PEN Vol 4 Ch. 22

“Boss. I said I’d bring the certificate of repayment yesterday, but I completely forgot, so I came by. On my way here, I thought it was empty without any guests, so I brought some of the guys with me… but the kid keeps telling us to leave.”

Sejin hung his head in despair. He couldn’t face Cheon Sejoo. Clenching his trembling hands into fists, Sejin desperately denied the reality.

No. He’s not the same. 

Cheon Sejoo is different from those people. 

Those bastards are the ones who killed Mom. 

Not Cheon Sejoo. 

Cheon Sejoo… he tried to save Mom. 

Mom didn’t die because of Cheon Sejoo.

The words he repeated to convince himself echoed in his mind. Tears streamed down his cheeks and splattered on the floor. 

Different. He’s different…. 

As Sejin whispered to himself, Cheon Sejoo’s voice reached him.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

Sejin bit his lip hard and raised his head. It was Cheon Sejoo’s single sentence, uttered after a long silence, that finally made the men, who had been looking around nervously despite Sejin telling them to leave, depart.

“He told you to leave.”

It was a statement that left no room for argument. Kim Donggil finally sighed briefly, glancing between Sejin and the portrait, apologized with a “Sorry,” and left the funeral hall. As the men disappeared, following Kim Donggil, the tension in the air dissipated.

Sejin remained standing there, his fists clenched. Devastated, tears filled his eyes as he stared at the floor. The sight of them leaving at Cheon Sejoo’s single word rendered all the words he had repeated to himself like an assurance, meaningless. 

He had just witnessed firsthand that Cheon Sejoo was one of them, practically their leader. The realization that he had fallen in love with such a man filled him with despair. Sejin lifted his head. His eyes, filled with resentment, looked at the man standing before him.

Cheon Sejoo, however, simply approached and embraced him without a word. Without knowing what Sejin was thinking.

“You….”

Large hands cupped his cheeks, rough fingertips wiping away his tears. Sejin finally broke down and sobbed.

“I hate you….”

The end of his sentence was choked with tears. Sejin lowered his head, buried his face in Cheon Sejoo’s neck, and cried.

Why are you so kind? 

Why did you make me love you….?

His heart swelled and deflated repeatedly. Sejin was devastated by the realization that Cheon Sejoo was one of the people who had brought him misfortune, yet saddened by the fact that he was also the only one who had reached out to save him. He couldn’t even properly resent him. Cheon Sejoo already occupied too much of his heart. Sejin didn’t want to resent himself.

Cheon Sejoo’s gentle hand stroked Sejin’s back. With each stroke, Sejin tightened his arms around Cheon Sejoo. Still, Sejin couldn’t let him go. He didn’t want to be separated from him. It was a pathetic gesture.

“Kwon Sejin.”

When Sejin’s sobs finally subsided, Cheon Sejoo spoke. At his low voice, Sejin slowly nodded and replied, “Yes.”

Then, Cheon Sejoo pushed Sejin away slightly, creating a small distance between them, and looked at him with a detached gaze.

“Don’t blame anyone.”

“What…?”

The words he soon uttered were something Sejin hadn’t unexpected. At the statement he couldn’t understand, which for some reason brought a fresh wave of sorrow, Sejin stared blankly at Cheon Sejoo. Cheon Sejoo continued,

“Everyone dies.”

“…….”

This was the first time Cheon Sejoo had directly addressed Kim Hyunkyung’s death. Sejin, unable to grasp his meaning, bit his lip in confusion.

Don’t tell me he’s going to take their side in front of me? 

You’re not that bad of a person…. are you?

Just as Sejin was thinking this—

“It’s no one’s fault. It’s not your fault for not knowing your mother was sick, and it’s not those people’s fault for taking your mother to the Ehwagak as they were following orders.”

“But…!”

“Don’t blame anyone, Sejin. I’m saying this for your own good.”

Cheon Sejoo’s hands grasped Sejin’s trembling shoulders. Sejin knew he was trying to calm him down, but it was impossible. 

It’s no one’s fault? How could he say such a thing?

His mother shouldn’t have died so meaninglessly. She was someone who deserved a long and happy life more than anyone, yet she died, unable to overcome the sudden illness. Even now, his chest ached with grief and injustice. How could he not blame anyone?

His heart felt like it was rotting away. Sejin felt a deeper despair now than when he heard Cheon Sejoo say that his mother’s collapse was a trivial matter.

It felt like Cheon Sejoo was pushing him off the edge of a cliff.

But you’re the only one who reached out to me….

The impending fall terrified him. Sejin, feeling as if his shoulders were burning red under Cheon Sejoo’s grip, opened his mouth.

“How… how can you say that?”

Cheon Sejoo frowned at his words laced with unconcealed resentment.

“Of all people, you…!”

His choked voice was filled with pain. Cheon Sejoo was now Sejin’s everything. He was the only one Sejin could confide in, so he couldn’t bear it when Cheon Sejoo sided with others.

But despite Sejin’s pale face, looking as if he might collapse at any moment, Cheon Sejoo’s calm voice continued.

“Think carefully. If those bastards hadn’t taken your mother to Ehwagak, would she still be alive?”

“Of course…!”

