Passion: Diaphonic Symphonia Novel - Chapter 40 - Confession

“Whoa… look at the bruise, the bruise.”

Jeong Taeui clicked his tongue as he held a mirror to his side.

Slightly forward from his side towards his stomach, there was a deep blue bruise. It would probably turn dark black by tomorrow.

“At this rate, my whole body will be dyed in full spectrum.”

Jeong Taeui clucked his tongue.

Even just looking in the mirror, the colors were already vivid.

His face that had been hit recently, his elbow, and as a little time passed, the bruises on various parts of his body turned mottled.

Bruises are still the easier pain to endure. Even if you’re severely beaten, the pain lasts a day or two, and after that, unless you brush against something or bump into it, you rarely feel the pain in daily life. Then, without even realizing it, it heals completely.

“That’s what’s good, healing without realizing it.”

Jeong Taeui nodded. Then he rinsed off the soap suds from his body with the showerhead.

Remembering how he had unthinkingly rubbed hard a moment ago and pressed on a bruise, making him grab the bathroom wall and shiver for a moment, he rinsed off the suds gently and carefully.

“This is like some kind of battered wife, not me.”

Jeong Taeui sighed, looking at the bruises scattered across his body.

He gently rubbed the freshest, warmest bruise on his side. It hurt even with a touch. But by tomorrow or the day after, unless he intentionally pressed it, he wouldn’t think of it as painful.

“A gun really isn’t something a person should hold. Is this what happens when you get hit by a rubber piece the size of a fingernail from a model gun with less than half the power?”

If what was used instead of a bullet had been something harder than an eraser, or if the model gun’s power had been stronger, Jeong Taeui might have ended up in the hospital.

Going to the hospital didn’t scare him, but if he had to have surgery, it would be a headache. His body type didn’t react well to anesthesia.

“Really, the person who invented the gun should be remembered throughout history and stoned,” Jeong Taeui grumbled, turning off the shower.

After drying himself with a towel, reflecting his multicolored body in the bathroom mirror once more, and feeling pleased with his well-muscled and just-right appearance, he picked up the medicine box from the bathroom shelf.

His side throbbed intensely, and while rummaging for something suitable to apply, he found the tiger balm that Christoph had brought and left behind when he had suddenly barged into his room that morning.

He wrinkled his nose at its distinctive pungent smell and gently rubbed it on his side.

“If the suspicious phrase written on this ointment jar—’contains tiger bone’—is true, then the reason tigers are endangered is because the Chinese captured all the tigers they could find to put their bones in this stuff…”

Muttering baseless racial slurs, Jeong Taeui finished applying the ointment and turned to leave the bathroom.

However, just before exiting, he paused.

From the next-door bathroom, connected via the ventilation shaft—it didn’t seem to be the bathroom itself, but perhaps the door was open, as he heard sounds from the room connected to that bathroom. It was the presence of someone returning.

“Oh…”

Jeong Taeui quickly put on some clothes. Then he headed to the next room.

It seemed Christoph had finally returned.

The hour was already quite late. Dinner time had passed a while ago.

“Hey, Christoph.”

He knocked on the bedroom door and opened it almost simultaneously.

Indeed, he hadn’t misheard from the bathroom; Christoph was changing clothes inside.

He had been gone so late that Jeong Taeui wondered if he had returned while he wasn’t looking and gone out again, but Christoph was just taking off his riding clothes.

He was unexpectedly particular about his attire, so he wouldn’t have gone to do anything else in those clothes; it seemed he had been in the forest all afternoon.

Christoph glanced at Jeong Taeui, who was standing leaning against the opened bedroom door, staring at him, and briefly asked, “What is it?”

Still, the fact that he answered meant his mood seemed better than before.

“Your hand.”

Jeong Taeui asked about what worried him most. Earlier, Christoph’s palm had certainly been torn and covered in blood.

Christoph, who had been unbuttoning his shirt, paused for a moment. He looked at Jeong Taeui with a strange expression.

“Did you come to ask about that?”

Jeong Taeui grumbled, “Yes,” to Christoph, who spoke with a troubled frown. He cast his gaze to Christoph’s hand.

The hand that had been bleeding profusely from multiple wounds—naturally—had stopped bleeding. The hand, wrapped twice with a handkerchief and tied at the back, continued to unbutton his clothes.

“Did you properly wipe it with disinfectant and treat it?”

“This kind of injury is common; why make such a fuss?”

Jeong Taeui frowned at Christoph’s tone, which sounded as if he had merely wiped it a couple of times on his trousers.

No matter how he thought about it, it didn’t seem like a generally common injury, but if that’s what Christoph said, he decided to let it go.

“Unwrap it. Let me put some medicine on it and treat it properly.”

Jeong Taeui approached him and held out his hand. Only after seeing Christoph’s gaze lingering on his own palm did he remember, Ah, this guy dislikes being touched by others.

