1.3

Yoon Leeseo had first come to the Gu family’s main house in Hannam-dong when Junmo was in the spring of his sixth grade.  

It was the season when the forsythia flowers had fallen, and the snow-white spirea blossoms were in full bloom. The spring frost that year had been particularly harsh, leaving the flowering trees visibly withered.  

In the yard, the workers were busy digging, turning, and packing the soil as they transplanted flower seedlings. The sounds of their work carried up to the second floor, where Junmo lay bedridden.  

“These are imported roses. They’re an expensive variety, so be careful not to damage the roots…”  

Before his mother’s meticulous nagging could even finish, the workers responded with a brisk, “Yes, yes.” Amid the commotion, a whistling thrush flitted about, flying frantically from one corner of the garden to the other.  

Junmo, meanwhile, was lying still, his tonsils severely swollen.  

His eyes were puffy, and every time he swallowed, his throat burned. Behind his eyes, a dull thudding echoed like a drumbeat. His breath was so hot he felt like he could cook an egg with it.  

At first, he had been glad when they told him he didn’t have to go to school. But the relief was short-lived. Not only was he in pain, but the house felt eerily quiet and boring without his older brother. The thought of returning to school the next day, only to be swarmed by his classmates, filled him with irritation.  

‘Why is only one of them sick? Aren’t twins supposed to share everything, even illnesses?’ 

Idiots.  

Junhyung and Junmo were fraternal twins, not identical.  

They were born fifteen minutes apart.  

Neither their teachers nor their classmates ever got them confused, as their appearances, personalities, and preferences were starkly different.  

Junhyung always responded to adults with a polite “Yes,” while Junmo’s default response was “Why?”  

When Junhyung carefully disassembled and reassembled small parts to create something, Junmo’s role was to break it apart.  

Even when they bought clothes at the same time, Junhyung’s would remain intact, while Junmo’s would inevitably end up ruined.  

On Valentine’s Day or Pepero Day—any day with “Day” attached—the difference between the two became even more apparent. Junhyung always monopolized the gifts from the girls, while Junmo was left empty-handed. Not that he ever wanted anything, but no one ever gave him anything either.  

This dynamic extended to their home life as well. Their mother’s affection was boundless for Junhyung, who was affectionate and sweet with his words, but not so much for Junmo.  

And Junmo was always grateful for that.  

It meant he was at least somewhat free from her interference.  

Still, despite Junhyung’s reputation for being upright and well-mannered, it was Junmo who drew people’s attention.  

Even strangers on the street would glance at him, some even commenting, ‘That boy is really handsome.’

Whenever that happened, Junmo would rub his arms, feeling the goosebumps rise, and scowl.  

‘Mom! Junmo ruined my stuff again!’  

Junhyung was always the one to tattle.  

‘I was just curious about how it was made.’  

Junmo was always the one scrambling to make excuses.  

Junhyung enjoyed reading books or playing musical instruments, while Junmo loved anything physical—swimming, soccer, basketball, baseball, you name it. His swollen tonsils were the result of skipping academy lessons to play soccer until his feet were drenched in sweat.  

Because of this, the notion that twins shared everything, even illnesses, or that they possessed some extraordinary mental bond from spending ten months in the same womb, didn’t apply to Junhyung and Junmo.  

“Why are you here at this hour…?”  

Just as boredom was starting to set in, his mother’s voice floated up to the second-floor window. Junmo figured his father must have arrived. After all, the only person his mother would refer to as “you” was his father.  

But in the middle of the day?  

His father was usually too busy to even pin the crude carnations his sons made for him onto his chest. This was highly unusual.  

Junmo strained to listen, but he couldn’t catch his father’s response.  

Curiosity piqued, he threw off his blanket. His legs, weakened by the effects of medication, buckled before they could even touch the floor. For a moment, he thought about how much his brother would have teased him if he’d seen that. It would have been a year’s worth of mockery, at least. Thankfully, Junhyung was at school.  

Struggling to his feet, Junmo shuffled to the window and looked down.  

From the second floor, the yard looked like a chaotic mess, as if a mole had dug up the entire place.  

