Everyone admires a sharp sword, yet everyone needs a sturdy shield.

  Frank

  In 2003, when America declared the 'War on Terror,' five-year-old Frank lost his father.

  The nation hailed him as a 'national hero,' but to Frank, his father was simply gone.

  Day after day, the TV showed soldiers with guns in sandstorms and the landscape of Iraq with black smoke billowing.

  The adults whispered about 'bad Muslims' and 'bad Islam.'

  Unfortunately for him, there was exactly one Muslim kid in Frank’s school.

  'It’s because of them.'

  In the world of a five-year-old boy, there was nowhere else for the complex arrow of hatred to go.

  His father never came back.

  Along with the death notice, a large sum of money came to Frank’s house.

  His mother, who had quit her job after getting married, couldn’t bring herself to spend the money and had to start working again.

  For a woman with a gap in her career, the only place she could return to was a janitor position at the company where she had once worked as an office assistant.

  As his mother started working late more often, Frank naturally began to spend more time at the house next door.

  It was the home of Mr. Adika, an Indian IT engineer, his wife Marta, an Italian teacher, and their daughter, Asha.

  The Verma family’s home was warm. Adika would bring him amazing toys, and Marta always made delicious food.

  Frank didn’t dislike the warmth. But at the same time, that warmth created a deeper jealousy and hatred in his heart.

  'If my dad had come back alive, our house would have been like this. No, it would have been better.'

  That sentence was like a mantra that dominated Frank’s childhood.

  Several years passed like that.

  One weekend afternoon, Frank and Asha were playing in the yard with Mr. Adika. As Mr. Adika flew a new drone and explained the principles behind it, the children looked up at the sky with eyes full of curiosity.

  After playing excitedly for a while, Frank, with a suddenly darkened expression, asked Mr. Adika a question.

  "Mr. Verma, why do grown-ups have wars?"

  Adika immediately recognized the weight in Frank’s question.

  “Well… that’s a difficult question.”

  Adika had to choose each word carefully.

  “War… has existed as long as humans have.”

  He placed the drone controller he was holding on the ground and looked at Frank with pity in his eyes.

  In the face of this question from a child who had lost his father, no adult in the world could be wise.

  Asha, who had been playing with them, completely lost interest in her toys in the heavy atmosphere that flowed between the two.

  She approached her father and Frank and asked.

  "Daddy, what's a war?" Asha was so adorable.

  "Hmm?... A war is when people try to defeat each other to protect what they want to protect."

  Adika couldn't avoid the conversation anymore.

  “But they can just talk it out, right?”

  At Asha’s innocent question, Frank just listened quietly.

  “It’s okay, Mr.”

  Frank said, shaking his head.

  His voice held a maturity that seemed beyond his years.

  Seeing that, Adika let down his guard a little.

  "Alright. Then I’ll answer what I know."

  "Really? Daddy, then why did the last war happen?"

  "Was Iraq the bad guy? Why didn’t Frank’s daddy come back? Frank is having a hard time because of it!"

  Asha poured out the questions she had been holding back like a waterfall.

  At that moment, for the first time, Frank felt a strange comfort in the fact that there was someone who was hurting on his behalf.

  Looking at Asha’s cloudless face, he felt a corner of his heart warm up without him realizing it. Adika cursed inwardly.

  'Oh, hell. I should have stopped Asha…'

  “Mr. Verma, do you know why my dad couldn’t come back?”

  Frank quietly joined the questioning.

  'Great God…'

  Adika prayed inwardly and answered in a serious voice.

  “Sigh… okay. This is just my opinion, but that war a few years ago… it might have been America’s fault.”

  Adika desperately hoped his words wouldn't hurt Frank.

  “They went in thinking Iraq had terrible weapons, to stop them, but it turns out there were no such weapons. Innocent people suffered a lot because of the grown-ups' mistake."

  'How will this sound to this child…'

  Despite Adika’s worries, Frank’s expression remained unchanged, and he was taking in every word.

  “America was bad.”

  Asha said bluntly, hugging her father.

  “Iraq is the bad guy.”

  After a long silence, Frank said with a grim expression.

  "I saw it on the news. They said Iraq is a bad country, so it doesn’t get along with a lot of other countries. America was friends with one of them, and they listened to that country.”

  “Yes, there is talk of that too.” It was the best answer Adika could give.

  “Which country was it?”

  Asha asked, her round eyes growing even wider.

