World Chapter 1.2

“What do you think, cute, right?”

“Yeah, he’s cute. Freshmen are always cute.”

At Sungjoon’s words, Seok twisted the corner of his mouth into a smile at me as if in agreement.

It was the first time I’d been called cute, and the first time a man had said it, but Sungjoon’s words sounded like a compliment, so I grinned. While I was awkwardly exchanging glances with Seok, someone else entered the house.

It was two men.

Since he had said four people lived here besides me, it meant all the students renting rooms in this house were now gathered.

“Who’s that kid?”

A man who looked messy, as if he hadn’t shaved his stubble for a few days, and at the same time tough, looked at me and asked. The man who came in with him also looked at me.

“Hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Jung Hyunwoo, a freshman in the chemical engineering department.”

I bowed my head politely and greeted them.

The man who looked unusually old for a student due to his stubble came closer, looked me up and down, and then suddenly started ruffling my hair wildly.

It was baffling and awkward. When I cautiously tried to move his arm away, he paid no mind and this time put his arm around my shoulder and laughed.

“He’s cute, isn’t he? Is this the new tenant?”

“Yes.”

“Look at this guy, getting all shy. I’m Lee Taewan. Nice to meet you, Hyunwoo.”

His way of speaking was so much like a middle-aged man’s that it was hard to believe it was coming from a young man in his twenties.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Taewan-sunbae.”

“Ah, that guy is Kim Hyungjo. Hey, Hyungjo.”

Taewan, who had thoroughly messed up my hair, briefly introduced himself and then called to the man who had come in with him. Hyungjo glanced me over and, without so much as a ‘nice to meet you,’ simply went straight up the stairs to the second floor.

It was a complete snub. I stared blankly at the man disappearing up the stairs.

Does he not like me? Is my impression that bad?

Is my country-ness that obvious?

I was from a small rural village where you could count the number of households on ten fingers, not even a small provincial city, and a country-ness that I couldn’t hide was flowing from my entire body.

Taewan, having read my expression, said.

“Try to understand. That guy tends to be shy.”

“It’s okay. Um, since you’re all my seniors, would it be okay if I called you hyung?”

“Do as you please.”

They readily agreed. The situation of suddenly having three people I could call hyung at once felt strange.

The initial awkwardness disappeared as soon as I started calling them hyung, and before I knew it, I had become the cute younger brother who could fit in with them.

They were as charming as this house that had stolen my heart in an instant, and above all, they had an intellectual and relaxed atmosphere that I had never experienced before.

It was the composure of those who had learned and experienced much, as befitting students of a prestigious university; a comfort that comes from broad knowledge, intellectuals who knew the joy of following in the footsteps of sages.

I chattered away with the hyungs while we ate dinner. Meals were usually handled individually, but sometimes they ate dinner together, and he said that, uncharacteristically, Seok enjoyed cooking, so he was in charge of the meals.

His cooking was so delicious that I ate ravenously without realizing it, and he, perhaps finding my good appetite cute, patted my head as I devoured the food like a monster.

Kim Hyungjo, who had ignored me right after we met, was, contrary to my expectations, not a senior but a freshman like me. Hyungjo was extremely quiet. Even when someone spoke to him, he wouldn’t open his mouth, merely indicating his response with a simple nod. Our eyes met a few times as he occasionally glanced at me as if stealing a look, but I stubbornly pretended not to notice.

I had a good feeling about him because of his nice impression, but his act of ignoring me when I had greeted him so politely had been more than enough to leave an unpleasant and hostile first impression.

I asked during dinner.

“Come to think of it, there’s no television here. Do you not watch much TV?”

“What business does that have in a house of students who are studying? It makes no sense. All such products of capitalism should be expelled.”

Taewan replied, rubbing his chin where a short beard grew bristly. Unlike his gruff appearance, he had a somewhat romantic side. He would suddenly utter poetic words or make philosophical remarks that I couldn’t understand.

In any case, back in my hometown, the TV was the only source of entertainment in a lonely life, so I was very fond of it. It wasn’t just that they didn’t have one; his answer implied they had no intention of getting one in the future either, but surprisingly, I felt no disappointment.

