Double Junk - 159

A New Wave

They spoke the same words simultaneously, and silence fell. Seokjoo’s eyebrows raised slightly, reflecting his confusion about the sudden outburst. Ajin stared up at him intently, and in that instant, it felt like a bullet had pierced his chest.

The sensation was vivid—skin tearing, a bullet cutting through bone and muscle, lodging deep near his heart. For a moment, or perhaps for a long time, the forgotten pain of death engulfed Ajin again.

“Ugh…”

Ajin clutched his chest and let out a dull groan, bending forward sharply.

“Sir? Sir!”

A startled Seokjoo supported him, his large hands gripping Ajin’s shoulder and arm. Ajin’s face hardened, icy and distant. He swatted Seokjoo’s hands away as though reacting to an unbearable provocation.

Who was it that caused me to get shot?
Who was it that made me die?
Who left me behind and died?
Who abandoned me all alone?

Then why are you here? Why are you standing before me so perfectly fine?

Ajin glared at Seokjoo with bloodshot eyes, his fury palpable. Seokjoo pursed his lips and took a step back.

“Why, why… Why are you…”

Ajin’s lips trembled. He was about to pour out all his resentment over death, but the memory of dying bore down on him relentlessly.

Blood everywhere.
A chillingly cold body.
The lifelessness of dry skin.
A gaze that didn’t meet his.
A silent Seokjoo, unresponsive.
Seokjoo, who had died.
Seokjoo’s body slipping away from his grasp.

Left alone.
Vanished from the world.
Unable to plant his feet anywhere.
Swallowed by death’s blackness.

Death.
Darkness.
Death.
Darkness.

The aftermath of death consumed Ajin. At the moment of dying, he’d felt peace and relief. But now, he couldn’t comprehend why his body was trembling like this.

“Haah… Haaah… Haaaah, ugh, ugh…”

His breath hitched, his lungs already filled to capacity with air, but it wasn’t enough. Ajin’s breathing was rough and uneven. His throat felt so suffocatingly tight he wanted to claw it open.

It felt as though a bullet was lodged in his chest. Previously, it had only been a thorn. Now, with the added weight of the bullet, it was unbearably heavy. His chest, laden with countless emotions, churned with nausea and discomfort. The burden was too much for Ajin to bear.

His upper body swayed to the side, losing balance. Sensing the seriousness of the situation, Seokjoo approached again.

“…Sir?”

“Ugh, ugh, ugh…”

“Ajin.”

Before Seokjoo could reach out, Ajin grabbed his arm. His grip was so tight that the veins on the back of his pale hand bulged. Ajin pulled Seokjoo forcefully toward him.

“Help me… Please, help me…”

Save me.
Please.
I don’t want to die again.

Ajin’s thin back heaved violently. Seokjoo urgently pressed the emergency button beside the bed repeatedly. At that moment, Ajin’s eyelids trembled precariously before he slumped forward, powerless. Seokjoo caught him in his arms.

With his face buried in Seokjoo’s broad shoulder, Ajin vaguely thought that Seokjoo’s embrace felt cool.

When Ajin opened his eyes again, the room was crowded. Standing at a distance were Seokjoo, a middle-aged woman, and several doctors in white coats. Ajin gazed at them through blurry vision.

Still in the hospital room? Then what about the finger being severed, or the bullet wound? Was it all just a dream? But no, that’s not it…

Before he could delve deeper into the confusion, a loud voice pierced through his ears.

“Ajin! My son! You’re awake? Huh? Can you see me?”

A soft, gentle scent enveloped him. It was the middle-aged woman who had been speaking seriously with the doctors. She approached and tenderly brushed Ajin’s bangs back repeatedly.

“Oh, dear. My baby. What is all this? Why did you collapse, huh? You scared me so much I thought my heart would stop. I dropped everything and came running. What hurts? Where? Was it because I kept nagging you to go to work? Is that it? Were you stressed out and protesting? Huh?”

Her rapid-fire words overwhelmed Ajin. He barely caught half of what she said. Peering through his foggy vision, Ajin looked at her.

Dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, her short, wavy hair exuded elegance. Her complexion was clear and radiant, brimming with vitality. She looked so youthful that calling her “middle-aged” felt almost unfair. Her eye makeup was subtle yet precise, and her lips, painted a deep crimson, suited her perfectly. Her large, double-lidded eyes were sharp and clear, but their depth hinted at age and experience.

Ajin, struggling to blink his dry eyes, asked in a low, subdued voice.

“Who…?”

“Huh?”

“…Who are you?”

“Who am I? I’m your mother.”

“…My mother?”

Ajin’s expression tightened. Mother? I have a mother? And a mother this stunning?