  “Well…”

  Adika, not wanting to instill prejudice in the children's minds, wanted to get out of the situation as quickly as possible.

  He thought about changing the subject or getting angry, but that wasn’t in his nature.

  “If it weren’t for Iraq, my dad would be at home with us.”

  'The irony of this child, asking about good and evil in the world from a Muslim. The very object of his hatred, whom he believes to be the cause of the war that took his father…'

  In truth, Adika was a Muslim in name only and had no real interest in any religion.

  He just felt so sorry for Frank’s pain.

  “That might be true.”

  “Why don’t Iraq and the other countries get along?”

  Asha’s questions were endless.

  Adika thought he shouldn't continue the conversation.

  He judged that it would be less hurtful to divert the children’s attention elsewhere.

  It was the safest way to protect the children, and himself.

  “Alright, let’s stop talking about this and go inside for some delicious food. Let’s ask Mom to make whatever we want.”

  “Why, tell me.”

  The clueless Asha continued to whine. Asha believed her father was an amazing person who knew everything.

  Adika had never avoided Asha’s questions before, but this time was an exception.

  It was too heavy a topic, one where he could make a mistake no matter how careful he was.

  In the end, for the first time, Adika snapped at Asha.

  "No! Get inside now!"

  Asha, at this unfamiliar side of her father, burst into tears and ran to her mother.

  Frank, watching cautiously, slowly followed Asha into the house.

  Adika, after sending the children in first, sighed as he watched Frank’s back disappear into the house.

  Just then, Frank turned back and asked him.

  "Mr. Verma, is Islam a bad thing?"

  Adika was taken aback, but he slowly straightened up, looked at Frank, and answered calmly.

  "What is good and what is bad… that’s a very difficult question to answer. I may be a Muslim in name only, but Frank. Am I… a bad person to you?"

  It was a poor question.

  Who would say ‘yes, you are’ in a situation like this.

  “You, Mrs. Verma, and Asha are not.”

  Frank’s answer was just as Adika expected.

  After answering bluntly, Frank, urged on by Asha, hurried into the house.

  'Hate… is it. How will that hate grow in that child’s heart…'

  As Adika followed them into the house with a heavy heart, the savory smell of cream pasta filled the air.

  By the time dinner was over, Frank’s mother came to Asha’s house.

  “Thank you, as always.”

  Though her face was clearly exhausted, she greeted them politely.

  “It’s fun playing with Frank,” Asha said with a bashful smile.

  At the sight of Asha, Frank once again felt a tickle in his chest.

  “Yes… please continue to get along. Ah… and I think I’ll be coming home late for the next three days. So if you could…”

  “Of course. Don’t worry. We have to help each other.”

  Before Frank’s mother could finish, Marta warmly took her hand.

  Adika just nodded.

  Frank grew up with Asha and became a high schooler with a precarious edge.

  He was able to find his lost smile while being with Asha’s family, but in a corner of his heart, something dark left by his father’s absence continued to grow.

  The fact that he no longer stayed at Asha’s house every day was both a disappointment and a relief to him.

  His mother still worked hard.

  The compensation money for his father’s death in combat lay untouched in the bank, like his mother’s pride.

  At school, his hatred was directed at only one person.

  'An Iraqi bastard who killed my father, how dare he be happy?'

  Whenever he ran into Chazra, the same sentence echoed in Frank’s mind.

  In front of Asha, he was the gentle Frank of his childhood, but at school, he had become the leader of a group of delinquents.

  His tall stature and handsome face, which resembled his fallen father, became his power.

  Frank led the kids who worshipped him and bullied the weaker ones.

  Chazra was his favorite prey.

  He would often lose in a one-on-one fight, but Frank always had guys like Max and Simon by his side.

  Victory was always his.

  The only person who could stop him was Asha.

  “Frank, are you bullying kids again?”

  Somehow, Asha always knew, and she would find him and lecture him.

  To him, Asha was a warm light, but also a dazzling mirror that reflected his own darkness, and he wanted to run away.

  “Why do you care? Are you my mom?”

  “You’re my family! How can I just stand by and watch when my family is doing something wrong!”

  “Family? Were we? Then go ahead and snitch to the school. If you have any proof.”

  Frank said sarcastically.

  “I don’t want you to get punished. I just don’t want you to do bad things!”

  Asha was sincere.

  That sincerity made Frank feel even more miserable.

  “How touching. Then tell me who snitched on you. I’ll make sure they never bother you again.”

