Chapter 159: Minseo Side Story
Minseo was a reticent student. A likely factor was the transfer he had experienced as a child; back when he lived in Ansan during elementary school, he had been a lively child.
“You just need to take the subway for four stops. We’ll be moving next month, son. Can you commute by subway until then?”
The family was lucky to get an apartment. His parents were delighted. However, Minseo, who was in his first year of middle school, could not share their joy. His parents decided it was best to transfer mid-semester rather than at the start of the second term.
It wasn’t a question of whether to transfer or not but when it would happen.
– Clunk, clunk, clunk.
He rode the subway for the first time. Just a few days ago, when he had gone to say goodbye to his teacher, his parents had driven him there.
But his parents couldn’t help him commute every day, so Minseo boarded the unfamiliar subway alone.
It was rush hour. The subway was packed, but everything was novel to Minseo as he gripped a sleek pole and looked around. He would have a story to tell his hometown friends, who had promised to stay in touch even after his transfer.
He got off the subway. It was only four stops away, yet the area was completely different from where he had lived. The sophisticated city greeted the middle schooler’s curious eyes.
He rode the bus for another ten minutes.
The bus was filled with students in uniforms he had never seen before. Minseo adjusted his own stiff uniform, still feeling awkward.
He finally reached the middle school. Thanks to his early departure, he wasn’t just on time, he had plenty of time left.
Not knowing where to go, Minseo headed to the teacher’s office. After briefly waiting for the teacher who hadn’t arrived yet, his new school life began with a casual greeting about his arrival, “You’re here.”
* * *
“Hurry up and eat, or you’ll be late.”
“…Okay.”
They had moved. The new apartment was close to the school, a mere five-minute walk from the classroom once he stepped out the front door.
But Minseo hesitated to walk that short commute.
He had no friends at the new school.
It wasn’t the fault of the teacher who had introduced the transfer student without much enthusiasm, nor the classmates, nor Minseo himself.
If Minseo was guilty of anything, it was not watching TV, so he knew none of the ceLevrities his peers were talking about. If his classmates were guilty, it was that they had grown close since the first term and knew everything about each other, including who went to which kindergarten. And if the teacher was guilty, it was for placing Minseo in the very last, partner-less seat.
How did I get close with my neighborhood friends?
Minseo couldn’t remember. They had always been friends since birth.
They played in the apartment playground, made dirt pies, caught bugs, occasionally played with fire, and explored around the abandoned tracks.
Here, it was different. Even though it wasn’t far, just a few stops away, the way they played was entirely different.
Perhaps, it wasn’t that different. Maybe, as they reached middle school, they stopped exploring undeveloped hills and fields and started visiting internet cafes and karaoke rooms instead.
While Minseo commuted by subway, the others were gradually getting ahead.
Minseo made his first close friend when he became a high school student. Coming from various distant schools within the same area provided a good opportunity for him.
But making friends was still challenging.
Minseo’s family rarely turned on the TV. His father only turned it on to watch the news. For them, the TV was more of a decoration.
Because of this, Minseo found it hard to converse with friends. Efforts to remember celebrities’ names were never diligent.
He wasn’t interested. Celebrities were just strangers. The private lives of others, their statements, and stories meant to be funny couldn’t grab his interest. Just the thought of learning about such trivial matters to make friends felt like an affront to his pride.
While mocking his peers who adored useless gossip, yet feeling envious, Minseo quietly read books.
His potentially vibrant school life faded like the musty pages of library books.
But reading many books had its advantages; his grades weren’t bad. After retaking exams once, Minseo went to university.
He wasn’t particularly driven to learn something specific at university. Enrolling in a department that matched his grades, Minseo began his college life in earnest.
“This is boring.”
The idea that college would solve everything was a lie.
Nothing was resolved. Professors contradicted everything he had learned until now. The assignments piled up in every class. Group projects required extreme patience and offered him a different perspective on human relationships.
And post-graduation, he would face an even busier and harsher reality that would make this college life seem like paradise.
Despite such a mundane yet busy college life, Minseo was still young. There was still a vibrant youth stirring inside him, making it impossible to live life detached from everything.
On her way back after finishing the midterm exams of the first semester, Minseo stumbled upon a theater club poster and turned her steps towards it.
Grades, TOEIC/TOEFL scores, internships available from the first year, volunteer activities to prove good character, national certifications necessary to avoid feeling inadequate as a liberal arts major, part-time job experiences to add some spice to a monotonous life solely focused on studying…
There was a lot to manage, but Minseo ended up joining a club he thought was a gathering of lazy people who just came to college to drink – a theater club, which would not help him one bit in finding a job.
It was there that he met Chaeha.
Although they were the same age, she was a year ahead. She had wavy black hair, didn’t cover her mouth when she laughed, and would shake her shoulders saying, “Chicken, chicken, it’s chicken time!” in front of a roasted chicken.
Did he fall for that?
That was just a crush. Minseo thought there was a different reason he came to like her.
Loving theater, Chaeha often would soliloquize in the practice room alone.
