A Scorching Day Chapter 44

The steady mechanical sound monotonously filled the hospital room.

The private room was spacious enough to feel a sense of stillness. In front of the bed where the patient lay, Ki Joon, wearing short-sleeved training clothes, was seated. He had been staring at his father without moving for several minutes.

The patient lying on the large, wide bed looked like an old tree that had stood firm for ages before finally collapsing. The sharp, piercing gaze and sturdy frame that had characterized the man before he lost consciousness all seemed to have been stripped away in the short span of six months.

The cause was a cerebral hemorrhage. He had been a man so robust that calling him hale and hearty was an understatement. Yet that father had never once opened his eyes since collapsing so utterly. Only the tangle of oxygen respirators hanging around him and the monitor tracing faint, regular zigzag lines proved he was still alive.

Ki Joon blinked slowly. His gaze as he looked at his bedridden father was too calm for a boy of just nineteen. The storms that had once raged endlessly in his eyes had, at some point, been transformed into something called acceptance.

When on earth are you going to wake up.

He muttered inwardly. He knew that even if he asked out loud, no answer would come. And yet, in the end, he spoke, his voice sharp with thorns.

“You said you’d never let me do sports again. I’m going to the gym today, too. I have a competition next week.”

“…”

“You hate it most when people disobey you, don’t you, Father.”

Ki Joon bowed his head deeply and closed his eyes.

“…So get up and hit me, or kick me, or whatever. Just do it.”

Even looking at his father lying there with an oxygen respirator on, his eyelids no longer burned with heat. Only a despair tinged with fatigue washed over him. Six months—a long time, yet also short—had made the one left behind into this.

They were not particularly close as father and son. He had never felt any tender affection between them. To Ki Joon, the man named Ki Cheonghyeon was more deeply etched as the representative of Cheonghyeon Construction and the head of the organization Cheonghyeon, rather than as a father.

Nevertheless, he was Ki Joon’s solid backing. At times, he was a man cruel even to his own son without exception, but no matter what anyone said, he was Ki Joon’s shelter and his anchor. And his only remaining family. In the absence of such a father, Ki Joon couldn’t help but stagger.

From outside the hospital room, the sound of the uncles greeting someone could be heard. The door opened, and the familiar sound of leather shoes tapped unpleasantly against his ears. Ki Joon slowly turned his head.

“Joon, you were here.”

The cool scent of cologne registered first. It was the same fragrance that had come from the wrist that had grabbed the throat of ten-year-old Ki Joon at his mother’s funeral hall.

The man was both similar and unlike his father. While his father was large-framed, deep-voiced, bold in temperament, and fiery, his uncle Ki Woohyun was of medium build and possessed a mean and cunning disposition.

Yet his father had always kept him close. He had once said something to that effect: there is no one in this world you can fully trust. You just keep people nearby who can handle tasks.

Could you really keep someone you didn’t fully trust by your side? To young Ki Joon, it was an incomprehensible statement. But at the same time, he felt he could somewhat understand it. His father’s world was a place where people who called each other “hyung” today would stab each other in the back tomorrow.

But his own world was different from his father’s. Right after losing his mother, Ki Joon no longer wanted to lose anyone who remained by his side. He wanted to keep the people he wanted to protect close. That was why Ki Joon chose to keep silent about what had happened with his uncle.

Ki Joon, suffocating and dying with his face buried in a pillow, had flailed his limbs with all his might and, by chance, succeeded in jabbing his finger into Ki Woohyun’s eye. Just as Ki Woohyun, clutching his face and falling back, was about to lunge at him again through the darkness, Manager Hwang happened to open the door and walk in.

Even upon seeing Manager Hwang, Ki Woohyun showed no sign of panic. Instead, he calmly turned on the light in the room and expressed concern that Ki Joon must have had a nightmare. After he left, a pale-faced Ki Joon haltingly told Manager Hwang the full story of what had happened.

Manager Hwang’s face hardened frighteningly. Ki Joon feared the chaos that would break out between his father and uncle come daylight. More than anything, young Ki Joon could not understand why his uncle was trying to harm him. But what Ki Joon had dreaded and waited for never happened.

‘Forget the dream you had yesterday.’

The next day, Ki Woohyun called Ki Joon to a secluded place. Then, stroking Ki Joon’s head, which was beaded with cold sweat, he said those words.

‘Otherwise, Manager Hwang, who saw something he shouldn’t have, might be in danger, don’t you think?’

‘…’

‘Adults consider that kind of lying and instigation a very grave offense.’

His tongue root froze. Instinct told him: his uncle was threatening him, using Manager Hwang’s life as leverage.

At the time, Manager Hwang was the one person Ki Joon could rely on more than anyone else. That was why Ki Joon had never once brought up the matter of Ki Woohyun to his father. And so, that incident was buried, just like that.

“An adult is here, and you don’t get up to greet him?”

“Hello.”

Ki Joon’s lazily lifted eyes were clouded with hostility. He offered a perfunctory greeting but didn’t rise. Ki Woohyun clicked his tongue openly.

“You must be very troubled.”

“…”

“Still, what can you do? The living have to go on doing their part. That way, hyung will soon—”

“You speak as if my father is already dead.”

Ki Joon’s sharp voice cut off Ki Woohyun’s words. His hand, which had been leisurely adjusting the blinds, paused. The glance he cast at Ki Joon held a glint of amusement.

“Why are you being so rude, Joon? You’ll hurt your uncle’s feelings. If the representative passes away, who’s going to lead our Cheonghyeon?”

Hearing his tone, which seemed to hum a joyful tune, Ki Joon felt bile rise. The man approached with the sound of quality leather shoes. The moment a soft grip wrapped around the back of his neck, Ki Joon reflexively slapped Ki Woohyun’s hand away.

He laughed out loud.

“Is it puberty? So sensitive.”

“You know exactly why, Uncle.”

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

Leaving behind Ki Woohyun, who gave a sly shrug of his shoulders, Ki Joon gathered his bag with an expressionless face and stood up.

“Leaving already?”

“Yes.”

Manager Hwang was due to come anyway, and outside, the uncles who had been loyal to his father were also stationed. It should be safe. After a brief moment of thought, Ki Joon gave a curt bow and left the room. Just then, he ran into Manager Hwang, who was hurrying toward him.

“Joon, you’re leaving? I bought some bread for you.”

His scar-covered hands were laden with plastic bags. Ki Joon, who had worn a stiff expression all this while, cracked a faint smile. No matter how large his hands were, he always bought so much that even Ki Joon found it burdensome.

“My uncle is here.”

“Yeah, I heard from the boys.”

“Have you had lunch?”

The tone of his gentle inquiry about meals was warm. The icy look in Ki Joon’s eyes had now softened completely in front of Ki Woohyun. Manager Hwang smiled contentedly and patted Ki Joon’s shoulder.

“I’ve eaten. You?”

“I’m going to eat with a friend.”

“I see. Joon, don’t worry and go on. I’ll be here.”

Ki Joon nodded silently. Did Manager Hwang know how much comfort those words brought him?

Ki Joon took the bag full of bread, bowed his head, and left. His steps out of the hospital were heavy, but as soon as he thought of the face he would meet soon, a faint smile spread across his lips. The suffocating knot in his chest melted away at the mere thought of that boy.