< Episode 0 >

I had a terrible habit of not being able to control my anger ever since I was young.

Fuck, adults said it was a bad habit, so it must have been a bad habit.

Honestly, I was a bad kid with such a bad habit.

I guess I really was a bad kid, considering I once punched my dad’s chin when he teased me that Santa wouldn’t bring me presents on Christmas.

At just eight years old, I was made to skip dinner as punishment for impudently punching my father. Instead of a reflection paper, I had to copy passages from the Bible.

My mother was devoutly Christian, so whenever I lost control of my temper, she forced me to sit at my desk and copy the Bible. They called it a Bible-style punishment.

While I copied the Bible, muttering the curses I’d picked up from weekend morning dramas, my mom would quietly open the door, set down a warm glass of milk beside me, and say:

- This is all because Jesus loves you. Do you understand your mother’s heart?

Every time she said that, my anger would flare, and I couldn’t hold it back.

Where is Jesus!!!! Santa Claus is the best!!!!!!

Of course, each time I said that, the amount of Bible passages I had to copy doubled. Eventually, I remember having to write out eight times the original amount.

Because of this, calluses started to form on the joints of my fingers when I was still in elementary school.

So, has my bad habit of losing my temper disappeared? Well, since I got scolded and had my dinner withheld almost every day, I guess it must have improved.

Teacher! I don’t want to be partners with Siwoo!

I hate you too, you fucking bitch!!!!!!

Eeeeeeeek!

Siwoo, you! Where did you learn such bad words?!

The teacher—looking like a steamed bun puffed up with thick fat—called me a “goroshi” (a derogatory term) during seat-changing time, so I just fired back.

In a truly outrageous move, the teacher dragged me to the front of the class in front of everyone and humiliated me. She actually pulled down my pants and whipped my thighs with a switch.

Now, for a moment, you might be wondering how such absurd corporal punishment could happen in Korea, a country that supposedly values education and children's rights.

To be blunt, the homeroom teacher was another devout Christian who attended the same church as my mother. As soon as I was assigned to her class, my mother personally gave her the “freedom” to administer corporal punishment.

So, I was the only one at this school whose parents had no problem with corporal punishment.

Human Han Siwoo, at the tender age of eight, tasted the bitterness of the world and returned to his seat, enduring the ridicule and finger-pointing of his classmates.

And as I faced the woman who had swiftly wiped away her crocodile tears, stuck out her tongue at me, and whispered, “Serves you right,” I couldn’t hold back my anger any longer and threw a punch.

And so, on my first day of elementary school, I was called to the principal’s office for breaking one of the teacher’s teeth (a term I learned from a morning drama) in my seat.

As expected, Debaraj’s parents stormed into the office, raising their voices at me, while my parents repeatedly bowed in apology.

In that suffocating space where no one took my side and everyone screamed at me to apologize, I naturally fell into my bad habit.

What the fuck did I do wrong!!!!!!

Unable to control my anger, I let out a loud scream and ran away. In an instant, I became an escape ninja, slipping through the hole under the school fence, darting through dangerously fast vehicles, and sprinting through the bustling downtown.

Soon, I found myself sitting in the old playground of a soon-to-be-demolished apartment complex, madly digging into the sand.

The reason I was digging? It wasn’t anything special. I just needed something to hold onto and throw a punch at. My hands were too weak, and sitting still was unbearable, so I started digging into the sand like a madman.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!

My face seemed about to swell and burst at any moment, but I may have been buried in the sand for a long time.

By the time I felt the damp, firm earth beneath the soft sand, I stopped my dirtied hands.

I’m hungry. When I get home, I’ll probably have to skip dinner again and write more lines, right? This time, it’s definitely a 500-fold certainty.

Then, why not just not go home? I’m fucking brilliant!

Oh~ Lord Jesus~ Love overflows~

After watching weekend morning dramas because of my mom, I inevitably found myself singing the hymns that stuck to my lips.

More beautiful than the fragrant flower of love is Jesus~

Every day, Jesus who doesn’t give us dinner~

Every day, Lord Jesus, you make me write~

Every day, Jesus, you keep saying I’m the bad kid~

Santa Claus was indeed the best. Even though I grew up being called a “bad kid,” he still faithfully left presents by my bedside every year.

When I went to my in-laws’ house and got into a dispute over ownership of my toy robot with my cousin, the venerable judge (my grandfather) was always on my cousin’s side.

The toy robot I lost during last year’s holiday season was particularly meaningful—it was a gift from Santa Claus himself on my fifth Christmas.

So, I couldn’t control my bad habit and knocked over my grandfather’s bowl of rice cake soup. It was also the reason my grandfather, who had been burned by the hot soup, had his scars multiplied by eight.

Still, I was confident. Just like now.

Jesus Heaven, Unbelief Hell~ Jesus is the best~ Powerful Jesus can beat 3,500~

Although Jesus had never really been of any help in my life, I only knew hymns that blindly praised him.

While the other kids were singing “Baby Shark, doo doo doo doo doo doo~,” I was singing hymns all day long.

My mom also had a big reason for making me sing hymns only—she wanted me to join the church children’s choir.

Still, hunger was unbearable. The chilly spring air grew colder as the sky darkened.

If I don’t go home, I won’t get scolded, and I won’t have to write more lines, but then I won’t be able to sneak into the fridge at night for food.

You have to go home if you want to sneak into the fridge at night to eat!

I’ll really let you off just this once!

I shook my hands and stood up, retracing my steps back the way I had come.

I was smart enough to memorize the lines from a morning drama, so I didn’t forget the way I came and found it well. Now, I can even write without looking at the Bible.

What I saw when I returned home was an empty house.

The warmth of the kitchen where Mom was supposed to be bustling with dinner preparations, the angry voices of my parents yelling at each other about how they raised me, and the delicious smell of rice I couldn’t eat but could sneak from the fridge at night.

Instead, the dark, stuffy interior, filled only with the cold embrace of air, greeted me.

Maybe my parents were looking for me right now. Or they probably planned to skip my dinner anyway, so they were eating out somewhere.

Thinking so, I returned to my room as usual and wrote a Bible verse. I had to write it in advance to get less scolded later.

And my parents—after a day passed, then two—never returned home until I graduated from school, wandering from one relative’s house to another.