Between Earth and Elsewhere

“Yeomyung, Hyeonmyung. Come sit here for a moment.”

The familiar serious tone in his father’s voice made Yeomyung’s stomach tighten. These family meetings never brought good news—just announcements about their aunt’s failing café, another uncle’s medical bills, or yet another downgrade in their living situation.

His dad maintained the same solemn air he’d had since Yeomyung was small, back when they lived in the big house. Back then, his dad had seemed like a giant during these talks, and Yeomyung would listen with childlike reverence. Now, in their moldy semi-basement apartment, that same gravity felt almost absurd, like something out of a dark comedy.

Yeomyung dragged his feet the few steps it took to reach his dad in their cramped space. He fixed his gaze on the yellowed linoleum floor, dreading whatever news was coming.

His dad cleared his throat. “Don’t be too shocked, but listen. Your grandmother had her regular check-up a few days ago. The results came back today… she’s been diagnosed with liver cancer.”

The brothers remained silent.

“Liver cancer is tricky—symptoms don’t show up early,” their dad continued, trying to fill the heavy silence. “But they caught it early. With proper treatment, she should be fine. Don’t worry too much.”

Still no response.

“Given her age, surgery might be risky. She’ll probably need radiation or chemotherapy.” He paused. “We’ll need to figure out transportation to the hospital and medical costs. We can discuss the details later.”

When neither son spoke, he dismissed them with a quiet, “Alright, back to it.”

Yeomyung and Hyeonmyung rose without a word.

From the corner of the living room, their grandmother’s raspy voice called out, “I’m not getting treated. What’s the point at my age? My time’s up.”

“We’ll handle it, Mom. Just stay quiet.”

“Quiet? I told you I’m not doing it. Don’t you dare drag me to the hospital.”

“Mom, please! Should we just watch you die? How does that make sense?”

“Why wouldn’t it? I’ve lived long enough.”

“Enough! That’s enough. Can we just have some peace? Please, be quiet.”

Yeomyung slipped out of the house. Under the streetlamp, he pulled out a cigarette.

The door creaked again—Hyeonmyung. Their eyes met briefly before his brother moved away to lean against the wall. Neither spoke as Yeomyung lit up.

He struggled to gauge his own reaction. Not because he was numb, but because he couldn’t calibrate how bad this news really was. Would it be like more mold creeping into their basement, or would it flood the whole place with sewage? He couldn’t tell.

The only clear thought was how there seemed to be no end to their misfortune. Hyeonmyung’s expression suggested he was thinking the same thing.

Yeomyung pulled out his phone and typed into the search bar: liver cancer treatment cost.

The shame hit him immediately—that cost was his first concern. But the results were worse:

6-month treatment: 44.14 million won… End-stage liver cancer and ‘useless insurance’

Liver cancer costs most expensive at 66.23 million won

New liver cancer drug after 10 years: 5 million won per treatment; patients crushed by cost

Yeomyung searched desperately for something hopeful, some proof that this wasn’t as dire as it seemed. But the world seemed to mock his efforts, like a child repeatedly “saving” an ant from water only to drop it back in—a cruel game of false hope.

Did you think there was a way out? Not in your life.

One article stood out:

Elderly patients who receive regular check-ups double their survival time after liver cancer diagnosis.

The irony hit him. Why had his grandmother even gone for a check-up? She always said she’d lived long enough, that she didn’t want to burden them anymore. Yet here they were.

If she hadn’t gone—if the cancer had remained undetected—she could have passed quickly, without expensive treatments. But wasn’t this typical of her contradictions? For someone who claimed to be ready for death, she religiously took her medications, ate her meals, and attended check-ups. She’d even throw tantrums if she missed a dose by minutes.

Yeomyung hadn’t responded to her “I should just hurry up and die” declarations in years. He no longer played the role of the good grandson, telling her she should live longer. He knew she wanted to hear those words, and perhaps that’s exactly why he stayed silent.

He remembered when his grandmother had been hospitalized while his mother was still alive. The doctor had warned them to prepare for the worst, but she’d recovered. His mom had said afterward, with a hint of mixed emotions in her voice, “That doctor must not have known your grandmother well enough.”

