FBF chapter 16 part 1

Five by Five (5×5) Volume 5

Lee Jihoon’s POV

She was the first peer whose expression I couldn’t read.

In the small rural town where no one was added and even those already there left, rumors spread quickly. Moreover, if you were the child of a parent known for their meddling in the town, hearing news became twice as easy. On the way back from the factory, my father was summoned to Mrs. Kim’s house, where he changed every lightbulb in the house, and it was late by the time he arrived at the hospital. That day, he brought news to my mom and me. The old man’s grandson mentioned in the story was probably the boy in front of me; I figured that out the moment I saw his pale face reflected in the transparent bus stop window.

“Isn’t the village chief’s son a lawyer in Seoul?”

“What son? He doesn’t even show his face during holidays. It’s been sixteen years since I left home and came to Taean, and I’ve never seen that so-called son even once! I wonder how his father is doing. If he’s a lawyer in Seoul, I suppose he’s doing well, but if it were me, I’d come down and at least fix the leaking roof.”

“Well… there must be reasons. Anyway, I heard he’s in town because of a divorce lawsuit that left him with no choice.”

“Ah, I heard he didn’t come to the factory the other day. I guess that’s why.”

“Seems like it. He didn’t mention it, so I didn’t know.”

“The guy’s always tight-lipped; it’s been like that for a while. Oh, it’s frustrating. If I were at home, I’d at least get a glimpse of him, but in this condition, I can’t do even that. Ji-hoon, make sure to bring some meat to the village chief’s house instead of me soon.”

“That was actually my plan. Don’t worry.”

“How old is he?”

“He’s the same age as Ji-hoon. Hey, Hoon. Now that you mention it, haven’t you seen him at school?”

“He probably didn’t go to school since he just came down to buy a uniform. Maybe we’ll bump into each other in town.”

“Who?”

“The old man’s grandson. According to Mrs. Kim, he resembles the village chief a lot.”

I sat on the spare bed, slicing persimmons as my father was put on an IV drip. My mother was feeding him pieces while glancing at me. I could easily recall that moment, remembering how my parents, being the town’s biggest gossips, assumed their only son must know all the names of his school friends. Back in third grade, while I was indifferent to my birthday, they spent the night making birthday party invitations for my classmates, cutting with scissors—nothing had really changed.

When I spoke brusquely, it was a statement they wouldn’t hear, drifting by as it would.

“I don’t know. How would I? I don’t even recognize my classmates’ faces.”

True to form, the moment my parents heard my response, they exchanged glances, their faces turning serious. They laughed while holding their bellies after seeing my report card, which showed I was more busy sleeping than solving problems, and became the worrying pair they usually were only at such moments.

“Hoon, it’s okay if you don’t know your classmates, but you should at least recognize him, right? Isn’t he the village chief’s grandson?”

“Right. What did I say? That man is practically your grandfather. If the boy from Seoul suddenly comes down to live in this little village, he probably doesn’t know much, so you should keep an eye on him. Okay? Mom, I’m not joking.”

My parents were particularly fond of the old man. Even when they did speak, the old man hardly said more than that there was no need to fix the house when Dad came down to help or when Mom brought them side dishes. They frequently visited that blue house without a break. When I was born, I remember being carried over the gate in a wrap, and as I grew older, I would hold his hand to cross, but now, I was sent to deliver messages to the old man. Perhaps because of that, when I thought of the word “grandfather,” it conjured images of the old man rather than the ones who had passed away before my birth.

He would always appear quietly, tossing something before disappearing as if he’d never been there. From the bicycles that my friend Kang Youngsoo and I used to ride around often to the backpacks given equally even to Young-eun, who entered elementary school later, those were all gifts from the old man.

Kang Youngsoo, who only knew love through words, seemed to find the old man somewhat intimidating, while I found him fascinating instead. How someone could love another so much that they lost their voice after that person’s death was intriguing. I never saw the famed lovebirds in the town—the old man and his late wife—together. Mom told me his wife used to cherish me like her own grandchild, but I was too young then; I couldn’t even remember her face.

“……”

In any case, my parents, who were worried about the old man’s grandson, wouldn’t have nagged me to take care of him if they had seen the boy in front of me. If he suddenly came down from Seoul, it was probably unexpected, yet the boy was dressed in an unfamiliar yet neat school uniform, topped off with a shiny black coat, looking down at his watch blankly as if it were part of his routine.

