Joon Sensa sat at his desk. His medical textbook was still open to the same page, one hand resting on it. His eyes moved across the same line again and again, but nothing stuck.
He closed the book once, then opened it again.
Joon leaned back in his chair. The room was quiet, with the last of the evening light lingering at the window. Varen’s words from the café kept coming back to him: conservation of mass. Nothing disappears. It only changes form.
Joon closed his eyes. He had a home, financial security, and a future his parents had already planned for him. There was comfort in that. He couldn’t deny it. But what would happen if he chose something he actually wanted? What would he have to give up?
He opened his eyes and looked at the textbook. His chest felt tight.
Joon placed his hand on the book and spoke quietly. “Then… wouldn’t it be better to do what I actually like?” His hand trembled slightly. He stood up and went out to the living room, where his mother was putting side dishes away beside the dining table. She put each container away, pressing the lid into place before reaching for the next.
Joon watched her for a while, then called to her. His mother looked up and asked what he wanted. He hesitated.
“I’m going to quit medical school.”
Only after he said it did his breathing quicken. His mother blinked once. “Oh?” That was all. She went back to putting away the side dishes. Joon stood there, waiting for anger, shouting, or at least a question about why. Nothing came.
After a moment, she said quietly, “Come eat.” Joon couldn’t move.
That night, Joon sat in his room for a long time. The book was where he’d left it, and nothing else had changed. He had said something enormous, yet the house had barely made a sound. He turned on his computer and created a file: parent_translation_v1.
Only after naming it did he begin to see what he was doing. His mother’s words were short, but there was always more behind them. Oh? That one word might mean anger, disappointment, resignation, worry—or all of them. He couldn’t tell which.
He began typing. “Emotional analysis… voice patterns… intonation…” This was easier to solve in code than in conversation. He muttered to himself, “If I can translate it… maybe it won’t be so confusing.”
The next day, Joon went to school without saying anything. He stopped once in front of the main gate. It was morning, but the campus was already filled with people, each moving quickly in their own direction. Footsteps heading toward lecture halls, voices calling friends, sneakers climbing stairs—all of it overlapped around him. Everyone was on the same campus, yet Joon felt as though he belonged somewhere else.
Joon took his hands out of his pockets, then put them back in. Should I go back? He glanced toward the lecture halls. Students were still hurrying past him, carrying books and talking to one another. He turned toward the administrative office.
At the door, he stopped long enough to read the sign twice. Inside, the air was dry and smelled faintly of paper. Documents were stacked on the desks, and a spreadsheet filled one computer screen. Nothing about the office looked unusual. Joon stepped inside.
At the counter, a staff member asked what he needed. Joon had told his mother he was quitting medical school. But standing in front of a stranger, the words came out differently.
“I’d like to… apply for a leave of absence.” He heard himself say it. A leave of absence. Not quite the same as quitting.
The staff member took out a form without any particular change in expression. She handed him a pen and pointed out the sections he needed to complete. The explanation was brief, and the process was simple. Joon took the paper and looked down at it for a moment. It was very light. He wrote his name. His hand shook a little, but his handwriting held steady. Only after signing did he put down the pen.
“We’ll process this,” the staff member said, taking the form.
That was it. One piece of paper. One signature. Joon had imagined something harder. Had it really been this easy all along?
Outside, students were still hurrying between buildings. Someone passed close enough that Joon had to step aside. He stood near the entrance, rubbing the finger that had gripped the pen. His name was on a form inside that building. No one passing him knew what he had just done.
He did not remember exactly how he got home. He only came back to himself when he was standing in front of the familiar door. Joon raised his hand, then lowered it. For no reason, he clenched and unclenched his palm once. Nothing had touched it, but he was strangely aware of it. After a brief pause, he opened the door and went in as if nothing had happened, which only made it feel more awkward. His mother was there as usual.
He went back and forth in front of his room a few times, then finally entered and put down his bag. Only after closing the door did he let out a longer breath. The room was the same, and yesterday’s book still lay on the desk. He sat down. He placed his hand on the book. He did nothing.
His mother appeared in his doorway. “What about school?”
Joon looked up from the book but said nothing. She turned toward the dining table, and he followed her. A spoon lay beside a glass of water. Joon sat down across from her.
“I took a leave of absence.”
His mother picked up the spoon, then let it fall against the table with a sharp clatter. “What did you say?” Joon opened his mouth, then closed it. “I said… I took a leave…”
“Who said you could?” Her voice rose, then dropped. “Do you have any idea what I’ve done for you? How much I’ve done so you could study without worrying about anything?” Joon remained seated. His mother placed one hand on the table. “Then get out.” Her voice was quiet, but the tip of her chin trembled.
“Get out. Right now!”
The moment he opened the door, the air inside the house seemed to push him out. Joon went down the stairs. His steps were uneven, but he did not stop. If he stopped, he felt he would go back. As he walked, he kept thinking, Is this right? Is this the real beginning? Or did I just ruin everything? There was no answer.
Joon walked without deciding where to go. The streets gradually became familiar, and before long he found himself outside his grandmother’s house. She opened the door, took one look at him, and smiled.
“Well, look who’s here. My little stinker!”
“Grandma, I’m not a kid anymore. You’re still calling me…” He stopped when she stepped aside and waved him in. She hadn’t asked a single question. Joon went inside without finishing his protest.
For several days, Joon did little beyond eating and sleeping. Sometimes he turned on the computer, only to shut it down again. He was getting used to not having to explain himself. But Varen’s words kept returning: Nothing disappears. It only changes form.
Joon stared at the ceiling. “Then what does this turn into?” Restless, he finally switched on the computer again.
His parents found him at his grandmother’s house before the week was over. His father told him to pack his things. His mother waited by the car without saying a word. Joon went home with them.
The next morning, his mother opened the garage door. She had pushed the boxes against one wall, leaving enough room for a desk.
“Use this.”
She turned away, muttering, “I heard some Apple salesman in America started out in a garage when he was in college…” Joon looked at the cleared space. It wasn’t large, but there was room for him to work. He stood there for a moment, then nodded.
That was enough.
That night, Joon turned on his computer again. The file was still there: parent_translation_v1.
He opened it. The cursor blinked.
— The Cult Leader —