was no time to hold his aching foot.

“Seriously, this is insane.”

Jiwan ruffled his hair and frowned. He opened the suitcase, but there wasn’t much to pack.

He swept all the clothes from the hangers and stuffed them into the suitcase. It was absurd not to have a bankbook to grab while fleeing, but he needed clothes to survive. After shoving in the cigarette pack from the desk, he slammed the suitcase shut with a loud bang.

“Useless to the end.”

Jiwan muttered.

His hands were trembling uncontrollably. He didn’t know if it was fear of his already miserable life hitting rock bottom or hatred for his father, who was now ashes.

Yoon Jiwan quickly grasped the situation.

Even in death, his father was of no help, leaving his debts to his son before getting stabbed. He recalled the last time he believed his father, who boasted about paying off all his debts. A self-deprecating laugh escaped him.

As he left the villa, he saw people getting closer from the cars. At least four or five. Jiwan hesitated. Should he act casual and pretend to be a resident, or should he run immediately? As he pondered, he noticed a man in a black suit pointing at him.

That’s when he started running. He ran so hard that his lungs felt like they were being stabbed and about to burst. The cheap suitcase ran with him, its wheels flying off and scraping the ground. Jiwan decided to carry the suitcase in his arms and run.

He managed to escape the mysterious pursuers and get into a taxi. There was no time to catch his breath. He needed to get out of there as quickly as possible.

“Huff, huff… Just start driving!”

Even if his life was pitiful from birth, being a fugitive was better than dying unnoticed.

⋆ ☾⋆ ☾⋆ ☾⋆

When the taxi finally stopped at the station Jiwan had mentioned, it had been a long, bumpy ride through the mountain roads. The driver hesitated before speaking to the passenger, who had been staring blankly out the window, unaware they had arrived.

“We’re here.”

As soon as Jiwan got out with his battered suitcase, the taxi sped off into the dark without looking back. Jiwan looked around under the unlit station. The countryside was filled only with the sound of insects. The suitcase, missing a wheel, made a loud scraping noise.

Unlocking his phone to turn on the flashlight, he noticed numerous missed calls—all from that mysterious number. Jiwan swallowed the curses that threatened to escape his throat. His mouth was too dry to speak. He was dying of thirst, desperate to pour water down his throat.

“…What a mess.”

Noticing the discomfort in his steps, he realized he was wearing mismatched shoes—a sneaker and a slipper. A sigh escaped his chapped lips. Nothing was going right.

The familiar blue gate, its paint peeling, was ajar. Since his grandmother passed away, no one lived there, so there was no need to lock it. Jiwan looked at the dilapidated house, which seemed haunted from neglect, and tossed his suitcase to the ground.

He tried turning the faucet in the yard, but not a drop came out. Jiwan remembered the area well. The nearest store was over an hour’s walk away, and it wouldn’t be open at this hour. Giving up on finding water, he decided to lie down on the porch.

As soon as his body hit the untouched porch, a cloud of dust rose. Rubbing his itchy nose, he closed his eyes. Cleanliness and hygiene were the least of his concerns now.

Though he had suddenly become a fugitive, he was too exhausted from not sleeping for almost three days. He could think about everything else after some rest.

But his short rest was soon interrupted. Jiwan hesitated before finally picking up the phone that kept ringing. There was a part of him that wanted to hear the voice. The silence on the other end suggested they hadn’t expected him to answer.

“Why are you running?”

A man’s voice asked after a moment.

“…Do I look like I have a choice? I’m about to get my organs sold.”

Jiwan replied boldly, considering his fugitive and subordinate status.

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

“…Aren’t you here to collect my father’s debt?”

“That’s not all.”

Jiwan felt his mind slowing, words becoming harder to form. The prolonged tension was catching up with him, bringing fatigue.

“I read online about renouncing inheritance or something… I don’t have a penny, so what’s the point of chasing me? What are you going to do if you catch me?”

“Calm down and wait a bit.”

Jiwan frowned, pressing a warm forehead.

So, they were coming after him. But why was someone trying to catch him speaking so kindly?

He lowered the phone from his ear and closed his eyes. The fatigue was overwhelming, and he felt he could fall asleep in an instant.

“I told you to come comfortably, but you ran away.”

An irresistible drowsiness pressed down on him. He was on the verge of sleep, using the man’s voice and the sound of insects as a lullaby.

The man continued speaking, but Jiwan couldn’t make out the words clearly.

“Just rest for now. I’ll be there soon.”

That was the last voice he heard. The sleepiness clung to Jiwan like a fog, and he couldn’t fight it.

⋆ ☾⋆ ☾⋆ ☾⋆

He felt a cold hand touch his cheeks. The hand stroked his face briefly before disappearing. He wished it would linger longer, cooling his fever. He wanted to ask for more, but his lips only moved silently.

Soon, his body was lifted into the air. Uncomfortable, he squirmed, feeling the arms supporting his back and knees tighten. Then he was carefully placed somewhere. The feel of a seat beneath him suggested he was in a car.

This was familiar. It reminded him of a day when he was terrified of his drunken father. His grandmother had taken him away like this. She had gently patted his trembling back, and the warmth lulled him to sleep. She drove him to the countryside, and the journey felt as comforting as a cradle.