Just sitting there listening to their conversations was enjoyable enough that, in just one day, the TV had become, as Taewan put it, a byproduct of capitalism to me.

They were what you could call the top elites of the top university. A conversation more exciting than a debate battle waged by renowned politicians was taking place at the dinner table.

I had never seen people talk like this. I stopped eating and, spellbound, listened quietly to their conversation.

“I know there’s some truth in what Taewan says. But it’s time to admit that the economic development under a military dictatorship has its limits. You can’t pursue both quantitative and qualitative growth. That kind of development might be a momentary relief from starvation, but can we definitively say it’s the right judgment in the long run? It grows, but if the foundation is rotting, it’s bound to collapse someday. The Yushin system was oppression and dictatorship, and it was maintained to become a military regime. What happened after that? Once they achieved economic development through dictatorship, the regime oppressed the people. They were taken advantage of without knowing anything. I can’t agree with that kind of development.”

“Human beings exist to eat and live. As long as the basic needs of food, clothing, and shelter aren’t met, you can’t expect the qualitative growth you’re talking about, Seok. Because people like you who hope for a hungry Socrates are rare. Proper democracy while starving? This is why the communists laugh at us. You have to acknowledge the limits. If you want to grow, some parts are bound to fester.”

“That’s why people with consciousness like us are needed. Isn’t that right?”

Taewan shot back at Seok’s words, and Sungjoon had the tolerance to embrace it all. At Taewan’s retort, which contradicted his own words, Seok’s eyebrows furrowed in displeasure, and if Sungjoon hadn’t intervened between the two, the atmosphere might have become cold enough to be awkward.

Taewan taunted Seok’s words with his unique, slippery tone, and every time he jeered, Seok’s already stiff-looking face hardened even more.

Hyungjo was sitting deep in the corner of the sofa, drinking coffee and staring into the air, as if he were listening to their words, or not. His distant eyes looked as if he were seeing something in the empty space.

Taewan and Seok clashed again, and leaving their conversation behind, I stared at Hyungjo.

“……”

“……”

His vacant gaze was somehow pitiful. He also looked like someone who was sick.

I, who had been firmly resolved to ostracize him due to my first impression of him being dismissive and distant, found myself inching towards him without realizing it.

Unaware that I was approaching, Hyungjo was still vaguely looking at a point in the air. When I got close, Hyungjo flinched as if surprised and turned to look at me. His eyes were deep and blue.

“…Nice to meet you. I’m Jung Hyunwoo. It’s okay if I speak comfortably, right?”

“……”

“I heard we’re both freshmen.”

“……”

Hyungjo didn’t answer and awkwardly averted his eyes. It was the same for me. When he didn’t respond, the surroundings became quiet, and an awkwardness so intense it made the back of my neck tingle washed over me.

It was me who broke the silence again.

“Hey, what’s your major?”

“East Asian History.”

The reply came back surprisingly easily. It was the first time I had heard Hyungjo’s voice. I happily replied with something he hadn’t even asked.

“I’m in chemical and biological engineering.”

“…Chemical… biological engineering?”

Hyungjo frowned as if he were hearing about a major he had never heard of before.

“The Department of Chemical and Biological Engineering. Don’t you know it? The seniors said it’s so tough that you have to take over 60 credits in your second year and only take major courses. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep up. Still, if I think about getting a job later, I figured it would be better to go into engineering.”

As I babbled on, he just stared at me as if listening to an alien language, and then after a long pause, he replied with an “Ah.”

“Ah, you must mean chemical engineering.”

He probably doesn’t know because he’s a liberal arts major. I hear it’s hard for humanities majors to get a job later.

Well, is he planning to become a civil servant? Or a teacher? A professor? A historian?

“Have you guys had your OT?”

“…What?”

“OT. Saeteo. Didn’t you go? They said all the engineering students are gathering at Acro before leaving, but I really don’t want to go.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“…I’m speaking Korean.”

Looking at me with a bewildered expression, as if he couldn’t grasp it at all, Hyungjo drank his coffee and glanced back at Taewan and Seok. The tone of their conversation had risen a notch. I followed Hyungjo’s gaze to the hyungs and asked.