Jeong Taeui withdrew his hand, clicking his tongue again.

“Let me at least see it. Unwrap it once.”

Jeong Taeui said again, but Christoph didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, he frowned in annoyance and glared at Jeong Taeui.

But then his expression suddenly seemed to turn a bit strange.

He tilted his head, seeming to examine something, then tilted his head the other way and asked Jeong Taeui,

“You smell like medicine.”

This guy has a keen nose too. …No, but now that he thought about it, with this strong scent, it would be harder not to notice it at such close proximity.

“Yeah, I got a bit bruised. Oh, I used some of the ointment you left in my room, without asking.”

“How badly bruised are you that you need to apply medicine? Let me see.”

Christoph frowned and gestured with his chin for Jeong Taeui to lift his shirt.

“What’s so good about seeing it, I said I wanted to see your injury,” Jeong Taeui grumbled, but still lifted his shirt.

Christoph looked at Jeong Taeui’s side and was silent for a moment.

“It’s quite severe. It doesn’t look like you bumped into something… Did someone hit you?”

“Ilay.”

When Jeong Taeui gave an ambiguous answer, Christoph looked at him with a strange expression. As if confronted with something impossible, Christoph tilted his head for a moment, then coldly shook his head.

“No. It’s strange enough that he laid a hand on you now, but even if he did, it wouldn’t end with just this much of a bruise.”

At such a very plausible logic, Jeong Taeui unconsciously nodded. “Oh, you’re right, you’re right,” he exclaimed admiringly before chuckling. Christoph watched him say, “It happened accidentally,” without answering, just gazing intently at the bruise. Then he clicked his tongue.

“The medicine’s clotted. What were you doing, not rubbing it in properly?”

“Hmm, I thought I rubbed it in pretty well.”

Jeong Taeui muttered defensively and started gently rubbing the wound again.

“Where did you get hurt, you idiot, coming back like this.”

Jeong Taeui silently watched Christoph, who clicked his tongue and chided him with a mocking expression, then muttered like a sigh,

“Hearing you say that makes that handkerchief tied around your hand look even more unusual.”

“I didn’t get hurt by going to some other guy.”

“Self-harm is worse, much worse!”

Jeong Taeui frantically pointed his index finger and clicked his tongue.

Christoph didn’t even realize what he did was self-harm. He didn’t even think he should avoid it next time because only he would be at a loss if it hurt. Jeong Taeui didn’t like that about him.

So he added spitefully,

“If I had to get an injury anyway, a bruise is better than, say, a laceration.”

Jeong Taeui muttered, carefully rubbing the bruise so as not to accidentally press too hard. Christoph, who had been looking at the bruise, thought for a moment then frowned.

“A laceration is better. Or a stab wound.”

At his quite serious words, Jeong Taeui also frowned.

“No, it’s not. Lacerations or stab wounds have a high chance of causing death or severe injury, and there’s a risk of bacterial infection. They also take a lot of time and effort to heal. In that sense, a bruise is better.”

For starters, the ‘weight’ of the words themselves is different. Bruise, stab wound, laceration. If you consider the frequency of police intervention, isn’t there a clear difference?

However, Christoph shook his head.

“Bruises are generally from being hit by someone’s hand or foot, rather than a weapon. But since hands don’t tear skin, there’s no direct contact with hands in a laceration. In that sense, bruises are bad.”

To get hit and to have another person’s body touch you is the worst, he added.

“…Hmm… so that’s why you don’t like bruises…”

Jeong Taeui smacked his lips.

People might prefer different types of pain—those that are easier to endure—but this was the first time he’d heard such a reason. Are all people who avoid contact like this, surely not.

Jeong Taeui briefly looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

Both types of injuries hurt equally at the time they are sustained. There is no injury that doesn’t hurt when you get hurt.

However, with a bruise, after a little time passes, it doesn’t hurt unless you press on it. The injury disappears without you knowing, and when you finally realize it, there’s no trace left.

But a laceration is not like that. It continues to hurt until the wound closes. It oozes and can fester. And even if a scab forms and it finally stops hurting, a scar remains in the end.

Injuries, like everything else, are not something you can choose, but Jeong Taeui thought that if he were to get hurt, he would prefer the former if possible.

“Well, still, it’s better than a disease that deepens without you even realizing it hurts.”

Because you don’t realize it hurts, by the time you do, there’s already no way to fix it.

That’s because the body doesn’t cry out in pain. It’s because the shouts of pain are blocked.

Jeong Taeui clicked his tongue and scratched his head. Then he pulled his shirt back down.

“Your hand, come here.”

Jeong Taeui said grumpily. Christoph frowned slightly, but then readily unwrapped the handkerchief. He didn’t forget to say, “Don’t touch it.”

