KNEEL Ch 7

Isn’t it actually Hansol who is in the most urgent need of treatment?

∞ ∞ ∞

It might be unexpected, but Mi Hansol has dated quite a lot. And he was dumped a great deal. He was always, without fail, kicked to the curb despite his devoted and pure-hearted nature. There were no columns for family or friends in Mi Hansol’s life notebook. People with those titles did exist, but so to speak, they weren’t the kind that gave a true resonance to the soul; they were closer to dictionary definitions.

For Mi Hansol, there was only love. It’s not like anyone gave him an award for it, but from his teens when he cried about dying because his first love failed, to his last lover who was close to a farce, Mi Hansol maintained a relationship philosophy as upright as an old pine tree on Mount Jiri. ‘Drink, work, and look around.’ Mi Hansol’s interests were a perfect tripartite system. Alcohol, work, and lo—ve. Regarding any matters outside of these three, Mi Hansol was a switch turned to ‘off.’ This was because he had to invest all his energy into this golden triangle.

Mi Hansol was a so-called passionist. Mi Hansol wasn’t cool. According to Mr. Mi, there are other things you should eat cold, but how can you be cool about love?

I bought you seolleongtang, so why can’t you eat it? His actions were exactly like those of Lucky Day’s Kim Chum-ji. His elegant appearance, emitting a cold aura and spitting out cocky, biting remarks, stimulated the curiosity of many; however, when the era of great romance actually opened, the partner they ended up dating wasn’t the ice-cold Mi Hansol, but the foul-mouthed Pyeonggang Mi Hansol. You’re really not my type, but I’ll do anything for you, hmph.

Bastards gathering like bees to a honey pot. If he thought, this is the one, they would cheat because they were overwhelmed by their luck; if he thought, it’s you, they would leave quickly, saying their interest had cooled. If he had been born in an era where the average life expectancy before the discovery of penicillin was roughly 30 years, Mi Hansol’s circumstances would have been much better. Because it would be enough to just fall into something that isn’t love disguised as love, and the moment you think, Wait, is this right? you could just get sick and die.

Love has now degenerated into a tacky and beggarly subject. “Some” is love. Dating is love. Marriage is love; it was used randomly everywhere until one day it went extinct like the dinosaurs. No, there were even those who claimed such a thing never existed from the start. Since Mi Hansol was bright, he was fully aware of all these facts. Then why did he keep doing such useless things without rest?

As the saying goes, a sharp sword needs a scabbard. Mi Hansol was sensitive and righteous, so he had many things to fight about and many things to be angry about. In order to balance himself with those who lived mundane lives, Mi Hansol had to consistently live a tiring life. The harmony of the universe is just that merciless, and Mi Hansol was the type of person whose internal radiation exposure would be obvious if he didn’t find a sanctuary. So, he lived dreaming of his own scabbard, which was harder to find than winning the lottery.

Every time he broke up, Mi Hansol spent his days drowned in booze, doing the “crazy blues.” Well, he usually did that anyway, but using the post-breakup as an excuse to specially throw a fit was the only way to earn the mark of a true drunkard. Usually, he was dumped for reasons so truly embarrassing he couldn’t even speak of them. What’s wrong with me! You’re all going to regret this so much later. But regret was Mi Hansol’s specialty. When past flings called or did the “Are you sleeping?” routine, our Mi Hansol, who would swear at them while simultaneously replying in a flash, didn’t particularly have anything wrong with him. He was simply a tragic protagonist whose fate was twisted because he couldn’t act as good as he looked.

However, even for Mi Hansol, the professional collector of idiots, a momentary spring day did exist. The time was precisely 4 years ago, 4 years ago when he spent all his good days getting hit on the back by Director Kim while drinking away after breaking up with some music-playing bum…

This particular bum was a member of an indie band without even a decent label. When the half-unemployed guy, who only had a decent “shell,” started looking better thanks to Mi Hansol, he gained fans and popularity—oh, the tragedy. Various sightings gradually began to circulate, and eventually, while sobbing, didn’t he say something about hoping I find someone better than him or whatever? A dingy breakup on a certain day of a certain month in broad daylight, where tears seemed ready to well up even in the tightly closed eyes of Mi Hansol sitting opposite him. No, I’m the one who should be crying, so what are you doing crying?

