A Forest flowing with Milk and Honey - Chapter 4.1

Taeo was born between a thug and a prostitute.
He inherited his mother’s good looks, as she had been the star at her workplace, and from his father, he gained a solid frame, his strong bones evident even in childhood. Despite having inherited the better physical traits from both parents, the “dirty blood” that ran through him couldn’t be denied.

Taeo’s earliest memories were filled with the stench of alcohol. Neither of his parents was ever sober; they drank daily, rarely in their right minds.
“Taeo, where the hell are you hiding? Get out here, now!”

His father was a beast of a man when drunk, a violent brute. On good days, he passed out quickly after drinking. On bad days, he beat both his wife and child without hesitation.

Despite this, there was about one day a week when his father acted normal, playing the role of a husband and father with feigned decency. Taeo’s mother lived for those rare moments, clinging to them like a lifeline.

One cold winter evening, after escaping his rampaging father, Taeo sat alone on the steps of their rundown neighborhood. It was freezing, with snow falling thickly from the sky, but his survival instincts were strong. He had bundled himself up before venturing outside.

“Has Beom-gu been drinking too much again?”

His mother appeared, dressed in a short mini-skirt despite the biting cold, and asked without much emotion. Taeo nodded silently, and she sat down beside him without saying another word.
Behind them, the sounds of breaking furniture and shouting echoed from their home, but they both stared ahead, watching the snow fall in silence. Taeo’s breath fogged in the frigid air, while cigarette smoke drifted from his mother’s crimson lips. She didn’t care about basic decency, like not smoking in front of her child.

She always wore heavy makeup to cover her youthful, pretty face. By the time she finished work in the early hours of the morning, her mascara and lipstick would be smeared, making her look like a shadow of the person she pretended to be.

“I’m sick of Beom-gu. And you, too,” she muttered.

Her already smeared makeup dissolved further as her tears fell, distorting her face into a grotesque mask. Black and red streaks of mascara and lipstick dripped onto the untouched white snow, staining it.
Without even a glance back at Taeo, she finished her cigarette and walked away.
“…”

It wasn’t until two hours later that Taeo fully realized—his mother had abandoned him.
His father was even worse. When he discovered his wife had left, he turned all his rage onto Taeo. Though weakened by alcohol, his father was still strong and brutal. Taeo came close to death more than once, enduring violent beatings until he learned to run for his life whenever the blows became unbearable.

One day, after sobering up and seeing Taeo lying on the floor covered in bruises, something seemed to snap. Perhaps his father finally understood he couldn’t continue this way. He decided to drop Taeo off at his grandfather’s house, leaving him there without a second thought.

Taeo’s grandfather wasn’t welcoming. The old man had no affection left for the child of his wayward son, who had grown up wild and neglected. But unlike Taeo’s father, he didn’t resort to violence. Taeo simply learned how to stay quiet, surviving on what little attention he could get and staying out of trouble.

When Taeo reached middle school, his grandfather was diagnosed with lung cancer and passed away. For reasons Taeo couldn’t comprehend, his father came to take him back.
By then, Taeo had grown to the size of a high schooler. Though he hadn’t yet matched his father’s height, he was no longer the small, helpless boy. He had also learned how to dodge his father’s outbursts and avoid provoking him.
In his third year of middle school, Taeo worked night shifts at a bar, lying about his age to earn some money. His large frame helped him pass as older, and no one questioned his presence.
One night, while working, he saw her again—his mother. She hadn’t changed at all. The same heavy makeup and overpowering scent of cheap perfume clung to her, and she hung on a stranger she’d likely just met, already drunk.

“Oppaaa… I’ve had so much to drink, and you’re giving me more? What do you plan to do with me when I’m this drunk?” she giggled.