Fortunately, the injury wasn’t as severe as he had feared. Earlier, it probably looked worse because it was covered in blood.

Seeing his palm, which didn’t seem to have been medicated or treated but fortunately wasn’t festering and seemed to be healing well, Jeong Taeui sighed.

“It’s a relief it’s not badly hurt,” Jeong Taeui muttered, and Christoph silently wrapped the handkerchief back around his hand.

“Speaking of which, that page earlier, they said he got dozens of stitches at the hospital.”

“Hmm.”

Christoph muttered indifferently, but Jeong Taeui continued undeterred.

“He had a bit of trouble with the fragments during treatment, but they said it ended safely.”

Christoph nodded. But it seemed more like a perfunctory agreement than actually listening.

Jeong Taeui sat on the stool at the foot of the bed. He watched Christoph finish changing, then abruptly said,

“I saw Oliver today. …He was laughing and playing perfectly fine. You don’t have to worry.”

While hanging his discarded clothes on a hanger, Christoph stared coldly into the wardrobe for a long time without speaking. Then he turned his head to Jeong Taeui. A hint of annoyance was evident in his expression.

“I don’t know what you’re misunderstanding, but I’m not worried.”

He looked directly at Jeong Taeui and closed the wardrobe door. The way he calmly closed the door showed a hint of irritation.

“And just so you know, you seem to be thinking something wrong. About that page, I didn’t give him a single thought. I forgot about him the moment I left this room, and only remembered when you mentioned him just now. Don’t misunderstand.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Jeong Taeui readily apologized as soon as he finished speaking. He had no intention of pressing any meaning onto him or arguing from the beginning.

“I just said it because it came to mind. I didn’t think about how you’d react.”

Jeong Taeui looked straight at him. Christoph frowned, meeting Jeong Taeui’s gaze. His deep blue eyes seemed to wonder what on earth was sitting in front of him.

“Hm,” Christoph exhaled an uncomfortable sigh and said in a somewhat subdued voice,

“It’s always been like that, not just with that page. What I did to someone, that kind of thing doesn’t really come to mind. There was no need to think about it. However—”

Christoph trailed off for a moment. He seemed to be deliberating what to say, then abruptly muttered,

“It was just noisy.”

“…Like an unpleasant awakening in the morning?”

“Hmm… similar.”

Christoph replied, then fell deep into thought.

He was often like that. No, most mornings were like that.

Constitutionally, he had difficulty waking up in the morning and was always in a bad mood in the mornings. On days Jeong Taeui went to wake him up, he had to face Christoph, who had a restless sleep five or six times a week.

The voice whispering in his ear was ceaseless.

Sometimes it sounded like a loud shout, sometimes it was faint, and sometimes, on lucky days, it whispered so faintly it was almost inaudible.

Jeong Taeui, who couldn’t hear the voice, could guess how loud or soft it was by Christoph’s mood.

Now, the voice seemed to be on the quieter side.

“Ultimately, a person, you know.”

Jeong Taeui suddenly muttered. He stretched his back as if to yawn, then winced, “Ouch!” His bruised side throbbed.

Bending his back again and rubbing the bruise, Jeong Taeui continued with a grimace.

“As long as you’re happy with yourself, that’s what matters. No matter what others think. Ultimately, you’re the one who decides if you’re happy or not. For example, even if you commit an atrocious act, and everyone in the world curses and points fingers at you, wishing you ill, if you don’t care and live contentedly alone, they can’t force unhappiness upon you. …Well, let’s leave aside whether that truly fits the definition of happiness, though.”

Anyway, you don’t look very happy, Jeong Taeui thought, smacking his lips.

Perhaps because his side hurt, his mouth tasted bitter today.

Jeong Taeui felt Christoph’s gaze on him, a strange look in his eyes.

What he had said wasn’t comfort. In fact, it was a scathing indictment. That’s why Jeong Taeui felt uneasy.

…Not good, not good… Still not good today…

Jeong Taeui sighed and deliberately gave an example for his words.

“Look at Ilay. How many people want to kill that guy? The number of people who hate him is overwhelmingly larger than those who like him.”

No, in fact, he wondered if there were any people who liked him, apart from the very few—countable on one hand—people he knew.

“Still, that guy lives well.”

He was not swayed by others’ words, and objectively, no matter how you looked at it, even though he was evil, not good, he lived carefree and well.

That’s the reality of society’s desire for good people to be rewarded and bad people to be punished.

Good people can ultimately live well. But even living virtuously can be difficult. Bad people can be punished, but they can also live well.

Indeed, the world goes according to its natural course. But Jeong Taeui still couldn’t fully understand that natural course.

“Yes, I am living contentedly. In reality.”

From behind Jeong Taeui, who was vaguely contemplating some circling law in the air, a voice suddenly appeared like a ghost.