SSH Episode 5
by Emperor_Star“The best pairing for dongchimi (Korean water-based kimchi) is sweet potatoes. But don’t eat too much—it’s cold, and you’ll upset your stomach.”
“Alright, I got it. I’m really leaving now. Go inside, Madam Kim. If my older brother sees you, he might scold you, so I’ll hurry.”
‘He’s going to trip, running like that.’ Madam Kim watched Hongwoo dash off, shaking her head. She was proud of him for trying to earn his own money, but the thought of him sitting alone in an empty shop all day—-
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Her nostrils flared slightly. She pictured the hopeful sparkle in Hongwoo’s eyes whenever he thought a customer had arrived, only to see his face fall in disappointment. The image was so pitiful it was almost funny—like something worth painting.
Unexpectedly, his little escape had turned out to be quite entertaining.
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***
Once again, the Compliment Shop sat empty. Full from his lunch of sweet potatoes and dongchimi, Hongwoo rested his chin on the table, dozing off. He smacked his lips in his sleep, as if savoring an imaginary meal.
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“You’re something else.”
A sudden voice snapped him awake. He lifted his head to see Jang Seungwoo staring at him, his expression unreadable.
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“Brother! What brings you here?”
“As if you don’t know.”
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Seungwoo’s sharp glare and biting tone immediately dampened Hongwoo’s enthusiasm.
“What else could you possibly accomplish on your own—other than bringing disgrace to the family name?”
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With a swift kick, Seungwoo sent the table crashing to the ground. Hongwoo watched as it tumbled, feeling as if he were looking at himself—thrown out, struggling, utterly helpless.
His brother had always spoken to him like this. It wasn’t anything new. But after days of surviving on sweet potatoes and dongchimi, after waking up each morning stiff with cold, his usual resilience faltered.
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Hongwoo knew. He knew he was lacking. That he had been cast out with no preparation. But he was trying—learning, adapting, fighting to stand on his own.
If his brother had come all this way, couldn’t he have offered advice? A word of guidance?
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Did he really have to tear him down like this?
“Stop this pathetic nonsense.”
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Hongwoo kept his gaze down, silently staring at his feet as Jang Seungwoo turned and left the Compliment Shop.
For a long moment, Hongwoo stood still, eyes lingering on the small table his brother had kicked over. Then, with slow, heavy movements, he packed up his things and slung the table over his shoulder. His steps were sluggish, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
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A deep loneliness crept in, and without realizing it, his thoughts turned to his parents. Before he knew it, his feet were carrying him toward the family’s ancestral burial ground, where they rested.
Raindrops began to splatter against the ground, leaving tiny, dark marks where they landed. Today really wasn’t going to let up, was it? First his brother, and now the weather.
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The drizzle soon turned into a heavy downpour, each drop striking him like a sharp needle.
Fine. If he was going to be miserable, he might as well do it properly. He’d wallow today and pull himself together tomorrow. Besides, he hadn’t been able to bathe in days—he might as well let the rain do the job.
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Hongwoo let himself sink into the moment, feeling everything and accepting everything. The rain stung as it hit his skin, but he didn’t move to find cover. Even the raindrops were giving their all, flinging themselves down with purpose—had he ever put that much effort into anything?
“Hongwoo, nothing in this world is useless. You just haven’t found what you truly want to do yet.”
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His mother had always told him that. Maybe she was right. But… what if there was nothing for him to find? What if there was nothing he was good at?
The thought unsettled him. Hongwoo shook his head, sending droplets flying from his soaked hair.
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‘I’ll probably figure it out before I die.’
He forced a halfhearted chuckle and pushed the thought aside. One step at a time, he kept moving forward, heading toward his parents’ graves, comforting himself with the flimsy reassurance that he’d find his purpose—eventually.
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His father had spent three years bedridden before passing. During that time, Hongwoo had been the one to care for him. His older brother had insisted he leave the task to the servants, but Hongwoo had refused.
Day by day, he had watched his father’s strong, once-powerful frame wither away. The man who had once stood tall, the man who had commanded attention wherever he went, had been reduced to a fragile figure in bed.
