Chapter 15
After the appetizer, we ate the fully grilled snake. It was definitely more edible than grilled frog.
The fact that there were more parts you could actually eat also added to the satisfaction.
Aegittongpul didn’t seem too repulsed even after seeing the meat fully cooked. He accepted the pieces I tore off for him little by little, eating like a baby bird.
When the meal was over, the two of them each tried to go rest on their makeshift beds.
Naturally, I grabbed them both by the scruff of their necks and headed into the forest.
You’ve eaten, so now you work, you freeloaders.
“Babarian, you go get bamboo. Aegittongpul, you… yeah, cut some vines.”
I was going to tell him to gather palm leaves, but I stopped. If he cut his hand again like last time and started whining, it would be annoying.
Despite my careful division of labor, he still looked unhappy with his newly assigned task.
But when he saw my tiger-like face standing right behind him, he couldn’t say a word and just moved.
Meanwhile, Babarian, trudging toward the bamboo grove, stopped and turned back to ask me,
“But how are you going to build the house? Are you done with the plan?”
In other words: You’re not making us work without even having a design, right?
At the audacity of his question, the corner of my mouth twitched. I put down the palm leaves and answered,
“Actually, I’ve finished the plan, but I’m worried because I still need about 206 branches for the frame.”
“Two hundred and six? Where are you going to get that many?”
He stared at me with wide eyes. I sighed, since that was exactly what was giving me a headache too.
“That’s what I’m saying. But hey, do you know this?”
“What?”
“They say the human body has exactly 206 bones.”
He blinked.
He opened his mouth, probably to ask what that had to do with anything.
But no words came out.
As he followed the direction of my lingering gaze, he realized the destination was… himself.
Babarian flinched and stepped back. I smiled as warmly as I could.
“If you’re not going to donate your 206 bones to help build the house frame, then quietly go fetch bamboo.”
In truth, about thirty branches would’ve been enough. I was just talking nonsense to tease the guy who was now running off with his tail between his legs.
In simple geometric terms, the house would be rectangular. First, I’d drive pillars into both long sides—short pillars on one side, taller pillars on the other.
The goal was to make a slanted roof so rain wouldn’t pool and would just run off.
Once the frame was up, I’d fill in the walls with small branches and palm leaves, then cover the roof.
That would be it.
Everyone got to work.
Babarian and I were gathering large materials, so we had to go back and forth to the beach dozens of times, which took a long time.
Meanwhile, all Aegittongpul had to do was cut vines and roll them up—but while I made twenty trips, he had gathered barely ten vines.
I got curious about what on earth he was doing to produce such pathetic results, so I stood there quietly and watched him.
And then—what the hell.
He would snap off a vine, then use his tiny fern-like hands to pluck off every single clustered leaf, one by one.
My blood pressure shot up.
What was I supposed to do with this idiot? He probably thought he was doing a good job, so I couldn’t even yell at him.
Babarian, seeing me steaming through my nose, closed his eyes tightly and shook his head.
It meant: Don’t kill him.
I tore a banana leaf nearby into palm-sized pieces and walked over to Aegittongpul.
Afraid that opening my mouth would unleash a stream of curses, I silently started cutting vines beside him.
The banana leaf served as a makeshift glove.
Holding the leaf, I grabbed one end of the vine and dragged my hand straight down to the other end. All the little leaves were swept off at once, leaving a clean stem.
Aegittongpul, unaware of my inner turmoil, went, “Oooh,” his eyes sparkling.
He really looked harmless.
And now that he was finally trying seriously, I couldn’t bring myself to curse at him.
I stuffed my raging fist into my mouth and made a beast-like growl.
Naturally, Aegittongpul frowned at me, wondering what was wrong.
After that, his work speed improved quite a bit. At least he seemed capable of learning, which was a relief.
We ate bamboo shoots we found along the way while working.
Last time, they were so bitter I spat them out, but after hard labor, I realized they were actually edible.
I gave some to Aegittongpul too. He took one bite and immediately spat it out with a “Ptoo!” along with a stream of nonsense.
“There’s definitely poison in this! My tongue feels weird!”
“It’s just bitter, that’s why your tongue stings. Stop making a fuss and eat.”
Still, I couldn’t force him. I had spat it out the first time too.
But despite making such a big scene about not being able to eat it, he ended up chewing through the bamboo shoot I gave him.
Before, no matter how hungry he was, he’d have shouted that he couldn’t eat something like this.
Had he matured in a single day or something?
I patted his shoulder as he chewed with his eyes squeezed shut like a kid.
Our Aegittongpul has become a person now.
We piled all the gathered materials beside the future building site.
When we finally came out of the forest in the late afternoon, we all flopped down in the middle of the beach without even discussing it.
The heat of the blazing sun still lingered in the sand, warming our backs.
