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Cheol has the ball. There’s a minute on the clock, and they’re currently tied, 2-2. He glances at his teammates running behind him. Their faces are pink with exertion, and they’re panting so heavily they might be able to power a wind turbine. There’s no way they can survive overtime, so it’s up to him to end it.
He runs closer and closer until he’s in a good position to score. He tenses his muscles, remembers the rigorous training Dad gave him, and kicks. Time slows to a crawl as the ball sails through the air and past the defenders. The goalie lunges , and anticipation locks him in a deadly chokehold.
(further down the road, it seems it never left, ready to strangle him to death whenever he steps foot into a new school, sees the exact moment people look at him and decide things that aren’t true, whenever dad comes home with a crease between his forehead and a new assignment.)
The ball brushes the fingertips of the goalie, and shoots inside of the goal, hitting the net with a satisfying spin. Cheol stands in shock for a moment, sweat pouring down his back and the sweltering heat of the sun on his neck.
“We did it,” he breathes out. “We did it!” He cups his hands to his face and lets out a loud cheer, joined by the yells of his team. They rush him like wolves on a deer; jumping on him, mussing his hair, and slapping his back as they whoop loudly. Their smiles are big and bright and full of admiration.
(when was the last time people looked at him like that?)
When the sun starts going down, Cheol heads home and basks in the rush of his victory. The sounds of cheers for his amazing goal play continuously in his head. He's the superhero in this story—he saved the day for his team, and now they think he’s cool! He walks in a pep in his step the rest of the day, and his older sister notices.
Sunjeong corners him in the living room and slings an arm around his shoulders before he can slip away. “What’s got you in such a good mood? Is it a girl?” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows in such a stupid way Cheol rages . He shoves her hand away.
“Shut up, it’s not! I was with my friends all day, and I scored the winning goal!”
“Oh wow, good job,” she drones, rolling her eyes mockingly. Cheol’s face warms.
“You’re so annoying!” he yells.
Sunjeong’s eyes twitch. “What’d you call me? That’s it!” She runs towards the kitchen, where Mom is making dinner, like she always does whenever they fight. Mom always takes Sunjeong’s side too.
“ Mom, Cheol’s being a butt again!”
“No I’m not!”
(she still teases him like this, and sunjeong's the only one in their family aside from hwani who doesn’t treat him differently. who doesn’t tiptoe around him and walk on eggshells whenever he’s in the room. but even then, cheol spots moments she hesitates, and realizes things aren’t the same, even if it seems like that.)
He slips into his bed, pulling the covers all the way up to his nose, and he stares at his ceiling, covered in the plastic stars that glow in the night. They say to make a wish on a shooting star, but in the city they don’t have a lot of those, so Cheol manages with his plastic stars. He picks one in the corner of the room, and wishes those gazes full of respect and awe would never end.
Then he closes his eyes, and dreams.
It was his birthday, his 7th birthday.
When Cheol walks out of his bedroom, he feels his heart pumping. He knows today is probably just like any other day—but today he felt special. He was allowed to feel special today.
“Oh-ho, birthday boy finally woke up.” Sunjeong chirps from the couch. Cheol turns to yell at her, but when he sees his sister's cat-like smirk—eyes just waiting for him to say something smart, he instead lets out a huff and walks to the kitchen. He says hello to his mother, letting the fresh smell of whatever she was cooking that day (it was pajeon—a favorite of his.) hit him.
“Good morning, Cheol.” His mother greets, her gaze soft and filled with what those can only describe as motherly love—the purest form of love out there. She motions for him to walk towards her, and when he does she places a gentle kiss on his forehead that makes him shift away in disgust.
“Ugh—mom!” He groans, wiping at the spot with the back of his hand. His mother lets out a soft chuckle of amusement.
“Happy birthday,” She says, resting her hand on his head before giving it a good rustle. “to the most important boy in the world.” He feels pride swell at him, the warm praise of his mother making him spark.
(When was the last time she complimented him like this?)
He opens his mouth to tell her to stop teasing him—but before he could utter a word he hears the clicking noise of the door closing behind them and turns around to the sight of his father holding a green box decorated in golden stripes. It was carefully wrapped in red ribbon and had some fancy English letters on the front that he couldn’t make out.
