Chapter Text
It is 8 a.m. in the morning.
Jihoon applies the break on his pickup lorry, and it skids to a stop in front of Gwangjang Market.
He puts on his cotton gloves before getting off from his seat, jogging over to open the door of the other side.
“Get up. We’re like 15 minutes behind schedule,” He nudges his dad, who responds hazily with a hum without opening his eyes.
There is no time to spare. Jihoon rushes to the trunk of his lorry and starts unloading his cargoes — bags of rice, boxes of carrots, turnips and cucumbers, packets of seaweed and sesame, and all other ingredients necessary for making kimbap. Hardly does he notice that his father has closed the door again for a snooze.
A few minutes are left for him to carry all of these back to their stall, not to mention the time needed thereafter to cook, and present the food in an aesthetically pleasing manner before the first wave of local customers turns up at around 9 a.m.
Certainly, not all stalls open that early, especially when Gwangjang Market is normally the most crowded in the late afternoon. Yet, to him, the morning hours are always the time with the least competition.
He, nor his father, has the luxury to give up any chances of earning one more penny.
“AY! GET UP!” Jihoon yells, trying to wake his father up again. He totters towards their food stall with boxes of bulky food produce in his arms, only to be further irritated by what he sees.
A mountain of trash has amassed at the corner of his food stall; large empty styrofoam boxes, presumably used for storing food produce, are piled by the counter of Jihoon’s stall. It is the third consecutive day he is welcomed by this unsightly scene, and he knows exactly who is the culprit behind it.
That red-haired bastard.
Park Woojin.
Jihoon roams to his stall and, with a loud bang, slams all the boxes from his hands onto the floor. With obvious rage, he sweeps the heap of trash with his feet towards Woojin’s stall, opposite to his.
“Is it better if we carry them to the trash collection point outside?” Jihoon’s dad asks from behind after releasing a big yawn.
“I don't see the problem of throwing them back to where they come from,” Jihoon coldly replies.
He starts tossing the styrofoam boxes to the stall opposite to him one by one, deliberately with a poor aim.
The first wave of customers arrives as soon as the market opens, just as Jihoon expects. The place soon teems with people ceaselessly thronging the passages between the stalls for the next hour. Most of them are salarymen who want to grab food before work.
Jihoon checks the time after a gush of customers has left. It’s 10 a.m. He is about to take off his apron for a toilet break, and there he sees, from afar, Park Woojin staring at him with lowered eyebrows.
The red-haired man struts towards Jihoon’s stall with both of his hands shoved in his pockets. It is no surprise to Jihoon that Woojin seems to have known what happened. Provided that neighbouring stall owners here have met each other for long, someone here must have given a tip-off.
Sensing trouble, Jihoon’s father immediately hobbles towards Woojin and pats on his shoulder, trying to soothe the situation. “Uh…, haha, sorry,” he starts with a sheepish smile, “Jihoon and I can help throw them away…”
Woojin shakes off the hand on his shoulder and jeers at Jihoon with his chin lifted upwards, “kiddo, my stall is NOT the dumpster.”
“Neither is mine,” Jihoon hisses as he slices carrots with his knife, ignoring Woojin’s gaze.
“Your stall was where we pile trash before you were here, I’m just adhering to the tradition.”
“Then it’s a bullshit tradition,” Jihoon confronts, staring at the latter in his eyes, “you have hands, move your fucking trash to the collection point by yourself. This area is mine now.”
Woojin slams his fist on the counter before he slowly utters, “I beg your fucking pardon?”
Customers nearby start to converge by the stall to view the altercation. Knowing that the situation may spiral out of control, Jihoon’s dad emerges from the back again and appeases softy, “sorry sorry sorry. It’s our fault. I’m just so so so sorry.”
“I said,” Jihoon points his finger at Woojin, disregarding his father, “this area is mine. Don’t. Mess. It. Up,”
This only prompts Woojin to grab him by his collar, “Say it again?”
“Just FUCK OFF!” Jihoon points at Woojin with his knife.
