LESSON ONE. YOU ARE ONLY AS STRONG AS THE WEAKEST POINT YOU MAKE KNOWN.
everywhere he treads is a golden road. it is only so because mother had made it so, because mother had first melted gold ingots in the blaze of a furnace, heaved this cauldron from the fire to tip over cement, and scalded her fucking hands. and mother had made it so in anticipation for the day he trips, for pure gold is softer than concrete and so she deems it suitable to pillow his fall, yet strong enough that he feels its consequence. jaehyun obsesses over the growing red of his virgin palms, winces at the minor throbbing of his swelling knees, and mother hands him a palm to hold. on the pale of her skin, the evidence of welts from a time he lay as a pomegranate seed in her womb.
such is the extent of a mother’s love.
and so this is how our golden boy grows, hand clasped tightly in hers as little feet mimic the steps she takes, like footprints embedded in snow. he perfects her gait through trial and error, and every word that spills from her lips is carried by the cold draft like the snowflakes he lets melt on his tongue. it is in this way that he learns her stride, chin tipped confidently upwards just as mother does it.
the thing about imitation is you never get it quite right. there are nuances that you fail to catch, techniques you can never quite echo, and so when mother lets go of his hand, it is only a matter of time before he falls.
it seems you weren’t properly taught by your predecessors, huh?
it’s the disrespect that grates him the most. to question the quality of mother’s teachings is a forgivable sin, for jaehyun understands this as a reflection of the gap between her lessons and his execution. but to imply that he owes this all to the virtue society, an organisation that has done fuck all for him, in place of mother’s careful guidance? in the dark of the night, jaehyun memorises the man’s face, etches the hideous squint of the latter’s eyes into his brain, and he does this all behind a grating nod. as a budding politician, he knows better than to speak, for words have a penchant of inspiring sometimes radical action, such as the manoeuvre of his curling palms around the man’s neck like a noose.
see, park jaehyun is a winner because mother had made him so. park jaehyun is a winner because mother had taught him better.
so he stays the man’s execution, waits patiently for the summer when his father is finally elected president. after all, he hears that cold dishes are popular in the humid heat.
LESSON TWO. VULNERABILITY IS A WEAKNESS. THE ABILITY TO FEIGN VULNERABILITY IS AN ASSET.
confident is the way in which jaehyun saunters into the makeshift exam hall, a friendly smile splayed on his lips despite the anger that glows in his fists. he greets the people he calls friends, though their names dangle just on the tip of his tongue. and this is how he finds his heavy arm hooked around wonjae’s shoulder, the kid who just happens to be the brightest of their cohort.
“you ready for the test?”
in the midst of the chatter, jaehyun shrugs. “yeah… i don’t know,” it is spoken below his breath like a secret, an unfitting pocket of dialogue outside his usual nonchalance. wonjae frowns, but jaehyun is quick to play the role of the comforting friend, a friendly pat on the latter’s back and an assuaging smile on his lips.
LESSON THREE. DO NOT BE SO QUICK TO SHY AWAY FROM PITY. IT IS WHAT GIVES UNDERDOGS THEIR STRENGTH.
park jaehyun doesn’t linger. everything he does is with purpose, from the way he smiles, the way he talks, the way he tilts his head into a perplexed frown. so there is something to be said about the way in which he passes his time staring at his exam sheet in what appears to be deliberation, fingers pulling at his usually kempt hair when the agreement was to turn in a blank sheet. and there’s this repetitive sequence where he scribbles, hovers pen over paper, crosses out. soon, the invigilators tell him that time’s up, and jaehyun submits his sheet of incoherent jottings.
“you alright, man?” he hears wonjae before he sees him, and jaehyun is quick to mask his sigh of relief as one of defeat. see, there is something to be said about the way in which he stays in the exam hall despite the obvious option to leave and the truth is, very simply, that our golden boy was putting on a show for an audience of one kim wonjae. because jaehyun understands his weakness in academia as the latter’s strength, and there is nothing like the allure of collusion to make up for the marks he’s lost from this exam.
“yeah, it’s just been really hard. i haven’t been in the best frame of mind…” he initiates the rising action of his charade, head dipped uncharacteristically down where mother had always stressed the importance of tilting his chin up, “i’ve been swamped with meetings cause of my student presidency and just—” he trails off as he rounds the climax, “—things at home…”
“oh…”
and he can’t deny that it helps, this golden path, this silver spoon. for in the field of politics, the president is king, so he supposes that makes him the prospective heir to the throne. it might not mean so much in a democracy, but to a man like wonjae, a proud member of the dean’s list in skku’s political science, it means enough.
“well hey, if you ever need any help with tutoring or assignments, you know how to reach me.”
of course. on his face, a winning smile.
“appreciate it, bro,” he raises his fist for the bump, “you’re a real one.”