  Frank scoffed at Asha’s words and retied his shoelaces.

  “Don’t be ridiculous! You’re on your way to bully someone right now, aren’t you?”

  “I told you to mind your own business.”

  Frank stood up and moved closer to Asha.

  And he whispered playfully.

  “Curious? About what I’m about to do?”

  The moment Asha looked into his face with suspicion, peck—Frank gave her a surprise kiss on the cheek.

  “Get off! What are you doing!” Asha shoved him away roughly.

  "This is what I was about to do."

  Frank looked at Asha with a rough but charming smile, like a wounded boy.

  ...Slap!

  With a sharp sound, Asha’s palm struck his cheek.

  She glared at him with eyes mixed with disappointment and anger, then turned and disappeared.

  Frank rubbed his stinging cheek and snorted.

  His crew, who had been waiting for him at the corner of the alley, approached.

  Max with his vile eyes, the silent, muscular Simon, Kimmy with her jumble of blonde and brown hair, and Maya with her freckled face and red hair tied back.

  “That bitch dared to slap you? Should we take care of her?” Max said, lighting a cigarette for him.

  “Leave it. Don’t touch her.”

  Frank took a deep drag of the cigarette and exhaled coldly.

  His gaze was already directed elsewhere.

  In the distance, Chazra was walking towards them, neatly dressed in expensive brand-name clothes.

  After his father’s business became successful, he was no longer the shabby immigrant kid of the past.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Instead, he looked like a Middle Eastern prince, exuding an air of nobility.

  “Frank, here comes Chazra.”

  Maya said, grabbing his arm.

  Her eyes held a mixture of blind affection for Frank and an unconcealable jealousy for Asha, the girl who had just slapped him.

  Frank shook off Maya’s concerned hand and jutted his chin towards Chazra.

  “Perfect timing. Max, go get him.”

  The quick Max blocked Chazra’s path, and the burly Simon blocked his escape.

  Chazra cursed and resisted, but was eventually dragged into a dead-end alley.

  There, Frank stood with a vile smile.

  Thud—

  “You think wearing expensive clothes changes where you come from? You piece of trash. This country is in this mess because of Muslims like you.”

  Thud—, Thud—,

  “Why don’t you say something?”

  Chazra just glared at Frank, spitting out blood-tinged saliva.

  That unbroken, princely gaze made Frank feel even worse.

  “Frank, stop it!”

  Just then, Asha ran up and shouted.

  Her brown eyes were burning with anger.

  “Why are you doing this! What did Chazra ever do wrong!”

  Asha said, standing between Frank and Chazra.

  She looked unrealistically beautiful, like a single flower blooming in a dirty alley.

  “Asha, move.”

  Frank roughly shoved Asha aside.

  Asha screamed and hit the wall.

  “You filthy bastard. Hitting a girl now.”

  Chazra said, coughing.

  Those words hit Frank’s last remaining shred of pride.

  'So I’m the bad guy, and you’re going to play the good guy until the end, is that it?'

  The sobs he used to hear from his mother’s room in his childhood seemed to echo in his ears again.

  “Shut him up.”

  Frank commanded coldly.

  Simon clamped his hand over Chazra’s mouth.

  “Maya, Kimmy. Get Asha out of here.”

  Asha was dragged away, shouting, “Don’t, Frank, please!” but her cries were like pouring oil on a fire.

  Frank only stopped after Chazra was completely on the ground.

  He took a cigarette from Max, and after slowly finishing it, he put out the still-burning cigarette butt on Chazra’s stomach and whispered in his ear.

  "What you people took from me, I’m going to get it all back."

  On his way home after parting with his crew, Asha appeared before him again and slapped his cheek.

  He knew he would be hit, but he didn’t avoid it. In truth, Frank liked that Asha tried to stop him like this.

  But the words that came out of his mouth always hurt her.

  “There. Done? I’m leaving.”

  Asha was sobbing silently at his retreating back.

  * * *

  Chazra

  Chazra’s daily life was a mixture of pain and joy.

  The small world of school was still a hell for him.

  He no longer wore shabby clothes thanks to his father’s successful business, and an expensive watch was fastened on his wrist, but to Frank and his crew, he was still just an ‘Iraqi bastard.’

  The bullying became more persistent and cunning.

  But he had his own world that allowed him to endure it all: Family.

  His mother, Raina, a devout believer, but a benevolent mother who would willingly break taboos for her son’s sake.