Even glancing at me, he showed no signs of agitation; he looked calm and even bored, gazing at the time. While I couldn’t know what was running through his mind, he seemed smarter than Kang Youngsoo and as stoic as the old man.

Who would look at that face and think he got dumped by parents in the middle of divorce and came down to stay with his grandfather? It would at least make sense to think he came down to sort out his own thoughts after instigating his parents’ separation.

“……”

“……”

Becoming friends per my parents’ wishes was probably out of the question. The boy kept glancing at his watch, seemingly unaware of the bus schedule, and he didn’t seem interested in striking up a conversation with me; it felt oddly fortunate.

I was too preoccupied thinking about how to decipher that smug expression on the batter’s face from the game, wondering if it was real or just bravado. There was no time to waste pondering the thoughts of a peer who didn’t interest me outside the game. Of course, the oddity of encountering such a peer for the first time was intriguing, but not enough to outweigh the annoyance.

Was there really a need to make any new friends right now? Riding the bus at this hour, I felt tortured enough by the possibility of my mother finding fault for neglecting my training due to taking care of her. Bringing in more people to care about would just be a hassle.

Mom, Dad, Grandma, my younger uncle, the old man, Kang Youngsoo, and my aunt and Young-eun—those were the only people I wanted to invite if I got into the high school I hoped for and joined a pro baseball team to watch games with. Thoughts that started back in third grade when I began playing baseball remained unchanged even now in second year of middle school. Especially since the peers who complained about not playing with Ji were just a byproduct of life—one friend was enough.

“……”

Upon thinking again, Kang Youngsoo would probably enjoy this. Living with a younger sister who grew up under a dramatic-movie-loving mother and had seen every romantic manga out there, he had inexplicably made friends with those good-looking boys just because of their looks. Such boys were usually carefree and likable, or so the rumor went. I remembered him getting furious for being called the only flaw without anyone asking.

Yawning and shaking off the unpleasant memory of Kang Youngsoo’s face, I turned my gaze back to the window. The 72nd bus was climbing the hill.

“Hey, Lee Jihoon! Throw properly, damn it!”

Kim Joong-hyup had been in a low mood since he had to acknowledge the fact that, despite holding out, he couldn’t even get a test with his top-choice school and had to settle for his third choice. Though he couldn’t say a word when the coach and director were watching, once they weren’t there, he acted like a big shot around the younger members. He was supposedly a senior who inflicted pain on those who couldn’t meet his whims due to his size and strength, and even I, who had usually avoided him due to my inability to appease him, was clearly roped into his physical training sessions.

This left no other pitchers on the field but me. Whether they had run away crying, taken time to treat bruises, or just quit in frustration, it was all about the fact I was the last one left. Watching that hefty body waving the bat threateningly, I took my position.

If I had to, I’d do it right. It would be great if I could stomp on his face, but recalling the faces of my parents who had to come to school after I punched a senior who had bullied me back in elementary, I knew better than to act out.

I watched Kim Joong-hyup while still holding the ball in my glove. Whether he sensed I would throw it soon or not, he started to take his position while grumbling. His lip licked nervously as if he were a little intimidated by the idea of facing a ball thrown by someone beneath him.

Realizing that the kid who needed to hit the ball was terrified of even a little throw from a younger player made me wonder how he planned to survive in the future.

As expected, Kim Joong-hyup let a pitch I tossed to him go by just because it was a little faster than he thought—a stupid mistake. He missed the ball entirely until he heard the sound of it hitting the net behind him, and I could see his face turning red and blue in real-time.

“You jerk! You should throw when I say you’re ready; you can’t just decide on your own!”

With no shred of conscience left, I couldn’t deny that he had also failed to throw, so now he was merely spouting nonsense. The batter stands in the box, and if the pitcher has the ball in their glove, it’s the start. Should I then announce I’m throwing? Is that what real baseball is?

Watching as he became visibly agitated from the sidelines, I kept my composure while the coach and director made their way over.

“Gather!”

“…Oh, yes! Coach!”

