IOC - 18

In fact, I was fuming.

And why wouldn’t I be? Why should I be discouraged? Why does the phrase "It'll be hard for you because you have no background" always have to be attached to me like some ultimate truth?

The world was always noisy with its platitudes.

If you work hard, you can achieve anything. Background doesn’t matter. In the end, your will and sincerity define who you are.

The textbooks always said so, and the director, who was my everything, said the same.

I believed those words. No, I had no choice but to believe them. That belief was the only reason I, someone with nothing to my name, managed to hold on.

But that belief was shattered into pieces after the interview.

Everything was fine until the final question. My mind went blank when they asked about my family, a question that wasn't even on the list of expected topics. Still, I managed to string some words together and got through it.

I walked out of the building and wandered slowly to calm my racing heart. I even lingered around the campus, imagining a future where I’d be walking those grounds as a student.

Maybe that was the problem.

Me, an orphan, daring to hope that I could attend this school.

Or perhaps it was just the fact that I happened to be the last one in the interview rotation.

I circled the building aimlessly and ducked into a narrow path out back. It was a secluded corner where few people went. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted past, but I didn't think much of it.

Had I known that was the interviewers' smoking spot, I would have turned back immediately.

"The last applicant is an orphan, right?"

I stiffened at the voice and turned my head. An awkward silence followed, punctuated by forced, half-hearted laughter.

"Well... there are plenty of students like that these days," another interviewer replied in a strained, gentle attempt to smooth things over.

But a voice cut right through that attempt, dismissing it entirely.

"He's diligent, but I don't know if he'll be able to keep up with the department's lifestyle until the end."

I instantly recognized that sneering tone.

It was the interviewer who had smirked at me while asking questions. His fingers, flipping through the applications, were weighed down by gold rings, and while I was answering, he had openly checked his watch and stifled a yawn.

Actually, he hadn't even bothered to hide it, he was halfway through a yawn most of the time.

"Our department is quite demanding, after all. Overseas training is mandatory, and there are lots of group projects and field research... The financial burden is significant, too."

The interviewer next to him added cautiously, "Still... his grades were exceptionally good."

"Grades are one thing. But students in these situations usually don't last long."

Click.

The sound of a lighter flicking was followed by a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. While the other interviewers stayed quiet, minding their words, that first man continued without restraint.

"Hmm, he's definitely not the 'image' we're looking for."

He blew out a long trail of smoke, curling his fingers.

He looked less like a professor trying to protect the honor of his department and more like a bureaucrat interested only in maintaining his connections and managing donations.

"I saw that the son of Semo Enterprise was there earlier. His grades were similar."

And just like that, their conversation naturally drifted toward the name of a classmate who had applied to the same department, as if I had never even been a candidate to begin with.

Right. That damn son of a wealthy family.

The guy whose grades were barely hanging on.

My name was easily erased amidst the light laughter of the interviewers. Everything I had built up scattered into the air like smoke, and my effort and faith crumbled like a burning cigarette ash.

If only I hadn't heard that conversation.

Then, at least, I would have held onto a sliver of thin hope until the very end.

With that conversation, I realized one simple, undeniable truth.

The saying about "a dragon rising from a small stream."

That was nothing more than a casual story told by those born outside the stream, watching someone else's life for entertainment.

And those "dragons" were only those who were lucky or had been born with the seeds of a dragon to begin with.

I didn't even have a seed. For someone starting at the finish line of being an orphan, all that was given to me was the mud of the stream.

A place where I neither would nor could ever become a dragon.

Yes, all those heartwarming success stories the world talked about were nothing but shimmering illusions in a fairy tale book.

Naturally, I failed the interview. I didn't hold a grudge against the interviewer. If anything, I was grateful to him for making me realize the cold reality.

And I was left with only one thing.

Applying for a lower-tier school? I could have done that. With my grades, I could have even aimed for a full scholarship.

But what if I hit the same wall of reality again? What would I use to endure then?

The feeling of hopelessness from having no one to rely on, poverty eroded more than I thought.

In the hollowed-out spaces, only bitter reality remained. Faith had collapsed, leaving only cold calculation.

At nineteen, the choice I made wasn't a challenge, it was money.

No, money was the only thing I could choose.

