The Three baby mining brothers - Chapter 4.1

From the outside, it was unmistakably a grand mansion. After being cooped up inside for over a week, Yeoreum had casually hinted at wanting a short walk. Taking the suggestion, Secretary Yoon had introduced the garden where Yeoreum now stood.

Tall buildings loomed beyond the garden walls, obscuring the view of the surroundings. It was clearly Seoul, but Yeoreum had never imagined standing inside such a magnificent house in the heart of the city. Wrapped in a cardigan grabbed hastily from the bedside, the chill of the morning air felt manageable.

In the distance, Secretary Yoon appeared, carrying a small table and two chairs.

He didn’t need to go through so much trouble.

Yeoreum shifted uncomfortably, glancing away toward the sky to avoid looking directly at him. But Secretary Yoon, unbothered, set the table and chairs down in the middle of the garden.

“Mr. Yi-hon will be coming down shortly. Please take a seat and rest for now,” he said, adjusting his glasses with a quick push before heading back inside.

Only recently had Yeoreum discovered that one of the people who were handling the orphanage, bore the name Han Yi-hon. Watching Secretary Yoon leave, Yeoreum absently thought that the man should get his glasses properly adjusted if they kept slipping. With a small sigh, Yeoreum sat on the hard chair.

Yi-hon is coming down.

The thought lingered. Yeoreum hadn’t seen him earlier that morning and had no idea when he’d returned home. If he was coming to the garden now, it likely meant there was something important he wanted to say.

Fidgeting with clasped hands, Yeoreum’s head jerked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Yi-hon was walking over, dressed in a simple black T-shirt and long pants.

“H-Hello,” Yeoreum stammered, quickly standing and bowing in greeting.

There was a sharpness to Yi-hon’s expression, his face faintly twisted as if the morning had already brought something unpleasant. The sight made Yeoreum shrink slightly, lowering their voice instinctively. If his mood was already foul, the best Yeoreum could do was avoid making it worse.

Why wear a cardigan when it’s so hot?

Yi-hon’s gaze briefly swept over Yeoreum, taking in the oddly bundled figure, then he wordlessly sat down in the empty chair. Although he had lived in this house for his entire life, it seemed this was his first time actually sitting in the garden.

Originally, Yi-hon had intended to call him to his room, but at Secretary Yoon’s suggestion of having a conversation in the garden as part of a stroll, he had reluctantly stepped outside. The fact that Yeoreum happened to be in the garden at the time only made the decision easier.

“Check it.”

Yi-hon tossed a document envelope onto the table with little care. Thinking about the effort he had spent traveling all the way to Yeosu to handle this matter, he figured he’d need to work Han Yi-eon at least twenty more times to feel satisfied.

As usual, Yeoreum cautiously picked up the brown envelope and held it close. He half-expected it to contain an unfair contract demanding his signature, but all it held was a single sheet of paper labeled “Resident Registration.”

What?

Yeoreum rubbed his eyes and stared intently at the paper in his hands. It listed his name, along with his age—which was clearly too old for wearing a school uniform anymore—and detailed unfamiliar names as parental relationships. That wasn’t all. The names “Han Yi-hon” and “Han Yi-eon,” both unmistakably familiar, were also included.

In the past, the resident registration certificates Yeoreum had submitted to school only ever listed his name, making it seem like he was alone in the world. The address never changed, nor did the solitary fact of his existence.

“Ignore the part about the parents. They’re just placeholders I added to complete the paperwork. Check your resident registration number and hand it back.”

In order to officially register Yeoreum under their family, they’d been forced to involve a distant relative of someone they were close to, tying them together as a family for formality’s sake. It had been a tedious process, and Yi-hon had lost count of how many times he resolved to be more cautious with his words going forward.

Yeoreum buried his head in the paper, unable to tear his eyes away. Yi-hon leaned back, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his hand as he propped his elbow against the table, observing him.

Was there really something important written there, or was Yeoreum just fixated on it for no reason?

The more Yi-hon thought about it, the clearer it became that Yeoreum’s complexion was even fairer than Yi-eon’s.

