Eighteen's Bed-Chapter 30.3

I grabbed his thick black hair, like I was going to rip it out of his scalp. The bastard, shaking his hips, tried to turn his head in surprise. That wouldn’t be fun. I was already as upset as I could get. I pushed him forward, making sure he didn’t see me. His body, as vivid as reality, bent in pain. The moment my knuckles scratched his skin, I felt it vividly, even the pain.

I wonder how he’ll cry. I want to see him cry, tears and snot flowing, his face turning red. That would ease the anger inside me. I smirked and kicked his protruding hip bone hard with the tip of my foot. His indoor shoes slipped on the dirty, trash-laden floor. Looking at his legs spread open in front of me, I suddenly thought: It’s an ideal triangle.

I yanked his hair, hard, and slammed his dirty white face into the tiles. It was so rough that his face bled. He didn’t scream since I didn’t know his voice. He collapsed forward without a single scream. The sound of his face smashing into the water tank was loud. Only then did I feel satisfied, and I let go of his hair.

Is sex really that great? To want to do it in a place like this?

“Barbaric. Not even an animal.”

My hand, holding the rosary, moved. The pitiful bastard collapsed in front of me had already fainted.

****

He needs to be more careful about his behavior.

This was the conclusion from the fantasy I had last night. A kid who looks like he can’t fight for shit should be flailing around with his lower body like that? He could easily end up as someone’s punching bag, his ass showing for everyone to see. Hell, he might even be left passed out with his pants down, showing all his holes for the world to see.

That’s just how life is. You never know what’s going to happen. Maybe he’ll end up living like me, stuck in the shit.

“Should tell him to live his life properly.”

I’m not usually this nosy. I’m not. But I have to say something. Tell him to live his life properly. I’m not the type of person to get involved, but... yeah, I should say something. Live your life properly.

As I walked, I kept fiddling with the rosary in my hand. I’m enlightening him. Live your life right.

The atmosphere in the dorm was awkward. Even though the structure was exactly the same as the west wing, it felt strangely unfamiliar. Finding Han Junwoo’s room wasn’t hard. As you know, he was somewhat famous. Just as famous as me.

“Trash bastard.”

I squeezed the rosary as if I were going to rip it apart. But that path isn’t his. Destiny told me. He should walk a more reserved path. That’s the right path for him. It might be a little late, but maybe he can still turn back. First, I need to give him some advice. Tell him not to live like that...

And then...

And then...

As I scratched the rosary with my nails, a rough sensation ran up my fingers. The destination came into view. I snapped out of my thoughts and knocked on the wall with my hand. Right, he needs to be more reserved. I’m helping him. I’m... doing it now... immediately...

A sense of urgency surged within me. That dirty bastard might be having some more filthy sex with someone else in the bathroom. So I grabbed the first idiot I saw walking into the classroom and asked him.

“Call Han Junwoo for me.”

The kid I grabbed looked at ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) me and then nodded to himself, “Ah!”

What the hell are you doing?

“Wait a second.”

Then, from somewhere below my stomach, it started pounding, like someone was slamming a fist against a desk. “Wait a second.” In a moment, Han Junwoo would come out of this classroom and talk to me, right in front of me. I gripped the cross on the rosary with one hand. What should I say? How should I convince him?

Should I ask him to go to church together? Then we’d see each other every weekend. Eventually, we’d get closer. And once we were close, what would happen? What would happen? I’d have to scold him.

The plan I came up with while leaning against the wall felt satisfying. A perfect scenario where I’d take in the poor little lamb. That way, we’d become good friends. And until then, I wouldn’t have to keep doing things like relieving stress the way I just did. Stress can be relieved later, after we’ve become close friends.

I felt uneasy. But I was sure. I didn’t have a reason, but I felt it the moment I saw him. My hand clenched and then opened, tightening the plan as my eyes fell on a strange pair of indoor shoes. It was like they were looking for me. It was like chewing on cotton candy floating in the sky.

But when I lifted my head, what I found wasn’t him, but confusion and discomfort.

“What’s this? Why are you looking for me?”

“Who are you?”

