Sorim Grapes is Wronged

16.

I got up abruptly, breathing heavily as I paced around the room.

No, f**k.

This is making me feel like s**t.

They’re showing me how the boss monster I killed became a ghost, and why they’re wandering unable to find peace, like this?

Isn’t the game developer a psychopath?

Feeling empty and pissed off, I closed my laptop and left the house. I bought cigarettes and a lighter at the convenience store on the first floor, and instead of going back up, I went outside the building.

I usually drink alcohol frequently to the point of addiction, and smoke a lot, but since winning the lottery and quitting my job, I’ve been living a life away from alcohol and cigarettes.

In the past, I used to drink alcohol instead of water while eating, but now I’ve only had a few cans of beer in a month. As for cigarettes, I only smoked when I went out on errands for my brother. Even on those days, somehow Jin always comes into my room, sniffs around, and finds and confiscates my cigarette pack.

With someone who hates smoking that much, even now when I’m so pissed off, I came to the cafe in front of our building with a smoking room, thinking I shouldn’t smoke at home.

“Hello. One iced Americano, for here. No discounts or points, please.”

“Okay, I’ll get that right away for you.”

I took my coffee up to the second floor and immediately lit a cigarette in the smoking room.

I feel so disillusioned.

Aren’t games supposed to be fun? Aren’t you supposed to enjoy playing games?

Do normal people find such stories entertaining?

Why make me kill people who died leaving behind their loved ones again?

It’s f**king depressing and I want to see the face of the person who wrote this story.

I want to ask if they really had to make the child an orphan, if they really had to make me kill the ghosts of dead soldiers.

As I cursed internally like this while soothing myself with caffeine…

After finishing one cigarette…

I calmed down a little.

And felt a bit embarrassed.

Why did I get so excessively worked up over a mere game story…

I left the smoking room and sat at a table by the window.

I have a bad temper, so even a tiny bit of oil can quickly ignite into a fire.

My fuse is really short… and there are too many sparks scattered all over the world.

If I find any excuse to criticize someone, I use it to condemn the whole world. The person who made the game story was excessively cursed because of my temperament. Even though they would never hear those curses…

The sky outside was blue. The sunlight was dazzling, and the wind was mild.

On the third floor, there were many young people – five students having what seemed to be a group project meeting, a student fiddling with their phone in front of a laptop, a student typing furiously on a laptop, a student watching a lecture on a laptop – all dressed lightly.

I suddenly realized it was spring.

In this mild and warm atmosphere, I… thought about when I started disliking people.

Was it when the drunk driver who killed my mom and dad had their sentence reduced from 6 years to 4 years?

Was it when the funeral home director forced us to pay for five boxes of drinks he had opened when there were no mourners?

Was it when the foreman groped my hand at my first construction site job?

There are too many instances that come to mind…

The misanthropy that developed right after my parents passed away worsened as I worked, and finally remained unresolved until now. To the point where I run out of the house angry over something so trivial.

In the past, I once ran all the way to the Han River after fleeing from a work site.

It was when I was eighteen, working in the kitchen of a beer house. The manager at the time, a pot-bellied garbage crazy pervert, kept groping my shoulders or hugging my waist. In fact, it wasn’t the first or second time I’d experienced such things, but that pervert was more severe. That night, he was particularly handsy, and no one stopped him.

At the time, everyone was three to ten years older than me, but no one stopped that trash or protected me. They were just busy pretending not to see. Unable to bear it anymore, I threw a frying pan at that bastard’s face and ran out. I immediately caught a taxi and headed for Mapo Bridge.

My head was filled with thoughts of wanting to die.

I really wanted to die. My brother or whatever, life was just too shitty. It was too miserable to think I had to keep living like this.

‘Aren’t you a student? Why are you going to the Han River at this hour instead of home?’

As I was seething in the taxi, the driver started talking to me. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, so I didn’t answer. Then the taxi driver started talking to himself.

‘You look about the same age as my eldest. It’s a sensitive time. I have two sons. Both of them are in puberty and it’s driving me crazy. I thought a five-year age gap would be okay, but I should have gone for seven years, make it really clear. Even now, the youngest is throwing all sorts of unreasonable tantrums because of puberty, that’s why I came out instead of going home. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to pick you up as a passenger.’

Even though I didn’t answer, he told his whole family story by himself.