Although Yi-hon’s skin was darker than Yeoreum’s or Yi-eon’s, he had never once been told it looked unhealthy. Still, walking around with them would inevitably invite comparisons.

As he stood there, lost in thought and wishing he could just head back inside to sleep, the sound of quiet sniffles reached his ears. Squinting against the harsh sunlight, Yi-hon moved his gaze subtly, trying not to make it obvious.

Yeoreum was clutching the crumpled paper tightly in both hands, his shoulders trembling. In the middle of the scorching summer, he was crying miserably. From the sound of it, it was hard to tell whether it was tears or a runny nose.

“Why are you crying?” Yi-hon asked.

“I… I don’t know…”

It felt as though the siblings were swallowing Yeoreum whole, suffocating him. Sniffling, he wiped at his tears with his arm but couldn’t muster the strength to lift his heavy head. He was sure Yi-hon was staring at him with disdain, and the thought of breaking down in front of him—unable to hold back his tears—filled Yeoreum with shame.

Yi-hon watched him for a moment before standing and walking toward the mansion entrance. There was no point in sitting there any longer. He wasn’t the type to offer comfort anyway, and being alone seemed far better.

Of course, the biggest reason was that he simply didn’t care. Whether Yi-eon threw a tantrum or Yeoreum shed tears, the legal and relational reality remained unchanged—they were now brothers, in every sense of the word.

Yeoreum glanced at the school uniform laid out on his bed. It had always felt heavy and burdensome, something that didn’t suit him at all. Now, it just felt awkward.

The wardrobe given to him was empty except for the clothes Yi-eon had placed inside. Folding the uniform carefully to set it aside, Yeoreum couldn’t stop the thoughts swirling in his mind.

Will I even go back to school anymore?

No matter how much he brought up the topic of school, they would always change the subject or refuse to answer altogether.

The secret Yeoreum had only ever shared with the director still weighed heavily on him. From the day he started school later than others at a very young age, he had always found himself walking a step behind his peers. His poor health and the dire circumstances of the orphanage had made it inevitable.

At nineteen, he lived as if he were twenty, and at twenty, as if he were still nineteen. While the difference wasn’t significant, one thing was clear—he didn’t want to become an adult. He didn’t want to leave the only home he had ever known. Even though he had already come of age, his reluctance to be independent was why he couldn’t openly admit his true age.

Yeoreum didn’t necessarily have a strong desire to return to school. He was simply curious whether it was truly okay to let it go. Was it fine to delay things even further? It was a question he asked himself just as much as anyone else.

Of course, it wasn’t as if he was completely without options. The shackles that had once bound him so tightly were gone now, yet he still couldn’t freely open doors or leave the mansion. No one physically stopped him, but Yeoreum kept his movements to a minimum. He didn’t want to provoke anyone or draw unnecessary attention.

The only thing that had changed was that he now had a “family.”

Among the clothes Yi-eon had left for him last night, there were only a handful of outfits suitable for going out. But his collection of sleepwear and casual clothes was so abundant it filled an entire wardrobe. Meanwhile, his old school uniform, carefully folded, had been placed in a corner of the closet. The black vest was fraying at the seams, and dust clung to it as if it had swept the floor.

What he once wanted to remember as a beautiful memory now made his skin crawl and filled him with dread. In his mind, the kind and gentle face of the director had become distorted and crushed beyond recognition.

When one of the mansion staff asked if they should wash his shabby uniform, Yeoreum refused. It was already too damaged to be salvaged. Even if it were thoroughly cleaned, it wouldn’t magically become new again. He simply wanted to keep it as it was, tucked away in his wardrobe.

He didn’t want to forget, but neither did he want to see it again. He clung to the foolish thought that it might be okay, as long as the embroidered name and lingering regrets didn’t disappear along with it.

“Yeoreum-nim, lunch is ready,” came Secretary Yoon’s voice, accompanied by a soft knock at the door. It was the kind of announcement that came at noon, or sometimes at one, or occasionally as early as eleven.

