TTDOTO 1.3

Despite the chaotic—nearly shocking—atmosphere at work, Jae-an forced himself to show up. It might’ve been stubborn pride. The gnawing fear that running away would only confirm the rumors pushed him to cling to his resolve.

He did his best to douse the gossip, which grew more sensational with each retelling. Every word, every action was scrutinized; he forced bright smiles. He choked down every grain of rice on his tray, only to sneak away and vomit it.

But the despairing premonition Jae-an felt grew sharper with each passing day.

His kindness toward certain students, the private time spent with them in the counseling room—it all became kindling for suspicion. Before long, Jae-an was dragged through the rumor mill, was branded a depraved teacher lusting after male students.

After vomiting up his lunch, Jae-an brushed his teeth and stepped into the staff room, catching the murmur of whispers.

“No, I heard he’s always been into guys—”

Spotting Jae-an pause at the door, one teacher gestured frantically toward him, pressing a finger to their lips. The other, mid-sentence, avoided Jae-an’s gaze and clammed up.

The one speaking had been a close colleague, they had been assigned to the school together last year. Jae-an stared at the group huddled around them with hollow eyes, tossing his water cup and toothbrush onto his desk.

The fragile thread of reason he’d clung to unraveled. Closing his eyes briefly, Jae-an strode over, grabbed the colleague by the collar, and swung a fist at their jaw.

As if purging the food he’d just thrown up, he roared out every pent-up word. He was the victim—how dare they spread stories for their own amusement? Did he have to die for them to believe him?

“Let go and talk, Lee!”

“Teacher!”

“You can’t do this!”

People pulled him back, their faces etched with annoyance. Panting, surrounded, Jae-an spat curses.

“Fuck, you can do this, but I can’t? How’s your gossip any different from a beating?”

It felt like bugs crawling under his skin. Whether the misunderstanding was cleared or not, he couldn’t take it anymore. That day marked the end—he quit school.

After resigning, he left the belongings he’d taken from school piled by the entrance. His body and mind were in tatters, so he planned to rest and look for work slowly. Fortunately, he wasn’t a big spender; his savings could tide him over for a while. He’d dip into his fixed deposit, cut expenses, and find a way to survive.

His phone, buzzing every few hours, was left to die. Ignoring every call, he wasn’t surprised when the stubbornly persistent Seo Jae-rim showed up at his door again.

At dawn, Jae-rim let himself in and sat beside Jae-an, sprawled sideways on the sofa.

“You quit your job?”

He asked so calmly that Jae-an nodded as if it were nothing. Drunk on beer, he’d passed out on the sofa, his neck stiff. As he groaned, turning his head, Jae-rim kneaded the tense muscles. The touch was so firm it made Jae-an’s hair stand on end, but he let it be.

“You haven’t eaten, just drank.”

“….”

“I’ll come back after closing the restaurant.”

Rummaging through the fridge, Jae-rim sighed, ready to play housekeeper again. But Jae-an couldn’t let his younger brother—five years his junior—keep cleaning up his mess. He didn’t want to show Jae-rim any more pathetic sides of himself. So, to Jae-rim’s offer to stop by later, he forced a smile.

“No need. Quitting feels like a weight off.”

“You still need to eat.”

“You don’t die from skipping a few meals.”

He bluffed, feigning nonchalance. Jae-rim fell quiet. Glancing at him, Jae-an saw anger simmering in those glass-like eyes and tightly pressed lips.

“If you eat properly, I won’t come.”

“Fine.”

Thinking he could fake it, Jae-an nodded lightly. He’d forgotten how ruthless Jae-rim could be when he got stubborn.

Seo Jae-rim: Did you eat?

Yeah.

Seo Jae-rim: What’d you eat?

Seaweed soup.

Seo Jae-rim: I sent seaweed soup to your door. Heat it.

Every time Jae-an lied, Jae-rim, like a ghost, had food delivered to his doorstep. It wasn’t new—Jae-rim always seemed to know. Once, Jae-an asked if he was being watched. Jae-rim had laughed, saying a chef always knows what’s in his hyung’s fridge.

Thanks to Jae-rim’s nagging, Jae-an started eating, albeit reluctantly. Food gave him just enough energy to check certification exam schedules or job postings, jotting them into a planner. Otherwise, he drank beer and slumped on the sofa.