“Jihoon are you nuts? Put down your knife!” Jihoon’s father separates the two by pushing them apart, “sorry sorry sorry, my son is a bit hot-headed.”
“SORRY? Who’s messing with whom now?" yells Woojin, grabbing his own knife from his counter and pointing it at Jihoon. "For my whole life here no one here ever holds me at knifepoint! ”
The two remain holding their knives at each other's necks, and all spectators freeze. Woojin swears he can see fire inside Jihoon's pupils, but that only adds to his own wrath.
Everyone can feel that they are on the verge of a brawl until a loud cough is heard from behind. Woojin and Jihoon turn their heads, and there they see a man of short stature. The middle-aged man clasps his arm behind his body as he takes large strides towards the two, drawing a commanding presence among the crowd. A few other young men also follow his steps from behind with equal smugness.
“Uncle Bae, good… good morning,” Jihoon’s father greets.
The mere presence of this male drives the two young men to put down their knives, albeit reluctantly, before they also greet, “Uncle Bae, good morning.”
Other stall owners who come to the scene also follow, “Uncle Bae, good morning.”
Slowly, the man strolls next to Jihoon’s father and declares, “I hope that everyone understands this: whoever messes with Jihoon and his father, is messing with me.”
“Yes,” Jihoon’s father suddenly agrees while he lifts his head, with an aura of triumph surrounding him, “whoever messes with me, is messing with Uncle Bae.”
“But Uncle Bae,” Woojin argues with noticeable defeat, “your friend over there messes with my stall first.”
“You mess with us first! He…” Jihoon chimes in loudly as he points at Woojin, only to be stopped by Uncle Bae, who extends his arm with his palm facing Jihoon.
“First, Mr Park is not my friend, but my debtor, a huge one, indeed,” Uncle Bae explains, pointing at Jihoon’s father, who turns away immediately out of shame, “he is working here to pay off the debts with his son. Second, Park Woojin, don’t act like I don’t know you lazy-ass have been dumping trash to my other stalls. That’s not the right way. I can turn a blind eye to that when it’s not rented, but now it is. If you keep messing with Jihoon and his father, when can I collect my debt then? Do you want me to increase your rent to set off that?”
Woojin tightens his lips and puts down his head. There is no way he would argue with the major landlord in the market. He leers at Jihoon, only to find their eyes meet before both of them turn away from each other.
Seeing there are no verbal replies from Woojin, Uncle Bae pats harshly on his chest and reminds him, “don’t be an asshole. Just take a few steps and throw your trash outside.” He then turns around and points at Jihoon’s father, “also, you. Repay your instalments on time.”
Jihoon’s father can only nod servilely.
“Jinyoung, come over,” Uncle Bae waves. One of the men originally tailing behind Uncle Bae steps forward before he continues, “I’ll be out of town the next two months, my son, Jinyoung, will come and collect the money, okay?”
“Yes yes yes, I will.”
“Everything’s good now then?” Uncle Bae asks, circulating his gaze on every spectator nearby, “all of you also, throw your trash outside, get it?”
Everyone, most of whom are Uncle Bae’s tenants, nods in unison.
“Good! Meeting dismissed!” Uncle Bae shouts as he waves his arms, turning away towards the exit.
It’s 11:30 p.m., half an hour after the closing time of Gwangjang Market.
Woojin is tying up the garbage bags before he takes a peep of Jihoon’s stall. As he expects, the stall is vacant. He knows Jihoon usually closes his business and leaves at 11:00 p.m. sharp, right after the last wave of customers who visit the market for dinner.
Just as he is about to toss the bag of trash to Jihoon’s stall, a man gently pats on his shoulder and warns, “oh come on, Park Woojin, give him a break.”
It’s Jinyoung.
“Gees, even you are helping him now,” Woojin scowls, letting go of the bag of trash in his hand, “for all the years we grew up in the market together, what’s that for?”
“I’m just being impartial,” Jinyoung counters as he playfully pokes Woojin’s nose with force, “and I know what happened. He may have overreacted, but it’s your fault first.”
”Wow, thanks for being impartial, that’s exactly what I need right now.”