“Yes, I’ll be out,” Yeoreum replied in a loud voice. He closed the large wardrobe firmly, casting it into darkness. Within that act, he held onto the faint hope that someday, he might face the uniform again with a bright smile.

Lunch was white spaghetti. It was the first time Yeoreum had ever encountered this type of noodle dish. At the orphanage or school, tomato spaghetti was a frequent menu item, but eating noodles coated in what seemed to be oil or cream felt oddly unfamiliar.

Yeoreum couldn’t count how many times he had inwardly thought, This is amazing, as he nervously picked up his fork and began eating slowly, bite by bite. Although he still felt awkward during meals with the others, he couldn’t deny that the ever-changing menu excited him.

“Did Yeoreum cry?”

The fork in his hand almost slipped from his grasp. The mention of the incident in the garden brought back memories he had been desperately trying to suppress. Yeoreum turned his head slowly to face Yi-hon, who sat at the center of the table.

Why didn’t you say anything? Though the words never left his lips, the aggrieved look in Yeoreum’s eyes seemed to say it all.

Yi-hon, however, kept his gaze fixed on his meal, completely ignoring the conversation. That was how things often were between the brothers.

Without gaining any response, Yeoreum lowered his head again, only for Yi-eon to burst into laughter. “This is hilarious. I can only imagine how many thoughts must be running through your head right now,” he said with amusement.

“Should I assume you were crying because you were happy? It couldn’t possibly be because you were sad about becoming part of our family, right?”

While his emotions were far too overwhelming to merely call happiness, Yeoreum couldn’t bring himself to respond. Instead, he simply nodded while continuing to eat the white spaghetti, his only way of signaling agreement.

As always, Yi-eon led the conversation during meals, while Yi-hon and Yeoreum either responded briefly or ate in silence. Today was no different. Yi-eon propped his chin on his hand, focusing solely on his youngest brother sitting across from him.

“Oh, and starting tomorrow, I’ll arrange for a tutor, so don’t worry about school,” Yi-eon added.

It seemed he hadn’t forgotten what Yeoreum had asked earlier. Though he had overheard others say things like, I have a tutoring session today, or I’ll be studying with a tutor tomorrow, Yeoreum never imagined he’d experience it himself. The revelation genuinely caught him off guard.

“You should go to college.”

Yi-eon spoke casually, as if it were no big deal. But the remark made Yeoreum feel like a child being coddled, and the sudden wave of awkwardness left him struggling to suppress the ticklish sensation rising within. He wanted to say thank you, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Yes,” Yeoreum managed to reply softly.

“They’ll be stopping by this afternoon, so be ready. You know the clothes in the left wardrobe? Actually, never mind—I’ll come up after I finish eating and help you pick something.”

Yi-eon continued to chatter away without pause, leaving Yeoreum wondering if he was even eating at all since not a single sound of cutlery clinking against a plate could be heard. What amazed Yeoreum even more was that none of what Yi-eon said felt unnecessary.

The left wardrobe was where the few pieces of casual clothing were stored. It seemed Yi-eon planned to come up and choose something for him himself. Yeoreum nodded again, as if it had become a habit by now.

“Let’s go with this.”

Contrary to Yeoreum’s expectations that Yi-eon would take his time and come up later, it was him—not Secretary Yoon—who escorted Yeoreum back to his room after lunch.

Having entered the room ahead of Yeoreum, Yi-eon pulled out a light, long-sleeved hoodie from the wardrobe and handed it to him. Yi-eon himself was wearing a thin short-sleeved shirt. In the mansion, where the temperature never felt particularly warm or cold, what one wore didn’t seem to matter much.

“Yes. By the way, when are they coming?”

“Who?”

“The tutor,” Yeoreum said as he accepted the hoodie and raised his head to meet Yi-eon’s gaze. Knowing when the tutor would arrive would determine whether he needed to change now or later, but Yi-eon just stared at him intently.

Isn’t it a tutor?

Yeoreum hesitated, unsure how else to address the person. After all, wouldn’t a tutor be someone who teaches something?

He had naturally assumed it would be a tutor, but judging by Yi-eon’s unreadable expression and the way he silently stared with his large eyes, it seemed he might have misunderstood something.

