American Adventure: My Uncle is Don Quixote

Later, she stopped putting the awards up, stuffing them all into her school bag instead. When she moved into her college dorm, she took them all with her.

Jin Heon sat down on the edge of the bed, and the springs let out a faint creak.

The bed was too small for her now, so small she couldn’t fully stretch out on it anymore.

She placed the barley tea on the nightstand and sat quietly for a moment.

The air in this room always seemed to have the same smell—damp walls and old wooden floorboards.

She had spent her childhood and teenage years in this room until the summer she turned eighteen, when she couldn’t wait to move out.

On this bed, she had heard it countless times: the sounds of smashing from the living room, the arguments, the angry shouts, and the crying. She would pull the blanket over her head and press a pillow to her ears.

She once trembled while doing her math homework, terrified that her door would be kicked open at any moment.

She stood up and went to the window.

Looking out, she saw the brick wall of the opposite apartment building and a rusty pipe. The distance was about 1.2 meters. She could make the jump, if necessary.

She had never jumped, but she had measured the distance and considered it more than once.

Suddenly, she felt she shouldn’t stay in this room any longer.

Every inch of air in this place was a reminder of how painful her life used to be.

’It never felt this painful when I came back during my school days,’ she thought. ’I must have gotten too used to the good life.’

She picked up the barley tea, ready to return to the kitchen, say a quick word to her mother, and leave.

Just then, a sudden noise came from the living room.

The sofa springs squeaked, followed by the sound of slippers dragging across the floor. Then came her father’s hoarse voice, as if he still hadn’t fully sobered up.

"Just now... did I hear the door open?" a muffled voice asked. "Did you go out?"

"I... I didn’t go out," her mother’s voice replied, soft and cautious. "I’ve been cooking the whole time."

"What’s this bag?" came the sound of a bag being rustled. "Wild ginseng? Where did you buy something so expensive? Who gave it to you?"

"I..."

"Did you get yourself a man on the side?!" her father roared. "Did he buy this for you? Was he just here?!"

"I wish I had," her mother sneered. "After all, the biggest mistake of my life was ending up with you—"

SLAP!

The crisp sound of a slap.

"Bitch!" he roared. "Where is he? Where is he hiding?!"

Jin Heon’s body went rigid the moment she heard the slap.

That sound made her forget everything. In that moment, she wasn’t the 22-year-old COO, the Jin Heon worth tens of millions.

She was eight-year-old Jin Heon, curled up in bed, covering her ears and subconsciously counting the thuds from the living room.

One, two, three, until her mother stopped yelling back at him, until she made no sound at all.

She was also eleven-year-old Jin Heon, coming home from school to find shattered dishes on the floor and her mother clutching her forehead, telling her, "Mommy just had a little fall."

She was also fourteen-year-old Jin Heon, kicked in the stomach by her father after taking a slap for her mother, the pain so intense she couldn’t even speak.

These images didn’t appear in chronological order. They stabbed into her all at once like a handful of shattered glass, each shard holding a complete memory.

Another, louder crash came from the kitchen, immediately followed by her mother’s stifled cry.

Jin Heon rushed out instinctively.

"Stop!" she yelled.

By the time she came to her senses, she was already standing at the kitchen doorway.

Her father had his back to her.

He was more bloated than she remembered, his hair almost completely white. He looked more like he was seventy than forty. He wore a gray, pilled sweatshirt. His right hand was braced on the edge of the table, where the overturned ginseng gift box and the knocked-over pot of barley tea lay.

Her mother was backed into the narrow space between the stove and the refrigerator, one hand shielding her face, the other clutching a corner of her apron.

Hearing Jin Heon’s voice, her father turned around in surprise.

Jin Heon had thought she was mature enough, composed enough, powerful enough—just as she had been in front of the NFL’s drug testing team, just as she had been in front of Mason Reed.

But when Jin Heon met her father’s eyes, her own gaze still instinctively flinched away.

"Heon," he stammered, seeming surprised that it was her who had come in. "When did you get back?"

"Just now," she squeezed out the words. "I just got back."

"Your mom said you found a job?" His eyes were fixed on Jin Heon—bloodshot, clouded, his pupils struggling to focus. "Pays well?"

"It’s not much money," Jin Heon said, forcing herself not to look at her father. "I—"

"Liar!!"

Her father suddenly flew into a rage, violently shoving the pot of barley tea. Scalding hot tea nearly splashed onto Jin Heon.

Her mother screamed, and Jin Heon glared at him.

"Didn’t you say you were making 5,000 a month? (Chapter 222)" he roared. "Don’t you have a scholarship? Plus the money you’ve saved up yourself, and you’re still saying you have no money?"

Jin Heon was silent.

"You must have money," her father muttered to himself. "Give me some. I’m a little tight on cash right now, borrowed some money from a friend that I have to pay back... You’re earning money out there, right? Give your dad some."

"2,000... no, 1,000," he said, suddenly breaking into a smile. "500 would be fine, too. 500 is enough."