I kept seething because my anger and misery wouldn’t subside.

When we arrived and I was about to pay and get out, the taxi driver got out too.

‘Why are you getting out?’

‘Ah. I thought I’d get some fresh air after being in the taxi for so long.’

The driver with a gentle face said as he stretched his back. I ignored the taxi driver and strode towards the middle of the bridge.

The driver kept following me. Saying things to himself like, “Oh, my back hurts,” “The air is nice,” “Wow, it’s refreshing,” and so on. When I stopped, he stopped, and when I walked again, he walked too. The distance between us never exceeded 1m.

In the end, I couldn’t jump that time.

I took that taxi straight back home. The driver didn’t charge me for the fare.

I still don’t know. If that taxi driver hadn’t been there that day, would I really have jumped? Would I really have tried to find freedom and peace alone, leaving behind my young brother?

It’s a question that will never be answered.

After that, whenever anger rose to my head, I would run out, but I never went to the Han River again. I just smoked or drank nearby while seething.

Coming to this cafe today is quite rare. Just because of a mere game… I should keep this a secret forever.

Suddenly, I felt uneasy about the word “forever” that I had thoughtlessly considered.

Right, forever… If I live forever.

If I think about continuing to live, I should somehow fix this low threshold, but…

Is there really a need to do that? I don’t know…

I’ll probably die like this. I’ll just live like this and end up dying from anger.

Then I won’t have to experience rage anymore.

It seems inevitable. I’ve already come too far to be treated… and I don’t have the desire to live while getting treatment…

*

[Whisper/Beombiga: Hello]

[Whisper/Beombiga: How’s it going?]

[Whisper/Beombiga: Is there anything I can help you with?]

I returned home, washed up, and sat in front of my laptop. Since I hadn’t turned off the game when I left, Beombiga’s whispers were floating in the chat window.

I calmly typed.

[Whisper to Beombiga: The game story is f***ing s**t]

[System/Use of profanity may result in game usage restrictions.]

[Whisper/Beombiga: ….Hmm]

I already knew how to write in this case from examples I’d seen in the chat window, so I calmly typed again.

[Whisper to Beombiga: The game story is f1cking sh1t]

[Whisper/Beombiga: Which part?]

[Whisper to Beombiga: Which part? Haven’t you played it?]

[Whisper/Beombiga: Ah, it’s been so long since I did the story that I don’t remember…]

For a moment I thought Beombiga was also sh1t, but I understood after their explanation.

I typed each letter with emotion.

[Whisper to Beombiga: The monsters I killed were good ghosts]

[Whisper to Beombiga: They were just good soldier ghosts]

[Whisper/Beombiga: Ah..]

[Whisper/Beombiga: Right. That part was sad;]

[Whisper to Beombiga: Is this okay for elementary school kids to see?]

[Whisper/Beombiga: This game is rated 15+..]

[Whisper to Beombiga: So are you on the game company’s side?]

[Whisper/Beombiga: No, I’m really angry too]

[Whisper/Beombiga: Personally, I was thinking of starting a national petition to change MayQueen’s name]

[Whisper/Beombiga: MayQueen who toys with the hearts of innocent users should rightfully be called Sh1tQueen]

I got heated up again, but calmed down a bit when Beombiga cursed at Forest Effect’s production company.

After venting about the game company, Beombiga said:

[Whisper/Beombiga: But you really succeeded on your own. Your control is really good]

[Whisper to Beombiga: It’s thanks to the equipment you gave me]

[Whisper/Beombiga: You can just call me Beom haha. And speak casually]

I didn’t respond and moved to complete the quest. Beombiga’s usefulness was over now. Whether Beombiga is really a good person or has some ulterior motive, I don’t know…

If it’s the former, they should know. That even if you do a good deed for someone without expecting anything in return, the other person can pretend not to know after overcoming their crisis. That the world is full of rude and ungrateful people like me.

“Mino (Apprentice Trainee)

Ah… So there was such a sad story in the cemetery.

It was truly a horrific and sad time…

Many people lost their loved ones. I lost my parents too…

My parents were ancient language researchers… They left behind only one book before they passed away. Whenever I miss my parents, I hug the book I can’t even read and cry.

Will there ever come a day when I don’t cry from longing?

When will this sadness disappear…?”