“Cheol!” His father beams, walking towards him as he places a hand on Cheol's shoulder. “There’s my little guy—today is a special day isn’t it?”
He tries to hold back the smile that forms on his face, but he can't. "Yeah."
“Then for today—how about we go out to the field and play some good soccer. Father and son. Then we’ll go out and eat some dinner. We’ll set up your cake, and give you your presents after. Does that sound good birthday boy?”
This time Cheol doesn’t try to hold back his smile. He lets his lips curve, he lets his teeth show, he lets his eyes squint. He lets himself feel happy, excited, special , in that moment.
“Okay.”
Cheol remembers that day vividly. He remembers kicking that soccer ball in the goal, he remembers his mother wiping his mouth with a handkerchief when he sloppily ate at the restaurant—telling him he needs to “be more respectful," he remembers his sister giving him teasing ‘birthday punches,’ he remembers when Hwani crawled to him to give him a kiss on the cheek, she couldn’t quite speak yet—but he got the message.
He remembers how he felt when he saw that cake.
It was matcha green, the insides of the cake had white linings of frosting and strawberry between them, whipped cream and various types of berries decorating the top. 7 perfectly lit candles, the glowing embers felt warm against his skin. As they all sang happy birthday, he takes a second to appreciate this moment.
He’s glad he did.
“Make a wish, Cheol!”
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in and one out. He makes a wish—one he hopes that will be true. For his family.
With one puff, he blows out the candles.
Cheol walks home with a pep in his step and a big smile. Today one of the neighborhood boys brought their older brother, who plays soccer in highschool, to teach them some new tricks. Cheol learned things he didn’t even know were possible! He can’t wait until he plays again tomorrow.
He gets the house key from under the doormat and walks in the house, practicing bouncing over to the living room. “Hey Mom, guess what I learned today—,” he starts, but his voice trails off when he notices everyone sitting on the couch ominously. Like water on a flame, the gloomy mood extinguishes all his excitement.
Sunjeong sits on the couch next to Mom, fiddling with the stickers on her cellphone. Hwani bounces on Mom’s lap, playing with Chi-ah, her beloved princess doll, but Mom isn’t smiling at her babbles like she normally does. But Dad—he’s the strangest, with a furrowed brow and lips pressed into a thin line.
“What happened?” he blurts out. Cheol doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong, he didn’t stay out too late playing soccer, and he’s fairly sure he cleaned his room. He narrows his eyes. “Why’s everyone being weird?”
“Please come here, Cheol,” Mom says, patting the space next to her. Cheol pushes his suspicions aside and sits down next to her, arranging his soccer ball between his legs. Hwani shrieks when he sits down, and abandons Mom and her doll in exchange for crawling onto his lap. “Hi, Ch-ah,” she says, and Cheol responds by nuzzling her face, pressing kisses to her plump cheeks. Mom smiles, and it seems like the atmosphere has restored—
(hwani always had that ability, cheol thinks. when dad shouts a little too loud or cheol sinks further into his head, drowning in the sea of ink-black tar, she’s always there to make things a little brighter.)
—but then it drops. She glances at Dad, then begins. “Your dad and I would like to say something, and it’s okay for you guys to feel differently about this, so let it all out—”
“They’re not babies, for god’s sake,” Dad interrupts. “Cheol’s about to enter third grade and Sunjeong’s in highschool.” Cheol can’t help the flinch that jolts through his body.
“We’re moving to another town, they need me over there,” Dad says, and Cheol just blinks.
Once, then twice, a slow blink, like the stray cat that perches on their fence at night, watching the stars with its eerie green eyes. His mouth feels dry. Sunjeong drops her phone, and it hits the table with a loud thunk .
“Wha—what?” Cheol breathes out, because maybe he was mistaken the first time. Maybe it’s secretly April Fools— the month is August —or it’s to the house down the road they’ve been meaning to buy— it was already sold —Mom looks at Cheol with sickening sympathy in her eyes, and Cheol feels his chest burn .