It was a face I didn’t recognize. I’m not looking for you right now. I furrowed my brow, and the guy spoke first.

“I’m Han Junwoo.”

“……”

“I’m Han Junwoo. You said you were looking for me.”

“Why are you Han Junwoo?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It can’t be. There’s no way.”

“There’s no way? Are you here to start something with me?”

“Of course.”

"Do you know some pale guy with a high nose? Someone who looks white as hell because he never sees sunlight? The kids said he was Han Junwoo."

My mouth, which had been ready to ramble, suddenly refused to move. Why the hell was I even saying this?

If you're Han Junwoo, then who the hell is he? A ghost? What the fuck!

My head spun in chaos, screaming with noise. But the words that finally crawled up my throat were completely different.

“…Never mind. Forget it.”

“Hah, what am I, a damn dog you're training? You crazy bastard.”

The guy who insisted he was Han Junwoo was becoming blurry in my memory, even though he was right in front of me. The most famous Han Junwoo in the east wing. The Han Junwoo who had become even more notorious than Go Yohan. The Han Junwoo whose past was too infamous to ever be forgotten. That Han Junwoo was overlapping with him.

Then… who the hell was the other guy?

Clutching my confused head, I turned and walked down the hallway. I passed one classroom after another, my eyes locked on the stairs that led to the only passage connecting the west wing.

“Han Junwoo. I’m not doing your homework anymore. How long are you just going to dump it on me?”

The scent of pine needles from the towering trees outside lingered. A pinecone might have rattled in the wind. His hand, still damp, suggested he had just come out of the bathroom. As I got closer, I realized he was even shorter than I remembered.

“Ah…”

My hand, which had been gripping my rosary, shot up in a panic. The moment I lifted it into the empty air, a small breeze stirred, and he brushed right past me. Stunned, I turned around, watching where he was headed.

He walked straight up to Han Junwoo and said something. His voice was lost in the noisy corridor.

Han Junwoo laughed, and the other boy—his expression twisting with anger—shook off his wet hand. Then, Han Junwoo casually placed a hand on his shoulder, and the two of them disappeared into the classroom together.

Even as the next class bell rang, my feet refused to move from the hallway.

“Fucking… fuck! Fucking hell!”

My face burned.

That fucking bastard.

Drenched in a humiliation so intense it made me want to lose my mind. I had planned what to say. I had prepared for this.

We made eye contact. Right? I had my words ready for you.

Then why… why did you walk right past me without even looking? Did you ignore me?

You know who I am. You know who I am. There’s no way you don’t.

I clenched my hand into a fist. My short, trimmed nails dug into my palm. Then, I opened my hand again and pressed my fingers hard against my mouth and chin.

Who the fuck told me that guy was Han Junwoo? Who?

I searched my memory, grasping at fragments. A big guy. Someone built like a brick wall.

Oh. Kim Minho.

Kim Minho. That fucking bastard.

The heavy silence of the hallway seemed to mock me. No—it was mocking me. That guy, too. He must have looked at me like I was some pathetic loser. No, I was sure of it.

This was all because of Kim Minho, that fucking piece of shit.

I stormed out of the hallway, fleeing from the shame that threatened to suffocate me. With every step, the whole world felt like it was closing in around my throat.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

Pathetic.

Fucking pathetic.

The moment I walked back into the classroom, I caught Kim Minho sneaking a glance at me, then quickly looking away. That cowardly bullshit broke whatever control I had left.

Was the teacher there? I didn’t know. Probably not.

First, I had to punish that motherfucker.

How dare he mess with me?

I stomped straight to the middle of the classroom and kicked the leg of Kim Minho’s chair.

A disgusting thud echoed as his massive body went crashing to the floor.

“What the fuck, you crazy fucking—”

Some other kids got knocked down with him, but I didn’t care. Not my problem.

Who the fuck was supposed to be mad here? Him? Him?! Just looking at his pissed-off face made me want to cave it in with my foot.

"Stop it! Hey! Agh! Fuck, stop! Stop it!"

I wanted to mash that ugly face into the dirt. I wanted to kill him.

The urge took full control of my body.