  His grandmother, Bashira, who preached principles but always ended up taking her grandson’s side.

  And his two older brothers, who were his entire world.

  His father, Zahir, a man of few words who loved his family.

  Thanks to their love, even amidst the constant violence, Chazra could still grow up as a child who knew love.

  Among his family, the biggest pillar of support was always his hero, his older brother Ahmadi.

  Ahmadi was always kind and a proud, high-achieving student.

  In the fall of 2009, the day came for Ahmadi to leave home.

  Having been accepted to MIT, his father’s university, he was preparing to move into a dormitory to focus on his research.

  Chazra was deeply disappointed by the decision, but he couldn’t complain.

  It was his brother’s dream, and his father and grandmother had respected that decision.

  Chazra’s family decided to go on a family trip together to make one last happy memory before Ahmadi left.

  "Ahmadi, where do you want to go?"

  Chazra asked, as Ahmadi was preparing to leave.

  "Him? He’ll be cooped up in his lab, he’s got nowhere to go. If you look at him, he’s just like Dad."

  Zaydan grumbled, lying on the sofa.

  "No, Ahmadi is kinder than Dad." Chazra defended Ahmadi.

  “Ah~ He always takes Ahmadi’s side! Why don’t you ever take my side!”

  Zaydan shot up and playfully wrapped his arm around Chazra’s neck.

  “Zaydan, stop it.” Ahmadi separated the two.

  “Ugh, I’m always the bad guy.” Zaydan grumbled.

  “That’s because you’re always causing trouble.” Chazra shot back.

  “What, you punk? You wanna die?”

  As Zaydan raised his fist, Chazra stuck out his tongue and ran behind his older brother.

  Life on this land hadn’t been easy for Ahmadi and Zaydan either, just like for Chazra.

  After the Iraq War, living as a Muslim in American society was a constant battle against an invisible wall.

  But the two were a little different from their youngest brother.

  Ahmadi was a model student supported by all the teachers at school, and Zaydan was the ace of the football team, supported by his friends.

  Five years had passed since the end of the war, but only Chazra was still tormented by the existence of Frank, who hated him.

  Zahir was always busy, and not a very affectionate father.

  Sometimes, when Karida visited, he would show a gentle smile that the family rarely saw, but most days he was stern.

  In the end, the role of the person Chazra trusted and relied on always fell to Ahmadi.

  He had officially complained to the school for his brother’s sake several times, and he became a shield for his younger brothers in place of their busy father.

  “So, is Dad going to be able to go on this trip?”

  Zaydan asked Ahmadi, as if demanding an answer.

  “Well. Dad was the one who suggested this trip, so I think he’ll go with us.”

  “I guess Dad doesn’t have fun playing with us. He doesn’t even give us those boring treasure hunt clues anymore.”

  “Why? The treasure hunt is fun." Chazra objected to Zaydan’s words.

  “Ugh, it’s just hard. I guess it’s fun for you and Dad who only study all the time, right?”

  Zaydan said cautiously, glancing at Ahmadi.

  “Haha, think of it as Dad’s way of loving us, Zaydan. Well, it’s true that I like the treasure hunt.”

  Ahmadi said, stroking the head of Zaydan, who was lying next to him.

  “Ah, stop it! How old do you think I am? Stop treating me like a kid!”

  Zaydan pushed his brother’s hand away.

  “Ahmadi, I’m still a baby, so you can pat my head.”

  Chazra burrowed into Ahmadi’s lap.

  Ahmadi smiled, wrapped his arms around his younger brother, and asked.

  “So, do you dislike Dad too, Chazra?”

  “No, it’s not that I like or dislike him. I like you, and Mom, and… um… Grandma. ……Oh, right. And Zaydan too. There are more times I don’t like him, but there are times I do.”

  “What, you punk?”

  The lying Zaydan shot up and tickled Chazra’s side.

  Chazra screamed and struggled, and the three brothers tumbled off the bed in a heap.

  “Oof…”

  “It’s your fault!”

  “You tickled me first!”

  “Ah, enough, enough. Stop it, both of you. So, how about I play a treasure hunt game with you today instead of Dad?”

  At Ahmadi’s suggestion, both younger brothers’ eyes lit up at the same time.

  “Ooh! You’re going to do it? Dad always hides it in the same places, so it was getting boring. Where are you going to hide it?”

  “Punk, you think I’m going to tell you that? Both of you wait here. And don’t fight.”

  Ahmadi went down to the basement storage room.