“What the hell? Everything is here, my entire life,” Sunjeong yells, beating him to it. Her hands tremble and her eyes shine with the beginning of tears. Hwani stops playing with Cheol’s shirt and looks at Sunjeong. Her lips wobble.
“Don’t you dare talk to us like that, Sunjeong,” Dad shouts, but Sunjeong ignores him and storms into her room. Cheol wants to join her. Hwani starts crying, a loud and heartbreaking sound, and he feels like crying too.
“Mom, this isn’t—it’s not fair ,” he pleads, voice cracking at the end. The life he’s built here, his friends—it’s all going to disappear when they move. He hates himself a little for being so angry at Dad, because his job is important to the whole family.
(cheol remembers late night interviews and raised, brittle voices, countless rejections, and mom duct taping the rip in his soccer ball instead of buying him a new one.)
The unblemished, new leather of his soccer ball rubs against his hands.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and kisses the top of his head.
Cheol sits on the couch until the sky grows dark, swallowing down frustration and feeling nauseated with the anticipation coiling in his gut.
(a month later, they move away from everything he’s ever known, the bonds he’s made. he will learn this will be the first of many relocations, and everytime he will nod his head and keep quiet.)
“Is that a new kid?”
“He’s so tall.”
“Maybe he stayed back a year?”
“He’s kinda scary...”
When his homeroom teacher introduces him to his new class, he stares straight ahead of him, ignoring the other children and their comments and stares—stares that were filled with wonder, curiosity...and something else Cheol couldn’t quite describe back then.
(Fear. He knows now that those stares were filled with fear.)
“You can sit anywhere you’d like, Cheol.” His teacher says, gently patting his back to take a step forward. And so he does, he takes a step forward and he feels overwhelmed by the unfamiliar faces. He approaches the right back seat, one where another boy sat.
‘Be nice and breathe, you’ll do fine Cheol. Greet the new kids like they were your old ones,’ his mother had told him that morning.
“Hi.” He says to the other kid, only to be met with silence. The other kid didn’t seem like he was purposefully trying to give Cheol a cold shoulder, but he was biting at his lip and refusing to look him in the eye.
When Cheol realizes he wouldn’t get a response anytime soon, he pulls the chair to sit and is immediately caught off guard when he sees the other kid flinch. The other kids were watching in silence, he knew they were. He saw all of them from the corner of his eye. As he sits down slowly, he can feel the atmosphere squeeze him. It’s awkward—tight.
He wants to go home.
‘Be nice and breathe, you’ll do fine Cheol.’
When he walks around during recess, he’s kicking stones as he hears everything. All the whispers, the rumors, everyone.
“That’s Kim Cheol. He’s a new kid—don’t you think he looks scary?”
What?
“He’s tall and looks angry… mama said you have to avoid boys like that.”
I’m not angry, why are you saying I’m angry?
“He seems… weird.”
Stop. You’ll actually make me upset. Mind your own business. Stop it.
Please?
“I saw him almost make Junghwa cry. I think he was a bully at his old school, just look at him.”
‘Be nice and breathe, you’ll—’
He snaps. “Can you shut up?! ” He shouts, towards no one specifically, just towards the direction he heard the group of kids talking. When he opens his eyes, they see their shocked expressions—clinging to each other. Two looked like they were ready to cry, the others looked like they got in trouble with the dean. Oh no. “Uh—”
Before he can say anything, the group of kids make a run for it in the other direction, and Cheol now has the attention of everyone in the field. He looks around wordlessly, why does everyone look like they are against him? He didn’t do anything?
Suddenly, he feels a ball rolling towards his foot. He looks down, and sees the black and white pattern of a soccerball. He looks to see where the ball was rolling from, and all he sees is a group of boys staring at him with wide eyes, one of them was the same kid Cheol sat next to. He stiffens, before picking up the ball and meeting eyes with him–Junghwa, was it?
“Can I play with you?”
Silence. All he got as a response was silence.
“Er,” One of the boy mumbles. “You can uh, you can keep it.”
With those words, the boys roam off into a different direction, and Cheol feels himself grow angry. What the heck? He grits his teeth, and kicks the ball away before turning around to continue his stroll, counting the amounts of pebbles he’s hit thus far.