Taeo recognized her instantly, despite the thick layers of makeup. She glanced at him, her eyes clouded with alcohol, not fully sure who he was.
He felt no urge to reach out to her. She had abandoned him, and now, seeing her in this state, he only felt disdain. She could have made something of herself, but here she was—still living this miserable life.
“Taeo? Is that you… Taeo?” she slurred, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Taeo didn’t respond to his mother’s question—he just turned and walked away. Looking back, maybe if he had said something, she wouldn’t have died. But at that time, Taeo had believed his silence was the best choice.

His mother clearly didn’t feel the same way. Whether out of guilt or regret, she eventually came looking for him. The only place she knew to search was the house Taeo shared with his drunken father.

That day, like so many others, his father was heavily intoxicated. Despite being so far gone, he somehow recognized the woman at the door.
When Taeo arrived, he found his mother lying on the floor. Her head was bleeding, shards of a broken soju bottle sticking out of her scalp. The pool of blood beneath her was shockingly large, as if her small body had somehow produced more blood than seemed possible. She had been stabbed several times, yet she was still alive.

Taeo shoved his father aside and knelt by his mother, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. Deep down, he knew it was hopeless, but he fumbled with her wounds anyway, clinging to a pointless effort.
And then it happened.
Thud!
A searing pain spread through his body as fresh blood dripped down his side. The stab wound burned like fire, and cold sweat broke out on his skin.

“You were both planning this, huh? Behind my back?” his father growled, his voice slurred.
Taeo couldn’t remember how he dodged the second attack. His mind was a blur, filled with one desperate thought: I can’t die here. Not like this.

Like he had so many times before, Taeo ran. It was instinctual, a survival mechanism. But this time, he was injured, and every step felt like he was moving through quicksand. He stumbled out the door, his father lurching after him. His father no longer resembled a man—he was a grotesque figure, his breath reeking of alcohol, his eyes wild and red like a monster’s.

They grappled, tumbling and crashing into each other, both struggling for control. Taeo, though wounded, managed to hold his own, while his father swung the knife wildly in his drunken stupor.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you both!” his father screamed, the blade slicing through the air.

Taeo’s body was covered in cuts and slashes. The pain was excruciating, but something inside him snapped. His father’s three-whites eyes, a trait everyone had always said was bad luck, gleamed with a terrible, murderous light. A sudden rush of adrenaline coursed through Taeo’s veins, and he felt a burst of strength.

His father raised the knife for another strike, and Taeo scrambled, his hands desperately searching the ground. His fingers closed around something solid—a brick.

They say most people hesitate when it comes to striking someone in the face. But Taeo wasn’t like most people in that moment. All he could think about was the desire to crush the monster in front of him.
Crack!

The brick connected with his father’s face. He staggered, disoriented, and Taeo took the chance to shove him down the steep steps outside their home. It was no accident—Taeo had meant for him to fall.

Thud! Thud!

His father tumbled down the steps, landing with a sickening crack as his head hit the pavement. His neck twisted unnaturally, and he lay still. Dead.
Taeo’s heart pounded in his chest as he stood there, staring at the lifeless body below. His legs gave out, and he collapsed into unconsciousness.

When he woke up, he expected to find himself handcuffed—but he wasn’t.

“You’re Beom-gu’s son, right? Did you kill him?”

“….”

“Look at this kid! Look at those eyes! I like him, ha ha!”

Kim Jin-tae was clearly cut from the same cloth as Taeo’s father—a lowlife thug. The only difference was that Jin-tae wasn’t drunk. Taeo could immediately tell that getting involved with him wouldn’t lead to anything good. But at that moment, he didn’t have much of a choice. He had been badly injured during the altercation with his father, and the injuries left him in critical condition. Unable to even respond, Taeo passed out, and things started spiraling in a direction he hadn’t chosen.

By the time Taeo regained consciousness, everything had already been decided. His father had been framed for his mother’s murder and labeled as having accidentally died in a fall. Jin-tae, chuckling darkly, explained that the facial injuries from the fall made it easy to wrap things up.

“You, kid, are coming under my wing,” Jin-tae said, showing Taeo a photo of the bloodstained brick that had been removed from the scene. His fingerprints were still clear on the surface.

One thug was dead, and another had taken his place.