2
## Chapter 2 : Her, Haruna
“This way. Ah, watch your step. You might slip.”
She tilted the plastic umbrella toward me and led the way. I followed her and asked,
“You speak Korean very well.”
“Ah, well... a little. I’m Haruna.”
“Haruna? Ah, that’s your name? I’m Gi-jun. Kang Gi-jun.”
“Gi-jun?!”
“Yes. Ah... and you can speak to me in Japanese, too. I can speak it to some extent.”
“Oh! あ、そうですか (I see)?”
We walked along the narrow stone path running beside the main house.
The salty wind blowing in from the night sea of Itoshima whipped around us together with the rain. My body was trembling, but perhaps because it was a foreign wind, my mind somehow felt strangely clear.
The place she led me to was a small annex tucked away in a corner of the yard.
When she slid the door open with a drik, the smell of old wood and the distinctive straw scent of tatami rushed out.
“My grandmother used it like a storage room after she passed away... so there’s quite a bit of dust. Still, it should be okay for getting out of the rain.”
Haruna spoke apologetically as she felt along the wall and flipped the switch.
Pop, bzzzz.
The fluorescent light flickered several times before suddenly illuminating the old room.
I swept my wet hair back and looked around.
A tiny room just like the ones I'd seen in Japanese manga.
It was obvious that no one had touched the place for a long time. Spiderwebs covered the corners, and a thick layer of dust had settled over the window frame.
An ordinary person might have thought this was a neatly kept “abandoned house.”
But it looked different to me.
‘Oh...’
I instinctively looked up at the ceiling.
The rafters were exposed because the ceiling hadn't been finished. Beneath them were thick beams supporting the structure.
The wood had turned black with age, but this wasn't cheap plywood.
‘Looks like zelkova...? And very thick, too...’
The framework was solid and heavy, holding firm without even the slightest warping.
The earthen plaster on the walls had cracked here and there, but the foundation was incredibly sturdy.
Rather than a rotten abandoned house, it felt as though the place was simply asleep for a while.
Apply oil stain, sand it down, install proper lighting...
‘No. It's occupational conditioning... Even after coming all the way here...’
I shook my head and chuckled.
I'd run away from everything, yet here I was calculating renovation costs again.
But one thing was certain.
Compared to the glamorous newlywed home in Seoul, this old, dusty space felt far cleaner.
Just then—
“Are you... okay? Your lips are blue.”
Haruna's worried voice brought me back to reality.
Come to think of it, the cold really was penetrating all the way to my bones.
Now that the tension had worn off, I seemed to be coming down with something.
I was about to take out my wallet, but stopped.
Even my wallet inside my wet pocket was damp.
“I’ll impose on you for a while. I’ll pay you. As you can see, I’m in pretty bad shape right now, so let me stay for just a few days. I don't even have the energy to find a hotel.”
At my words, Haruna's eyes grew round, and then she burst out laughing.
“There's no need to pay.”
“What?”
“This isn't an inn. Just... stay here for a few days and be my Korean conversation partner.”
“Conversation partner?”
“Yes. I've been studying Korean for four years. I'm self-taught, so I'm still not very natural... If you become my teacher, we'll call that payment for the room. ‘Call it even’—is that right?”
The way she emphasized the word “call it even” was rather cute.
Had she watched a lot of Korean dramas?
I chuckled and nodded.
“That’s a pretty cheap deal. All right.”
“Then make yourself comfortable. The blankets are in that cupboard.”
Haruna disappeared with light, quick steps.
Once she left and the sliding door closed, the sound of rain began to fill the room.
Pitter-patter, drip, drip. Pitter-patter.
The rain striking the tiled roof created a strangely rhythmic sound.
I took out a damp blanket from the cupboard and spread it out roughly.
I tossed off my wet clothes and crawled beneath the blanket. The smell of tatami stung my nose, but it wasn't unpleasant.
If anything, the scent, reminiscent of earth and grass, seemed to calm my mind.
‘There’s... none of that disgusting smell here.’
Perhaps because of the relief washing over me, my consciousness abruptly shut off as if someone had pulled the fuse.
---
When I opened my eyes, the rain had stopped.
A bluish dawn light was seeping through the shoji door.
“Ugh...”
My body felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.
Fortunately, my fever seemed to have gone down a little.
My throat was parched.
As I tried to get up, I noticed a small tray placed in front of the door.
When had she come by?
Almost unconsciously, I crawled toward the tray.