When he goes home that evening, his mother is at the couch. “Hi Cheol, how was school?” She asks.
He’s quiet, he didn’t want to tell her he didn’t listen to her advice. He tried, he really did, but…
“It was fine, mom.”
He walks away into his room, and flops onto his bed. He misses home—his old one. This didn’t feel like home.
He lets himself doze off, hoping that tomorrow will be a new day.
Cheol doesn’t know what’s worse—the judging looks or the bullying.
The combination of his shocking height (for a fourth grader), his lanky, awkward limbs, and the scowl permanently on his face (according to the other students, but Cheol just doesn’t feel like smiling. There’s not much to be happy about these days.) make him seem terrifying. For the first week, people just didn’t approach him. They stayed huddled in their groups and whispered nasty little things behind their hands, as if he couldn’t hear them.
But then —then it got worse. Some butterflies have patterns on their wings that scare off predators, but if you take a closer look, you realize that it’s just a pattern. And people quickly realized that Cheol was all bark and no bite—even though he looked scary, he wasn’t.
He walks to class, bowing his head and slouching to seem smaller than he is, because he is a large, walking target, one everyone’s aware of. He hopes he can get to class without incident, but when a kid comes up behind him and kicks him hard in the back of his knees, Cheol realizes he was never destined for an easy life. He buckles but does not fall, steadying himself against the walls.
His blood boils . He glares at the other kid, ready to lash out, because he’s sick of everything . (His situation, or the fact it keeps changing and somehow always ends up the same? ) The boy looks petrified , his face a gastly white and his hands up in defense, as if he’s the victim here, as if he was wronged and didn’t wrong.
“Be nice and breathe, you’ll do fine Cheol.”
Cheol takes a deep breath. It doesn’t get rid of the anger in his chest, but it forces it to mellow, resting quietly in his heart until the day it’ll burst. “Watch where you’re going,” he says, and sees the moment the boy realizes he’s not going to retaliate.
He walks into class, but not before catching the tail end of the boy’s statement.
“He’s just a measly pushover. Why’d Junghwa spew so much crap about him then?”
Cheol forces the anger, threatening to bubble up again, into a volatile broil. He feels like prey being chased through a dark forest—he can’t see the light in his situation, and the ravenous predators nearby are sizing him up, drool pooling out of their mouths.
He sits down in his chair, and looks straight ahead.
Be nice. Don’t let them see you bleed.
The vending machine hums against his back. Junghwa pats his soda against the side of Cheol’s face. The cold precipitation trickles down his bruised cheek. His mouth tastes like copper. “Damn, you piss me off. Maybe I should punch you again to make me feel better.”
His mind races with disjointed thoughts, fragments screaming at his circumstances. He tries to grab onto them, but it’s like scooping water—it keeps slipping through the cracks. One thing is clear, however.
It’s his fault.
Cheol should have stopped them from grabbing his bag and dunking it into the janitor’s mop bucket. If he did, he wouldn’t have had to stay after school in detention for not turning in his soggy assignments. If he did, he could have left school earlier, so they wouldn’t have been able to corner him.
But he didn’t, because he never retaliates. He’s doing it for everyone. If he keeps quiet and doesn’t complain about little things then everyone will be fine in the end. Dad won’t have to stress about the constant relocations and Mom won’t have to undertake the burden of accusations that’ll lead nowhere. and Cheol—he won’t be in 5th grade forever.
Junghwa’s friends huddle around the both of them, just watching it all happen. He hates bystanders— but isn’t he one —and he hates this. He clenches his fists so hard his nails dig into his skin.
“Hey, hey, no getting angry. Have you forgotten who my dad is?” Junghwa removes his soda from Cheol’s face, and takes a long refreshing sip. The hot sun bores down on Cheol, and his soaked uniform sticks to his back.
A deep sense of exhaustion sinks into his bones, and all the anger gathering in his chest fizzles out.
