Healer

“Who did this?”

Hashish said to the young men sitting in the waiting room. The clear tenor tone was further lowered.

“Did you all not hear that I just asked who did this?”

Hashish held a Venetian mask in his hand. The ivory mask had broken cheekbones.

“Don’t know. We were out and now we came back.”

Morphine answered him with a timid expression. When Hashish, who had the biggest build among the singers, had a grave expression, everyone held their breath. Cocaine, the owner of the mask, was looking at it in confusion. Yaba had just finished his sixth shower, had applied moisturising cream and was shoving his chubby forearms into a white arm warmer. Then the broken mask fell at his feet. Hashish asked fiercely.

“I saw you carrying Cocaine’s mask earlier, did you do this?”

Yaba answered without hesitation.

“No.”

Maybe he did. All he did was clean Cocaine’s mask and go into the shower. Putting on the arm warmer again, Hashish threw something the size of his fist. It was Yaba’s moisturising cream.

“Then what about this? It was in the mask, but you’re the only one using this cream here.”

“I don’t know. Don’t remember.”

It was true that he didn’t remember. But he might have done it because of the evidence that he couldn’t get away with. Sometimes he found himself destroying Cocaine’s things when he woke up.

The moment he slowly turned his head, his gaze met Cocaine’s. Yaba faced him with a straight face. His heart was pounding with half anticipation and half worry about how that noble face would be distorted, and how he would respond. But Cocaine looked at him with still eyes. And this time, as always, Hashish took his place. Hashish rushed in and punched Yaba in the face.

“Crazy bastard! I can’t take it anymore!”

Then Cocaine dissuaded.

“Yaba isn’t like that. Do you want to get another warning?”

“Because you keep tolerating it, that bastard keeps acting up!”

“Stop it, I’ll just use a different mask.”

“Let go of me!”

“I told you to stop.”

Hashish’s fists stopped as Cocaine lowered his voice. Cocaine didn’t shout, no matter how angry he was after “that incident.” Hashish sighed and lowered his hand. And he stared at Yaba with harsh eyes.

“One more time and you will die at my hands. It’s no use trying to stop me then.”

Both the Cocaine and Hashish returned to their places, and the young men checked their outfits.

“That bastard makes me feel sick.”

A murmur was heard from somewhere. He must have been talking about Yaba. Yaba wiped his nosebleed with an expressionless face. A worm suddenly squirmed under his cheek and he scratched with his fingernails.

Thud—!

Yaba threw the cream tin with all his might. He once was extremely sorry to death. He felt obligatory guilt because Cocaine’s life was twisted because of Yaba. But it took a little bit of time and a few minor incidents for the guilt to turn into hatred.

When the city prepared for the night, things also became busier as well. Paradiso was a den of perverts disguised as a place for therapy. As a human being, if you can’t release your sexual desires, your body and mind will be damaged, so it’s Giha’s argument that one should definitely get therapy.

Those who were impotent without a whip or chain, those who had to urinate to have an orgasm, those aroused by a corpse, or others moaning under an animal, etc… Paradiso had grown by leaps and bounds over the past decade, thanks to people who have nothing to satisfy their abnormal sexual desires.

It was noisy outside. The eunuchs1, who were busy preparing for the performance, rushed out and looked out the door of the waiting room. A strange sight could be seen through the crack in the door. A man was kneeling in front of Cocaine at the entrance of a tropical tree-filled lobby. Cocaine, not knowing what to do, got the man up.

“Mr. CEO. Please get up.”

The man in his early thirties was shabby and skinny like a drug addict. Because of Cocaine, Sejin had seen so many people who wasted their family income and ruined themselves. The man looked up at Cocaine, crying desperately.

“… I look like a crazy person right now? I don’t know why I’m like this either. I can’t do anything because of you and I don’t want to do anything. I’m going crazy because I want to listen to your songs all day. But the company… I’m bankrupt… I can’t come here anymore. Before that, one last time… I only want to hear you sing once. But now I don’t have anything… I just want to hear your voice… like this… I’m sorry.”

The beautiful god quietly sat down in front of the man and made eye contact. The man had a face that he could not help but admire in front of the statue of God as if he was repenting. As if he had heard the news, Kang Giha appeared and he said politely.

“You still have to pay a price to call for Cocaine. Guest. If you are busy with the management of the company, how hurt would your employees be if you did this here? There are a lot of customers waiting for Cocaine, so please stop.”

At Kang Giha’s glance, the thugs lifted the man up.

“Only once…! Sing only once!! Only once!! I’m begging you!!”

The man screamed and ran towards Cocaine. As soon as he hugged Cocaine, the man was trampled on by the thugs’ shoes. He was only a guest and a king when his pockets were thick with cash. The king howled bitterly as he was wretchedly dragged by the big men. After the commotion, Cocaine went into another room. Yaba snorted and sat down on a chair and started applying moisturising cream.

Young men in Venetian masks were waiting behind the stage. All of them were masked with their lips exposed because they had to sing songs to customers. The youth wore voluminous trousers, sleeveless tops, and even arm warmers that covered their forearms like industrial dolls. Most of the costumes for the performance are white, but Yaba didn’t like this because he preferred black clothes that were easy to hide in.

Kang Giha used Cocaine as the criterion for choosing stage costumes. Did the outfit suit his clear skin, does it enhance the curves of his body, does he like it, etc… Other young men also had to buy expensive masks and costumes with their own money, but he did not care about their taste. Watching the many others forced to sacrifice because of just one person, he felt like vomiting. So Yaba wanted to tear off his clothes every time and throw them in Cocaine’s face. Maybe he did in reality, who knows.

The young men chatted away while waiting. The voice that was not obstructed by the secondary sexual characteristics was a thin tenor tone, and they did not grow facial hair either. Among them, Cocaine was the only healer. The rest were chords that were caught wrongly by Giha, and Yaba was one of them. All the young men were beautiful boy sopranos, they all had drug names, and they were all eunuchs.