  There was a secret space for the family that their father had created.

  The ‘treasure hunt’ was not simply a game of hiding and finding things.

  It was an intellectual game where how you made them find it was more important than what you hid.

  Perhaps Dr. Zahir had wanted to develop his children’s thinking skills through this game.

  And thanks to that, the three brothers were better than anyone at thinking about and connecting completely unrelated things.

  Chazra recalled the quiz in the living room on a spring day in 2009, a few months before Ahmadi left.

  That day, they had played the treasure hunt with all the brothers and even their father.

  “Chazra, Chazra.”

  A voice called out, waking the sleeping Chazra. He didn’t want to wake up.

  Chazra was on edge from having spent the previous day running from Frank and his gang.

  He blinked his eyes, shaking his head to clear it. It was his mother who had woken him from his sweet slumber.

  “Mom, what is it?”

  “Your father says he’s having a treasure hunt with you boys today.”

  At her words, Chazra shot up and headed to the bathroom to wash his face.

  The quizzes his father gave were much more fun than the ones his brothers did.

  The quiz his father gave that day was this:

  'The place where we all first laughed happily together.'

  'A tool that makes an incredibly useful substance.'

  'Something very easy and common to see in daily life that anyone can buy at a stationery store.'

  “What on earth does this mean?” Zaydan asked, so Zahir gave one more hint.

  'A medium that connects two separate things.'

  “Huh? Is it a stapler? Glue? A bond?, a clip?, a file?, a notebook?, a pencil?, scotch tape?, no, if it’s tape then electrical tape, a ballpoint pen?, Wite-Out?”

  “‘Connecting two separate things’ is too hard!!!”

  Chazra complained to Zahir in frustration.

  “You don’t know either, Ahmadi?” Zahir asked Ahmadi with a smile.

  “No, I know the place. But the meaning behind ‘makes a useful substance, connects things, is an item easily available at a stationery store’ is difficult.”

  “What’s difficult about it?”

  “For example, if you write with a pencil or a ballpoint pen, it connects you to the space where the writing is, right?”

  Zaydan started messing around again, saying his brother was just showing off, but Chazra listened closely to Ahmadi’s words.

  “And if that space, be it a wall, a stone, or a book, can be judged by someone as an incredibly useful substance, then it fits all the conditions, too.”

  “Wow, that’s the answer!”

  Chazra clapped his hands and shouted after hearing Ahmadi’s answer.

  “An excellent deduction. Not the answer, though.”

  Zahir smiled benevolently and patted the embarrassed Chazra’s head.

  “That’s not the answer Ahmadi gave? I know the place, though.” Chazra said poutingly.

  “What? Really? You know the place where we all first laughed happily together?”

  Zaydan stared at Chazra in surprise, shocked that he knew an answer he didn’t.

  “It’s that place, where Dad always hides things, the one in the basement with the tiny hole.”

  “Oh, there? The one you have to press with something thin like a needle to open? That’s the place?”

  Zaydan knew where Chazra was talking about, but he couldn’t understand why that was the place they all laughed happily together.

  “Yeah, everyone laughed when we went in there. And Dad always hides things in there.”

  Chazra looked at Zaydan as if he were pathetic for not understanding something so obvious.

  “Oh, that’s right, after Chazra was born, that was the first place we laughed.” Ahmadi said, looking at Chazra.

  “Yeah, that time, Zaydan hit his head on the ceiling when he went in, and he slipped and fell, so everyone laughed.”

  Chazra said with a mischievous expression, the memory bringing a smile to his face.

  “You little punk!”

  Zaydan pretended to chase Chazra, and Chazra pretended to dodge.

  And they all laughed together.

  “Were you thinking of a different place, Ahmadi?” Zaydan asked his older brother.

  “Yeah, I was thinking of the dinner table, so I thought it was the living room.”

  “Dad, so which of us is right?”

  Zaydan hoped Chazra, at least, was wrong.

  “Well, for the place, Chazra is correct.”

  “Yahoo! I got it right when Ahmadi was wrong!”

  Chazra started jumping around with joy.

  “Hey, you’re being distracting. Stop jumping.”

  When Zaydan, who couldn’t think of an answer, scolded him, Chazra stuck out his tongue and ran away.

  “Come to think of it, Karida used to complain that you never told her the location.”

  At Zaydan’s words, Zahir’s expression momentarily darkened.

  “Right, I had to run away from her because she kept tickling me, saying you wouldn’t tell her what the treasure hunt was or where the secret place was.”

