The Hedge

Chapter 1: Twin Monuments

The Jihun and Min estates glared at each other across Maple Hill's manicured divide - twin monuments to a blood feud older than the boys inhabiting them. Yoon's family occupied a brutalist concrete fortress bristling with biometric scanners, its angular lines reflecting his father's reputation as the tech mafia's most ruthless data broker. Across the thorn-ridden barberry hedge, Seojun's ancestral Hanok compound with its curling pagoda roofs housed three generations of traditionalist crime lords currently losing territory to Yoon's cyber-savvy clan.

The two mansions stood like opposing forces, each reflecting the contrasting world of their inhabitants. Yoon's world was one of cold, sterile technology, a place where security and control reigned supreme. Seojun’s world was steeped in history and tradition, a haven of whispers and shadows, where loyalty and power were intertwined.

"Never speak to them," Yoon's mother had warned, French-tipped nails digging into his shoulder as black SUVs rolled past the rival property. "Those backward thieves would skin you alive to access Father's blockchain networks."

Yoon's family had just moved into the city beside Seojun’s house, a strategic maneuver designed to increase pressure on the aging crime lord family. Both families were incredibly wealthy, their vast fortunes fueling the animosity between them. Yoon and Seojun, despite their young age, were already caught in the crossfire of this ancient feud.

The twin mansions of Maple Hill stood as frost-coated sentinels separated by an ornamental hedge, their leadlight windows glimmering like jeweled eyes in the perpetual twilight of old money. Six-year-old Yoon pressed his nose against his third-floor bedroom window, breath fogging the cold glass as he watched servants polish marble floors in the silent theatre of his gilded cage. Homeschooling meant his world existed in monochrome - leather-bound textbooks, his mother's perfume lingering in empty hallways, the metronomic click-clack of his tutor's fountain pen.

His life was a carefully constructed illusion of wealth and privilege, yet it felt empty and suffocating. The only hint of color came from the world beyond his window, a world he was forbidden to explore.

Then came the rustle of crimson curtains across the divide.

A boy with blacked hair and a crooked grin appeared, pressing a notebook against his window. Neon marker bled through the page: HEY NEW KID! Yoon's trembling fingers sketched a reply in crayon, initiating their first clandestine conversation across the chasm of topiary and propriety.

This small act of defiance, this shared moment across the hedge, marked the beginning of a journey that would challenge the rigid boundaries of their families and forge an unlikely friendship.

A red colored crayons written on the paper: HELLO, I am yoon how about u? The writing crooked and wrong spelled as a kid.

they started writing on paper sending texts and messages to each other, they became childhood friends and talked every day on paper.

Weeks flew by as Yoon and Seojun scribbled notes, giggled through windows, and waved stuffed animals at each other from their bedrooms. Yoon’s favorite was a threadbare rabbit named Jjokki, while Seojun’s “guard bear,” Captain Crunch, wore a foil sword taped to his paw. Though separated by a garden and two mansion walls, they’d become best friends—even if their conversations were silent, written in giant letters or mimed through exaggerated charades.

But tonight was different.

Yoon’s parents were away, and the mansion buzzed with maids polishing silver and guards patrolling hallways. A grandfather clock ticked ominously in the foyer, its pendulum swinging like a warning. Seojun, ever the schemer, pressed his face against his bedroom window and flashed a handwritten sign:

“SNEAK OUT? I HAVE A PLAN! ☠️”

Yoon hesitated. How? The first floor was a fortress. He’d once tried to sneak a cookie from the kitchen and been caught by the head guard’s laser-eyed glare. But Seojun unfolded a crumpled sketch: an escape route through the rose bushes, ducking under the kitchen window, then sprinting to the oak tree by his bedroom. “Trust me,” Seojun mouthed, tapping the paper like a general plotting a siege.

At midnight, heart pounding, Yoon tiptoed past snoring guards, thorns snagging his pajamas. Moonlight turned the garden into a silver maze, and the oak tree’s branches clawed at the sky like skeletal hands. Seojun leaned out of his window, grinning. “Grab my hand!” he whispered. With a tug, Yoon tumbled inside, both collapsing in muffled laughter. A lamp rattled, and they froze—but no footsteps came.

“We… did it,” Yoon gasped, clutching his sides. No more paper pads—they could finally talk. His voice felt strange, loud and free in the quiet room.

Seojun dumped a treasure trove onto his bed: chocolate chips pilfered from the pantry, grape soda swiped from his sister’s stash, and a mountain of teddy bears salvaged from attic boxes. Captain Crunch toppled off the pile, foil sword jabbing a pillow. “Fortress time!” Seojun declared, draping blankets over chairs. They used clothespins to secure mismatched quilts, creating a lopsided castle that smelled faintly of mothballs. Huddled inside with flashlights, they cast bear-shaped shadows on the walls.

“This is way better than my boring room,” Yoon said, hugging a polar bear plushie missing an ear. His mansion bedroom, all velvet curtains and oil paintings of scowling ancestors, felt worlds away.

