Chapter 4 — I Know Nothing — Part 1 (4)

A waning crescent moon hung snagged on the branches of a tree by the subway exit. A cold wind licked at my face, buzzing that it was getting colder outside. Despite the chill, Miss Kim, who had dressed more for style than warmth in her skirt and thin layers, approached with cheeks flushed pale blue, as if already losing the battle against the wind, blocking the moon with her silhouette.

"Cold?"

I stepped out of the exit and quickly shrugged off my trench coat, draping it over her shoulders.

"Yes. Spring's later than I thought."

She slipped her hands into the coat sleeves and nodded.

"On nights like this, nothing beats hot odeng broth. You like it too, Miss Kim?"

"Of course. When it's cold, odeng is the best."

"Know any good places?"

"No, but if you do, let's go."

Just across the underground passage and one block over stood a shabby food cart selling sparrow skewers and odeng scraps. Though tucked in a dim alley, it was always packed. The broth—simmered gently from anchovies—was exceptional, and word had spread. Hidden within its depths was also a clean, delicate flavor drawn from flower crabs, so even if it was out of the way, whenever I craved odeng, I'd make the trip. I hadn't been once last winter, which had felt like a regret—so now, arriving on this chilly early spring night, my mouth already watered at the thought of that steaming broth.

"You must really love your family, huh?"

"Yeah. I try to be warm."

"How long have you been married?"

"Hmm… about ten years, maybe?"

"And it's still not cooled down?"

"Cooled? I'm planning to be with her till I die."

"Wow, that's amazing. With divorce rates number one in the world these days…"

"An easily heated pot cools down just as fast, that's all."

"So you must've had a hard time getting married?"

"Yeah, it was tough. We married against both families' wishes."

"That's so romantic."

"Yeah, I guess it was."

"Boring. Tell me the story."

"No, it wasn't anything special—just not the kind of easy love most people have."

"Can't believe someone as stern as you had a romance. You're like a bulldog."

"Well, everyone has someone who fits them. Glasses don't suit every face, but that doesn't mean no one wears them. Nothing grand about it."

"Then… do you think I'll ever meet someone who suits me?"

"Sure. Once someone blinds you with love, you'll lose your senses and just end up married."

"Hey, Manager… do you really think I'm flighty?"

"Flighty? You're beautiful."

"But why did you snap at me earlier?"

"You looked upset. Miss Park was hurting, struggling—and you acted like you didn't notice. Like you didn't care…"

"Wow. You really do have depth."

"You understand?"

"Yeah. If you scolded me for that reason, then… I really respect you."

"Glad it got cleared up easily."

"Then let me treat you. Let's go somewhere nice, not this gloomy place."

"Why? You don't like it here?"

"Oh, come on. It's so dreary. Feels like an old folks' home."

"Well, odeng stands aren't really the kind of place for someone as lively as you."

"Yeah… now that I know I misunderstood, I feel like I'm floating."

"Then where should we go?"

"Manager… have you ever been to a nightclub?"

"No. Maybe ten years ago?"

"Ugh, so outdated."

"I'm terrible at singing and dancing. Can't move my shoulders, and my rhythm's all off."

"Then just watch me have fun?"

She led the way to a nearby nightclub.

It was packed with kids so young their blood hadn't even dried. I scanned the room—was there anyone my age? Anyone I could connect with? But no matter how hard I looked, all I saw were wild, bouncing youths. Watching them recklessly tear up the stage, I already felt pushed out of the world's core.

I remembered when I was young—when I'd dance wildly too, and if some middle-aged person dared step into this world, we'd sneer, "Smells like old age," and chase them off. Now, I was the one being quietly tossed aside by the joy of the world.

We ordered basic snacks and beer. Miss Kim, treating me like a dog guarding her seat, was already on stage, lost in a frenzy of dance. Memories flashed by like a slideshow—of when I used to own the stage, when tango and blues ruled the night.

Back then, after every high-energy song, a slow rock would unfailingly play, creating a soft, intimate space for couples. Now, it only happens once every ten songs. The impermanence of time was undeniable.

"Manager, it's blues."

Miss Kim shook me from my reverie, tugging my arm toward the stage.

The mood shifted. The stage expanded, transformed. The wild, flailing youths had quietly returned to their seats, leaving behind a vast, open space—now for just a few.

"You know blues?"

"No… but as long as I hold on like this, it's okay, right?"

"I'll lead the steps. Just follow—move your feet where mine push."

I stepped forward, gently guiding her foot into place with the tip of my shoe. She swayed, clumsy at first, then gradually fell into rhythm, drawn into the blues.

"Wow, Manager, you're amazing at blues!"

"Yeah. This is just the basic step. Wait till I do the application—you'll be dazed."

"What's that?"

"Just follow my lead for now. Once you get the basics, by the next song, I'll show you what blues really is."

"But you said you can't dance?"

"I forgot. My shoulders won't even move."

After a few tries, she managed the basic blues steps without much trouble.

The lights flared bright, the air buzzed with a flashy, spinning disco ball—go-go music roared back. I quickly retreated to my seat, leaving Miss Kim on stage, sinking deep into my thoughts once more.

Then she returned.

"Manager, the blues song's on."

Like waking from a dream, I rushed back to the stage.

The difference between what I'd lost and what I'd left behind became clear. I wrapped both arms around Miss Kim's waist. Her slender arms looped around my neck. My lower abdomen stirred—thick veins rising beneath the surface, straining against a thick wall.

Through her thin sweater, her breasts pressed against my chest, firm and insistent. Soft melody flowed. Ragged breaths followed. I slid one arm down, caressing her buttocks, pulling her closer, closer.

I ignored the urgent pressure of her hips grinding against me. The other hand gently traced her hair, then boldly swept down. I felt the warmth of my breath near her earlobe. My lips moved toward theirs—burning, red—and pressed down, claiming.

They touched, parted… my tongue slipped past her even teeth, tracing the ridges of her palate.

Then—hot, bold—her tongue surged toward mine. Two tongues entwined, no leader, no follower—only hunger, only surrender.

The hand in her hair plunged boldly forward, cupping her breast. Firm. Even firmer now.

I stroked. Pressed. Rolled. Miss Kim remained expressionless, unresponsive—her silence more startling than any reaction.

I moved my hand up from her hip, over the mound beneath her skirt. She flinched, instinctively pulling back—but I pressed forward, chasing the sensation, craving more.

"Let's go."

"Where?"