Jeong Wonil’s go-to target for unfiltered complaining was an unexpected figure: his cousin, Jeong Soohyun. Soohyun was the only son of his late uncle, the bluest of blue bloods in a fiercely proud clan, and the new master of the mansion in question. Born cold and aloof, Soohyun somehow put up with him anyway—which made Wonil feel that sinking his hooks into him when they were kids had been well worth the effort.

　　Since he’d whined at Soohyun right around his morning commute, complaining, “I’m dying, buy me a drink, let’s drink ourselves to death today”—he was bound to hear back sometime during the week. That meant they’d meet up by the weekend, where Wonil would suggest pork belly and soju. That dull guy would probably fuss over the hygiene and barely touch his food, but watching the picky young master act like a germaphobe was its own special kind of fun.

　　“Time for coffeeee… sweet, old-school coffeeee.”

　　He pushed away from the monitor he’d been staring at until his eyes throbbed and stood up. Wanting to save every second he could, he bypassed the hallway and headed toward the vending machine in the main lobby, only to spot a familiar employee stepping out of an office looking like they were about to cry.

　　“Hey, what’s with the long face?”

　　“Oh, hello. Long time no see.”

　　“Don’t cry! Tell me—did someone give you a hard time?”

　　When Wonil put on a fiercely indignant expression, the employee chuckled, pressing a hand to their forehead.

　　“No, it’s just… a clinical trial subject who comes in every quarter suddenly said he can’t make it for about a year. Said he’s going abroad to earn money or something. That’s going to leave a huge gap in our data… What am I supposed to tell the higher-ups?”

　　“Are they allowed to just do that?”

　　“Technically, yes. You never know what life brings, so a deferral for a year or two is permitted. But this person was always so reliable, I never saw this coming.”

　　“Is it a rare case?”

　　“That, and it’s our longest-running case. It actually started back during his father’s time.”

　　“I feel like I’ve handled that case before, too. What was the subject’s name…?”

　　“Lee Inwoo.”

　　“It rings a vague bell. Let’s rack our brains over a cup of coffee.”

　　Wonil turned around, and the employee followed him. Outside the window, a broad blanket of mackerel clouds stretched across the autumn morning sky.

* * *

　　“You’re quitting? When?”

　　“Um… early next year.”

　　‘With pregnant men, the belly starts showing later and stays smaller. Once the new year turns, though, it’ll slowly become noticeable.’

　　Inwoo answered, recalling the doctor’s words. The owner’s expression immediately turned dumbfounded, while the kitchen aunts, who had found out a bit earlier, chimed in casually from the side.

　　“Ah, right, you said Inwoo was saving up to study.”

　　“Must’ve saved up quite a bit by now.”

　　The owner turned to him. “To study? Really?”

　　“…Yes.”

　　He was planning on studying eventually, but… Inwoo clenched his hands nervously.

　　“Early next year means there’s only a month and a half left.”

　　“That makes it a full two years, then.”

　　“He’s worked here long enough.”

　　Thanks to the aunts smoothing things over, the owner gradually accepted the news. After all, there was no stopping someone who had made up their mind to leave.

　　“Well, sure… You’re young, so you can’t work here forever.”

　　“If he stays until early next year, he’ll be sticking around through the craziest period—end-of-semester parties and year-end bashes.”

　　Inwoo had secretly been worried about that very rush. Though he had a strong constitution, everyone said he had to be careful during early pregnancy. Fortunately, the restaurant hired a couple of temporary part-timers for the holidays anyway. Regardless, out of loyalty to the place that had taken care of him for so long, he wanted to give them time to hire a replacement. He also needed time to find a new place to live, since he couldn’t stay in the studio apartment provided on the condition of his long-term employment at the restaurant.

　　“I won’t cut corners. I’ll work hard right up to my last day.”

　　“You, cut corners? Please… Forget it. I’m sorry to see you go, but what can I say if you want to study? I appreciate you letting me know in advance.”

　　“Thank you, boss. Especially after you bought me those vitamins not that long ago…”

　　“What’s there to thank me for? They didn’t cost much… Come on, back to work.”

　　As the owner turned away and Inwoo let out a quiet sigh of relief, one of the aunts whispered, “That man really doesn’t know how to say a nice word, does he?”

