What's left of you | Minsung ✔️

8. The Lost Race

*2472 words 

8.

The whole way up, beginning from the entrance and up to the second floor, the stench of stale smoke hung thick in the air, triggering the memory of when Jisung had first set foot on the train. Thinking back on it a little more, everything that happened since then seemed so unreal. Back home he could go days, even weeks, without anything happening. Now his life felt like a movie, and he was the protagonist. Scene after scene, building up to something that Jisung could not escape.

Contrary to last time, Jisung was now – believe it or not – five minutes early. Light fell from the windows, illuminating the sterile looking space. As he walked down the hallway, the smell of flavored smoke grew stronger. Jisung stood in front of the white door and raised his hand, ready to knock, when he heard voices from inside the office. He pressed an ear against the door. Two voices, clearly arguing, but unintelligible.

Loud, approaching footsteps. Out of reflex, Jisung leapt backwards, and the door swung open forcefully. Jisung stood there, glued to the spot, watching as a man left the office. When he spotted Jisung, he looked him up and down. For a second too long, his eyes lingered on Jisung's neck and a look of disgust twisted his face – which made Jisung so uncomfortable, he wished he could vanish into thin air. With a shake of his head and a scoff, the man walked away.

The stench of menthol cigarettes that was blowing out from the office scratched in Jisung's lungs and burned in his eyes, it was suffocating. As if someone was smoking in there all night long without ever opening the window. It was awful. Tears welled up in Jisung's eyes, he grabbed the collar of his shirt and lifted it all the way over his nose. He tried not to cough as he knocked on the door.

A woman sat at the desk, face buried in her hands, looking up when she heard knocking. The scowl on her face eased up a bit when she recognized Jisung. "Oh, you're already here, let me just..."

She never finished the sentence but at least she opened the window. A sudden gust of wind stirred up loose sheets of paper, twirling around like startled pigeons. Jisung let go of his shirt. Now the air smelled a lot fresher. Breathing freely was such a privilege.

"Thank you for seeing me." Jisung tried lifting the heavy atmosphere by demonstrating humility, hoping it worked.

The supervisor in front of him was none other than the train-woman. She seemed uncomfortable in her tight suit, the waistband of her pants cut into her belly, there were dark circles under her armpits. If only Jisung could remember her name.

"My colleague, Choi Yu-Seung, will be unavailable for the time being. She asked me to communicate some information to you." The chair squeaked under her weight as she sat back down. Her hands trembled sightly when she started hammering on the keyboard. "Right... Regarding your grandmother... There's a note saying that 'yes, his attendance is backed up by law, but considering that after three weeks, twenty-five percent less debt is ridiculous, better make it fifty percent. Don't tell him that-'"

Jisung immediately perked up. "Don't tell me what?"

"Uh, that's just an internal message."

Annoyance began to bubble in his chest. "Do I look stupid to you?" Jisung rounded the desk and stood beside her, catching a glimpse of the screen, but the supervisor hit two keys and the screen went black.

"Reach over and I'll have you detained," she warned.

"I am entitled to know information about myself. Who or what gives you the right to deny me that?"

"This."

She reached into her button-up shirt and pulled out a lanyard. Her ID-card dangled from a snap hook and right in front of Jisung's face. A finger tapped on the government's golden bird. Her name was displayed in bold letters. Pyong Su-. Jisung didn't catch the rest before she withdrew her ID again.