“By any chance… around age ten or twelve… around that time, didn’t you ever live at an orphanage?”

“No. Why are you arbitrarily making someone an orphan?”

Ah.

The first question was a complete failure. However, even if he wasn’t an orphan, there were many situations where one could meet at an orphanage. Geun-yeong twisted his question and asked again.

“Then… did you ever live near an orphanage, or go there to play? I mean, it’s called Gangdong Dreaming Daycare, though it’s changed to Peace House now. It’s across from the Dunchon-dong Community Center, about 150 meters down the back alley behind the 50-year-old Obok Seolleongtang restaurant—”

“I don’t remember.”

With one sharp, resolute statement, the man cut off the thread of words that were pouring out in a jumbled mess, and spoke to the guy who still hadn’t managed to close his mouth.

“Do I have to remember every single place I lived and went to play when I was a little kid?”

Geun-yeong organized his chaotic thoughts while observing whether this seemingly ill-tempered man might be lying. The man didn’t say “no.” He said “I don’t remember.” There was still hope. Geun-yeong asked urgently with the desperate face of a child trying to catch grains of sand slipping through his fingers.

“Jang Saetbyeol, you really don’t remember? That was my name when I was at the orphanage. You said I was like a white puppy and gave me chocolate. The ones in the glass jar on the director’s office table, with the A, B, C alphabet letters written on them. You stole them and brought them to me—well, I’m not sure if you actually stole them, but anyway, you gave them to me.”

Even if he couldn’t remember the location of the orphanage, perhaps he might remember people or situations instead—with this hope, Geun-yeong laid out everything that came to mind. The man watched Geun-yeong, who was chattering busily without context or order due to his urgency, and asked.

“You have diabetes, right?”

“Yes.”

“But he gave you chocolate?”

“…Yes.”

“Seems like he had some grudge against you? Wasn’t he trying to kill you? To make you into dog soup?”

No. You don’t die from eating one piece of chocolate. No, before that, he probably didn’t know that he had diabetes. He didn’t know back then either. But dog soup? Anyway.

“Probably, he didn’t know—”

“Hey, kid.”

The man interrupted Geun-yeong’s words as he was about to defend that boy’s actions. And at that moment, Geun-yeong had to stop not his words, but his breath.

‘Kid, should hyung read you a book?’

A memory that flashed by for an instant. It was because of the way that boy used to call him.

“Making innocent people into orphans, making them into the worst villains in the world—what are you going to do after finding that person through all that trouble? Find him and, what, give him a beating?”

The man seemed to find his own words amusing and burst out laughing, then said “Ow” while grabbing his side and grimacing.

And Geun-yeong became a broken robot once again. Just moments ago, the man had called him “kid.” And just now, that smiling face that flashed by quickly before fading away—it really seemed to be that person. Within that smiling face, he seemed to see the face of that boy from back then. If only he could see that smiling face a little longer, he felt he could know for sure, but it was too brief. It was regrettable.

Now, as Geun-yeong was pondering how to make someone laugh, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He didn’t take it out to check because he knew who it was without looking.

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