　　Inwoo merely offered a soft smile. The owner had always been intimidating, so he was relieved that the aunts had helped wrap things up smoothly. Lying left a sour taste in his mouth, and the thought of leaving his familiar surroundings filled him with a mild angst, but… as long as Baby Gureum in his belly hung in there through this chaotic period until early next year, everything else would work out.

* * *

　　“I’m deeply hurt, Jeong Soohyun. Is this really all I mean to you? I’ve been begging and pleading to meet up since last month, so how on earth are we only seeing each other now that the year’s turned?”

　　“You were the one whining about being swamped at the end of the year. Fasten your seatbelt.”

　　His ears were ringing. He had come all the way to the research center to pick him up in person because the guy wouldn’t stop whining, but now Soohyun regretted it. Tuning out his cousin’s relentless complaints about needing to leave this godforsaken place as soon as possible, Jeong Soohyun drove at a leisurely pace. Wonil had been at it for half a year now—when was he ever going to adapt?

　　Self-praise sounded silly, but when Soohyun had joined as an intern early last year, he was already being praised for his efficiency before his first season was even up. That had been true in graduate school, during his undergrad years, and even back when he wore a high school uniform. Why make such a scene when all you had to do was take ownership of your work and do it in silence?

　　“Where do you want to go?”

　　As if reading his judgmental thoughts, his mischievous cousin picked the place least suited to him.

　　“Pork belly and soju! Take me to Songwon-jib near the college strip.”

　　“…Pork belly and soju.”

　　And a college town, no less. He couldn’t remember the restaurant’s name, but…

　　“Yeah, that place we went to last year. It was way below your hygiene standards, but didn’t you actually eat more than usual?”

　　It wasn’t as though he had forgotten it entirely. The location of the restaurant, the tight parking spot, the tacky sign, the questionable cleanliness, the worn furniture—and despite all that, the surprisingly decent food. And that man. The one in the red apron, rushing back and forth… In his hazy memory, a man trapped beneath him, body flushed and whimpering through the night.

　　He wondered why the memory had resurfaced only now, seasons later.

　　Then, a sudden, inexplicable sense of indignity flared up inside him.

　　To figure out if he had actually developed a personal preference, if he was hitting some delayed, terrible second puberty, or by what criteria and to what extent he could tolerate another person’s body… meeting that man again didn’t seem like a bad idea.

　　“Sure.”

　　It wasn’t a bad idea at all. Meeting him again to see what it was about him that had expanded Soohyun’s threshold of tolerance to its absolute limit, breaking right through it.

　　Was he still working there? Would he welcome him with a smile again? …Had he been doing well? Jeong Soohyun let out a dry chuckle at questions that felt as alien to him as a foreign tongue.

　　Beside him, his talkative cousin babbled endlessly, streetlights casting flickering glows onto the bleak midwinter road. With practiced ease, Soohyun drove the short distance from the hospital grounds to the campus strip. He found himself wondering if that man—who had said it was his first time doing anything like that—was doing well.

　　And the man was not there.

* * *

　　“Yes, nine in the morning tomorrow. I put the clothes and bedding in heavy-duty plastic bags, and everything else is packed in boxes. Right. Nothing extra from what I mentioned before. Yes, sir. See you tomorrow morning then.”

　　Finishing the call with the driver he had hired for his small move, Inwoo looked around the room once more. If he failed to disclose any extra items ahead of time, he could be slapped with an additional fee tomorrow. None of the included furniture was damaged, and except for the big mattress, everything was boxed up.

　　Having so few possessions made the process simple. Now he just had to take out that box of odds and ends along with the trash bags, and he’d be set. Tomorrow morning, he would leave this place behind.

　　Yesterday, right after the first weekend of January, he had worked his final shift. His last paycheck had hit his account, and they had even given him a farewell lunch today. And then there were the messages:

　　‘Inwoo, you worked so hard. Study hard!’

　　‘If you ever have good news, make sure to let us know.’

　　‘Since you’re studying anyway, get into this university so you can come eat here next year!’

　　The kitchen aunts had pooled their money to give him a generous envelope containing $100. As they pressed it into his hand with warm, encouraging words, Inwoo barely managed to swallow the lump in his throat and suppress the sting behind his eyes. He resolved to use that money to buy baby clothes.