After breaking up like that, what was in Mi Hansol’s possession was… maybe just a walk-in closet and cabinets where traces of the struggle to match the style of this crazy, ungrateful dog-son-of-a-(silenced)(silenced)(silenced) could be seen? At the time, Mi Hansol maintained a considerably deep, long hairstyle. Ignoring Director Kim, who was appalled and asked how it was any different from when he let it grow out during his study abroad days because he had no money for a haircut—to put it indirectly, it was Rock Chic; to state the facts, it was a Dark Flame Dragon—that was the brilliant master artisan Mi Hansol, who made a significant contribution to the deterioration of Director Kim’s mental health by frequenting the gallery and office as if they were his own home in that state.

The master artisan is holding a liquor bottle instead of a sword. Sipping on a Remy Martin miniature released for promotional use, he nods his head in a state where his spirit has ascended. “Yeah, yeah. Do as you say.” Youngeun, a smart intern who just graduated from Jo-ye University—though she is now the actual manager of Gallery Jumyeong—taps the floor with the heel of her loafer.

“Teacher Mi, don’t be like that. There’s no breakup penalty for you.”

“Why? Why isn’t there one for me?!”

“Being dumped is your job, after all.”

Ugh. Right in my lungs. Mi Hansol clutches his chest. Even when he pretends to collapse, Youngeun snorts.

“Since we have to finish setting up all the leaflets and posters today, don’t even dream of going home.”

“Huh? What is this, why do I have to live that diligently?”

“The director told me to report in detail later on what Teacher Mi has been doing.”

“I shall engage in my duties with all my heat and sincerity, noona.”

“Yes, please engage.”

It’s only because it’s the cheeky and sensible youth Hyun Youngeun that she can snap at or tease Mi Hansol; other employees wouldn’t even dream of it. It is a reckless bravery that only someone bored with life would display to advise Hansol—who has darkened due to a terrible sadness caused by a hangover, a weight gain of about 2kg, and a cruel breakup—to put some strength into his brain.

Other people say they lose weight when they break up? Why do I break my nose even when I fall backward? That’s right, if you cram in twenty Buttering cookies while shedding tears and snot watching movies like City Lights and then wake up the next day all swollen, then damn it, nothing’s going to work out. Even the clothes he wore were murky, and since he hadn’t managed to cut his hair yet, he looked like a pacifist hippie; everything was a mess.

∞ ∞ ∞

Hansol thought for a moment about the ‘accident’ that happened last week. The shape of the bracelet that fluttered along like an accompaniment when the words “let’s break up” were spoken, the lukewarm coffee, the people running around outside because they didn’t have umbrellas. Broad daylight sun and a very long sunshower. But Hansol decided to ignore that streak of rain. At the same time as he rolled his eyes, he reached a very different conclusion.

The reason people are fleeing is because of the end of the world.

K-boom.

Of course, it is not. It is not because the end has arrived. This is the sound of Mi Hansol’s mental state being shattered. Mi Hansol is dumped this time ‘as well.’ Hey you, even if you’re quitting, you should have kept your loyalty. Give me back everything I bought you. No, take this opportunity to move out. The two-room with a bathtub, the south-facing bed where I lay my head, the furniture. You damn bastard!

Is what,

He simply

Could not say. He felt like he was going crazy because it was so despicable. All Mi Hansol could do was drink coffee. The coffee is good here. Fast forward.

Thus, 4 years ago. Mi Hansol had picked up a shovel. To act as a small-room philosopher while fallen into a despair that was of no use whatsoever. Tell everyone to get lost. I’ll die clutching my empty bank account. Denouncing his own lack of discretion, he moistened his lips. He turned around sluggishly.

“But how many invitation cards do I need to make?”

However, Youngeun had already disappeared. Hansol became dazed. Inside the gallery, which was empty as if a ghost had passed through, did I dig the grave for too long? He was laughing out of absurdity when, the moment he tried to go up to the second floor, he was clutching his head due to a headache that swirled and stuck to him everywhere.

“Are you okay?”

A very deep voice called out to Mi Hansol.

That was spring. Mi Hansol’s spring.

Question mark, mid-to-late 20s, mid-180s. Question mark, charcoal short-sleeved T-shirt. A knit of the same color over it. Black hair. Question mark, no matter how I look at it, he doesn’t work in this field. An ivory tower feel. A doctoral program? At least a teaching assistant. Exclamation mark, the best-looking human primate I’ve seen in my life…

“Pardon?”