I raised my foot and stomped down hard on Kim Minho’s nose.

“Ugh—urk!”

I felt something bulging beneath my sole.

Ah. His nose.

That made me feel a little better.

I pressed down, twisting my ankle, and the weight of my body settled on his face. The satisfaction rushed in like a flood.

“Han Junwoo? Han Junwoo, you fucking piece of shit. Who the fuck is Han Junwoo, huh? Fuck you. Because of you—”

“Agh! Aghhh!”

“I was fucking humiliated, you son of a bitch—!”

The rage flared up again. Just stomping his face wasn’t enough anymore.

I lifted my foot and pressed my heel down on his throat, right over his Adam’s apple. His face turned blue as he coughed and sputtered.

Still not enough.

I glanced around and spotted a box cutter lying on a nearby desk.

Ah. That will do.

“That…”

I kicked Kim Minho away and grabbed the cutter from the desk. As I flicked my thumb across the blade, pushing it out just a little—

"You—you—you fucking idiot! What the hell are you doing?!"

Someone grabbed my shoulder and shoved me back.

The homeroom teacher.

And just like that, my punishment was cut short.

That bastard of a teacher raged for days after that.

All that over something so trivial. Kids get into fights. Big deal.

Even Kim Minho didn’t blame me for what happened. He shut up in class and even apologized to me.

So what was the damn problem?

Honestly, it was funny. As the days passed, my teacher’s tone softened more and more. Eventually, I realized—he must have gotten a call from my mother.

I could already imagine what she said.

"My child is just a little sensitive. He’s still just a kid. You know he’s an early-year baby, right? That’s why he’s a bit behind in development. Please understand."

Ugh. Predictable.

By now, I’d heard that same bullshit so many times, I was sick of it.

I started tuning out the lectures, letting my thoughts drift, until—

A sharp smell of cigarettes and coffee hit my nose.

Ugh. His breath stinks. Like fucking sewage. I nearly gagged holding back my disgust.

But the next day.

Just one day later.

All my irritation vanished like smoke.

Because of a single, tiny piece of paper.

“Yohan, you need to start things off right. Your mother asked me to remind you.”

“…”

“Where are you looking? Ah, the list of academic excellence? That’s right, Yohan. You should be on that list too. You can do it. Your grades aren’t even that bad. Your mother told me you used to be a good student.”

“…Mr. Minseong. Do you have a moment?”

A younger teacher called out from across the room, unaware that we were in the middle of a conversation.

The homeroom teacher hesitated, looking troubled. Whatever it was, he couldn’t refuse.

Something more urgent than my consultation, huh?

“Just a second,” he said, getting up.

I wasn’t really paying attention to his expression.

Because my gaze was stuck on the piece of white paper.

And on the white face reflected in it.

A face so eerily expressionless it made me uneasy.

“…Kang Jun.”

Kaang-Jun. Last name Kang. First name Jun.

Jun.

That was his name.

Making sure no one was looking, I slipped my phone out of my pocket.

In the busy teacher’s office, the mechanical chime of my phone rang softly.

****

There were no bugs in the new mansion. But who knows? They could be hiding somewhere. That’s how insects are. They hold their breath when the lights are on, lurking in the shadows, only to scuttle out on dozens of legs when everyone falls asleep. Until the moment they fill every dark corner of the mansion with their eggs.

It had been quite a while since I last ate with my family. I was the one who rejected them first, and they accepted it. It started when my grades collapsed like a crumbling tower.

Right. Father had said it before.

"I don’t see any reason why I should be raising you, Go Yohan."

Because I’m your fucking son, you piece of shit. I muttered under my breath, keeping my head down so he wouldn’t hear. The words churned in my gut, twisting my insides, and before I knew it, I had declared a hunger strike out of spite.

Shredded report cards scattered like petals across the carpet.

"So you were the bug all along."

I had heard that once.

They don’t even know how terrifying bugs can be.

"Things like you should be stomped to death."

Was it a hallucination?

Sometimes, when my head buzzes with pain, I hear things like that.

