The night was silent, except for the sound of light rain beating against the window. Jin Taewon was only seven years old when he heard those words from his mother's mouth. Sitting on the worn sofa in the living room, he stared at his small, fragile hands, while the woman in front of him knelt down and held his shoulders.
"Promise me, Taewon... never fight, never hurt anyone. No matter what they do to you. Never raise your hands against anyone."
Her voice was shaking, her moist eyes reflecting a fear that he, at the time, couldn't understand. But he knew it was important. He knew his mother needed him to say those words. And he did.
— I promise, mom.
She hugged him tightly, as if trying to protect him from something invisible, something that hung over them both like an ancient shadow. Taewon never understood, but he never questioned it either.
Years passed, and that moment was etched in his memory like a scar that never healed. But there was a question that, over time, began to grow inside him. One that always came up on silent nights or in moments of solitude.
One afternoon, when he was thirteen, while they were having dinner at the small table in their apartment in Busan, he decided to ask.
— Mom… who was my father?
The silence was immediate. Her spoon stopped in its tracks. Her eyes avoided his. And then, as she always did, she changed the subject, talking about the weather, school, anything. Anything but that man. Jin Taewon realized then that there was something wrong, something dark in that story. But out of respect — or fear of breaking his promise — he let it go.
Time passed. When high school arrived, Taewon's life became a living hell. He was the perfect target. He never fought back, never answered back, always with his head down. The bullies realized this quickly. And when they did, they made sure to destroy every bit of his dignity.
Punches in the hallway, shoves in the playground, dirty words in his ear. He endured it. Every bruise, every pain, every humiliation... all carried alone, because of the promise made years ago. Taewon would come home with a bruised face, torn clothes and dried blood on the corners of his mouth. But when his mother saw him, she would only say:
"Are you okay?"
And he would answer with the same lie as always.
"I am, mom. It was nothing."
But inside him, something was starting to move. A chained beast that roared with every blow, with every dirty word he heard. He fought to maintain control, because he knew the fear his mother carried. And for her sake, he held on. But for how long?
That night, as the smell of rice and fried vegetables filled the small apartment, the woman stared absently at the pot, stirring the rice without really paying attention. Her mind wandered, tormented by the same questions.
"If my son... if Taewon starts fighting... what should I do? If he's like his father... if he has the same strength, the same wild nature... how will I stop him?"
Fear tightened her chest, suffocating her. And the only thing she could do... was pretend that everyth
ing was fine.
To be continued...