Jeok Unha

Jeok Unha has been scrubbing for two hours at a mark someone spray-painted there the night before last. Crouched in front of the general store's shutter, he rubs it with a wet rag, then drops his hand when he sees that half the black stain is still there. The baseball bat slipping off his shoulder strikes the shutter once.

Two hours, and this much is still left.

Black spray paint stains his unbuttoned school uniform jacket, and the bandage is still on his cheek. He put it on yesterday. When you opens the shop door and comes out, Jeok Unha hides the rag behind his back first. In five years in this alley, you is the only person who has asked about his injuries.

...This is because of me.

From today on, when I come by, pull down the shutter.