The moment suspicion struck, the back of Oreum’s neck went cold. A foreboding instinct surged. These days, people opened other people’s lives so easily, yet did not know how to close them. Had Itae really been here, and was it not a dream after all?

There was a notebook, a diary, inside Oreum’s bag. There were sentences there that nobody should read. An unintended shame was a bonus. To others, it was worthless scraps, but to him, they were the bones of context that formed the framework of his life.

He opened the bag. Research notes and tutoring notes, lecture notes. A pencil case. Wallet. And at the very back, the diary too, in exactly the place it always was.

Was it just simple paranoia? It was hard to judge. Oreum kept biting his lip, trying to suppress his unease. Just as he was about to push the diary back in deep, a phone rang, breaking the silence. Oreum drew in a breath, then picked up the phone and brought it to his ear.

“...Yes, yes. I’ll head over right away.”

Even after hanging up, Oreum could not move for a while, as if pinned in place. The angle of the bag, the position of the laptop, the chair. The ambiguous traces. Most of all, that face from the dream, looking down at Oreum without expression. As if shaking off everything, he tossed his head. He had to go to the Research Building.

***

Before he knew it, thick darkness had settled over the campus. The automatic doors of the Research Building for the College of Life Sciences opened, and Oreum dragged himself outside. Today too he wore a neat shirt, a knit sweater, well-pressed slacks, and dress shoes. On his bony wrist, electrode gel had dried white and hard. It was the trace left behind after being summoned to the lab and doing miscellaneous tasks for hours.

‘Teacher Seok, if you have time, could you come over here for a moment?’

It was an order disguised as a request. Still, Oreum was in no position to refuse. Rent, loans, living expenses he had to send to his parents, and the meager balance left in his bank account all kept him in bondage. Everything made him agree with “yes.”

The lab was always full of its own bleak, fishy smell. The pressure valve of the carbon dioxide incubator hummed regularly, and the waveform of weak current in the panel of the brain wave measurement equipment rippled endlessly. The smell of plastic burning from the electrode washer made Oreum’s headache worse.

He quietly sat in a corner, sorted the box of experimental tips, and carefully untangled the tangled electrode cords one by one. Work like this only consumed labor and gave no help to his career, and no one ever said thank you. Even so, he was not in a position to say he did not want to do it.

When experiments did not go well, the PhDs would sometimes ask Oreum questions.

“Sunbae-nim, this part here... the membrane potential calculation seems off somehow. When I apply the synaptic input weight, the value suddenly jumps.”

Oreum would glance over the output graph for a moment and answer quietly, hiding his exhausted expression.

“That... it’s a little hard to judge if you only look at the membrane potential. This model uses a separate effective potential. If you subtract the threshold potential from that term once, you should be able to see it. Then you’ll immediately understand why the front value is jumping.”

“Ah.... Okay.”

“Yes. Try adjusting that and running it again.”

Oreum’s explanation was always neat, and the consideration he showed for the other person’s mistakes had become second nature. They would often be delighted, saying, “Ah... I get it.” Those small moments felt like the only reason he was still enduring university.

Oreum moved his feet with his shoulders slumped. His body and mind felt worn down by overtime. The campus road was dim. Even the bus stop he had just arrived at had one streetlight out, so everything around it was submerged in deep black.

The weather, with cold spring rain mixed in, was especially cold. Every time he exhaled, white breath scattered through the air. Oreum stared at the bus display with both hands buried in his coat pockets.

That was when it happened. From the narrow alleyway behind the bus stop, something came lumbering over. Even in the pitch-black view, the large, threatening shape was clear.

“Teacher.”

Oreum, who had been unconsciously stepping backward, stopped. Eom Itae. He dipped his head toward Oreum. It seemed to be his version of a greeting. Oreum swallowed dryly on instinct. Because of the dream he had just had, he felt even more wary. When Oreum shot him a suspicious look, Itae let out a dry laugh.

“What. I have to go home too.”

“......Yes.”

...No matter how you looked at it, that kid did not seem like he would take the bus. Itae came and stood beside Oreum without giving him a chance to object. The tips of Oreum’s hands, already cold, trembled. Every sense sharpened when he faced Itae. It felt like his rational judgment was paralyzed.

“I saw you coming out of the Research Building.”

“......”

“Why were you there?”

“Sometimes I’m asked for advice, so I provide it.”

“Hm.”

