Leaving his family, Oahn walked with heavy and slow steps to his bedroom on the first floor. Climbing the stairs, one hand resting on the varnished wooden banister, he finally reached the first floor. He steped into the long corridor to his right and joined the penultimate door on the left at the bottom of the latter. He pushed open the door and rushed into the darkness of his room. Gently closing the door, Oahn remained a few seconds in the entrance to his room, one hand still on the handle, facing the large patio door that is used as a window, a moonbeam illuminating the environment in front of him. Letting go of the handle, he went to his bed with a sigh. He dropped on it and turned to put himself on his back. Oahn grabbed a pillow behind his head and put it on his belly, hugging him. His eyes on the ceiling, he gulped.

Of course the sounds of the ground floor didn't reach him, but he could still hear the voices of his parents and grandparents in his head. Like every year, once a month, they organized a big family reunion. Depending on the month, there were only grandparents on one side of the family or there were the four grandparents. The parents of Oahn's mother living farther than his father's, they saw each other less often and visited them more than the other way around. Living in Busan, it allowed them to change their air and enjoy the sea. Moreover, his father's parents living in the countryside, near Seoul, it was easier for the parents of Oahn, his brothers and sisters, and himself to see them. But that didn't mean they were closer to the paternal grandparents than the maternal grandparents.

In fact, people outside his family might think that his parents had a silver spoon in their mouths since birth, but that wasn't the case. Only his mother came from a wealthy family. His father was a son and grandson of farmers. The power and the money he held in his hands today had only appeared by his own will. He had built his empire by the strength of his arms alone, and that was perhaps why he had a little more merit than the others. But Oahn thought it was also why he knew the poison that money, power, popularity could represent. It was thanks to his different social environments, to his different legacies that he couldn't shut himself up in a bubble of falsehood and hypocrisy.

In these voices, Oahn heard their concerns: «Why did Oahn suddenly leave the table?», «Is everything okay with Oahn lately?», «Doesn't he put too much pressure on himself?», and he omitted many more. As the meal came to an end, Oahn apologized, saying that he was tired and that the next day he had to get up early because he had a class in the first hour of the morning. Living in one of Seoul's upscale suburbs, Oahn didn't live at a short walk or bus ride from the university. He needed at least half an hour to be there, and only when there was no traffic. Days when there were big and long traffic, the trip could take more than an hour. But in addition to the concerns of his education, those about his sentimental future had to fill the atmosphere of the dining room. If his maternal grandparents didn't ask many questions about it, his paternal grandparents did it all the time. And if his parents didn't care more than that, although the aristocratic rank of South Korea was also pressing them, it will never equal his father's parents. Oahn wanted to understand that they were looking forward to their first grandchild, especially since they were not getting any younger because his father was the youngest of two siblings and they had him late in life. But behind these concerns, there were stories, secrets that only this big dollhouse knew.

Squeezing the pillow more tightly against him, Oahn turned his gaze and met the cold glass of the patio door. The moonlight plunging into his eyes, he stayed in this position for several minutes.

Apart from his family, apart from this house, it wasn't the only place, the only moments Oahn had to wear masks. Every day he got up, he had to put on a suit that didn't represent the desires of his heart. Every day he had to walk alongside people he had never given permission to follow him. Even though the ancients say that everyone is master of their own destiny, Oahn knew for a long time that this wasn't the case, getting out of bed every day and walking in the footsteps of another person. Even when he put his hand before him, facing the sun, he didn't recognize it. Every day he got up, every day he met his eyes in the mirror of his bathroom, he never recognized the person who was facing him. When did he lose his identity? When did he begin to fade in the eyes of society? Even when he was alone in the darkness of his room, the light of the full moon reflecting on his skin, he didn't know who he was and who he was supposed to be. Lost behind so many masks, he didn't even know if the reasons that had established them were still right.

But in his existence, there was perhaps a person who never saw these masks. A person who had the chance to glimpse the true nature of Oahn. Since he had laid his eyes on this person, he didn't have the desire, the pleasure of playing a role. So, in front of them, he was never the clown of the class, he wasn't the joking friend. He let this person the opportunity to meet the Oahn who sits quietly on the sofa in his living room. The Oahn walking lightly in his house, greeting his parents and siblings in the morning before having breakfast. The quiet and talkative Oahn only when he really felt like it. And Oahn would like to understand why he let this person see him as his family could see him. He would like to understand why he wanted to lower his barriers to this stranger. Even if the silence and embarrassment filled their moments of intimacy, it had never pushed him to run for his life or turn his back, abandoning him for no reason. Even though Oahn knew where the story was going to end, deep down inside him, where the darkness was overcoming his little voice, he didn't want to close the door of this new adventure. He didn't want to let go of that hand, as if it hadn't brought anything.

Oahn would never have thought that in twenty-four years of existence, it would be letters that would remind him of all the concessions he had undertaken to make. Whether it is for the good of his family or his. But the appearance of those letters, he had hidden in a small wooden box, placed in his safe in his dressing room, questioned these concessions. From now on, Oahn didn't know if they were worth keeping. If for the first time he should live solely for himself, he couldn't care less about words and looks. If for the very first time he should live by listening only to his heart and not his reason. But wasn't that what he was already doing?

Since the end of middle school, he didn't care what words came out of his mouth, actions that his brain, his heart, his inner voice told him to do. Wasn't he, since high school, who had decided to embrace who he really was without worrying about what people could scream, whisper about him? Wasn't he the one to be called playboy? Was it not his name that was synonymous with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Was not it his name that built all the rumors that floated above Seoul's working class neighborhoods? Wasn't he the one everyone fled and yet admired? So why today did he want to tear off all those labels, which a few days ago didn't bother him? Why today did he want to walk in the street by being really and purely himself? What sorcery gave him the desire to remove all his masks? What sorcery urged him to return to the starting point, where this duplicity didn't yet exist?

But at this moment, plunged into the darkness of his bedroom, the words of the letters crossing his mind again and again, marking in indelible ink their reality, their truth, his heart had never felt so heavy and alone.