It appeared that Jung Haekyung had opted to commute to S.E. rather than head back to China to fully suppress the FEL. No matter how hard he’d have to step on it, the round trip to and from S.E. from here would still take about five hours. Should I commend him for his sincerity, or should I think that he was only making things harder for himself? Should I call him the pervert of perverts?
If Jung Haekyung wanted it, he could secure a vacation whenever he desired, irrespective of wartime or whatever. He could change his workplace whenever he wanted, too. Though he held the rank of a major, rankings and the like didn’t mean anything to him. Nevertheless, given how much he enjoyed the missions assigned by S.E., it could just be considered as him more or less playing along with S.E.’s system. It was obvious that he was drunk on some kind of new play right now—a kind of play where he would go to work and I would be waiting for him at home. Jung Haekyung was slow to ignite before belatedly cooling down. It was stupid to expect him to tire of things.
There were also times when he didn’t come home at all. Each time, he would whisper to me on the phone, “You have to eat, go to sleep first, I’m sorry, I miss you, I love you.” Each time, I would have a dream. In the dream, I safely managed to board a plane, soaring off to South America. The brilliant sunlight beat down upon my head, and a sea of unfamiliar faces whisked me away, my path twisting here and there. The foreign languages sounded sweet, and the tropical forests looked mystical. But, even within the realms of my dreams and amid my stay in a foreign land, I would find myself constantly glancing behind me as I walked. Consequently, I would often trip and fall, unable to focus on the path ahead. Familiar shoes came into view just before my fallen state. The owner of those shoes carefully raised me from the ground. The instant our eyes locked, I abruptly woke up. At the same time, my body jumped up, frightened. Frantically surveying my surroundings, the scene that met my eyes looked familiar. It wasn’t a hotel room in Argentina, a hostel in Chile, or a cottage in Brazil, like the ones I had visited in my dreams.
Out of sheer habit, I gripped my neck and fumbled around it, but there was nothing there. All I could feel was the damp sensation of my skin, drenched in sweat. There weren’t any shackles on my ankles, either. I felt relief knowing there was nothing attached to my body today. It was pathetic how this was the first thing I’d check every time I opened my eyes, and that I’d be relieved because of it. Even dogs didn’t wear collars at home these days. In a world where dogs had leashes attached to their chests during walks, I found myself treated even worse than them.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the thin curtains. I stood up and pulled them back, unveiling the view outside. It was a familiar scene. A river flowing from a distance, with various types of cars traversing the bridge, all neatly aligned. The blue river, illuminated by the sunlight, glimmered. Tall buildings stood in rows along the riverside, while miniature figures bustled in and out of them.
The noise from outside was muffled, yet a consistent thudding sound reached me through the slightly ajar door. I opened it and walked out to the living room. There was no one there. I directed my steps in the direction of the sound. I could see the back of someone standing in the kitchen. The muscles beneath the white short-sleeved t-shirt on the person’s back moved in a rhythmic pattern. Chop, chop, chop—the back of the person dicing the carrots looked familiar to me. Once done with the carrots, they began to chop the peeled potatoes into similar sizes.
I slowly walked over and embraced their waist from behind. Truth be told, I was actually suffering from extreme thirst and wanted to drink some water, but I couldn’t forget what I had to do first.
“You’re up? Why’d you sleep so long?”
Jung Haekyung stopped cutting and grabbed my hand. He turned around, meeting my gaze as he spoke to me. His unrealistic appearance, seemingly ripped from the pages of a comic book, felt burdensome to me. It felt as though that appearance of his was telling me that my current reality was just a dream.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“I had a dream.”
“Qtja xlcv bo vgfjw?”
“Tbe jqqfjgfv lc la.”
“Qjr la j ubbv bcf?”
Aecu Ljfxsecu mjra j uijcmf ja ws ibkfg tjio jcv mtemxifv. “Tfjt, P mjwf,” P gfqilfv. Ktfc, P ifjcfv ws mtlc bc tlr rtbeivfg jcv rilv ws tjcv lcab tlr a-rtlga ab ragbxf tlr olgw rabwjmt. Mffilcu atf megnfr bo tlr jyvbwlcji wermifr klat ws olcufg, P jrxfv, “Qtja jgf sbe wjxlcu?”