Babarian rolled around trying to find cooler sand. In the end, he failed and came back to his spot.
Unlike him, I lay stretched out on the warm sand like someone in a sauna, roasting different parts of my body.
Ahh, nice. Feels like my muscles are loosening up after all that work.
Next to me, Aegittongpul stared up at the sky where clouds puffed up like torn cotton candy.
He looked dazed. A tune slipped from his mouth.
“What song is that?” I asked.
Still looking at the sky, he replied,
“A song fishermen used to sing at the harbor.”
What, a work song?
Wondering if it was something I knew, I told him to sing it properly.
I thought he’d dodge it, but surprisingly, Aegittongpul sang without embarrassment.
A ship that sailed east
Never returned again
Only clothes burned by the sunset came back
And soaked a woman’s face
It wasn’t trot, and it wasn’t a typical pop song either. I’d never heard it before.
But nitpicking the genre didn’t matter—the singing was just too good. Good enough that I wanted to tell him to audition.
I clapped.
“You’re good. You could be a singer.”
He smiled faintly at my praise.
“I want to hear you sing too.”
“Me?”
I rubbed my nose. Guess birds of a feather really do recognize each other.
How did he know I was good at singing?
I wasn’t used to singing without music or a mic, but I accepted gladly.
Since he sang when I asked, it was only right I return the favor.
“Fine! I’ll sing one too.”
I stood up.
I ignored the looks saying, Why are you standing up just to sing? When you sing, you have to use your whole body to express the emotions in the lyrics.
I picked up a stick lying nearby and held it like a microphone. It felt like being at karaoke again after a long time.
“Prepare yourselves, punks.”
I warned them with a hand gesture not to start crying when they heard it.
The audience with zero manners just told me to hurry up and sing.
The song I chose was a really sad one.
A story about introducing your lover to your friend, happily watching the two get along, then after a big fight one day, the lover disappears with the friend—and when they return, your lover is now your friend’s lover. A complete mess of a story turned into music.
It was fast and stormy, so I sang without even breathing.
I saw their jaws drop at the start, but I was so immersed that I ditched all stage manners and screamed the song toward the sea.
It couldn’t be helped. This song was my signature piece.
At the part where the singer loses both love and friendship and cries, I even collapsed and slapped the ground as part of the performance.
For the final shout about not being able to forget the lover, I reinterpreted it as a shout of rage—about never forgetting and taking revenge.
When I opened my eyes, the waves had already reached my ankles, which startled me a little.
Still, it felt great to finally blow off some stress. I turned toward the audience.
“Well?!”
But instead of the emotional atmosphere I expected, their eyes looked… strange.
If they hated my singing, they wouldn’t look so pitiful and sympathetic.
The problem was that those eyes were directed at me.
My curiosity was soon answered. One of them, clapping mechanically at my threat, approached me and asked quietly,
“That song… is it your story?”
What the hell was he talking about? My mood instantly soured, and I glared at Babarian.
No—just as I was about to, I flinched. Aegittongpul was also staring at me with a deadly serious face.
Do they really not know this song? I sang it just to have fun together. I never expected them to take it like this. Annoyed, I was about to brush it off—
Then I changed my mind.
No matter how old the song was, there was no way they didn’t know it. They were probably just acting.
And I liked random skits too.
So I answered with the same tragic expression to play along.
“Yeah. It’s my story.”
The two of them covered their mouths in shock.
“My god… your lover was stolen by your friend?”
“Yeah. So I caught those two and beat them up.”
I stared at the distant sky like I was recalling the moment.
Their immersion deepened.
“Did you kill them?”
“Do you think I spared them?”
“Liar!”
“It’s true. I beat them up and went to prison, got sick of prison food, broke out. Otherwise, how do you think I ended up here?”
Oops. Even as I said it, I realized I’d gone too far.
Thinking the skit was over, I looked at them.
But…
“An… an escapee…”
They stepped back.
Seeing their genuinely shocked faces, I laughed awkwardly.
What? Why are they believing this? I didn’t mean for it to go this far.
I waved my hands urgently.
“Ah, I’m kidding. Why are you like this?”
But they didn’t listen and whispered among themselves.
“See? From the first time I saw him, I knew he wasn’t normal.”
“I said I never escaped from prison!”
“Then you only killed people?”
“Hey! Do I look like someone who’d kill over petty jealousy?!”
“With you, it seems entirely possible.”
The more they talked, the more absurd it got, and I kept laughing at the worst timing.
Because of that, their gaze shifted—from looking at an escapee… to looking at a psychopath.
After trying to convince them for a long time and getting exhausted, I finally gave up and told them to believe whatever they wanted.
Then, those ungrateful bastards—who refused to believe me when I denied it—suddenly accepted my surrender as proof of innocence and finally lowered their guard.
They were really ridiculous idiots.