“Do the hyungs fight like that every day? No, do they have debates like that every day?”

“It’s a common occurrence here. You don’t seem interested, do you?”

“I watch the ‘100 Minute Debate’ sometimes. I’m not interested in politics, so I don’t really know much.”

The two of them, who had been growling at each other, asserting their opinions as if they were about to fight, suddenly turned to look at me. The surroundings became quiet as if cold water had been thrown on them.

“You’re not interested in politics?”

Sungjoon asked me. He looked perplexed. His eyes seemed to ask how that could be possible.

Are people here usually this interested in politics?

I scratched the back of my head, embarrassed.

“I’m not really sure. I grew up in the countryside, and since that place isn’t really affected much by policy, people there aren’t very interested in such issues.”

At my answer, as if they finally understood, their expressions, which had gone beyond surprise to sheer astonishment, changed, and they refocused on their debate.

This time, the topic of conversation shifted to the dissolution of the rural community. Is the exodus from farms timely? How is the government contributing to rural areas? In the long run, is it more profitable to invest in agriculture or industry as the key sector?

The debate showed no signs of stopping. A deep sense of weariness and anger towards the government could be felt in their tones.

My father was a man with a phobia of politics, and the place where I lived and grew up had none of the political forces that they felt. Perhaps that’s why I couldn’t easily understand them, who expressed such animosity towards the state. In my hometown, no one cared whether it was the opposition party or the ruling party. The village only got bustling when it was time to elect the village chief, and that was the extent of anything that could be called politics.

Hearing my words, Taewan, as if he had found appropriate grounds to support his argument, smiled triumphantly and said to Seok.

“See, a majority of people live just fine without things like ideology. What would idealists like you, academicists who don’t know the reality, know about real life? You just blabber on with theories without knowing anything.”

“Hyunwoo grew up in a self-sufficient rural area. But that’s not the world we live in. The world we belong to is different.”

“Why don’t you go preach your idealism in Hyunwoo’s hometown. Do you think anyone would lend an ear? You’re a bourgeois, you don’t know true suffering because you’ve never starved. We’ve all watched how ideological struggles without action devastate this country. You probably think of yourself as an elite who can enlighten the masses, just like them. The Juche idea, national liberation, overthrowing the dictatorship—you guys have no idea how foul the stench of your bourgeois engagement is.”

“What did you say!”

Seok shot up and roared like a thunderclap. Taewan smirked slyly and taunted him further, “Hey, calm down. Mr. Bourgeois.”

Seok’s face flushed bright red. His reddened face was filled with a shame, as if his identity and contradictory duality of being called a bourgeois and an academicist had been exposed.

If Sungjoon hadn’t stopped them, they would have ended up in a fistfight. In the chilled atmosphere, Seok went up to his room in anger, and Sungjoon followed him. Taewan grumbled to himself for a while before going into his own room.

Once all of them, who had been chattering away noisily, had gone into their respective rooms, the silence became unusually prominent, taking their place.

Overwhelmed by the atmosphere, I muttered to myself.

“…That’s scary.”

“You said your name was Jung Hyunwoo, right?”

Hyungjo asked along with my mutter. I turned my head to look at him.

Is he finally going to greet me properly now? I gave a slight nod. As if mocking my efforts to get close to him, Hyungjo wore a cynical expression.

“A country mouse.”

“What?”

“The country mouse from Aesop’s fables. I’m talking about you.”

“……”

I stared at him blankly for a moment.

That country mouse who lived a sheltered life, ignorant of the world, came to the city, couldn’t adapt to city life, and went back again? As I recalled the definition of a country mouse, anger welled up inside me.

“Then are you a city mouse? Where do I look like a damn mouse? Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

“You know-nothing.”

I was flabbergasted.

Is this bastard looking down on me just because I came from the countryside?

Am I countrified? Do I look stupid?

A myriad of thoughts popped into my head. In a fit of anger, though it was childish, I brought up my best scores from all the mock exams, not just the recent CSAT.

“I got in through regular admission, not with my school records. I only got one question wrong each in Korean, Physics, and English. How many did you get wrong? I was going to go to medical school, but I’m scared of blood, so I went to engineering. Don’t look down on people.”