“Told you!” Seojun tossed a chip into the air and caught it in his mouth. Crumbs sprayed everywhere. “Now, storytime. Once, there was a spy teddy who stole… all the cookies in the kingdom!”

They invented wild tales until dawn, their whispers blending with crickets outside. Captain Crunch became a cookie-thief turned hero; Jjokki rode a soda-can rocket to Mars. When Yoon’s eyelids drooped, Seojun handed him a pillow stuffed with feathers poking out the seams. “Just don’t snore,” he teased, flopping onto a beanbag.

“You snore!” Yoon fired back, grinning. He’d never had a sleepover—or a friend who made his stomach hurt from laughing.

By sunrise, the fortress sagged, candy wrappers littered the floor, and their parents would’ve grounded them for life… but for two boys with a secret, it was the perfect night. As birds chirped outside, they pinky-promised: next time, they’d borrow Seojun’s dad’s walkie-talkies… and raid the kitchen’s cookie jar.

The morning after their midnight adventure, sunlight spilled into Seojun’s bedroom, revealing a battlefield of fallen fortress blankets and cookie crumbs. A half-empty grape soda bottle rolled under the bed, and Captain Crunch’s foil sword lay bent in defeat. Yoon sat up, rubbing his eyes—then froze.

“My teddy bear!” he whispered. “Mr. Whiskers… he’s gone!”

Seojun bolted awake, knocking over a tower of chip bags. “Did he get eaten by the chip monster?!” He lifted a cereal box, but Yoon shook his head, panicked.

“I always sleep with him. If my parents find him missing when they come back tonight…” His voice wobbled. The consequences were unthinkable: no more adventures, ever.

Seojun sprang into action, scattering crayons and rubber bands across the floor. “Operation Rescue Mission!” He drew a map on a napkin stained with ketchup, showing two paths back to Yoon’s mansion: one through the garden (swarming with gardeners armed with hedge clippers), the other past the kitchen (where the head maid, Mrs. Hong, sharpened knives like a supervillain, her glare frostier than the freezer).

“We need a distraction,” Seojun said, tossing Yoon a baseball cap speckled with dried paint. “Disguise time. And remember—noise is our enemy.”

10:07 AM – The Garden Route

Yoon crouched behind a hydrangea bush, clutching Seojun’s “walkie-talkie”—two tin cans connected by string that kept tangling in his knees. Pollen tickled his nose, and he stifled a sneeze.

“Pssst—ducks at 3 o’clock!” Seojun’s voice hissed through the can, sounding miles away.

Yoon lobbed a handful of breadcrumbs toward the pond. The ducks descended like feathered tornadoes, wings flapping and bills snapping. Six ducks stampeded, quacking loudly, as gardeners dropped their shears and gave chase. “Duck chaos… working,” he reported, army-crawling through dewy grass to the mansion’s back door.

10:23 AM – The Kitchen Gauntlet

Seojun, wearing sunglasses (lopsided) and a fake mustache drawn with black marker, approached Mrs. Hong. His shoes squeaked theatrically. “Ma’am, I’m here to inspect your… uh… spoon collection?”

Mrs. Hong squinted, clutching a cleaver. “Who are y—”

CRASH! A tower of pots “mysteriously” fell in the pantry. (Thank you, Seojun’s remote-controlled toy car, which now sported a dented fender.) While Mrs. Hong stormed off, muttering about “poltergeists,” Yoon slipped inside, heart pounding. The kitchen smelled of lemon polish and danger.

10:45 AM – The Bedroom Heist

Yoon’s room felt foreign in daylight—polished floors gleaming like ice, velvet curtains drawn tight. Mr. Whiskers lay slumped on his pillow, one button eye dangling by a thread. His fur was matted from years of hugs. Yoon grabbed the bear just as footsteps echoed outside.

“Yoon? Are you here?” A maid’s voice. Keys jingled in the lock.

Panicking, Yoon dove into the closet, hugging Mr. Whiskers. Winter coats swallowed him in mothball-scented darkness. Think, think! He spotted his window—cracked open, a sliver of freedom—and Seojun across the garden, waving a giant butterfly net.

“Jump!” Seojun mouthed, bouncing on his toes.

Yoon hurled Mr. Whiskers. The bear sailed through the air, limbs flailing, until— THWAP! —he landed in Seojun’s net like a fuzzy soccer goal. The victory dance that followed nearly toppled them both.

11:00 AM – The Getaway

Back at Seojun’s, they stitched Mr. Whiskers’ eye with dental floss (“surgical precision!” Seojun claimed). The bear now wore a pirate patch made of bandage tape. “You’re a hero,” Yoon told Seojun, who bowed dramatically, almost upending a bowl of leftover chips.

“All in a day’s work,” he said, then grinned. “But next time… let’s borrow my dad’s drone. We’ll airlift snacks!”

Yoon giggled, the sound strange and light in his throat. For the first time, his mansion didn’t feel like a cage. It felt like the start of something wilder—something with secret missions, sticky high-fives, and a best friend who turned panic into play.