A soliloquy is when a character in a play speaks their thoughts out loud to the audience, unheard by other characters, so if someone asked, “What’s she saying?” from beside her, she would frown her little nose in dislike.
Except when practicing lines, if someone joined in with the following line, she would smile brightly. It was probably that smile that captivated her.
Chaeha would study in a corner of the stage, saying she needed to get a scholarship, but then
“Women have many secrets. I do too. It’s because I want to be at least a little bit mysterious to you.”
She would recite a line from a play, and one day, Minseo responded like this.
“Men wait. For the moment you unveil. Don’t think that I will be disappointed. I will be as happy as when you accepted me.”
“Huh? That’s not the right line?”
“I just… changed it as I wanted.”
“Really? So if the male lead says that there, how does the story progress?”
“Well…? Wouldn’t it go towards a happy ending? Look, in the original story, misunderstandings pile up, and they don’t end up together. But if he said this, I think the female lead wouldn’t have thrown away the letter. And if the male lead had read that letter, he probably would have given up on boarding the ship. Then…”
In the quiet practice room, the sound of scribbling pens echoed. Chaeha burst into laughter, “What is this? It’s not fun at all. What’s the point of all the plot setups then?” mocking Minseo’s hasty scenario. But from that point on, the two grew rapidly closer.
Before summer vacation arrived, Minseo confessed to Chaeha in an empty practice room. This time, Chaeha laughed silently. She didn’t hide her wide smile.
Their youthful romance began just like that.
They went on a quick trip before the start of the new semester with the money they earned from part-time jobs, and spent their midterms and finals together in the practice room.
During winter break, they temporarily left the university club and gained experience with a theater troupe on Daehak-ro. Though neither stood on stage, they worked as staff, dealing with lighting, costumes, staging, promotions, venue rentals, and standby arrangements… experiencing the various tasks and events of the theater together.
Then, the military enlistment notice came for Minseo.
Upon completing his freshman year, Minseo joined the military.
The night before vacating the rented apartment where he had lived for over a year, Minseo and Chaeha stayed up together. Hugging her tightly as she said, “I’ll wait for you, no matter what,” Chaeha kept her promise.
When Minseo returned from his discharge, Chaeha was a senior, on the verge of graduation. She had taken a year off and was striving to become an actress.
But being a theater actress didn’t pay well. An annual salary of 700,000 won. If Chaeha, who graduated from the fashion department, managed stage costumes, she could make a few more tens of thousands of won a month, but both she and Minseo knew it was not a significant amount.
Encouragement and advice between people who promised a future together was realistic. Minseo suggested that Chaeha keep theater as a hobby. Frustrated, repetitive conversations ensued, and both grew tired. One day, Minseo got angry at Chaeha.
It was the time when he, as a senior, began to feel the intense pressure of job hunting. His words weren’t as elegant as the lines of a play.
“Why are you like that? Don’t you think about making a living? How are you going to live doing only what you like? You can’t even earn enough rent money as a theater actress.”
“So, are you telling me to live doing what I hate for the rest of my life? I can’t. Honestly, you don’t want to be a civil servant either! You said you wanted to work in theater. You said you wanted to be a playwright!”
A playwright.
That’s a joke. Even if Shakespeare were reborn, he’d starve to death in this era. Unless he becomes a great film director.
Realizing they had become too different from each other, they agreed not to talk about this issue anymore.
Minseo continued to study to become a civil servant. Chaeha continued to strive to be on stage, and they occasionally laughed, talking about how much they were struggling.
Then, Chaeha collapsed.
When her father passed away from a sudden stroke, she blamed herself for not being able to pay the hospital bills. Unable to focus on her acting, she spent her days in depression.
Around that time, Minseo was also slowly collapsing. The Grade 7 civil servant exam. It wasn’t even Grade 5, and yet it was this hard? Despairing, he shut himself in his rented room.
We couldn’t depend on each other. No, more specifically, I couldn’t be there for Chaeha.
Despite that, Chaeha tried to overcome her sorrow and move forward somehow, but her boyfriend acted like the whole world had ended, constantly complaining and eroding Chaeha’s will. He would study just enough to take a bite out of that will and then toss it away.
One day, Chaeha said. Her hair, which had been scattered like waves, was tied up, and she was dressed neatly in a semi-formal suit.
– “Let’s spend some time apart.”
– “I’m saying this for us. I’ll also get something done. Let’s work hard each on our own.”
Upon hearing this message of separation—not quite a breakup—I was twisted by my own sense of worthlessness and blurted out some nonsense, “So that’s how it is, huh? In the end, you’re going to get a job, which you said you never wanted to do.”
Chaeha neither cried nor berated her pathetic boyfriend.
“I trust you.”
She said and left the place.
* * *
Minseo, no, Leo stared blankly at the woman in front of him.
Wavy black hair and black eyes. Though she had a small frame, her shoulders were straight and firm…and…
A spotlight beamed down onto the stage.
She was not Chaeha. A sharp memory turned into a mirage, cutting through Minseo’s consciousness.
I need to return.
Somehow, I have to escape this hell and get to Chaeha, somehow.
Minseo seized the mind of Leo de Yeriel.