“They’ll be here soon, so let’s get you changed first.”

Yi-eon pulled out a simple pair of black pants and handed them to Yeoreum before sitting down on a nearby chair, crossing his legs, and watching him intently. Yi-eon always seemed to observe people with a meticulous, almost analytical gaze. His expectant stare was unnerving, but Yeoreum wasn’t in a position to refuse.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to change?”

“Here? A-are you saying I should change here?”

Yeoreum had naturally assumed Yi-eon would step out of the room or at least turn his back, but instead, Yi-eon was already seated at a chair close to the table, still watching him with that same expectant look.

“Someone has to check if it looks okay. You can’t meet your tutor looking sloppy, can you? Hurry up and get changed.”

Do I really look that messy? Yeoreum thought as he nervously ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it back. His face gradually grew pale with unease. Yi-eon was right, though—it made more sense for him to judge what looked appropriate.

Slowly, Yeoreum began pulling down his pants. For a brief moment, he almost pulled his underwear down as well, but he quickly caught himself, fumbling to pull it back up. He heard Yi-eon let out a small chuckle, but he forced himself to ignore it.

His face, already flushed with embarrassment, felt like it was burning. Even though he could feel Yi-eon’s gaze on him, Yeoreum focused on unbuttoning his pajama top. There were so many buttons that his trembling hands kept slipping, sending shivers across his body.

“Take your time,” Yi-eon said calmly.

“…Yes.”

Once the pajama top was fully unbuttoned, it slipped off and fell to the floor. I should have put on the pants first, Yeoreum thought as he realized how exposed he was. Lately, he’d found himself showing his bare body to Yi-eon far too often.

“Don’t put it on yet—come here for a moment.”

Just as Yeoreum was about to grab the shirt from the bed to put it on, Yi-eon’s words stopped him. Frozen in place, Yeoreum hesitated. He was still only in his underwear, and the goosebumps covering his skin hadn’t subsided. Slowly, he walked over to where Yi-eon sat by the table.

“…Why?”

Yeoreum’s pale skin and faintly colored n1pples filled Yi-eon’s view completely. It was overwhelming, no matter how he looked at it. A dizzying sensation surged within him, one he had to fight to suppress. The urge to tear away everything in front of him was so strong that his clenched fists were sure to leave marks on his palms.

“Lotion. Sit here.”

Yi-eon patted his thigh. He wanted Yeoreum to sit there—on his thigh—almost completely bare. No matter how intimidating Yi-eon could be, the request was still undeniably embarrassing. Even though it had been a while since Yeoreum had taken a shower, and despite noticing the lotion in Yi-eon’s hand, backing away wasn’t an option anymore.

With heavy steps, Yeoreum approached, only to sit even more cautiously on Yi-eon’s lap. He tried not to put his full weight down, instead pressing his feet firmly into the floor to support himself.

Noticing this, Yi-eon slid his hands under Yeoreum’s knees and adjusted him so that he sat more comfortably, fully on his lap. Yi-eon wrapped an arm around Yeoreum’s waist, pulling him closer, while his other hand reached for the lotion on the table. He squeezed some onto his palm and spread it out, warming it with his hands.

All Yeoreum could see was Yi-eon’s chest, covered in a black T-shirt. The cold sensation suddenly spreading across his waist made Yeoreum gasp and shiver involuntarily.

“Ah!”

Yi-eon held Yeoreum firmly in his arms, his hands rubbing the slippery lotion between his palms until it warmed up. He then began to gently apply it, starting at Yeoreum’s flat stomach.

“Not too cold, right?”

Yeoreum nodded slowly, up and down. In truth, it wasn’t cold—it was ticklish. So much so that he felt like he might let out an involuntary laugh.

Even without the lotion, Yeoreum’s fair skin was flawless, as though he’d never needed any care at all. The sensation of Yi-eon’s hands moving smoothly across his skin was strangely soothing. Yeoreum was so slender that Yi-eon could feel his ribs with ease.