　　“Hey… you did a great job today.”

　　Just thinking of a baby nickname still made his face burn with embarrassment. Still, since he found himself talking to his stomach often, he addressed it with whatever popped into his head—mostly “Hey,” “Baby,” “Little Buddy,” “Doongdoongie,” “Baby Friend,” or “Baby Gureum.”

　　Reaching this day without incident was all thanks to sweet Baby Gureum. Just enduring the hectic year-end rush without any trouble was something to be immensely proud of. Inwoo had already disclosed the nature of his work to his doctor and taken all the necessary precautions. Caught between the pressure not to slack off while earning a wage and his duty to protect his unborn child, he had often felt anxious and precarious, but he was relieved that it was all behind him now.

　　He had found a new place in Gyeonggi-do. It was a ground-floor unit in an older studio building, where the deposit was significantly lower than in Seoul and a single bus line went straight to the OB-GYN clinic. Over two years at the barbecue restaurant, Inwoo had saved around twenty-seven thousand dollars.

　　The deposit for the new place was five thousand dollars, with monthly rent at four hundred dollars including building fees and utilities. It was a great, budget-friendly deal. He couldn’t yet gauge how much he’d need for regular checkups and baby supplies, but for now, his plan was simple: lie low, economize, and endure until he safely held his baby.

　　Shaking off his thoughts, he stood up. Gathering the trash bag and box resting by the door, he stepped outside. As the load in his arms brushed against his stomach, he felt a strange, delicate sensation—uncomfortable and alien.

　　To think his belly would soon start growing in earnest… He still couldn’t fathom it. It scared him a little.

　　Across the two-lane road in front of his apartment building, he could see the restaurant. Tonight, as always, it was brightly lit and teeming with customers. The new part-timer who had worked alongside him this past week was polite and hard-working; he was probably rushing around in a frenzy right now. The owner, the aunts, the part-timers who came and went on weekdays and weekends, the delivery drivers… a web of modest human connections gathered in that place. He had earned his living there, sharing small moments with them while enduring a life without a father.

　　And there, he had met that man.

　　‘Is there a convenience store nearby? I’m thirsty.’

　　A smooth, brazen, beautiful man. Who had traversed a night Inwoo could barely remember to leave you resting inside him…

　　That man had never come back.

　　He would likely never know that Baby Gureum even existed. And you, little one, will grow up without a father—or rather, with a mother posing as a father as your entire family. But it will be fine. Even without the man in that burned photograph, Inwoo himself had grown up wrapped in pure love.

　　“Goodbye.”

　　Gently caressing his still-flat belly, Inwoo turned his back on the scene. A night when he cast aside everything that defined him to surrender his body to a fleeting burst of desire… he, too, had known such a night. He would live on pretending it never happened, only retrieving the memory far down the road.

　　When the day comes when remembering that night no longer leaves him feeling lonely.

* * *

　　After babbling on for a long time, the guy suddenly paused.

　　“Come to think of it, he’s not here.”

　　Without waiting for a response, Wonil carried on.

　　“You know, that student who served us back then. The pretty guy… the one who brought us that whole mound of garlic on a side plate.”

　　To think he looked pretty even to a guy like Wonil… Jeong Soohyun took a sip of soju.

　　“What about him?”

　　“Just came to mind suddenly. Hey, you’re drinking pretty fast today, aren’t you? Work life tasting bitter to you too, huh?”

　　Clinking his glass against Soohyun’s without permission, Wonil quickly rambled on to another topic. The future of rare traits, bringing the issue into the public eye; none of that was Soohyun’s concern. Nor was how that man was doing.

　　“Isn’t it fascinating? An O-trait male who barely emits pheromones or shows signs of fertility having a child through a same-sex union. Sounds weird, right? But there’s something genuinely amazing and touching about this world… How they do their absolute best to preserve and pass down life despite being so disadvantaged. And how a rational human comes to accept that realm of instinct as it is.”

　　Surely the man was doing fine—Soohyun could just leave it at that and move on.

　　‘Then would you like me to get you a glass of water from my place? My home is…’

　　Amidst the clamor of the restaurant, Soohyun’s eyes occasionally drifted toward the window.

　　Is he doing well?

　　That question went unanswered until late into the night, when they finally walked out as the restaurant’s last customers.