Behind Our Masks

Chapter 1: What If

  "Ugh. This damned humidity..." I grumbled as I trudged down the pot hole- ridden sidewalk of my city's outermost reaches. For all the fame and admiration this place had garnered, the boonies of Seoul were among the worst in Korea... Or maybe I was just biased as someone cursed to live out their existence there.

  Like most days, I lost myself in the steady rhythm of my feet against the pavement and hardly noticed the transition from the shithole I called home to the part of seoul that everyone chose to see. People like me, people with nothing, who had come from nothing, people who were nothing... we were invisible. Our lives were inconsequential, just like bricks in walls and stepping stones in stairs; each of us were just broken cogs in a system that had left us to rot while we hoisted the weight of the city and its people on our backs with no recognition or reward.
  That weight would kill me someday, I just knew it. But until that day, what choice did I have but to keep on living?

  I hated this handicap of being so damnably human; no matter how bleak life became, no matter how low I was beaten down, no matter how much smarter it would be to cut my losses and just die... I would always be forced to persevere. Why? Because of these two stupid words: 'What If.'

"You're damn lucky today, pal. I won't forget your face!"
"Don't be like that in public..."

  I don't know what made me look up that day. Very rarely had I ever found a good reason to do so; it had been awhile since I'd deigned to straighten my back, lift my head, or set my sights on anything other than my own two feet. But for some reason, in that moment, I did all three, if only just slightly enough to see whatever had inexplicably caught my interest... only to discover something that wasn't interesting in the least.

  A discreet glance into the reflection of a nearby store window revealed a decidedly unfortunate looking boy standing three yards to my right. Chubby. Sweaty. Shy and cowed. Short; Couldn't have been more than five foot two. The first thought I had was that he wouldn't last a day on the streets. Too soft, I thought. Too weak. He might not last very long even with a roof over his head. The second thing to cross my mind was a twinge of envy for his privilege, for the fact that he could even afford to be weak.

  I was about to go back to my own business when he started running, really running too, like he was chasing after a train. The exaggerated determination on his face coupled with the ensuing waddling effect as he fled at a fast-walking pace was slapstick gold, the type of set-up you might see in a romcom or daytime comedy. I hesitated before making a split second decision to silently follow, easily keeping up with him at not much more than my usual casual pace. After about a minute, he stopped and-

"Hey!"

Hm. Not exactly the voice I would have expected to come out of that body type.

"Found ya! Let's try and clear up this misunderstanding, shall we?" He exclaimed with a nervous chuckle and two voice cracks.

He was addressing two teens that looked like a couple; the chubby boy's deficit in the height department was painfully apparent in the stark contrast between him and the other male, who was at least a foot taller than him. I assumed from the surprise and confusion on their faces that they had absolutely no idea who this boy was.

"How about the three of us have coffee?"

...Was this kid daft? He seemed nice enough, but they were obviously already on a date. Good intentions aside, he wasn't exactly making a good first impression on his prospective friends.
Alarm bells went off in my head when the taller boy smirked and began to casually slink closer. He wasn't doing anything overly threatening yet, but I knew a trouble maker when I saw one; this man was itching for an excuse to fight.