Itae delayed his response with an indistinct sound. Upturned eyes, chapped lips, a shirt collar that had lost its shape, the frayed edge of an old leather bag. From every clue, he read the word “poverty” very clearly.

Itae barely held back a laugh. So he really had no money. What did someone like this even live for? He had always been indifferent to everything beyond his own safety, even to the point of heartlessness. But Oreum was different. Even if he was broken in places, he was a strange sort who did not lose his dignity. That was exactly what made Itae want to dig into Oreum even more.

The upright, straight posture showed Oreum’s obsessive restraint. He was neat, as if he had been born that way. He could not invest much in appearance, but he made the best effort he could within his means. He had pride as a teacher, but did not show it. Overall, he was the kind of person whose mental nobility stood out.

Before he knew it, Itae was studying Oreum closely. Whenever Itae looked at him, Oreum felt as if his entire body were being stripped naked. Just as he was trying to back away little by little without being noticed, Itae fired off a question. As if solving his own curiosity mattered more.

“Hey, teacher. Do you want to sleep with Kang Somi? Is that why you’re taking such good care of her?”

His mind went white. It felt like he had been shocked by electricity without warning. Oreum was stunned and at a loss for words at the same time. How ridiculous did I have to seem for him to ask such nonsense so openly?

Their gazes met exactly. Oreum did not retreat. But Itae did not retreat either.

This was the worst. Itae had a strange kind of freedom, one that let him break what he should have observed without the slightest guilt. Oreum could not bring himself to speak, and faced him with a face turned cold. He was just a thug in the guise of a student. As Oreum judged Itae that way in his mind,

“Why aren’t you answering?”

“......Do you think that makes any sense?”

“If you’re not the kind who wants to sleep with someone,”

Before Oreum could even finish catching his breath, Itae cut him off and stepped closer. His eyes swept over Oreum from top to bottom.

“Why would a grown man be fooling around with a kid who already had a hard enough time living?”

“......We’re friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yeah.”

Oreum answered firmly. Ugh, creepy. What is that. Itae snorted and chuckled. Oreum felt irritated for a moment, then quickly lost his energy. After steadying his voice, he gave his own warning.

“You should know there are limits to being rude.”

At that, Itae looked steadily at Oreum. Soon after, he let out a brief laugh, then quickly wiped his expression away. Very much like what he had seen in the dream,

“Looks like you’re comfortable with me now.”

“What?”

“You’re speaking informally.”

A face that looked as if he was daring to lecture him.

This kid had no concept of ordinary common sense.

From my point of view, this is absolutely incomprehensible.

Oreum suddenly covered his mouth and made a retching sound. It was nausea. His head swam. He turned his face toward the wall and bent at the waist. Something in his stomach surged up, and with a little coughing he vomited. There was almost nothing in him to begin with, so there was not much to come out.

His esophagus felt raw. Oreum bent over and barely managed to brace himself against the wall. A persistent gaze stayed on his back. Itae did not seem surprised, did not help, and simply waited until Oreum turned around again. Every time he breathed, the knife-like wind scraped his esophagus, and his miserable coughing would not stop. Oreum was mortified. To vomit in front of a young student, and at the feet of someone who was treating him like trash and insulting him.

But what tormented Oreum most was the strange silence that filled every direction. Even complete strangers, if they saw someone vomiting in front of them, would usually worry, or at least look flustered. But Eom Itae.

Oreum turned his head with red eyes, close to tears.

Under the broken streetlight at the bus stop, Itae stood with both hands deep in his pockets, his posture crooked. Without the slightest agitation, he was simply watching Oreum gasp for breath.

I have no idea what he’s thinking. Oreum’s face had gone completely pale as he stammered out an excuse.

“...I just got a little dizzy.”

“? Yes.”

Oreum wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. Itae checked his phone as if nothing had happened. He did not seem to be paying attention out of consideration for whether Oreum would feel embarrassed, nor did he seem to care from the heart.

What mattered to Itae was not that Oreum was vomiting or anything like that. What mattered was only figuring out how far this man had fallen, and how soft he had become, so that he would collapse with just a slight squeeze. The cold wind mixed with rain swept in, carrying the foul dampness of early spring. Oreum felt, with an ease he could not ignore, that fatigue had piled up to its limit.

And Itae had also seen that limit precisely. He understood at once that that brief bout of vomiting represented Oreum’s current state.

Poverty made people soft.

They collapsed completely if you touched them even a little.