…Why? Where had she been all his life? What had she been doing all this time? Why had she abandoned him, only to show up now, looking at him with such overflowing affection?

A storm of emotions swirled within him—confusion, shock, joy, disbelief, anger, resentment, relief, and even comfort. He didn’t know which one to choose or what expression to make.

But the woman’s face twisted strangely too.

“Mother? Did you just call me Mother?”

“…”

“Ajin, are you teasing me? You know I hate jokes like this, don’t you? You’re scaring me now.”

“…….”

Ajin looked at the woman with a blank expression, as if unable to understand what was happening. The woman turned her head sharply and glared at Seokju.

“Secretary Kang. What’s wrong with our Ajin?”

Ajin followed the woman’s gaze and looked at Seokju.

…Secretary Kang?

“Write your name, please,” the doctor requested.

Ajin was led into the consultation room by the woman who claimed to be his mother. A doctor with her hair tightly pulled back into a bun sat behind a large desk cluttered with mysterious items. There were things like a square board covered in tiny Korean letters and a large black slab. Ajin had no idea why anyone would have such things in front of them.

Hesitantly, he sat across from the doctor. She made small talk to put him at ease, then placed a blank sheet of paper in front of him along with a curious-looking pen.

She clicked the pen’s back to extend the tip, and Ajin mimicked her, clicking the pen in and out. It fascinated him. The soft clicking sound echoed in the otherwise silent consultation room.

After a few moments of this peculiar quiet, the doctor smiled and said, “Your name. Write your name.”

“Ah…”

Ajin exhaled softly and clicked the pen to extend its tip. Carefully, he wrote his name in neat letters on the top left corner of the paper.

[Ajin]

The doctor looked at what he had written and asked, “What about your surname?”

“…….”

“Your family name—the part that goes before your given name.”

“I know what a surname is,” Ajin replied curtly.

“Yes, that. Why didn’t you write it?”

“…….”

Ajin’s eyelashes fluttered slightly. A surname… I don’t have one. But instinctively, he realized it wouldn’t go over well to simply say, I don’t have a surname.

As he hesitated, unsure what to do, the woman sitting beside him interjected hastily.

“Han. Han. Han Ajin.”

“…Han?”

“Yes, Han.”

Ajin pressed his lips tightly together, then released them. Reluctantly, he added the word [Han] before [Ajin], writing slowly and carefully. It was an odd feeling—having something added to his name for the first time.

Han Ajin. Han Ajin. Han Ajin. He repeated the name in his head a few times. It didn’t sound bad. It even felt as if something incomplete had finally been completed.

Ajin was about to put the pen down when the doctor asked another question.

“Good, Ajin. Now, can you write your age?”

That wasn’t difficult. Ajin confidently wrote his age.

[21 years old]

The room grew silent. A strange tension filled the air. Sensing something was off, Ajin hunched his shoulders slightly and glanced at the others. Did I get it wrong? But I’m sure I’m 21. Then again, I might not be. I don’t remember how old I was when I was abducted.

Feeling as though he’d failed a test, Ajin bit his lip. The doctor leaned forward slightly, her gaze calm and steady.

“How about your birthday, height, or weight? Can you write those too?”

“Uh… I don’t… know….”

“That’s okay. How about your family? Can you write anything about them? Their names, memories with them, trips you’ve taken together—anything works. Or you can just tell me.”

“…….”

Ajin’s eyes darted nervously from side to side. The pen in his hand didn’t budge. The doctor leaned in closer, gesturing toward the woman beside him.

“Do you know who this person sitting next to you is?”

“Uh, my… mother….”

“Good. What’s your mother’s name?”

Ajin shook his head without hesitation. There was no way he could know the name of a woman he was meeting for the first time. Even if he thought hard about it, he wouldn’t suddenly remember something he’d never known.

The woman let out a deep sigh, rubbed her forehead as if she had a headache, then closed her eyes tightly before opening them again. With a gentle voice, she said, “Han Seonhwa. Seonhwa. Ajin, your mom’s name is Seonhwa.”

“…Seonhwa.”

“That’s right.”

Ajin wrote [Han Seonhwa] carefully next to his own name, gripping the pen tightly like a child learning to write for the first time.

The doctor asked more questions, but Ajin had few answers. He’d never known much about himself to begin with. His expression darkened, and he wished the strange interrogation would end.

Finally, the doctor leaned forward slightly and asked one last question.

“Now, can you tell me about the person standing behind you? He’s been coming with you for your regular check-ups.”

Ajin followed her gaze and turned to look. Standing by the door was Seokju. After a moment of hesitation, Ajin gave a small nod. Slowly and deliberately, he wrote down the name he had used as often as his own.

[Kang Seokju]