Kim Joong-hyup startled and dropped his bat, awkwardly responding before rushing over to the coach. He even made a show of scowling at me as if to warn me. No matter, I took off my glove and dashed. It was more important to catch the eyes of the coach than to deal with the now-insignificant Kim Joong-hyup.

“Is Yong-soo missing? He went to the bathroom? What about Kang Hyun-min? These bastards… Go get them quickly.”

The sun was bright for a winter day. The sunshine was so glaring that I had to pull my hat down low. The coach was gathering the kids while speaking in a tense manner next to the director, who was silently frowning, seemingly annoyed.

Once the pitchers who had been hiding appeared with tightened discipline, practice games began to take shape.

Outside, we were a team, but during practice, we were divided further into sub-teams. Judging from the lineup, balanced between table setters and starting/bullpen players for the upcoming game, I understood the intention but felt utterly resigned to being on the same team as Kim Joong-hyup again.

Our team played defense first. To my surprise, we easily got two out, and now we needed one more. The batter stepping up was a senior transitioning to the same school as Joong-hyup, batting seventh. Similar looks of veiled eagerness passed between the two, but at least this batter was better at hiding his feelings than Joong-hyup.

The ball, hit with a crack off the bat, propelled awkwardly into the air—a questionably floating height between the third baseman and shortstop. Joong-hyup bolted as if sure he would catch this ball, convinced it could be a simple catch. Even though the wind had just blown it toward the third baseman, who was closer and had already stretched his glove in that direction, Joong-hyup still tried to earn a shout-out from the director. Hadn’t they mentioned that the director of his future school was an alumnus of our current director’s? “Athletes are all like that, I guess,” I thought as I watched the seniors overlooking the younger members.

In an effort to catch the ball, Joong-hyup leaped up with exaggerated bravado and landed awkwardly, looking back toward me in the outfield. The ball grazed the tip of his glove, giving it a kick, and to my amazement, it soared over the fence. It was even discovered to be a home run—one that left everyone dumbfounded.

That jerk who’d been making a fuss had actually pulled it off. I shifted my glare from Joong-hyup and turned away. While it didn’t happen often, there were times a ball that soared over the fence would hit a passing student. Glancing around, I noticed a student over there.

Luckily, the ball didn’t roll all the way to the bus stop and instead stopped halfway down the hill right below the fence. Looking back, the director was still chatting with the coach without glancing at the mound. I gathered my resolve and called out to the girl on the bus stop.

“Hey!”

The boy standing at the bus stop immediately turned around. It was as if he quickly deduced that I was the only person on that hill calling him. Thinking he might be a senior, I raised my voice a bit as I glanced toward the director, still caught up in conversation. The batter from the opposing team also hesitated then, displaying an awkward expression as he wandered closer to the box.

“Could you get that ball over there for me, please?”

The boy at the bus stop moved, finally starting to act, realizing that no one else was there to help. Dressed in the same school uniform as me, he climbed up the hill effortlessly as if he were a physical expert. Reaching the midpoint, he picked up the baseball and looked up as if to confirm whether he had the right one. I gave him a vague nod before turning my head back to the director; the conversation seemed to be wrapping up.

“Just toss it down here.”

The director was leaving the field while holding his phone to his ear; he must have had urgent matters to attend to. The assistant coach turned around to finally take notice of the dwindling practice. Oh, this is a misstep. Unlike the director, he disliked losing balls more than he hated losing the practice’s tension.

As expected, he spotted me and let out a bellow.

“Lee Jihoon! What are you doing? Get over here, damn it!”

While he shouted, I noticed he was signaling the other players to come home. Thinking I might as well take the ball with me, I pointed my hand downwards as I noticed the boy from the hill almost reaching me.

“I’m on my way to grab it!”

“Forget it; just come here!”

Seeing the coach’s displeasure from the director’s conversation, I turned my head away, I couldn’t bear to extend him any more trouble. It felt wrong to have made him climb that hill only to tell him not to bother now.

Feeling awkward, I lifted and lowered my hat as I took a proper look at the boy climbing the hill for the first time.

With the sunlight over his forehead, he shielded his eyes, seeming to squint even more, probably struggling to see me. His gaze turned toward me, he raised his chin slightly with an expression of annoyance. In that moment, I froze.

“……”

I know this kid.