Yi-eon’s hands moved up, tracing along the ribs, until they reached Yeoreum’s chest. He spread the lotion in circular motions, almost as if he were massaging him. The touch was both gentle and deliberate, causing Yeoreum to bite his lip to stifle his reaction.

“Hngh…”

Even though Yeoreum tried to suppress his voice, Yi-eon had already locked his gaze onto him, studying every reaction.

Yi-eon’s hands gradually moved closer to Yeoreum’s n1pples, the ticklish sensation becoming unbearable. It was maddening—almost enough to make Yeoreum wish Yi-eon would simply touch them instead of teasing the surrounding area. Yi-eon continued to glide his hands around, spreading the slippery lotion, making Yeoreum’s skin glisten in the light.

“Og…”
A groan escaped through Yeoreum’s tightly clenched teeth. With his arms wrapped around Yi-eon’s neck and his back held rigid, Yeoreum twisted his waist involuntarily due to the tight grip Yi-eon had on his chest, as if he intended to crush it.

Only then did Yi-eon switch from using his palms to twisting the firmly swollen n1pples with his fingers. As he twisted the small protrusions in every direction, strength instinctively surged into Yeoreum’s arms wrapped around Yi-eon’s neck.

“What are you doing?”
His voice trembled lightly, overwhelmed by the strange sensations that surged all the way to the top of his head. It hurt as tension pulled from below, but Yi-eon didn’t stop moving his hands for even a moment. Trapped in his arms, there was no escape.

“This is how everyone does it. I guess my little brother is the only one who didn’t know.”

At those words, Yeoreum’s body, which had been resisting, gradually softened. Taking advantage of this, Yi-eon pinched the n1pples firmly with his long fingers. Though he hadn’t applied any lotion to his hands, the skin was already soft and slick from earlier caresses.

“Haah!”
A sharp, high-pitched moan escaped quickly and briefly from Yeoreum’s lips. His head tipped back on its own, and the outline beneath the underwear he wore below became more pronounced.

Not knowing this was how lotion was typically applied, Yeoreum found himself at a loss for words. In this unfamiliar place, every day was a series of lessons. While it was fine to learn what he didn’t know, he couldn’t figure out how to hide the embarrassment of his ignorance. Perhaps that was why Yeoreum quietly chose to acquiesce.

Yi-eon, still keeping his gaze fixed on Yeoreum’s flushed and softened expression, slid his hands downward to gently rub Yeoreum’s stiffened lower back.

“All done. Now let’s get dressed.”

Yi-eon set Yeoreum down gently on the floor but didn’t release the arms he had been holding. As expected, Yeoreum’s legs were trembling uncontrollably, like those of a newborn animal. If Yi-eon hadn’t been supporting him, he would have surely collapsed to the floor.

Yeoreum wasn’t sure what he had just done with Yi-eon, but his thoroughly oiled-up body was now upright. He waited, assuming Yi-eon would help him get dressed. Closing his eyes, he tried to steady himself by tensing his trembling legs, but the room remained silent.

“Aren’t you going to put your clothes on? Or are you planning to greet the teacher just like that?”

Then at least let go of my arms. Feeling a bit sulky, Yeoreum muttered, “No,” and grabbed the clothes from the table to start dressing himself. Though it felt like he might collapse at any moment, he gradually regained some stability as time passed.

The pulling ache below was still there, but the lotion coating his body was far more bothersome. It had been a while since he’d worn everyday clothes, and it felt oddly unfamiliar. Perhaps because there was so much he didn’t know, Yeoreum felt increasingly confused.

“You look nice. The teacher should be coming up soon. Sit over there at the desk. You can handle this on your own, right?”

“Ot, of… 41.”

Yeoreum knew that saying he couldn’t wouldn’t change anything; there was no one else to do it for him. He believed there was nothing he couldn’t manage if he tried hard enough. Nodding in agreement, he looked up at Yi-eon.

As he stared at Yi-eon up close, he noticed a small mark on Yi-eon’s face. It was a tiny dot near his white mole, making his features stand out even more. It was the first time Yeoreum had seen it so clearly, and he realized it suited Yi-eon’s clear skin perfectly.