The Taste of Lies Chapter 14

That incident was probably the most tragic scene in his short life. Listening to the calm confession, Youngmin’s eyes narrowed slightly. One element that simply could not be ignored had been omitted from his story.

“Your father?”

At that question, Sangtae pulled up the corners of his mouth. As if he’d been waiting for that question.

“Dad died before I graduated kindergarten. In a car accident.”

“…What about your father’s family? They must have relatives on that side too.”

“The people who didn’t even come to Dad’s funeral? Mom said it was because of her. Apparently, they were furious that their son, who’d managed to become a doctor, married a nurse from a country they’d never even heard of. Dad got so angry he cut ties with his family and even changed his surname. So there’s no way those people would have any interest in me.”

The more he heard, the sadder the story became. Sangtae’s mother was a nurse dispatched to Germany. There was a time when miners and nurses were sent to Germany. Since Mukhyeon was a town with developed mining, they might have heard the selection news earlier than other places.

If you were a young soul tired of your hometown, curious, and desperately in need of new opportunities, you would have gladly gone to another country.

“I see.”

“It’s not ‘I see.’ You should have a fiery reaction. I just poured my heart out to you.”

“What kind of reaction?”

“Don’t just blink your eyes—act surprised. Listen carefully. My dad and mom really loved each other, got married, and had me. Still don’t get what I’m saying?”

“…Haha. So that’s what you wanted to say?”

Reading Sangtae’s true feelings, Youngmin was so dumbfounded that he let out a laugh. So Sangtae was clinging to the last shred of normalcy left in him like a lifeline. And in its most supposedly pure form—love without calculation.

Youngmin didn’t believe in pure love, and he thought only the parties involved knew the real inside story of a marriage, so he felt terribly sorry for Sangtae. His laugh was a bitter one.

“Yeah, you’ve got it better than me.”

Youngmin replied. Sangtae laughed along with him, but his face gradually twisted. Better than me. He realized that the memory he took pride in might be an insult to Youngmin.

“Better than me, who was born from a relationship without love, hidden from everyone, subjected to nothing but pointing fingers and scorn, and then abandoned.”

“Why would you say that? Geez, don’t say things like that while smiling…”

“You’re the one who should lighten up. Don’t frown over words that don’t even hurt me. I’m past the age to be hurt, and that’s water under the bridge anyway. Just like your stepfather can’t beat you anymore, neither the police chief nor anyone else can touch me. I’m here. And so are you. You’ve lived a hard life, so you just need to live more happily.”

“You’ve had a hard life too. Yeah…”

Sangtae snatched up the thread Youngmin had left dangling. Feeling the heaviness of the conversation become awkward, he hastily threw on his school uniform and grabbed his bag, rattling off anything that came to mind.

“I’ve really been through a lot, you know. Just because I wasn’t good at Korean, I got called stupid. It’s bad enough I got held back a year, but they wouldn’t even let me apply to the academic track. I went to Gymnasium in Germany.”

“Kim Sangtae, hold on.”

Just as he was about to put on his shoes, Youngmin called him. Sangtae paused. Whenever Youngmin called him by his full name, it was usually when he was in trouble.

“You’re a senior in high school, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you a fast[^1]?”

“No.”

“Then if you were held back a year, you’re twenty… years old?”

“I’m going!”

Before Youngmin could finish, Sangtae ran out.

The iron door of the house they shared slammed shut with a loud bang. The sound was so loud it shook the house.

The sound of footsteps racing down the concrete stairs echoed loudly. Youngmin covered his head with both hands.

Sangtae was an adult.

Legally, an age where he had to take responsibility for himself.

“So are you going to throw me away?”

Someone shouted from outside. Youngmin slowly walked to the utility room. Through the screen door, he could see Sangtae staring at where Youngmin stood.

“No.”

Youngmin answered.

There was no object to the verb “throw away,” but Sangtae turned his back with a very satisfied expression. Youngmin waved at his retreating figure.