“What about the medical expenses? The living expenses? You know your mother’s personality better than anyone, Kwon Sejin. Do you think your mother would have undergone chemotherapy if it weren’t for the financial support from Ehwagak? Do you think she would have been hospitalized? No, would she even have gotten checked out when she felt sick in the first place?”

The sharp remarks pierced Sejin’s mind. Even amidst the chaos, perhaps because of Cheon Sejoo’s calm voice, the scenarios he presented vividly appeared before his eyes. Sejin gasped, his mouth agape. Sadly, he had no rebuttal. Cheon Sejoo was right.

If there hadn’t been anyone to support the medical expenses, Kim Hyunkyung wouldn’t have even attempted chemotherapy.

As he said, she would have likely endured her illness without going to the hospital, and by the time chemotherapy became meaningless, she would have received a terminal diagnosis due to Sejin’s persistence, and lived out her last days at home, relying on painkillers until she passed away.

The image of his mother, having missed the opportunity for treatment, and suffering in pain at home, easily came to mind. Sejin knew his mother too well to deny Cheon Sejoo’s words. She was the type of person who would rather end her own life than burden Sejin with debt, not someone who would struggle with treatment while accumulating massive hospital bills.

Realization dawned on Sejin, and his expression hardened. Watching him, Cheon Sejoo continued in a low voice.

“You know it’s true. It was because she was at Ehwagak that she could even attempt that last treatment… In fact, you know that too. That’s how it happened… that’s how it all went.”

“…….”

He knew. Sejin knew. It wasn’t that he didn’t know.

He was just… resentful. It was truly miserable that Cheon Sejoo, who had witnessed his mother’s unjust death firsthand, was saying these things to him. If anyone else had said it, he would have accepted it easily, but because it was Cheon Sejoo, it was difficult. His heart burned. Unable to contain the sudden surge of grief, Sejin looked at Cheon Sejoo.

Why you, of all people? Why are you the only one I have?

Consumed by sorrow, Sejin swallowed the words he couldn’t utter out loud and tears streamed down his face. The silent tears, the embodiment of his grief, flowed down slowly and dampened Cheon Sejoo’s fingertips.

“That’s what it is. Death… that’s how it is….”

No matter what you did, no matter what didn’t happen or what did happen, she would have died in the end… So don’t blame yourself, don’t blame anyone, this isn’t anyone’s fault.

Cheon Sejoo’s way of comforting Sejin was far from warm, but it was filled with fervent affection. Listening to Cheon Sejoo’s voice, wishing him not to dwell on the past consumed by regret, Sejin silently shed tears.

His kindness was unwelcome. Sejin found Cheon Sejoo’s kindness burdensome.

* * *

On December 31st, the last day of the year, Kim Hyunkyung’s remains were taken to the crematorium. Sejin didn’t cry anymore. He just stood there, his face devoid of any emotion, staring at the cremation chamber’s blazing fire.

Cheon Sejoo watched him from a distance, careful not to disturb him. 

Although Sejin’s pale face showed no traces of tears, the aftermath of loss was evident. His empty eyes seemed to wander somewhere far away in a dream, and his hands, listlessly gripping the glass pane, were bloodless and pale.

He watched Sejin as if afraid he might collapse at any moment. He kept his distance so as not to interrupt Sejin’s farewell to Kim Hyunkyung, yet remained close enough to rush to Sejin’s side if needed.

As the time drew near, Cheon Sejoo left the crematorium and headed to a separate office next to the building. He intended to pay the expenses before Sejin came out, but when he went inside, he found only one employee present because it was lunchtime.

When he inquired, the employee told him that billing wasn’t his job and that he would have to wait 30 minutes. Cheon Sejoo had no choice but to nod, but he was anxious.

There was about the same amount of time left until the cremation was complete. He had to finish the payment and choose an urn before then but he was worried that Kim Hyunkyung’s remains would be left unattended if he was even slightly late.

“I haven’t chosen an urn yet. Could you possibly send it to the crematorium first?”

Cheon Sejoo asked the employee, who was watching TV, in a gentle voice. The man glanced at him and sighed. Then, with an annoyed gesture, he held out a laminated brochure.

“You should take care of these things in advance. Which one do you want? I’ll call them, so just tell me.”

The brochure the man handed him displayed numerous photos of urns. Cheon Sejoo chose the most expensive and ornate one.

He ignored the employee’s boasting about triple sealing and vacuum technology, and after waiting for the other employee to finally return, he completed the payment and left the office.

The sky was overcast. Walking beneath the gray clouds, Cheon Sejoo reflected on vaguely resurfacing memories. That day, Cheon Sejoo had stood before the cremation chamber, tears streaming down his face incessantly.

It was Yeoreum and Sister Maria who had held him up as he stumbled, unable to eat properly. Held in their arms, Cheon Sejoo had cried like a child, unable to accept reality. And when he finally held the palm-sized urn…

At that moment, Cheon Sejoo realized he was alone again. An inescapable loneliness had settled over his life, and he was left alone in a world no one visited.

“…….”

Suddenly, Cheon Sejoo stopped his steps, noticing a figure crouching in the distance. Sejin sat huddled on the steps leading to the crematorium, staring blankly into space, a small urn clutched in his arms.

Shrouded in darkness, as if allowing no one to approach, Sejin looked as if he were the only one left in the world. There was no one by his side.

Unable to bear it any longer, Cheon Sejoo called out Sejin’s name.