For a Hungry Omega

It was a drizzly, gloomy day.

The owner of the shabby old corner store sat behind the checkout counter, scratching his back with a flyswatter while glaring at the growing puddle on the floor. He always told customers to shake the rain off their umbrellas before coming in, but no one ever listened. They just pretended to do it, half-heartedly.

He let out a deep sigh at the thought of mopping up the mess again, but suddenly narrowed his eyes. He stared intently at a man standing in front of the bread display, and then, with a sudden curse under his breath, shot up from his seat. It was just as the man was about to pass by the entrance.

“You little shit, trying to steal from me?”

“Aagh!”

The man cried out as the store owner grabbed him by the nape of the neck. Upon closer inspection, the pale-white face looked more like a boy’s than a grown man’s. He seemed about high school age.

The owner, eyeing the suspiciously handsome face for a petty thief, smacked the boy’s forehead hard with his thick palm as the kid tried to make a run for it.

“Agh!”

His scream echoed through the store, drawing the attention of the kids gathered around the snack shelves and a couple browsing for side dishes nearby.

“Hands off it.”

Clutching the boy’s scrawny neck as if it might snap at any second, the owner slapped the back wall with the flyswatter in warning. Two flies mid-mating were flattened on the red mesh with a sickening squish.

The boy, his thin jacket clinging to him from the rain, squirmed and struggled to escape. From his bulging left pocket came the crinkling sound of plastic—inside was a cream-filled red bean bun.

“What the hell is this, Les Misérables? You don’t have eighteen hundred won?”

Clicking his tongue, the owner sighed again. The kid couldn’t even put up a proper fight. He was so ridiculously skinny—arms and legs like sticks, no strength at all. A guy stealing a bun that cost less than two thousand won…

On top of that, his soaked clothes were dripping water all over the floor. Shouldn’t have let him into the store in the first place. Scowling at the pathetic little thief, the owner smacked his hand with the flyswatter, taking his frustration out on him.

“Put it down, punk! I said put it down!”

Even as the flyswatter came down on him, the boy refused to let go of the stolen bun. If anything, he clutched it even tighter, squeezing it until it was crushed, determined not to let it be taken from him.

“Must be a beggar.”

One of the watching customers snickered as they whispered to someone beside them.

That mocking laugh made the boy, who had been frantically struggling to free himself, suddenly go still.

He stared blankly at his reflection in the old glass door. His eyes were unfocused—it was hard to tell whether he was seeing the door at all or just watching the sheets of rain pounding outside.

“What, you little shit!”

Without warning, the boy pulled out the bun and started stuffing it into his mouth.

He didn’t look sane. The snickering voices now said he looked crazy, mocking him again. But that only made him shove the bun into his mouth faster.

“Hey! I said stop that!”

The store owner shouted furiously at the boy’s outrageous behavior, swinging the flyswatter toward him.

The boy, chewing the bread through the plastic wrapper, clenched his eyes shut as the red flyswatter came flying at his face.

“Agh…!”

But the groan didn’t come from the boy—it came from the owner.

With a soft thud, the red plastic flyswatter fell to the floor, never reaching the boy’s face.

“Excuse me.”

A low, composed voice filled the cramped store.

A man had appeared, gripping the owner’s wrist with a firm hand. An intimidating aura radiated from him, instantly silencing the entire store.

The commotion died in an instant.

The man, towering at close to two meters, was dressed in a black suit. Just one look at him was enough to make the owner shrink back, while the rest of the customers grew even more intrigued.

But more than the clearly expensive suit, what really drew everyone’s attention was the man’s face.

Even the kids who had been watching with giggles fell silent, entranced.

Rustle.

The silence was broken by the boy.

Still chewing on the bread—wrapper and all—like a mouthguard, his jaw moved slowly as if he were trying to chew it down.

“Haon.”

The man, now the center of everyone’s attention, called out to him.

“Haon-ah.”

His voice was unexpectedly gentle.

“That’s not something you should be eating.”

Haon ignored him, continuing to bite into the plastic wrapper until it finally tore.

Watching quietly, the man let go of the stunned store owner’s wrist and pulled out his wallet.

At the sight of the pristine white check he casually drew out, the anger that had been bubbling up in the owner instantly melted away.

“Everything they’re holding too,” the man said, gesturing toward the customers with a flick of his chin. He handed the check to the owner and asked,

“Is it enough?”

“Ah—yes, more than enough.”

There weren’t that many customers, and even if you totaled up everything they were holding, it wouldn’t come to more than thirty thousand won.

One sharp-eyed middle schooler—one of the kids who’d laughed and called Haon a beggar—tried to sneak a pricey snack into his pile.

“Except that bastard’s.”

The man jabbed a thick finger at the kid. Caught, the boy awkwardly returned the snack to the shelf, while his friends gleefully grabbed one more item each before heading out.

The couple who had been reaching for some beef jerky were blocked by the store owner and ended up leaving with only snacks.

“Ah. Open.”

The man tapped the tip of Haon’s chin with his fingertip. It was a signal to open his mouth.

But Haon, dazed and glassy-eyed, kept chewing.

Through the torn plastic, bits of golden crust and sweet red bean filling peeked out, teasing the senses.

He wanted more. So much more. Until the gnawing hunger inside him was finally, desperately sated.

“Why are you eating something filthy?”

The man pried open Haon’s saliva-covered lips and pulled the chewed-up, soggy bun from his mouth.

Then, he leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to the corner of Haon’s tear-streaked eye.

He whispered,

“When something better is right in front of you.”

How heartbreaking.

The moment those soft lips touched him, Haon closed his eyes and never heard the man’s final words.

Nor did he see the expression of genuine sorrow that crossed the man’s face.

He lost consciousness just like that.

Whispering the same pitiful words he had said the very first time they met:

“I’m hungry…”