It wasn’t just because I heard from Dad about the old man’s grandson in the hospital that day or because we stood at the bus stop together this morning…

I remembered him.

This was something that felt distant enough to have almost slipped away—a memory from long ago. A time when memories were just starting to form, the old man’s house felt like a vast mountain that took effort to climb. I remembered bustling around the old man’s living room, not understanding the dull conversations among adults, swinging open doors to various rooms like a conquering hero. Finding a crumpled piece of paper tucked inside the smallest drawer, I peeled it out to discover something unfamiliar.

It was a boy, bearing a similar expression to the one I saw in the mirror when attempting to escape my father’s grip while he washed my face and neck with soap—a boy whose expression appeared on that crumpled paper. Was it a photo of him, freshly washed just like I had been? I lowered my head, looking at the squiggly writing beneath the photo, slowly spelling out the letters: Ji…seong…wook? My mom had always pointed out that my “n” and “ng” were different, but this boy seemed to have been confused about the two.

It took a while for me to decipher the scribbled letters that barely reached three characters long, my little self who had excelled at reading fairy tale books. With a pout, I realized there was another line below.

“Kku…um. U…ju? Bee…hang….”

“Oh dear, Jihoon! When did you get in here? Didn’t I tell you that if you mess things up like this, your grandfather will be angry, eh?”

Just when I was about to read the last letter, Mom snatched the paper away. Scooping me up, she tucked the paper back into the drawer. Any attempts at rebellion I had quickly ceased when my daddy, who was in the living room, handed me a snack.

I had wholly forgotten until I saw that frowning face again.

So in fact, you are somewhat familiar to me.

“That…”

Feeling a bit nostalgic, I let out a light chuckle.

“Keep this as a memory, just for you.”

At that moment, marked by unexpected coincidences and misses, I excavated the memory of him.

The presence of a boy I had forgotten existed reemerged vividly in my mind, while he just stood there, looking at me blankly as if he didn’t understand my words. Turning my body, I ran away. It was just at the moment I dashed into the locker room after finishing the extra training assigned by the coach that I finally glanced up at the sky. I frowned at the shutter sound that reminded me of my childhood, questioning why that child from back then dreamed of becoming an astronaut.

* * *

“I heard rumors at Minji’s school too. Everyone’s been asking me. They were like ‘Didn’t a ridiculously good-looking guy transfer to your school?’”

As expected, about a few days later, Kang Youngsoo popped up, already tight with the transfer student buddy. Though he seemed to be doing it out of consideration for me—thinking I wasn’t adjusting well to school life, it felt more like just more chatter filling my time while working out in the schoolyard.

Seeing Kang Youngsoo from another class, he must be taking the bus now. No matter how odd it seemed, I yanked back my arm, realizing my previous meddling had finally hit home. Stretching out the band I had hung from the headboard, I twisted my arms, locking my gaze forward. As I turned my rotator cuff, my overworked muscles from the week stretched out. Despite holding back groans of discomfort, I turned my arms one more time slowly. It hurt but I knew it was necessary for any effect.

“Yesterday, the kids in my class were looking up his mini homepage in Information and Communication. There’s nothing written there! Although everything is closed off, it’s still got over a hundred visitors? Everyone was looking for who had disappeared. It seems he transferred here without even saying anything. Oh, and among the comments was one from his girlfriend on his mini homepage! It looked like he was preparing to become an idol, as his agency name was there in his profile.”

Thinking he would tone it down if I didn’t respond, Kang Youngsoo kept yammering away about the old man’s grandson until I finally turned my arm. Minji this, classmates that, mini homepage this, on and on.

I was leaning back in my chair, my chest pressed against the backrest while tapping away at my phone, trying to drown out his noise. Just as I was about to tell him to shut it, I met his gaze as he held out his phone.

“Check this out!”

A girl I had never seen before stared back cheerfully from his smartphone screen. With long hair draping down her neck and without bangs, she had an adorably small face with delicate features.

As I paused, suddenly remembering the old man’s grandson’s features, Kang Youngsoo nodded vigorously, quickly exclaiming, “That’s his ex-girlfriend!”

Not registering a response, I turned my head away. As Kang Youngsoo rotated his phone back towards him, his eyes remained glued to the screen.