Of course, this was about the final mock exam; I had bombed the Hwajak section on the actual CSAT.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m speaking Korean, you know?!”

“Country mouse bastard.”

“Stop calling me a mouse bastard, a mouse bastard!”

“Sleep well.”

Hyungjo didn’t even answer how many he got wrong, just got up and went upstairs. I followed him, demanding an answer.

“How many did you get wrong? What’s your English grade? City mouse, tell me how well you did on the CSAT. You got more wrong than me, didn’t you? Fine, then tell me about your mock exams. Tell me your best score.”

With nothing else to boast about, I childishly followed at his heels, pestering him. On second thought, there was nothing more meaningless than asking a student at this university what their CSAT score was. Even if everyone got a level 1 grade, the joy and sorrow of regular admission were decided by decimal points, and one or two questions determined acceptance or rejection. I was just a little luckier than those who didn’t get in; there was no significant difference between us, and Hyungjo was a student at this school where you could trip over people with perfect CSAT scores.

“Stop talking nonsense that I can’t even understand and go to sleep, you’re being loud. And for your reference, if you’re talking about the scholastic aptitude test, I only got a few wrong myself.”

I didn’t know what the scholastic aptitude test was, but in any case, arguing about who got more questions wrong on the CSAT couldn’t determine who was better.

“You don’t know how scary a country mouse is, do you? You’ve never seen one, have you? Unlike city mice, they’re as big as my forearm.”

I thrust my fisted arm at him to tell him to fuck off. While Hyungjo couldn’t understand a single word I was saying, he seemed to know the meaning of my gesture.

Hyungjo’s expression turned murderous. His eyes, which had been looking down at my outstretched fist and arm with a blunt, cold gaze, slowly returned to my face.

“They’re this big.”

I once again held up my fist vertically and thrust it under his nose to tell him to fuck off.

“…You’re so childish it’s disgusting to even deal with you.”

Looking down at my fist with a crumpled brow, he muttered in a very unpleasant tone, then slammed his room door shut and went inside.

“Finally, we’re on the same page.”

Feeling angry, dumbfounded, and bewildered all at once, I stared at Hyungjo’s closed door, then went into my room and collapsed onto the bed as if falling.

As I let out ragged breaths of anger, my chest heaved up and down.

“What kind of personality-disordered person is he? Who was the one who said something offensive first? Jeez, what, a country mouse? Are you a city mouse, you’re so great? If you’re so great, how great are you?”

I was angry and felt wronged by Hyungjo, who was looking down on me for being from the countryside.

Muttering that I was the same kind of person as them, no different, I kicked the wall hard enough to make a thudding sound. My room was next to Hyungjo’s.

A moment later, I heard a thud. I stared blankly at the wall.

“…He responds to everything, at least.”

I muttered to myself, then realized it was late at night and pulled the covers over my head.

The first day in the new house, the night with the first people I had befriended in Seoul, was passing like that, and my first impression of Hyungjo left me with a strange sense of displeasure.

∞ ∞ ∞

The days passed in a blur. There was the freshman OT, the entrance ceremony that my parents attended, all sorts of drinking parties, and on top of that, my schedule was packed with lectures from the morning because I had overzealously registered for too many courses.

When I left early and returned in the evening, the red sun had already vanished from the sky without giving me a chance to appreciate it. When I returned home, I even felt a sense of emptiness at the frighteningly fast passage of time.

When I returned to the boarding house, the hyungs would pat me on the shoulder, saying the country bumpkin had worked hard.

They loved to debate, so whenever they gathered, they would talk about political issues. I wondered when on earth they studied or did their assignments; they really seemed to have little interest in grades or their majors.

It was only after some time had passed that I began to learn about them little by little. Seok was majoring in political science and diplomacy and was aiming to pass the foreign service exam while still in school. Taewan was a law student, and Sungjoon was an art student.

Besides that, I also learned that Seok’s father was a wealthy businessman, that Taewan was a genius who had ranked first in the nation several times, and furthermore, that Seok didn’t acknowledge Taewan’s genius. I also newly discovered that two of the paintings hanging on the wall of the house were painted by Sungjoon.