  Chazra shivered as he recalled the memory.

  “Come to think of it, Karida doesn’t visit anymore.”

  Chazra used to call her Auntie, but after Karida corrected him, he started calling her by her first name.

  “I don’t think Karida will be coming anymore.” Zahir said nonchalantly.

  “Did something happen?” Ahmadi asked.

  “Karida has gone to do other work.”

  “That’s so mean, she didn’t even say goodbye to us!”

  Chazra pouted, crossing his arms and puffing out his cheeks.

  “Let’s get back to the quiz. We said the place was the secret storage in the basement, right?”

  Ahmadi, seeing Zahir’s lonely face, changed the subject.

  “That’s right, that’s the place. But our game isn’t about the place. What is the answer?”

  Zahir sent a grateful look to Ahmadi.

  “Huh? Wasn’t it a pencil? I thought my brother got it.” Zaydan said.

  “Hey Zaydan, are you stupid? If he was right, Dad would have said so. If you assemble different things with clips or scotch tape or glue or rubber bands, that also becomes a useful substance.”

  “This punk keeps calling his brother stupid. I get good grades, you know?”

  Zaydan flared up.

  “Better than Ahmadi?”

  At Chazra’s retort, Zaydan got even angrier.

  “Punk! How can I beat Ahmadi! He’s a monster!”

  Once again, everyone laughed.

  “Ah!! I got it. It’s scotch tape!”

  Ahmadi, who had been deep in thought, exclaimed.

  “Yes, that’s correct.” Zahir said.

  “Huh? What’s the difference between a pencil and other things? Why is scotch tape the answer?”

  Zaydan tilted his head.

  Zahir smiled and slowly explained.

  That day, the children learned about the process of creating graphene particles with scotch tape.

  Graphene was a material that conducted electricity despite not being a metal and was hundreds of times stronger than steel.

  Zahir stimulated the children’s imagination with the fact that a playful idea like peeling off graphite with scotch tape had led to a great discovery.

  Those happy moments were brief, and time quickly flew by to 2014. Ahmadi was now completely independent.

  Zaydan also went to college and lived in a dormitory.

  For Chazra, who was now in high school, the happy memories of the past only made his current struggles more miserable.

  Just a moment ago, he had barely survived a beating from Frank and his gang because a girl had stepped in.

  'He’s no match for me one-on-one.'

  Zaydan had trained Chazra in sports so he wouldn’t get beaten up.

  After that, Chazra was able to win every time he fought Frank.

  But when Frank got a crew, he couldn’t win anymore.

  Frank’s handsome looks and delinquent attitude were the object of envy for his friends.

  Chazra was also quite good-looking, and his family was well-off thanks to his university professor father.

  Chazra didn’t have a crew like Frank.

  Perhaps because of the ‘treasure hunt’ he had played with his brothers since he was young.

  Chazra was good at reading people’s minds, and the other kids didn’t like his exotic looks or his way of talking.

  Zaydan had had a similar school experience as Chazra, but the two were different.

  Now a college student and a star on the football team, he was always full of leadership and confidence.

  Zaydan, who loved his younger brother, would often go and beat up Frank and his gang for him on the days Chazra came home beaten.

  But Chazra himself.

  He wasn’t as outstanding as his brothers, nor was he loved as much as them.

  He didn’t excel in sports, or studies, or anything else.

  He was maintaining decent grades, but he didn’t know where that would lead him in life.

  Even within the fence of his family, he was a stranger.

  There was a language barrier with his mother and grandmother, and his father was always sternly engrossed in his research.

  Especially after a dinner his father had taken him to a year ago.

  An East Asian female researcher named Song Joo-eun, who had come saying she admired his father, and a white man who was her husband.

  That awkward dinner.

  That day, his father had confidently explained the theory he had dedicated his life to.

  However, all he got in return was an arrogant sneer from the white man, Chapman.

  After that day, his father rarely came home.

  He had locked himself in his lab, and conversations with his family had completely stopped.

  'Isn’t this life hard for Father? No, am I the only one who’s this weak and finds it hard? What on earth am I supposed to do?'

  Frank was also persistent.

  There hadn’t been a year in over a decade when he had stopped the bullying.

  The innocent emotional violence of childhood had morphed into a cunning and cruel violence mixed with contempt and ridicule.

  He didn’t give up even after being beaten by Zaydan.