The pain in the back of my head—it's because I cracked my skull open going down the stairs in middle school. I still hate myself for that. My grades plummeted after that.

Why had I gone down the stairs that night? No matter how much I think about it, I can’t remember.

And after the accident, I started losing control over these boiling impulses. My brain must have broken along with my skull. I lived through weeks where I would forget what happened each day as soon as it passed.

That’s why I live like this now.

Just like this.

It was eleven at night. The moment dawn began to open its eyes.

"I saw your entrance exam scores."

Father only speaks to me when no one else is around. Tonight, it was in the dark dining room.

I was eating dinner at eleven p.m. when he appeared, still in his suit, holding an empty glass.

I wasn’t scared, exactly.

But my whole body froze whenever I saw his hands, his watch, and that glass.

"You eat like a fucking dog, Go Yohan."

"……."

"Do you even understand how you're still eating comfortably in my house?"

The ice in his glass clattered loudly. As the sound rang in my ears, an endless, invisible pressure wrapped around my throat.

"If you want to vent your anger, pick someone you can actually crush. Stop going after the ones who are just a fucking hassle."

The bloated, soggy rice cake stuck in my throat. I put my fork down.

Why the fuck did he have to come in here just to talk while I was eating?

I scratched my pants with my nails. He could’ve just sent a staff member.

What was the point of coming all the way here to grab a glass of ice water?

Ah. He must want to torment me.

Father is jealous of me.

At least, that’s what I choose to believe.

There’s no other explanation for his behavior.

I look exactly like him, a carbon copy, and he resents my youth.

Thinking of it that way made me feel better.

The water and ice slid down his throat, making his prominent Adam’s apple bob.

I tore my gaze away from the cheap, overcooked tteokbokki and looked at him.

Father, standing there, drinking his ice water, looked at me as if I were an insect.

When had he started looking at me like that?

Clink.

He set the glass down on the table with deliberate care.

"Don’t starve yourself."

His wrinkled hand lightly tapped the rim of the glass.

And just like that, the glass tipped over and rolled toward me.

Father didn’t care where the glass landed.

Just like he didn’t care where I ended up.

His broad back disappeared through the doorway.

I watched the glass roll. Just watched.

It rolled, lost momentum, and then shattered on the floor.

I glanced at the scattered glass shards and then resumed eating.

In this world, still covered in the frost of winter, I had found a new hobby.

Watching Kang Jun.

It was the only thing that entertained me.

That’s how unique he was.

Kang Jun was somewhat well-known.

What people knew about him? He was at the top of the academic rankings.

They said his grades were good enough for a specialized high school.

Then why hadn’t he gone?

Weird bastard.

Was he broke?

Didn’t really look like it.

His clothes were always perfectly pressed, not a single wrinkle.

Someone had to be ironing them every day.

When sunlight hit, his deep black hair shimmered like water in a valley.

And his skin—yeah, he had the skin of someone who was well-fed and well-bred.

So he definitely had money.

Then did we live in the same neighborhood?

There’s only one well-off district around here.

I lifted my phone, aimed the lens at Kang Jun, and snapped a photo without thinking.

His lips, slightly puckered, sucked up a green ice cream bar from the bottom up.

What the fuck.

Why the hell was he eating an ice cream like that?

Was he a pervert?

My stomach twisted with an odd, crawling sensation.

I crossed my legs.

Fiddled with my rosary.

Summer arrived with the cries of cicadas.

And as the season changed, summer also arrived in my body.

But Kang Jun wasn’t famous because of his grades.

This school had plenty of kids who were good at studying.

The real reason he was famous?

That damn Han Junwoo.

Han Junwoo’s lapdog.

A stiff, uninteresting little prick who still went around licking Han Junwoo’s ass just because he was riding his coattails.

But, I heard, it was because he was kind.

Too rigid to ever cross the line, but still following Han Junwoo around like a lost puppy.

Doesn’t that make him look like an opportunist?

That’s when I first learned about Kang Jun.

This time, I zoomed in with a little more heat in my gaze.

The small screen filled with an image of him sucking on the ice cream bar.

This time, I switched to video.

"Yeah… he does look like he’d be good at it."