A steaming bowl of rice.
And wooden chopsticks with a small note.
Clear green tea had been poured over the rice, topped with shredded seaweed and a bright red piece of umeboshi that looked ready to burst with flavor.
Alongside it was a little note.
‘Ochazuke...?’
Just rice, tea, and a single piece of pickled plum.
I picked up the note sitting at the corner of the tray.
On the crumpled piece of paper was carefully written handwriting.
[When your stomach doesn't feel good, warm food is good. Please eat. - Umeboshi ochazuke]
‘조을 땐’ instead of ‘좋을 땐.’
‘조아요’ instead of ‘좋아요.’
‘메실’ instead of ‘매실.’
Her spelling was wrong, but I could feel the time she'd spent gripping the pen and struggling over the words in that crooked handwriting.
“Ha... She's cute.”
A laugh escaped me before I knew it.
Until yesterday, I'd been desperately suppressing the filth and sense of betrayal inside me.
And now, here I was, sitting in the corner of an unfamiliar seaside village, eating a meal prepared by a woman whose name I barely knew.
I had even managed a short, involuntary smile.
I picked up the chopsticks.
I raised the bowl to my mouth and slurped down the warm broth and rice.
“Hmm...”
It was warm.
The slightly bitter aroma of green tea and the sour, salty taste of the pickled plum felt as though they were massaging every corner of my tongue.
It wasn't strong or stimulating. It was mild and subtle.
The warmth traveling down my esophagus gently caressed my stomach, which had been frozen solid.
There was even a refreshing feeling, as though it were washing away everything that had been contaminated inside me.
‘This is good.’
Slurp, slurp.
I devoured the rice.
Perhaps because something warm had entered my empty stomach, I felt a twinge around my navel.
Only after I'd emptied the bowl did I slightly open the window.
Creeeak.
When the old wooden window opened, a cool breeze carrying moisture came rushing inside.
And the scenery that unfolded before my eyes—
“Ah...”
It was the sea of Itoshima.
A deep blue horizon emerging as the darkness receded.
The sound of waves breaking.
I'd felt that there was something extraordinary about this place.
This old annex was hiding a lovely and beautiful ocean view.
I set down the empty bowl and stared at the sea for a long while.
‘If it’s here... I think I can breathe.’
I closed my eyes again.
And fell back asleep.
---
When I opened my eyes again, the sun was already sinking toward the west.
Perhaps it was because the sound of the waves had sounded like a lullaby.
I couldn't even remember the last time I'd slept this deeply and continuously.
Waking up here was on an entirely different level.
The sound of the sea breeze shaking the paper-covered doors.
The distant cries of seagulls.
They were tiny, charming sounds that could only be described as peaceful, and they gently woke me.
When I sat up, my body felt as light as if I'd just washed all the fatigue away.
‘I'm hungry.’
An instinctive hunger.
I habitually reached for my phone, then stopped.
It didn't matter if I didn't know the time.
Eat when you're hungry. Sleep when you're tired.
That simple life was the only schedule I had been given right now.
‘What should I eat...?’
As I was about to open the door, I noticed something else sitting on the threshold.
A wooden tray.
‘...Huh?’
‘I didn't hear anyone approaching. When did she put this here?’
The tray held a modest assortment of food, neatly arranged.
Golden-brown vegetable fritters and thick rolled omelet.
Alongside them were steaming white rice and miso soup.
As expected, there was another note beside the bowls.
[Vegetable tikim (かき揚げ), egg mari (卵焼き). Eat mani.]
‘티김’ instead of ‘튀김’...
‘마리’ instead of ‘말이’...
Seeing the Japanese words written in parentheses, I could picture her struggling over each one.
In this day and age, did she really have to struggle this much to write them?
One search, one tap, and the world would spell the words correctly and even tell her how to say them.
It almost seemed as though she wanted to proudly show off her Korean.
I couldn't help but chuckle.
I brought the tray inside.
Crunch.
When I bit into a fritter, the thin coating shattered, and the sweetness of onion and carrot spread throughout my mouth.
It was cold, but it wasn't soggy.
Proof that she'd drained the oil properly.
And the rolled omelet?
The skill with which she'd rolled the thin layers one after another was no ordinary feat.
The moment I put it in my mouth, it melted softly, accompanied by the rich flavor of kelp broth.
“This house has good food...”
The words slipped out before I realized it.
Compared to the elaborate courses served at high-end Japanese restaurants, this rough, homestyle meal felt much more satisfying.