  Moreover, as they reached an age where they became aware of the opposite sex, Frank’s looks captured the hearts of the girls, and that attention soon led to the adulation of the boys.

  The power he gained in this way made everyone shun Chazra, whom he hated.

  Life was a struggle for Chazra.

  He spat the saliva that had pooled in his mouth onto the ground and limped home.

  The helplessness of how long he had to live like this was more painful than his throbbing side.

  Looking down at the ground, he saw a small puddle in a slight depression.

  He couldn’t help but smile bitterly at his reflection in the water.

  Suddenly, the face of the girl who had stood up for him earlier came to mind.

  She was a girl who had been with Frank since they were young.

  'Her name was probably Asha Verma… right?'

  They had been in the same class before, but he didn’t remember much about her.

  In his memory, she was always the girl who went to school with Frank.

  To Chazra’s eyes, she was no different from Frank’s girlfriend.

  'Why did she try to help me?'

  It was puzzling, but the brief moment of warmth shone faintly in a corner of his heart, like a piece of glass dropped in muddy water.

  Chazra looked up at the sky.

  A clear sky without a single cloud.

  He hated that blue.

  It was as if it were forcing everyone living on this land to be happy.

  Everyone, that is, except for him.

  Trudge, trudge, his heavy footsteps pressed down on the ground.

  The pain of his heart hurt more than the pain of his bruises.

  Going home felt especially awful today. He headed for a small hill at the edge of town.

  'Wait, I should rest there for a bit before I go.'

  As he lay down in the shade of a tree on the hill, a pleasant breeze soothed his wounds.

  He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the wind, thinking.

  Frank, his father, his brothers, and Asha.

  Everything was tangled together, messing with his mind.

  It was then.

  “Oh? You’re here too?”

  Just as he was about to fall asleep, a clear voice reached his ears.

  He turned his head, and there before him stood Asha Verma.

  Her dark black hair scattered in the wind, and her brown eyes, backlit by the sunset, sparkled unusually.

  She, who was usually just ‘Frank’s friend,’ looked strangely pretty today.

  He had never had such a thought before.

  Perhaps because he had been thinking about Asha just moments ago, he felt his cheeks flush.

  Just because he hated Frank didn’t mean he hated Asha too.

  He remembered that he hadn’t even thanked her for coming to help him.

  'Damn it, why is she here? Did she come to get a thank you for earlier? Should I thank her now? No, but why does she look so pretty today?'

  In his confusion, Chazra turned his body away and remained silent.

  Seeing this, Asha, as if annoyed at being ignored, nudged his back with her foot.

  “Hey, Al-Muradi. Are you ignoring me?”

  Asha said in a slightly angry tone.

  “Ah, what. What do you want. You here to beat me up too? You know Frank can’t beat me one-on-one, right?

  You think you can beat me? Or are you here to hear me say thank you? Fine, thanks, thank you. Happy?

  Now, if your friends aren’t here, just go. Stop bothering me.”

  Out of a sense of misplaced embarrassment, Chazra didn’t even look at her and spewed out thorny words bluntly.

  “Has he been hit so much he’s lost his mind? Scoot over, I want to lie down too.”

  Asha lightly ignored his words and nudged his side with her foot.

  Only then did Chazra sit up and look at her properly for the first time.

  Asha also seemed to be in some discomfort, her brow furrowed.

  “Why you here?”

  “Is this hill in front of your house? It’s in front of my house too.” Asha said sarcastically.

  “I know that. I’ve seen you hanging around Frank for years. But why now, when I’m here? What, you going to snitch to Frank that I’m here?”

  Over a decade of bullying had stripped Chazra of his faith in others.

  But at his sharp words, instead of getting angry, Asha’s eyes quietly welled up with tears.

  Chazra hadn’t meant to hurt her, and he felt sorry seeing her cry over just a few words.

  'What, why is she crying all of a sudden? What do I do?'

  Asha leaned against the tree, buried her face in her knees, and sobbed. Her shoulders trembled slightly.

  As they did, her sleeve rode up, and the clear imprint of a hand on her white forearm caught Chazra’s eye.

  It was a wound from when she was caught by Frank’s crew while helping him.

  'Because of me…'

  Chazra thought.

  'Why would a girl who’s practically Frank’s girlfriend get a wound like that while helping me? Should I… apologize?'

  “…Do you like this place too?”

  It was the first thing he managed to say after all his complicated thoughts.

  In front of the crying Asha, it was the best comfort he could offer.

