I like Gubosang.
How he's fucked in the head after going against his nature and killing people he would otherwise love to befriend and cherish.
How traumatized and in denial he is.
How he numbs himself with insincere poetry.
How his laugh sounds like he's mocking life, especially his life that sinks deeper and deeper after taking a wrong turn. He didn't deserve this, he knows, but all seems too late and nothing can be done but march forward, claiming that decision to be his own.
How his potential as a researcher is all wasted, and instead he's committing to something entirely out of his field, thanks to Hermann. How he, despite all, can't help but be drawn to knowledge, but is only allowed to take a sneak peek at those research papers when Hermann isn't around, treading on eggshells like a pathetic little thing. How much he savors these brief moments of joy, when not long ago, that freedom was his.
He is so wrong. So wrong that it's tragic. So wrong that it's beautiful.