”Tsk, Jihoon is only here to help his dad repay the debts. His dad is an incurable gambling addict who also indulges in whoring as far as I know.”
Woojin quints at Jinyoung with narrowed eyes before he answers, “where do you come across with such information though?”
“Duh, he is owing my dad money,” Jinyoung rolls his eyes, “I’m just repeating what my dad has told me. Do you feel that you should be, at least, a bit merciful towards Jihoon now?”
“Absolutely not,” Woojin rejects bluntly as he holds up his arm to throw a bag of garbage to Jihoon’s stall.
“Ay! Hold on, hold on,” Jinyoung soothes, snatching the bag from Woojin, “I’ll carry it to the collection point, okay?”
Woojin leans forward and gawks at Jinyoung with a slack jaw, for his best friend is being suspiciously helpful and kind. His friend is usually the more playful and reckless one between them. Jinyoung being thoughtful is almost unheard of in Woojin’s life, except in one situation.
“What,” Jinyoung asks, confused by Woojin’s lack of responses.
“You like him,” Woojin asserts as he crinkles his nose.
“Yeah, so?” Jinyoung’s shrugs his shoulders.
“Oh fuck, Bae Jinyoung, do you have eyes?” Woojin winces, smacking Jinyoung’s forehead.
“DON’T HIT ME!” Jinyoung bawls, fending off Woojin’s arm, “oh come on, you know what kind of place Gwangjang market is, how rare is it to find someone of our age here? We are in an ageing industry; everyone here is either an ajusshi or an ajumma. And, he is cute, okay? Like, very cute.”
“I beg to differ,” Woojin irks, shaking his head, “gees, no wonder you are goofing around these days.”
“That’s not the only reason, I mean, It’s almost the end of a month, right? I’m here to collect rent from tenants for my dad,” Jinyoung defends with his chin up, “that’s my job."
“What a harsh job it is — to legitimately demand money from people."
Jinyoung is about to hit Woojin with the bag of trash just when both of them hear, by the entrance, crinkling sounds seemingly coming from the wheels of a trolley.
Out of curiosity, Woojin and Jinyoung hide behind one of the pillars near the entrance and peep at the source of the sound. To their surprise, there they find, opposite to the market, Jihoon standing by a hawker trolley with rolls of kimbap on it. A customer is standing by the counter, waiting for Jihoon to pack the food order with aluminium foil.
“Here you go, that would be 2,500 won,” Jihoon says with a diplomatic smile before he hands out the food.
As soon as the customer leaves, Jihoon’s dad appears from a turn with his hand on the waist of a much younger-looking woman. Even from afar, Woojin can confirm that she is the call girl living right next to his flat.
“Bulgogi Kimbap, two rolls,” Jihoon’s dad requests. He then reaches the blue cash box nearby and takes all the money inside with him, counting the banknotes one by one.
“That’s all the pocket money you have for the week,” Jihoon warns coldly as he wraps the rice rolls with aluminium foil, “I’m not going to reimburse a single penny if you use it all up in love motels. Don’t you try to steal it from my cash box.”
“I will bring her back home then.”
“Tsk, NO!” Jihoon chastises, handing the kimbap to his father, “how many times have I told you not to bring women home?”
“Then you should pay for enforcing it, that’s your rules,” Jihoon’s father retorts, taking hold of the kimbap rolls before escorting the call-girl with a smile, “let’s go.”
Silence then ensues between Jinyoung and Woojin who both witness the whole scene, until the younger proposes, “why don’t we go and grab some kimbap?”
“Bae Jinyoung, I make kimbap rolls, daily, and you have never bought shit from me,” Woojin opposes, “and you are now asking me to buy some more from others, more deplorably, from him?”
Just as Woojin predicts, Jinyoung wilfully ignores him and scurries towards Jihoon’s food cart.
"Jihoon, hello. One Bulgogi Kimbap roll, please," He greets his crush with an ear-to-ear smile.
“Sure."
“You work here after the opening hours?” Jinyoung asks with genuine concern.