(all his screaming and shouting didn’t stop the house from being sold, it didn’t stop kids from judging and criticizing cheol for just existing, no matter how hard he raged, it didn’t stop sunjeong from looking into colleges and preparing to leave him alone—)
When he gets bored, Junghwa leaves with his group. Cheol sinks to the floor by the vending machine, and exhales shakily. He presses the heel of his hand into his eyes until his vision bursts into stars. He tilts his head back and looks at the clear, bright sky.
An airplane flies overhead.
When Cheol steps foot into his new school, he doesn’t let the whispers bother him anymore. This is to be expected, and as long as he didn’t create a big fuss it should be fine.
‘Lucifer,’ is what they call him now.
The great devil king.
When his teacher introduces him to his class, he doesn’t bother examining the room—per usual.
“That over there is Park Jungwook, the class president. You can talk to him if you have any questions.”
He shifts his eyes for a moment and looks toward the class president. He had messy hair and bushy eyebrows—when Cheol makes eye contact with him, he smiles and waves to him. Cheol tries not to think anything of it. He was probably the teacher's pet type.
He chooses to sit next to an empty desk and pulls out his textbooks—and as soon as the teacher is done talking, he plugs in his headphones and mutes everyone and the gossiping.
Now the class is over, a few kids are leaving the class for some fresh air, a few are studying in silence, and others are staying and talking with their peers. Cheol takes this moment to try to study his notes, something he wasn’t all too good at. As he flips his papers, his hand brushes against his eraser and it knocks down to the floor near another student's foot.
He stares at it for a second, frustration filling his head. He would normally just get up and grab it, but he doesn’t feel like disturbing the people across him. He’ll just grab it after they leave, no point in making a big fuss over an eraser—
—is what he planned to do. It was more than surprising when he felt a hand push against his forearm, his body jolting at the sudden contact. He sees the hand holding his white eraser neatly in their palm. He turns around to see the face of the student, and it was another boy. He had big ears and long lashes. His arm was covering his tag, so Cheol couldn’t catch his name.
“Here.”
“Oh,” He stares at it for a second, before taking the small object back. “uh… thank you.”
“Mhm!” He smiles. Cheol shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“Honggyu!” A voice calls. “Are you bothering the new kid already?”
“Bothering!? When did I ever? I picked up his eraser for him!”
“Sure,” His friend says, slowly approaching them. “Sorry about him. I’m Jungwook, the class president. If this guy ever bugs you—“ he says, ruffling with Honggyu’s hair, “let me know.”
“…yeah.”
He smiles again, like how he did when Cheol first entered the class. He opens his mouth to say something, but is disrupted when students by the door call out to the other two boys.
“Jungwook, let's go eat! The cafeteria is serving pork belly.”
“Coming!” He shouts. “Let’s go,” he says, tugging at Honggyu’s arm. “Bye new kid.”
They both left the room and Cheol sat there in silence. He doesn't want to dwell on it for too long—and instead focuses on his hunger.
Right, it’s lunch period and pork belly didn’t sound too bad.
He sits up and heads for the cafe.
The school day was over, and Cheol was excited to head home.
He leaves class the moment the bell rings, but stops by the schools vending machine for a cold drink. He pulls his drink out of the slot and cracks it open before downing it, feeling the sharp sizzle tickle down his throat.
When he’s finished with it, he stares at the can for a moment and recognizes it. He recognizes the familiar color of the plastic container, the popping font and the stripes along it.
Junghwa…
His eyes go dark, wanting to suppress those bad memories that just wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried. He’s happy his family moved away from that town.
He throws it into the trash nearby but is almost immediately stopped when a voice shouts his name—or his new nickname.
“Kim Cheol! Lucifer boy~!”
He turns his head, and he sees a boy with a tall frame, shaved head, pierced ears and crooked teeth smiling at him. Behind him were 4 of his friends staring at him, but their faces weren’t so confident. Cheol looks down at his name tag, taking the moment to memorize it.
Gwak Tae-uk.
“Why don’t we hang out today, hm? Classes are over, we got the whole world to ourselves.”
Cheol didn’t trust that smile. He didn’t trust the way people were staring at them, waiting for his response. He didn’t trust the hard stares his friends were giving him behind him.