In the middle of it all, his mother stood out, her immaculate appearance contrasting sharply with the disarray. Not a speck of dirt or dust marred her pristine outfit. She stood rigidly, hands clasped tightly together, facing his father. Her expression betrayed her inner turmoil—confusion and discomfort clearly written on her face.  

“Who is that child?”  

Her voice was soft, but her tone was as sharp as a blade.  

That child?  

It was only then that Junmo noticed the small girl standing behind his father.  

The girl’s white dress shimmered in the spring sunlight, and the hairpin holding back her bangs sparkled as it caught the light.  

Leaning his elbows on the windowsill, Junmo studied the girl, who stood directly under the warm spring sun.  

Her oversized hairpin, the kind only grown women would wear, sat awkwardly on her messy, unkempt hair. Her tear-streaked face, still blotchy from crying, made her small features—her eyes, nose, and mouth—seem almost miraculous in their existence.  

Looking at the frail and skinny girl, Junmo was reminded of a baby bird that had fallen from its nest.  

“Surely… no, it can’t be. You wouldn’t….”  

It was the first time he had ever heard his mother stammer.  

Her face had gone as pale as the girl’s white dress, as if she were wearing someone else’s clothes that didn’t fit her properly.  

“She’s Heejeong’s daughter.”  

“Are you out of your mind?”  

“Not in front of the child. Watch what you say.”  

His father’s warning was quiet but firm.  

“How can you expect me to hold my tongue in this situation? You’re telling me this is Heejeong’s daughter? How could you do this to me? This isn’t right. Don’t tell me… is this child yours? Is that it?”  

Despite his father’s warning, his mother didn’t hold back. She poured out her thoughts, her anger spilling over in the process.  

“They say people see what they want to see. She’s just a child with nowhere to go.”  

His father wasn’t one to speak at length, so this was about as kind as he got. Still, it didn’t seem to convince his mother, who continued to glare at him with distrust.  

“She’ll stay with us for the time being, at least until another solution arises.”  

His father’s words came out as a declaration.  

Junmo silently repeated the unspoken words his father always seemed to tack on at the end of such statements: ‘So don’t argue.’  

His mother’s glare, filled with murderous intent, was a familiar sight to Junmo. He had seen it countless times before, so it didn’t faze him. Still, there was something chilling about it that made him shudder.  

The girl, who looked like she might burst into tears at the slightest provocation, began to retreat behind his father, as if trying to shield herself from his mother’s wrath. She timidly clutched at the hem of his father’s jacket, as though it were her lifeline.  

The small, frail child looked so fragile that it seemed a single raised voice could cause her to faint.  

What’s wrong with her? Is her courage the size of a bean?  

Achoo!

A sudden sneeze erupted due to the drifting pollen.  

Startled by the sound of Junmo’s sneeze, the little girl lifted her head as if someone had grabbed her by the hair. It seemed she had only just realized that someone had been watching her.  

The moment Junmo’s eyes met the girl’s large, round ones, he felt as if time had stopped. The sharp pain in his throat, which had been stinging as if pierced by something sharp due to the sudden sneeze, was momentarily forgotten. His mother and father, who had been locked in confrontation, and the chaotic state of the yard, all seemed to fade away. The only thing that stood out was the shabby-looking girl.  

Beneath her round forehead, her expression was completely exposed, revealing the pain she felt.  

It was such a brief moment, but it felt unbearably long and awkward.  

Given his current condition, Junmo leaned his chin on his hand and lazily waved at her. It was a simple gesture meant to welcome her. He didn’t know how his brother would feel, but he wanted to convey that he wouldn’t mind her living here.  

However, despite his effort, the girl’s large, frightened eyes began to tremble with unease. While he hadn’t expected her to respond with a bright smile and a wave, her reaction left him feeling bewildered.  

Why?  

Her eyes began to glisten with tears, and soon, her tightly clenched jaw started to tremble. Finally, the tears she had been holding back spilled over, streaming down her face like water from a faucet. She didn’t sniffle or make any noise while crying, but her silent tears were somehow even more sorrowful.  

Junmo’s chest tightened unexpectedly. At the same time, a wave of irritation surged within him.  

What did I even do?