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Whenever his father was awake, he would reach out and gently touch Hongwoo’s face. “My strong Hongwoo. I hate that I’m making you go through this.”
He had told Hongwoo to stop tending to him, to go and do something he wanted.
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But Hongwoo had only smiled and said, “Playing around is boring now.”
His father had smiled faintly at that, though exhaustion always stole it away too quickly. Each time, Hongwoo would quietly take his father’s hands and wipe them clean with a warm cloth.
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It wasn’t just a routine—it was a prayer.
Every touch, every careful movement, was a silent plea.
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‘Please… let him wake up again tomorrow.’
Hongwoo’s daily routine had always been the same—reading to his bedridden father, who spent his days in silence. It reminded him of his childhood, when his parents would read to him rare books brought from the West.
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“Husband, are you serious? A spirit just emerged from the kettle, offering three wishes, and you’re reading it so flatly? Try again.”
“Alright.. Huh?! Three wishes—really?!”
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“That’s better! Now it actually sounds exciting.”
His parents had always breathed life into stories, and thanks to them, Hongwoo had learned to do the same. Even when his father could no longer respond, lying still with his eyes closed, Hongwoo read with all his heart. He poured emotion into every word, hoping that somehow, it would reach him.
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Now, as he climbed the rain-soaked hill to his parents’ graves, the ground squelched beneath his feet. Upon arriving, he bowed deeply, pressing his forehead to the damp earth in reverence. His knees and shins were soaked through, but he didn’t care.
A servant who had been tending to his father’s grave noticed him and, startled, quickly led him inside his home. Unlike Hongwoo’s own crumbling house, the servant’s home was sturdy, warm, and well-built. Seeing it made Hongwoo realize just how pitiful his own living conditions were. Even a man living deep in the mountains had a proper home—what did that say about him?
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Embarrassed, he refused the servant’s offer of hospitality and hurriedly made his way down the mountain. The rain had turned the path to mud, and he slipped multiple times, landing hard on his backside. Caked in dirt, he trudged forward, exhaustion weighing down every step.
Today had been rough.
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Ever since leaving home, he had begun to understand just how unforgiving life could be. Was this struggle a necessary step toward becoming an adult?
He told himself to take it all in, to absorb the hardships like nourishment for growth.
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But the moment he arrived home, everything fell apart.
His house had collapsed.
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Inside a quiet room, only the sound of rain filled the air.
Jang Seungwoo sat still, staring at an open book. Not a single page had turned. His arms were crossed, his gaze distant.
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“Young Master, Master Hongwoo has returned.”
Seungwoo scoffed. “He left on his own, and now he wants to come back? Tell him to get lost.”
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“Understood.”
The sound of footsteps echoed beyond the door.
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Jang Seungwoo tapped his fingers against the table, his expression unreadable. Moments passed before he suddenly stood and flung the door open.
But Hongwoo was nowhere in sight.
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Rain poured steadily outside, yet Seungwoo strode forward without hesitation. A servant hurried after him, fumbling to hold an umbrella over his head. Struggling to match Seungwoo’s long strides, the servant quickened his pace.
When they reached the main gate, raindrops slid down Seungwoo’s face. He scanned the surroundings, but Hongwoo was already gone.
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***
“See? You’re actually pretty lucky. Turns out, I can lend you exactly that much.”
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After being cast out by his older brother, Hongwoo wandered aimlessly through the streets until he stumbled upon his ‘market hyung’—a familiar figure from the bustling marketplace. Upon hearing that Hongwoo’s house had collapsed, the man generously offered to lend him money.
It was true—when the sky falls, there’s always a way out.
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What had seemed like a day filled with nothing but misfortune was taking an unexpected turn. Life truly was unpredictable. In just a single day, Hongwoo had experienced both its harshest trials and its unexpected kindness, realizing that the wisdom of the old proverbs had never been wrong.
“So, to build a house, you’ll need about this much… And while it’s under construction, you’ll need a place to stay, which adds another expense. So in total, you’ll need roughly this amount, right?”
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