  Asha sniffled and lifted her head.

  She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and forced a smile.

  “…Yeah. The view is nice here.”

  Her voice, though she tried to hide it, was tinged with a deep, unconcealable sadness.

  “You…. you’re not Frank’s girlfriend?”

  Chazra asked what he was most curious about.

  “…Do I look like it?” Asha answered, wiping her tears.

  Chazra, watching Asha, secretly fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief.

  “It’s okay, thanks.”

  Perhaps she saw his furtive movements, because a smile spread across her face.

  Chazra’s face flushed again.

  “You guys always walk to and from school together.”

  Chazra turned the attention back to Frank.

  “That’s true.”

  Her short answer seemed to contain so many stories.

  “Then… do you hate Frank?”

  Chazra immediately regretted asking the question.

  'By asking something like that, she’ll think I’m interested in her.'

  “I don’t know… I’m not sure.”

  Asha hugged her knees and looked off into the distance.

  “When we were little, after Frank’s dad passed away, it was just… natural for Frank to be at our house. Our parents were close.”

  “I see….”

  He didn’t know what to say to this new information.

  “Why are you always fighting with Frank? From what I see, you’re always the one getting beaten up.”

  Suddenly, Asha giggled with a playful expression.

  “What? Frank loses to me one-on-one, so he always brings his gang! How am I supposed to win that? And Frank is always the one who starts it!”

  Chazra shouted, as if it were unfair.

  “…Really? Frank always said your family killed his father….”

  He could feel her consideration, asking carefully so as not to hurt Chazra’s feelings.

  “…Of course he’d say that. But I was born in America. My father is a university professor, and my brothers are all…”

  Chazra poured out his anger at how normal his family was and how unfair Frank’s claims were.

  But when he finished, Asha smirked and said playfully.

  “Well, listen to you. A brother at MIT, a football-star brother. You come from such a great family. I shouldn’t have helped you.”

  At the unexpected reaction, Chazra was momentarily speechless.

  Her playful tone strangely lightened his heavy heart.

  “How did you know?”

  He was surprised that she knew about his family.

  'Could it be…?'

  Not even knowing what he was hoping for, he waited for her answer.

  “Huh? Well…”

  Her trailing off and not answering was suspicious.

  “What? Are you into me or something?”

  The moment he said it, a wave of deep regret washed over him.

  'Chazra Al-Muradi, 16 years old. Just took the worst gamble of his life. Ughhh…'

  “What are you talking about? Your brothers are famous.”

  “Huh? Ah… right…”

  'Useless brothers. Well, I guess… I got away with that one?'

  He sighed in relief inwardly and thought about what to say next.

  Chazra didn’t quite understand why he wanted to talk to her.

  After the rumor that Frank hated him spread throughout the school.

  He hadn’t wanted to approach anyone.

  But strangely, he had a groundless confidence that with her, it might be okay.

  Asha, not looking at Chazra, looked down at the town and said quietly.

  “I guess the war… was the problem. What religion is, what politics is… I don’t really know things like that. It’s just, Frank… I think he must have really loved his father, who was protecting the country as a soldier.”

  Her voice was filled with a long-held compassion for Frank.

  A strong wind blew, scattering her hair.

  Chazra thought it suited her well.

  “Frank’s dad was a soldier?”

  “You didn’t know? He passed away over there during the war with Iraq.”

  '…What does that have to do with me? I’m an American.'

  “Ah, come to think of it, I think I heard something like that when I was little.”

  Asha turned her head towards the town without a word.

  Chazra, watching her, made a decision in his heart.

  “…I think I’ve decided what I have to do.”

  Chazra, who had been looking at the town with Asha, muttered quietly.

  'I’ll go a different path from my brothers.'

  “Huh? What did you say?”

  Asha asked, turning to him, her face stained with tears.

  Chazra met her eyes directly and, for the first time without hesitation, declared his path.

  “I’m going to be a soldier.”

  Thank you for reading, and for staying with the world of Artistea.

  Part 1 is fully completed (Chapters 0–15 + Asha’s side story).If you prefer not to wait for the scheduled uploads, the entire volume is already available on:

  ?? Amazon Kindle / Google Books — Search: Artistea: The Indelible Reminiscence(Links aren’t posted here to respect site policy, but the title alone will bring it up instantly.)

  The free uploads here will continue on schedule no matter what. Your presence alone means more to me than I can express.

  Next upload: ?? 2025-12-27