He lacked the courage to go outside. A heavy smoker, he hadn’t touched a cigarette since opening the door felt too hard. His only outings were quick trips to the convenience store, hood up, cap low when the beer ran out.

“Ugh…”

Tilting his head back, he shook the beer can, but only a few drops fell. He crumpled it, tossed it onto the rug, and leaned back on the sofa. Debating another can, he reached for his phone as a text notification broke the quiet living room.

“Food alarm, huh?”

Annoying, but too persistent to ignore. Planning to eat something quick to reply, he stood and unlocked the screen. It wasn’t Jae-rim.

They say you quit because of me. Sorry ㅜ

Oh, it’s Han-seong lol.

His lazy breathing hitched, tangled in an instant. Before he could finish reading, the phone buzzed again.

But don’t hate me too much. I got kicked out of my place because of this ㅠ

Jang Han-seong, unlike the others, hadn’t taken drugs that night—his role was luring Jae-an to the motel. Charged but not detained, he’d been ousted from the gang when their “initiation” fell apart.

But good jobs give you a payout when you quit, right???

The apology was a taunt, the texts growing filthier. Jae-an’s grip on the phone tightened.

Oh, and I took pics of you that night. What should I do?

His eyes twitched as another message arrived. In the eerie silence of the living room, the notification chime turned sinister.

(Photo)

(Photo)

(Photo)

(Photo)

(Photo)

(Photo)

(Photo)

(Photo)

(Photo)

(Photo)

(Photo)

(Photo)

(Photo)

(Photo)

The relentless pings wouldn’t stop. Jae-an, barely breathing, stared at the screen, managing only a single, choked curse.

“This… fucking… bastard…”

How about a trade—your money for my pics?

Lots of places to leak these. Reply quickly.

His grip was so tight the phone creaked against his palm. Bloodshot eyes glared at the screen before he hurled the phone. It cracked with a sharp sound, but Han-seong’s texts glowed stubbornly through the shattered display. His chest heaved with ragged breaths.

The photos were blurry, a series of shots showing a naked man, underwear in his mouth, sprawled lifelessly. Taken in secret, the images were shaky, features unclear—but Jae-an knew.

It was him.

The hot blood pumping from his heart turned ice-cold. Something surged inside, and he clamped his mouth, sprinting to the bathroom. Clutching the toilet, he retched bitter bile.

“Urgh… cough…”

His tearless eyes shook wildly. Collapsing onto the bathroom floor, he tore at his hair.

“Crazy, crazy…”

How much money would it take?

What if there were more photos?

If Han-seong kept demanding, would he have to ration payments?

What if he took the money and leaked it anyway?

Was Han-seong the only one with these photos?

Questions flooded him, but no answers came.

“Ha…”

He was exhausted. His toes slipped off the cliff he’d barely clung to. Moments of desperate survival flashed through his mind.

He hadn’t even fought fiercely, yet he was battered, defeated. He’d been disappointed, angry, sad, and furious before, but this crushing powerlessness was new.

He had no strength to push through, no will to find a way. Wiping his pale face, cold sweat and tears were smeared on his palm.

“Ha, haha…”

A laugh escaped. Did his mother feel this same defeat when she chose death? The bitter irony of struggling to live through such despair overwhelmed him.

*****

A ramen-box-sized package thumped onto the desk. It was the last of his belongings from two years at the school. Left by the entrance for ten days, he’d finally decided to sort it.

Peeling off the tape, he tossed most of the contents into a trash bag. Sweeping the rest off the desk, he paused at a ring case in the corner. After a moment’s hesitation, he slipped the ring on and discarded the case.

He hauled the filled bags to the recycling area and then cleared out the utility room’s clutter too. Multiple trips left sweat beading under his hair. Back home, hands on his hips, he surveyed the space.

With only built-in furniture left, the apartment echoed louder, bouncing back even his small footsteps. After Han-seong’s texts, Jae-an had begun cleaning, finishing in two days.

Checking the time, he hurriedly washed his hands. Opening the near-empty closet, he pulled out the only clothes left—a gray long-sleeve t-shirt and jeans, his go-to pieces.

With little time until his meeting with Jae-rim, he climbed into his car and started the engine quickly. Maneuvering out of the parking lot, he sped down a familiar route without needing navigation.