Nineteen or twenty—it was only a twelve-month difference. To pretend not to notice, he was still young, and he had already embedded himself deep into Youngmin’s life.

Anyway, he was only planning to stay in Mukhyeon for exactly one year. If Sangtae was an adult, maybe leaving would be even more carefree.

Nine months left. After they each finished preparing to be independent, they could go their separate ways, like people who had never met.

Cherry blossom petals, long past their season, scattered in the wind.

∞ ∞ ∞

The bus was packed with students in uniforms. Sangtae sat in the very back seat, leaning sideways. With the allowance Youngmin gave him, he could buy a book of tickets, so he didn’t have to walk long distances.

The bus stopped in front of the high school. The doors opened, and students poured out in a rush. It was a common morning scene. But Sangtae sat with his arms crossed, not budging an inch. The bus driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror and closed the doors.

The bus started moving again. Sangtae rang the bell two stops past the school where he should have gotten off. The onboard announcement droned that they were arriving at the library.

The library next to the county office was three stories, but half of the ground floor was operated as a piloti-structured parking lot, making it effectively a two-story building. Passing by the indifferent staff, Sangtae headed to the second-floor shelves, which held books from General Works 000 through Language 700, skipping Literature and going straight to History 900. The librarian there also just raised an eyebrow at Sangtae in his school uniform and lowered it, saying nothing.

To the librarians and staff, Sangtae was a familiar visitor.

Sangtae came to the library because he couldn’t go to school. More precisely, he had been rejected by the school—he’d been politely but firmly asked to only fulfill the minimum attendance requirement and not show up unless he transferred or dropped out.

He swore he had never done anything wrong at school. Students far worse than him attended just fine. The school’s request was polite in tone but practically an insult. If it weren’t for his grandmother’s dying wish—that he didn’t need to go to college, but at least graduate high school safely—he would have quit a million times over.

The library had everything. The people here didn’t bother him. In the beginning, they’d glare at him like a thief, but once they realized he just quietly read books and left, they left him alone.

Here, Sangtae found what he needed and studied on his own.

He’d also taught himself Korean here. The place where he’d confirmed that Youngmin was the police chief’s illegitimate son was the library as well. The police chief’s face in the archived local newspaper looked strikingly like Youngmin’s. It was like seeing Youngmin’s face thirty years into the future.

Back then, in the car, Youngmin had denied it, but in the end, he confessed the truth. So the knowledge he’d gained at the library was true.

Today, he stood in front of the 900 section. He wasn’t particularly interested in history—he just happened to be near the end after reading through from the 000 section in order.

It sounded impressive, but it was a small rural library with not many books to begin with. The book he pulled out was a six-volume series titled Material Civilization and Capitalism. The books were so boring and uninteresting that all he was left with was the sentiment that A is A and B is B. Still, he forced himself to read until school let out.

Youngmin didn’t know that Sangtae went to the library instead of school. He didn’t know where to begin explaining, and he had a feeling Youngmin would make an unpleasant face, so Sangtae didn’t tell him.

Truthfully, he didn’t want to go to a school that didn’t welcome him either. He had his pride.

At 3 PM, he returned the books he’d taken from the shelves. It was time to go home.

Every time Sangtae came home early, Youngmin would ask if he didn’t have evening self-study. He’d answered that since it was a technical high school, they didn’t have that.

He didn’t know if that was actually true, but even if they did, no one would go anyway, so it didn’t matter. Except for a few diligent ones who did practical training early on, the people he knew were busy goofing off or causing trouble.

No matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t understand why he’d been told not to show up at school. Everyone was just as much of a screw-up, yet he was the only one singled out, and it made him angry again today.

[^1]: In the South Korean age system and school enrollment context, “fast” refers to students born in January or February who start school early with the previous year’s cohort, making them younger than their classmates. Sangtae clarifies he is not a fast student, so being held back a year would make him 20 in international age.