I emptied the bowls in no time.
Once my stomach was full, my curiosity about this house began to rise again.
And so did my curiosity about the woman named Haruna who had made this food.
‘I should at least properly thank her. I need to pay for the room and the meals, too.’
I stood up with the empty tray.
As I was about to head toward the entrance, the sliding door gave me trouble.
Creeeak, clunk.
“What’s wrong with this? Was it always like this?”
The door was catching around the middle of the rail.
I had to push it with some force before it would open.
I hadn't noticed it last night because I had been half-conscious, but now that I was fully awake, the sound began to bother me.
The wood had swollen from absorbing moisture.
On top of that, old dust and grime had accumulated along the rail.
It bothered me.
A lot.
My occupational conditioning had flared up again.
I carried the tray outside into the yard.
As luck would have it, Haruna was washing vegetables by the outdoor faucet at the side of the yard.
“Excuse me.”
“Ah!”
She turned around with the startled eyes of a rabbit. Wiping her wet hands on her apron, she came toward me with quick little steps.
“You’re awake? How are you feeling?”
“Much better, thanks to you. I ate well, too.”
When I showed her the empty bowls, her face brightened.
“That’s a relief... I was worried the food might not suit your taste...”
She took the tray and shyly asked,
“Did you... eat your meal well?”
“......What?”
I stared blankly at her for a moment.
Did she mean "eat" in the sense of just getting a meal out of the way?
Looking at her expression, she wasn't being sarcastic.
She genuinely seemed to be trying to ask, “Did you eat?”
I smiled and corrected her.
“I ate well. Thanks to you.”
“Ah...”
She blinked for a moment before her face quickly turned red.
“I-I'm sorry! I got the words mixed up... Not ‘eat your meal well’... I mean, did you eat?”
“It's fine. I understood what you meant.”
Her flustered appearance was rather cute.
To change the subject, I asked about something that had been bothering me for a while.
“Do you happen to have any candles left in the house? And some sandpaper would be good, too.”
“Candles... and sandpaper? I think we have some... I'll look for them. What do you need them for?”
“There’s something I need them for.”
Haruna looked puzzled, but nevertheless went into the storage room and rummaged around before returning with the items.
A white stub of a candle that looked like it had been left over from an ancestral rite.
And a piece of coarse sandpaper.
“Will this do?”
“More than enough. Somehow, I thought there'd be something like this. This is plenty.”
I took the items and walked toward the annex.
Haruna followed close behind me, curiosity shining in her eyes.
I stopped in front of the annex's sliding door.
I grabbed both sides of the door.
Hup.
I took a breath and lifted the door upward.
Clunk.
The old wooden door came off its rail.
“Huh? Why are you taking the door...?”
Haruna asked in surprise, but instead of answering, I showed her through my actions.
I stood the door to the side and examined the rail at the bottom of the door frame.
Just as I expected.
Dust and wood shavings had become tangled together.
I folded the sandpaper into a small piece.
Scritch, scritch, scritch. Scritch-scritch.
I began rubbing the gaps in the rail.
The rough sound was strangely pleasant to my ears.
It was the process of stripping away the contaminated layer and bringing out the wood's natural grain.
After a few strokes, the rail became smooth.
I blew on it, sending the dust away.
Next came the candle.
I carefully rubbed the candle along the door-threshold rail and the bottom of the door.
Swipe, swipe.
White candle wax coated the wood.
This alone would noticeably reduce friction.
It was the most basic and reliable method old carpenters used.
“All right. Now...”
I lifted the door again and fitted it back onto the rail.
Then I gave it a tiny push with one finger.
Whoosh.
Done.
Like sliding across ice, the door glided smoothly all the way shut.
“Wow...!”
Haruna's mouth dropped open as she watched.
As though she couldn't believe it, she opened and closed the door herself.
Whoosh. Whoosh.
The door moved smoothly without making a single sound.
She opened her round eyes wide and looked up at me.
“Wow... Amazing.”
A Korean exclamation suddenly slipped from her lips.
“Mr. Gi-jun, are you a magician? Even oil didn't work...”
At the look in her eyes, I casually brushed the candle wax from my hands and answered,
“For magic, it's a pretty minor trick.”
“Where did you learn something like this? That's amazing!”
“No, it's nothing amazing. Just... payment for the food.”
I added indifferently,
“The vegetable fritters and rolled omelet were delicious.”
Then she asked me,
“Are all Korean men this kind...?”