“Yeah, quite a lot of people actually wander nearby at late night,” Jihoon explains, “I don’t want to waste the leftover stock, you know, I can’t keep them overnight anyway.”
“You are just… very hard-working and diligent,” Jinyoung compliments with a shy grin.
“I don’t have a choice,” Jihoon snickers, pointing at the colossal metal pot by the trolley, “actually, I got congee too, do you want some?”
“Oh yesyesyes, yes please,” Jinyoung nods fervently, scratching the back of his head.
Seconds of silence follows before Jinyoung diverts the topic and softly whispers, “er…, by the way, about today, umm…, I apologise on behalf of Woojin. I know he is a jerk sometimes, sorry.”
“Well, if he really does think he is at fault, which, by all standards, he is,” Jihoon’s snarls with his tone turning cold, fixating his gaze on filling the styrofoam bowl with congee, “he would’ve come over and say that to me by himself.”
“Er…,” Jinyoung stammers, turning his head left and right, “I… I’m sure he does feel that way, hold on.” He then runs towards Woojin and drags his friend out from hiding behind the pillar. Reluctantly, Woojin follows his best friend and scuffs towards Jihoon’s stall with confusion on his face, noticing that Jihoon turns his head away immediately.
“What now?” Woojin asks lowly.
“Woojin, I told Jihoon that you are willing to apologise for your reckless behaviour this morning,” Jinyoung declares.
“WHAAAAT?” Woojin shrikes, "WHAT THE FUCK MAN?"
“Yeah, isn’t that what you told me just then?” Jinyoung maintains his act, ignoring that Woojin is scowling at him with his mouth wide open, “I know there are some misunderstandings between you two, but I’m sure, as neighbouring stalls, it’s better to maintain a healthy relationship. In fact, I already apologise on behalf of you, but Jihoon wants to hear it from you, so, Woojin, can you?”
Slowly, Jinyoung twists his head and reciprocates Woojin’s stare with equal intensity, cueing the latter to complete the act.
It is, needless to say, completely against Woojin’s disposition, but he thoroughly understands why Jinyoung stages such a scene — his lovestruck best friend wants to please Jihoon.
Woojin is convinced that Jinyoung will definitely lose face if he refuses to say sorry and runs away, and he is definitely tempted to embarrass his best friend. Still, after a gulp, he stammers,” yeah..., fine, I’m sorry, okay? Let me go, this is weird.” He flees the scene as quick as he can, leaving Jihoon and Jinyoung by the trolley.
Jihoon soon resumes on slicing more turnips after Woojin’s “apology”. Seconds of silence once again follows, until Jinyoung breaks the ice, “umm…, you live nearby?”
“Yes,” Jihoon confirms as he hands Jinyoung the food ordered.
“Oh, so am I!” Jinyoung giggles, pointing at a building nearby, “feel free to come up and find me for dinner when you have time…, er…, yeah.”
Jihoon forces a stiff smile and utters, “5,000 won please.”
“Ohohoh, yeah, almost forgot, haha,” Jinyoung leaks a peal of nervous laughter as he shoves his hand in his pocket to search for his wallet, “here you go.”
“Thank you.”
“See you tomorrow?,” Jinyoung enthusiastically waves his hand.
“Yeah,” Jihoon answers briefly, taking only a glance at Jinyoung before he focuses on stirring the pot of congee instead.
“Bye-bye...,” Jinyoung lingers, trying to seek affirmation from his crush.
And Jihoon only nods his head lightly as a response.
That night, it also happens to be the first time that all the leftover food is sold out. Jihoon folds his hawker trolley and loads it onto his cargo before he peeks at his watch.
To his delight, it is just 3:00 a.m, a lot earlier than he thought. He is supposed to reach the wholesale market for fresh food produce by 7:00 am before he comes back to open the stall. This means he will get 3 full hours of sleep — significantly longer than any other days of the week. With a tender smile, he slacks on the driver seat of his truck and falls asleep soon after.
Little does he know that Woojin, who has fled the scene earlier, re-enters the market and tosses all trash to his stall again.