He wants to say something, anything, a simple ‘ no thanks, ’ but Cheol decides it would be best to turn around and say nothing.
And that’s what he did.
He walks away and heads for the front doors. For a split second, he looks behind him and sees that Tae-uk kid grind his teeth in frustration—not saying a word.
He chooses to shrug it off, continuing his walk before bumping his shoulders lightly into another student. He watches as the kid rubs his shoulder gently. It was the kid from his class—the one with big ears—and next to him was the class president. Park Jungwook, was it?
Bae Honggyu .
“Oh!” He gasps. When Cheol looks at him, his eyes were wide with surprise—but he didn’t look scared, nor did his friend. Park Jungwook, was it? “Sorry.”
Cheol stays stiff and says nothing, nodding slowly.
“Well… bye!”
He watches the two walk away, laughing and talking like normal kids do. They weren’t whispering, they weren’t shaking or running away in fear. They were minding their own business.
Cheol wishes for something like that.
They were small interactions—but he liked being treated normally. He liked those guys.
When he goes home, he sets his bag on the floor and looks at his soccer ball. He sticks his legs out to push it closer to him, and bounces it against his front ankles.
Cheol sees the bruises on Honggyu’s face and the way he flinches away when Taewook and his friends walk by, and his stomach churns , because he’s been in that position before.
He can handle it (after all, he’s Lucifer) and manages to stomp down the anger into a quiet simmer, but when it happens to someone he considers his friend, the rage overpowers his self-control. He marches up to Honggyu, who’s sitting on the sidelines with Wook resting after the soccer ball hit him in the side (where blue and black paints his ribs).
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands, wincing when Honggyu flinches away.
“ Hey , Cheol…” Jungwook warns.
Honggyu’s face scrunches up in confusion, and smooths out into a cool demeanor when he realizes what Cheol’s talking about. “It didn’t matter. I didn’t want to bother you with it.”
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s not that bad,” Honggyu bites out. “It—” He sighs heavily, rubbing his side. “You shouldn’t worry about this.” Cheol opens his mouth to protest, but Honggyu cuts him off. “You can’t .”
Cheol notices the other boys starting to stare and whisper at them. Honggyu’s gaze is fierce and unrelenting, and so Cheol backs away.
(the second time it happens, he doesn’t.)
Cheol socks Taewook in the face, knocking off the smug grin on his face. His knuckles sting with the tell of inexperience.
Taewook stumbles back in shock, and then his face contorts in rage. “What the fuck is wrong with you,” he sneers, rubbing his cheek. “I knew there was more to you than the quiet, bitch-ass persona you put on everyday.”
A group has gathered around them, voices overlapping and clamoring to see the fight.
(in a twisted sort of way, he’s grateful to honggyu, because now he can fight for someone else instead of drowning in the self-loathing that rushes through his veins.)
“Just mind your own business,” Cheol says.
Taewook huffs. “You think that kid will appreciate this? Huh? You put a target on his back.” As if to punctuate his point, Cheol spots Honggyu’s face among the crowd, eyebrows furrowed and eyes full of terror.
An ice cold sensation douses the flames in his gut.
Taewook uses his momentary shock to tackle him to the ground, and punches him hard. The taste of copper floods his mouth as Taewook keeps hitting him.
Someone screams, and the voices of the crowd grow louder until it’s a deafening roar. Eventually a teacher shows up and pulls the both of them apart, yelling promises of punishments that go in one ear and out the other.
Cheol’s cheek throbs.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Cheol? Now you’re getting into fights at school?” Dad yells, and spittle lands on Cheol’s stinging cheek. “Now they’re threatening to sue. Don’t you think about the rest of the family when you do these things?!”
I know, I’m sorry , he doesn’t say. He keeps his head hung low, avoiding Dad’s gaze.
(honggyu’s face was—)
The seasons change and so does their home. They force Cheol to transfer and so they move to a small town in the fall of 1998.
( away from the countryside, away from everything, an endless cycle doomed to repeat, why is he so selfish—)
And then, under the night sky, his eyes red and full of tears, crouching by discarded packaging boxes, he meets Hwang Mi-ae.