A Father's Sons, A Father's Sins: Dong Hwan
Dusk – the hour of long shadows.
The ground is still wet from the rain, drenched with a day's worth of heaven's tears. And a solitary figure strides through the graveyard, his energetic movements a stark contrast to the lifelessness of the place.
He looks around, surveying the countless headstones that litter the grounds, and makes his way to the one he seeks. And as he bends low, he catches sight of a flash of white on grey; an envelope has been placed beneath the angel on the stone, untouched by the rain.
His face remains placid, frozen into his ever-present smirk. So, his brother was here before him. Well and good: he was always the dutiful one. And as the newcomer reaches into his pocket, he hesitates. He rises from his bent position, looking around for any others who would intrude, his brown eyes darting from left to right in shifty suspicion. But the grounds are silent. All is still in the graveyard, and none are present to disturb his father's peace.
And he lets the shield slip, his face contorting itself into a grimace of pain. He has withheld his emotions for an entire year, hiding his regrets and sorrow behind a clown's mask. And he releases it now in a cry of anger, a plea of forgiveness to the one whom he has wronged.
There will be no answer: The dead do not speak.
There is nothing left for him but to place his own envelope beside his brother's, under the angel. And he wears the mask once more, and departs.
Hey, Dad. What's it like up in Heaven? I'm sure they save seats for the righteous over there, don't they? And you deserve it.
Me? I'm a bouncer, working at the Illusion Bar. Mr and Mrs Sakazaki found me work there after you died, and for once I'm actually holding a steady job instead of bumming around. You'd be proud… not.
Look, I just wanted to say… I don't know, really. I wanted to get this cleared up earlier, back when you were still around, but I was too damn lazy to do it. I thought you'd be around for a long time. Guess I was wrong. So here goes nothing.
I don't want to end up like you.
Don't get me wrong, Dad: I respect you a lot. Who wouldn't? You were a great father, a devoted husband, a pillar of society and a man of justice. You provided for us and raised us well; you were always looking out for me when I did stupid things – and you know I've done loads of stupid things in my time – and you never gave up even when I proved to be more pigheaded and rebellious than Chang and Choi. Even the discipline… Oh, I hated the way you used to pick on my every mistake, how I was always watching over my back lest you should suddenly pop up and nag at me. I still do, as a matter of fact. But without you to constantly drag me back onto the right path, I'd probably have ended up on the streets as a junkie or a gigolo.
I looked up to you, Dad. But there was no way that I was going to become like you.
It's not just a case of people referring to me as "Kaphwan's kid". No, it goes much deeper than that. You had a hand in it, certainly: Mom told us about how I was named for you, and Jae Hoon was named for Uncle Jhun. Jae wasn't even offended, bless his soul, but I've found myself living under your shadow ever since the day of my birth. Everything I've done since then has been compared to what you did.
When I fought, people always commented about how my style was so similar to yours. When I bummed around, your friends would always nag, "Why can't you be more serious, like your father?" And wherever I went, there was always the pressure from within and without, the constant expectation that I would, one day, take your place and succeed you.
So I rebelled. I became an out-and-out slacker and a playboy, losing any desire to carry on the Kim legacy, just to show your friends that I would never let myself conform to their plans. Let Jae carry the torch of justice – he certainly does more than enough for the both of us! (And, truth be told, he does a much better job at it than I.) I devised my own style of taekwondo, trying to break away from your techniques: but I can hardly call it my own style, can I? People still compare it to yours and say, "Wow, interesting interpretation, but it's not as good as Kaphwan's was." And it's true. No matter how hard I try, I'll always be compared to you, and I'll always be found wanting.
If you were looking down on me right now, I'd bet you'd be heartbroken. And you're probably wondering why I'm trying so hard to disgrace you, an irresponsible layabout who does nothing but eat, sleep and chase girls; the black sheep of the family, if you will.
Everyone calls me irresponsible, and I won't deny it. But answer me honestly: which of us is the one who has neglected his duties? The boy who lazes around, flirting and stuffing his face at every opportunity, but in the end still comes back to his family every night? Or the father who fights for justice non-stop, burning himself out for the sake of complete strangers, and leaves a widow and two kids behind? I swore that I would not end up like you: is it worth it, for the good to die young and leave nothing but regrets in their wake?
If only you knew how much heartbreak you've caused our family: more so than even I. Mom's been on the verge of a breakdown several times over; I don't know how much more of this she can take. Jae's been holding up reasonably well, but you know how he takes after you – now that you're gone, his ideals are starting to crumble around him. And without them to support him… I don't know what he'll do.
And me? I've spent the better part of my life wanting to get out from under your shadow, to break out of the mould that everyone wants me to fit into – the mould that you created. All I ever wanted was to live an easy life, to be allowed to grow old with the people I care for.
Now you're gone, and my dreams are but dust.