Because in this irrational world, money was the only thing whose value never changed.

It's not like I only worked part-time jobs from the start. I tried for permanent and contract positions a few times. But at a young age with no parents or background, "early employment" was just an experience that made me feel the world's injustices to my bones.

Still, I had to eat to live, so I had no choice but to cling to part-time jobs that only paid by the hour. I earned whatever I could, over and over.

And as if to prove to myself that the path I chose wasn't wrong, I sent most of the money I earned back to the orphanage.

At first, it was okay. My friends even envied me for living alone and earning money while they were still in school.

You know how it is. In your early twenties, getting a paycheck even from a part-time job looks impressive to peers who have nothing.

But around the time they returned from the military and started discussing realistic futures, I was crushed by a sense of alienation once again.

"Hey, Shion. How long are you going to keep jumping from one part-time job to another? You should get a proper job now."

A friend next to him nudged him with an elbow to read the room, but he didn't stop.

"No, really. You were so good at studying... Heecheol, whose grades were worse than yours, said he's joining his dad's company after graduation. But you're still doing this? Man, life is unpredictable, but I didn't think it'd turn out like this for you."

His tone was light. Like a joke, like advice.

But to my ears, it pierced like a razor-sharp blade.

"Hey, you know I don't mean anything bad, right? I'm just saying this for your own good."

I forced a smile, but inside, I was falling apart.

After that, I couldn't stay close to my friends.

...No, actually, it had been that way from the start.

In our early twenties, even when I sat beside them in a bar, I would tremble just looking at the price of the snacks on the bill. Amidst the laughter and the clinking of glasses, I sat there counting the sound of the card swiping and my bank balance.

While they discussed the future, I didn't even have the imagination left to picture tomorrow.

That was the life of twenty-four-year-old Baek Shion.

***

"...What a depressingly realistic dream."

I rubbed my eyes roughly and sat up. I washed my face immediately and, as always, began preparing to open the inn.

"I have to move and work."

Sadness is temporary.

Tomorrow, and every tomorrow after that, doesn't have the luxury of being consumed by sorrow. For a very long time, reality had pushed me in that way.

After taking a long breath, I tried to shake off the lingering scent of the dream.

I was moving busily, prepping ingredients and simmering broth in a large pot, when suddenly, 

BOOM!

The ear-splitting roar made the ladle slip from my hand. Clang! It hit the floor with a loud ring.

"What was that?"

My heart sank as I looked out the door. There, huddled in front of the inn, was a small shadow. As the dust settled in the wind, a shape slowly emerged.

I approached the figure cautiously and saw dark red fur, matted and soaked in blood. Looking closer, I even saw short horns protruding from its forehead.

A thin sound of breathing reached my ears. The faint, precarious breaths made my chest ache.

"...Hah."

A sigh mixed with a curse escaped my lips.

My hand hesitated on the door handle for a moment, but eventually, I turned back and looked at the creature again.

I leaned down to get a closer look, the wounds weren't just simple bruises. There were deep gashes as if cut by a blade, with dried blood and signs of inflammation. Judging by the scabbing, it had been injured for some time.

Its chest rose and fell shallowly, and its faint breath touched the back of my hand.

It was alive.

In the end, I gritted my teeth and picked the monster up.

Its body felt like it was cooling, but a lingering warmth seeped into my arms. A scent that was both metallic from blood and bitter like herbs, or perhaps a mix of both, hit my nose.

"Seriously, Baek Shion. You're going to end up dead because of your pity."

I scolded myself, but it was already too late. The moment I gathered it in my arms, the choice had been made.

As soon as I brought it inside, I laid the monster down and wiped the blood-soaked fur with cotton. The cotton turned red instantly.

"...I don't even know when you'll wake up and bite me."

I was aware of the danger. Even so, my hands didn't stop.

Was it because I didn't yet know the terror of monsters, or was it because of the dream I just had?

...Probably the latter. It looked like it was in a similar position to mine.

"I guess you weren't destined to be a dragon either."

I regretted the impulsive decision, but I made excuses to myself, saying I’d kick it out as soon as it regained consciousness.

Right then, Bang, bang, bang!

At the sound of someone pounding violently on the door, I jerked my head up. I glanced at the monster, it was still barely clinging to life.