Yeomyung had said nothing then too, pretending not to notice the mixture of longing and disappointment in his mom’s words. Some feelings were better left unacknowledged.

Yeomyung crushed his cigarette under his foot.

It wasn’t his grandmother’s fault—life itself was the cruel one. Still, he felt no guilt for wanting her gone. Unlike his grandmother, he wouldn’t say things he didn’t mean.

“When you have memories like that, you can’t just hate someone completely, no matter how horrible they become.”

His death wishes never came from simple hatred, but from something deeper—a nauseating feeling that rose from his oldest memories, like old linoleum sticking to his feet.

Now he understood that feeling. It took him back to their old house with the yard, to a heavy snow day in winter. He’d wanted to go sledding, and his dad had pulled his sled for hours. When they finished, his dad couldn’t let go. His hand was frozen around the rope. Young Yeomyung, wearing warm gloves, had gently pried open each of his dad’s ice-cold fingers.

This was the kind of memory Daeun meant. The kind that made it impossible to live purely in bitterness.

And this was exactly why he hated family. For the poor, family wasn’t strength or joy—it was a burden you couldn’t bear but couldn’t abandon either.

The poor shouldn’t get involved with others. Yet even as he thought this, Yeomyung longed for connection. Not family, but someone different. Someone free of obligations—no one to feed, no hospital bills to pay, no caretaking required. Just someone to talk with until they both tired of it.

“So if no one knew… I’d kill them myself.”

He wanted to see Daeun. Now he regretted turning down her dinner invitation.

Yesterday, he’d thought, What’s the point of two losers meeting up? Now here he was, wanting to see her. Why? Because his life had just dropped from third-rate to fourth-rate in the span of minutes?

He hadn’t cared when they were equals, but now that he’d sunk lower, did third-rate suddenly look good? Yeomyung found his own shallowness darkly amusing—not shameful, just funny. Wanting to meet someone who was trash, but slightly better trash than himself.

Was this just survival instinct? Evolution? The desperation of his genes? If so, life truly was the ugliest thing imaginable.

He stared at his phone. There it was—”Daeun Kim” in his contacts. She’d given him the number yesterday after he’d declined dinner.

“If you need anything, don’t contact the shop. Call this number instead.”

He’d taken it despite his reservations, telling himself he probably wouldn’t use it. No harm in saving it, right? But deep down, he’d known this feeling would come.

What would it mean to Daeun if he called now? She’d probably suggested meeting thinking they were equals—someone she could handle while juggling temp jobs and her own life. Maybe she just wanted the comfort of not being alone.

Would she be disgusted to learn he was actually fourth-rate?

Yeomyung hesitated, not out of concern for her feelings, but fear of being rejected again. This was why he avoided people, regardless of their station in life.

But maybe a few hours would be okay. He could hide his impending downfall during a brief meeting. He hadn’t hit bottom yet—he was just teetering on the edge. Maybe he could enjoy these last moments of being third-rate before the final fall.

Yeomyung turned the phone in his hands, pressed dial, and raised it to his ear.

Daeun picked up. “Hello?”

“It’s Yeomyung.”

“Oh, hey. What’s up?”

The words stuck in his throat. Was this a mistake? No excuse came to mind. Should he just say what he’d meant to?

Before he could decide, Daeun spoke. “Want to come get the dumpling debt you didn’t collect yesterday?”

***

“The sandwiches were only until yesterday,” Daeun said when he arrived at the convenience store.

“I’m aware.”

“I brought something very similar instead.”

Daeun lifted her bag from the floor and pulled out aluminum-foil wrapped packages, handing one to Yeomyung. Inside was bread with strawberry jam.

He gave her a look: This is similar?

“If you don’t want it, don’t eat it,” she said confidently, taking a bite.

Hiding a smile, Yeomyung bit into his. His eyes caught the bag on the table—the logo seemed familiar, like some luxury brand he’d heard of.

“I’m getting soju. Goes well with sandwiches, right? Want anything?”

“No.”

Daeun flashed an okay sign and went inside. Curious, Yeomyung searched the logo on his phone. He scrolled through results until he froze.

There was the exact same bag.

Price: 13,000,000 won

The convenience store door chimed, and Daeun emerged with two bottles of soju. Yeomyung couldn’t help but stare.