Kang-Dae's POV
My alarm went off at 6:40, and I usually gave it three minutes before deciding to turn it off. I never understood people who could leap out of bed at the first ring, as if they'd been waiting all night for the pleasure of starting a new day. For my part, I needed to negotiate with myself, especially on mornings when I remembered I had a class at 8:00, a shift at Seven Eleven in the afternoon, and so little money in my account that every meal required a bit of thought.
That Monday, after hitting the snooze button a second time, I finally got up and dragged myself to the bathroom. My roommates were still asleep. In the kitchen, there was rice left in the cooker and an egg in the fridge, which made for a perfectly acceptable breakfast as long as you didn't think too much about what time I'd prepared the previous day's meal.
I ate standing up, rinsed my bowl and checked my bag before leaving.
I had long ago stopped trying to make my days interesting.
It was enough for me that they proceeded without incident, that no one called me to demand money, and that my expenses did not exceed what I earned.
I was still attending a few classes, more to maintain a routine than out of any real conviction that I would one day follow the path my parents had chosen for me. The teachers talked about exams, internships, and career opportunities, while I took notes seriously enough that I didn't have to justify my attendance.
I wasn't a bad student, I had only paid for a few courses and wasn't even allowed to take the exams.
– hha~
I was simply unable to convince myself that the efforts I was making would lead me nowhere.
At the ten o'clock break, I bought a roll and a drink from the vending machine before settling down on a bench with two classmates. We discussed the upcoming exam, a professor who had changed the date of his test without telling anyone, and the outrageous price of meals near campus. I was just complaining along with the others when I really wished it were at least realistic for me.
That was pretty much all that was going on in my life.
There were classes, transportation, meals bought in a hurry, and hours spent standing behind a cash register. Between activities, I sometimes found time to watch videos on my phone or chat with someone, but I didn't do anything worth writing about in a journal.
Some would probably have found this existence boring. Personally, I found it rather reassuring, even if I didn't always know whether this tranquility came from the fact that I was finally free or simply from the fact that I no longer had enough energy to hope for anything else.
Positive in life.
I met Ki-Moon at the store in the early afternoon. He was already checking products nearing their expiration dates, with the same concentration he reserved for the most trivial tasks. I put my bag in the stockroom, changed into my uniform, and sat down next to him.
– You know they won't disappear if you stop watching them for two minutes?
He checked one last label before answering me.
– If I don't do it, you'll forget to take them out.
– I'm hurt. I thought you trusted me.
– hum…
– It's a sign of respect, where I come from.
He shook his head and went back to his work, but I noticed his sly smile before he disappeared behind the shelves.
I should consider a career as an actor.
I enjoyed working with him. We didn't need to talk constantly to pass the time, and our conversations could range from clients to a dish we wanted to eat or the price of a plane ticket.
He very rarely answered my questions with words, victory, while I could talk long enough to fill an entire hour of service by myself.
Yet, he never asked me to change, and I didn't reproach him for his silence.
One afternoon, we spent almost twenty minutes discussing a new restaurant that had just opened in the neighborhood.
I had explained to him that their family portions looked ridiculously small in the photographs, then I had suggested we check for ourselves after we received our pay.
Ki-Moon immediately asked how much the dishes cost, and the conversation ended with a detailed calculation of our potential expenses. We never actually went, but I still sometimes reminded him of our plan whenever I saw an advertisement for the place.
"You still haven't given up on that restaurant business?" he asked me one evening.
– Of course not. To be honest, you're my only friend and I can't finish a platter for a family of four all by myself.
– That's the only thing you remember.
I put on an offended expression and explained to him that I could also remember the faces of customers who tried to make us pay for their purchases with expired coupons.
He replied that it wasn't a particularly impressive skill, then went back to restocking the refrigerator. I followed him, continuing to protest, and we finished our shift with a friendly argument about who had forgotten to order drinks for the next day.
I enjoyed these moments more than I wanted to admit. They were nothing exceptional, and that was precisely what made them enjoyable.
I no longer needed to appear intelligent, to justify my choices, or to pretend that I had a perfectly defined plan for the coming years.
Executive of a 9-figure group.
I could simply be Kang-Dae, a student who worked too much, sometimes ate poorly, and talked a lot when he was tired.
After closing time, we usually went home together, unless I had enough to take a taxi.
So, when I got home, I shared the kitchen with my roommates when they were there, or I'd reheat leftovers in a saucepan if no one had thought to wash the dishes. We weren't particularly close, but we'd learned to live together without making things complicated. Everyone paid their share, tidied up what they could, and avoided asking questions.
I would then take a shower, check my notes for the next day, and try to finish the exercises I had put off during the day. Sometimes I would fall asleep at my desk, my forehead resting on an open notebook, before waking up late enough to have to choose between finishing my work and sleeping for a few hours, and besides, I don't have any exams.
In those moments, I would promise myself to better organize my schedule, a resolution that usually lasted until the next busy shift.
And at midnight I would stay by my window watching the sky, I didn't know exactly when this habit had started.
I sometimes think about my mother, but rarely in the way people seemed to imagine we should remember them… I didn't talk to them in my head, and I didn't ask them to guide me. I simply sometimes wondered what they would have said if they had seen my apartment, my wrinkled clothes, or my life.
academics.
I imagined my father's look when he learned that I had given up medicine, then I wondered if my mother would have been disappointed to see me living so modestly.
I had never found a satisfactory answer to their beak-lock.
I have the quick wit of a goldfish.
I went back to bed.
The weeks passed in this way, without me really noticing their passing, and this went on for several more years.
Then, one Thursday, on my way home from work, I stopped by a street vendor with a small box where several posters advertised a 100% winning lottery.
I was already struggling to pay my own expenses; I certainly wasn't going to get scammed by a one in a million chance... was I?
A hell , no
Yet, I resisted, I swear I held back.
The ticket didn't even have a price on it. I could afford it, just my card, a very good deal.
I'm going to win the jackpot, the jackpot, the jackpot, I'm going to WIN, AAAAAAAAAA.