“Curry.”
“Sounds good.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll hurry up, then.”
Can I finally have some water now? I carefully loosened the hand that was wrapped around his waist. Confirming no notable reaction, I opened the fridge door. Retrieving a 500ml bottle of water, I listened to Jung Haekyung’s humming and nearly downed it all in one go.
I tossed the empty water bottle into a plastic bin in the utility room. It wasn’t a habit I would typically follow when living alone, but Jung Haekyung was very passionate about trash-sorting. Not just trash sorting, he was a perfectionist about all kinds of household chores. His insistence on the concept of Rapunzel’s castle meant no one was permitted to visit the home, and he held reservations about whether my cooking and cleaning met his standards.
Still, that didn’t mean Jung Haekyung was a chef either. The flavour of his cooking didn’t quite fit with his character, as it was very straightforward. That was because he wouldn’t even spare a glance at those cookbooks containing phrases like “add an appropriate amount of salt” in them. They had to have the precise measurements in grammes, tablespoons, and teaspoons for a single serving. He’d go as far as using a measuring cup for the water he’d use to make ramen. He wouldn’t even think of skipping or substituting dried prunes in a bread recipe with cranberries, even though we had cranberries at home and lacked dried prunes.
Wasn’t it said that those who cooked hated doing the dishes? Jung Haekyung retained his passion even when dishwashing. He wouldn’t even use the dishwasher. It was impossible to see even a single droplet of water left behind in the sink, even though he’d gleam the plates in the light while washing them. It was to the point that it led me to question why he used the washing machine instead of beating the laundry with a paddle and washing it by hand.
Jung Haekyung was diligent when it came to the things he wanted to do. He would persist until he was satisfied, to the point where it would leave me wondering just why he wanted to do it that badly. It was in character of him not to say a word whenever I ventured into creative cooking or left a bunch of water on the plates I washed, but it was also in character of him to ensure that I wouldn’t even be able to place a spoon down afterwards.
I leaned against the table and watched as he cooked. A serious look settled on his face as he set the timer, as if he were crafting a French dish. He carefully adjusted the temperature of the heat and ladled the bubbling, yellowish, and thick liquid at a consistent pace and direction. His delicate profile resembled a painting. It looked like a scene from a fairy tale. One where a witch would appear. The dish seemed like a curse, capable of transforming anyone who tasted it into a rat. The witch would then use her two fingers to grab the rat by its tail before dropping it back into the boiling pot. Finally, the rat would melt and create a malevolent soup, and the witch would have a jolly old time eating her breakfast.
Jung Haekyung finished the curry. Just in time, a voice signalled that the rice cooker had finished cooking. Jung Haekyung scooped the rice and curry into bowls. The perfectly cooked rice and the curry, nearly identical to the one depicted on the curry powder packaging, were placed in front of me. Luckily, it appeared that Jung Haekyung was in good spirits today. As evidence that I hadn’t upset him, my bowl and spoon were placed on the dining table.
“Eat.”
If there was something that displeased him, Jung Haekyung would place my bowl of food at his feet, flashing a bright smile as he kindly ordered me to eat. If he tapped the bowl with the tip of his foot, I’d have to stop eating and crawl under the table to suck his cock. There’s a saying that people wouldn’t dare disturb a dog while it’s eating, yet I found myself consistently treated even worse than a dog. Yeah, Jung Haekyung had no rivals when it came to consistency. He was a crazy fucker who’d show me, the one who had to crawl on the floor like a dog, benevolence by cleaning the floor twice a day.
“Aren’t you going to eat?”
Honestly, I didn’t want to eat right now. My stomach, which already had its problems, had been easy to upset lately, making me feel a squeezing pain. Even now, simply gazing at the food in front of me made it difficult to breathe. However, since Jung Haekyung told me to eat, refusal wasn’t an option. I raised my bowl and poured its contents over the curry as is. Then, I prodded it with my spoon, haphazardly mixing it together. When I attempted to eat the improperly blended curry, Jung Haekyung swapped my bowl with his, which was thoroughly mixed.
“Thank you.”
“Does it taste good?”
“Yeah.”
“How much?”
“A lot.”
“That’s good.”
Daym, what a lunatic
Damn dude that’s fucked up 😭