PART SIXTEEN

Languid footsteps fell on a path scattered with random patches of fallen green leaf's and dirt. The trees rustled in the spring breeze of march.

Rammick kicked an empty can of frozen beans with each step he took and twisted a stray string hanging from his gray trousers.

What will he say this time?

Rammick's heart ached at the thought of his parent's call, which was due to come any day.

Rammick forced a throat full of heavy guilt and pressed down on his remorse filled emotions.

The pace of his steps increased.

Rammick's small place was located in the poorer suburbs of the city. A large building with countless apartments squeezed in. A variety of residents in one single building.

Rammick blocked out the varied sounds reaching his ears and dashed up the stairs to his door.

Releasing a breath, loaded with nervousness, Rammick opened the door and disappeared behind it with precision.

His apartment was on the rear side of the building, which didn't allow much sunlight to enter. All throughout the year, it stayed dark⸻minus the time Rammick lit his bed window with some cheap decoration lights—especially in festive times like Chuseok. [Chuseok is a major harvest festival and a three-day holiday in both north and south korea celebrated on the 15th day of the 8th month of the lunar calendar on the full moon. Like many other harvest festivals around the world, it is held around the autumn equinox i.e. at the very end of summer or in early autumn] Most of the people here celebrated Chuseok and Rammick liked to stare at the beautifully lighted neighborhood from his own decorated window.

Rammick tossed his shoes on a spare cardboard box he picked from a stationary store, to keep his shoes.

His apartment had a whole large room with a long bathroom to the left from the main entrance and a cupboard-like space on his right for a mini Kitchen.

Rammick unzipped his hoodie, letting out his well proportioned torso and undid the tie of his trousers. Only in his boxers, Rammick entered his bathroom and glanced up at the mirror above his sink.

His hair had again grown out unevenly.

The cabinet under the sink stored most of Rammick's essentials and towels, first-aid box and a hairdressing utility kit which was personally gifted to him.

Rammick took out a pair of thin scissors and put them on the counter beside his sink.

The foremost task was to wash his hair. So Rammick began wetting his hair on the sink and tore a sachet of shampoo, rubbing the creamy and fragrant shampoo altogether on his natural blonde hair.

The water from the tap flowed on, filling the sink, while Rammick thoroughly scratched his scalp.

After two minutes of scratching Rammick washed the foam on his hands then moved onto washing his hair.

Rammick's blonde hair gave off a shiny luster on washing and the scent of pine enveloped the bathroom.

He lightly dried his hair with a towel and handled the scissors. Then he began trimming his hair in front of the mirror, like a professional.

Kacha! Kacha! sounds echoed in the bathroom cubicle for a continuous period of fifteen minutes.

Rammick brushed his freshly trimmed locks back and let out a satisfied smile. Okay.

Cleaning the residue hair from the sink and storing them in a separate cloth bag, Rammick washed the foam covered sink. Once the grey surface looked shiny, he sprayed some disinfectant on the used scissors for sanitary purposes and set it away.

The fluorescent light of the bathroom fell on Rammick's naked skin. Several freckles like marks scattered over Rammick's lower back made a contrast against his pure white skin.

Rammick switched off the light, going back to the main room. Some foggy light from his bedside window lit up a portion of the champagne blanket on his bed. He jumped onto the crease-less bed, lying comfortably.

His shoulders felt heavy from exhaustion. A strenuous crack came everytime he tried to relieve some pain.

Last night he had to work overtime, which put a lot of mental pressure on him.

This was his third year at the university. And as usual time kept flying at it's own pace, leaving Rammick behind with nothing but pent up frustrations.

Once when Rammick was in sixth grade, the social sciences teacher had said to a class full of students, including him that, 'Human choices are complex. Many people end up having passion in one aspect and talent in another. Usually, people tend to strive for their passion but those with less determination finally decide to choose the talent.'

Rammick can call himself someone like that. His passion in cheer sports was overbroad and something that often bordered on craziness but looking at the fate's outcome, he finally had to agree to that teacher's words.

His talent, surprisingly laid in hairdressing, something he barely had any interest and most of the time overlooked.

Rammick's mentor in hairdressing had often complimented his hands to be of Godly strata. If he were to fully devote himself in the field of hairdressing, becoming a top class stylist wasn't out of reach.

Yet, do things work this way? Nah.

Rammick's heart was dead set on performing cheers at the world level stage.

The window glass allowed the heat of the sunlight to warmly trace his cheek.

Rammick wondered if his third year will pass the same way like the previous ones till he again loses the opportunity to fulfill his life long dreams.

How will he stand in front of his hardworking parents, who blindly trusted in his capabilities and sent him all the resources to remain in such a global University?

Just what can he do in order to step up?

A sharp ring numbed Rammick's chaotic thoughts as he tsked and rummaged around the duvet for his precious smartphone.

Ah, wasn't the practice session today at noon? Rammick thought, feeling quite energetic suddenly.

The message body had only a couple of sentences from the sender, Donghyuck.

It said, 'Where are you? We have newcomers today. How come the drill captain is absent on such occasions?'

But, it was enough to send the blonde foreigner's heart into a frenzy. Newcomers?

Rammick thoroughly checked the message box to see whether he's hallucinating or not but the text was still there.

Unable to control the joy, Rammick hurled up from his bed, tossing anything wearable on his body and deftly rushed out like a cheetah.

The freshly cut and dried blond locks blew backwards, exposing a perfect forehead as Rammick ran down the street towards the bus stop.

The overcast portion of the sky cleared and bright sunlight engulfed his sprinting figure.

Rammick looked up at the pure blue sky in daze. The sky felt.. a little more bluer suddenly.