Severing the Past
That very day, I canceled my youth rental housing contract and liquidated all my assets. I withdrew every last won from my bank account in 50,000-won bills, stacking them neatly into a massive duffel bag. I packed only the bare essentials—clothes and toiletries—and left the home I'd grown attached to. To ensure no one in the world could ever track me down, I thoroughly destroyed my PC with all my personal data and hired a cleaning crew to scrub the place spotless before I walked out.
I pulled out my ID card, still bearing that baby-faced passport photo, and a family snapshot from an even younger age. Ah, Han Daeri. You're not even a 'Daeri' anymore, yet you're clinging to these sentimental scraps. I crushed the specially coated plastic ID in my fist, shattering it to pieces and flushing the shards down the sewer grate. Along with it went the faded memory of that snot-nosed kid gripping both his parents' hands, scowling for the camera in front of the church. That photo, carried for nearly twenty years, was no longer a link to my parents. It was just a stubborn relic of the past, dragging at my ankles.
"If you were still alive, you'd have come looking for me by now, right?"
My parents had always been strict—starving me through dinner for my mistakes, forcing me to copy Bible verses as punishment. Yet I knew they made time every weekend for me, played Santa at Christmas, leaving gifts by my bed. If only I hadn't fought with that friend at school that day, hadn't stormed out disrespectfully amid scoldings from my parents and teacher, hadn't wandered off alone far from home until late at night. Would my life be different now?
"Hilariously, that was just another 'choice' I made."
I was sick of this world that chalked up even a clueless kid's impulsive outburst—barely able to control his own mental issues—as a 'choice.' Because that childish whim led to losing my parents, growing up an orphan, bouncing between relatives while eating scraps of their pity, and ultimately wrecking my shot at a normal life in society? If that bullshit fate was God's will, I'd deny it gladly—over and over.
I didn't flush the torn photo down the sewer. Instead, I walked all the way to the Han Riverbank and scattered the fragments of old memories toward the pitch-black river, chilled by the crisp autumn wind. There was nothing left tying the old human Han Daeri to this world. Come to think of it, though I'd quit being an office worker, the title "Han Daeri" had a nice ring to it. Doesn't slapping a corporate rank on yourself make you look like a pro? I buttoned up my coat's lapels, pulled my hat low, and slunk into the glittering night city.
Compared to them, I'm way outclassed.
Those exorcist priest and his deacon—they'd tracked my irrational rampage through the city streets like I was possessed, arriving at the bar ahead of me. Without CCTV footage, they'd connected me to the serial murders solely from the pub owner's initial testimony and nailed the pursuit. Pros who stayed one step ahead. Their exorcism couldn't touch my mind or convictions, but I won't deny their skill. Hell, they even pierced my true identity—something the cops couldn't—and moved faster than me. Their experience, connections, and intel network in this field must be insane.
I never suspected the bar master knew the priest's crew, let alone that he'd spike my drink with holy water on their say-so. Impressive as hell. That's why they can preach God's pure will with such righteous faith. So I should learn from them.
Right now, I'm just a nobody. No knowledge, experience, or connections in this world.
Hell, I didn't even have a basic setup for whatever came next. But hey, I've got one edge over them. Amid the throngs wandering the neon-lit downtown night, I could spot the sinners. Light offenders, heavy ones, future criminals, lifelong saints, puppets twitching under possession against their will, even things that weren't human at all.
I stood stock-still in the crowd's heart, observing the human parade, noting their common threads and differences. By the time that endless-seeming cataloging wrapped up, the hazy dawn had chased away the streets' crowds. Rush hour would hit soon with the morning sun, but I had no desire to stand in the middle of it all, repeating the dull sorting. I'd gotten a rough feel for it.
Like market research before starting a business, I had mountains of intel to dig up before diving into this game. No time to waste—not even a minute or second—so I ditched the bustling streets for one of Seoul's bigger public libraries. By the time I arrived on foot, it was morning, and the doors were open.
I burrowed into the back corners where dusty tomes on religion and history gathered dust, devouring them. Somehow, my reading speed had skyrocketed—a thick volume took just ten minutes. Next book, then the next. When the stack beside me turned into a mountain, I'd fetch more and keep going. The librarian eyed me suspiciously from the counter, but I ignored her, reading on.
What is religion at its core? What of human history born from it, intertwined with it? How did historical figures view religion? How did societies embrace it, step by step? I pored over it all without pause.
Humanity's primal religions from the dawn of time didn't worship defined gods. They didn't name the thunder god Zeus, call wisdom Odin, or hail the mother of all as Gaia. Ancient folk, scrambling to survive day-to-day, deified natural disasters or blessings themselves, holding fertility rites. Naturally, they also offered sacrifices to appease nature's wrath. So the God with the most followers on Earth wasn't even history's first deity.
From a Christian lens: God created heaven and earth at the beginning, shaped all things, called it the Garden of Eden, and molded the first man, Adam, from clay in His image. Lonely Adam begged for a mate; God took his rib and formed Eve, the first woman and mother. God commanded: "Adam and Eve, take anything in Eden—but one thing: never touch the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil." They bowed and obeyed their great Creator and Parent. But Eden, perfect in every way, already harbored imperfections: the forbidden fruit humans didn't need, and a sly serpent lurking to drag them into evil's pit.
The serpent first tempted Eve to eat the fruit, then had her tempt Adam. Ignorant of good and evil—never having tasted the fruit—they fell for the snake's cunning tongue, committing grave sin. Ironically, lacking knowledge of good and evil made them easy prey for it. Why? Because their great Creator and Parent never taught them to distinguish it. He just issued a command with no reason: "Don't eat it."
Thus, Adam and Eve were cast from Eden, and the tale of primal humanity stretched from Old Testament to New, into modern society.
I closed the Bible Seong Shinbu had carried, feeling once more God's contradictions and the world's absurdities. To understand, I sought more knowledge. If God did it, there must be reason. I had to search, relentlessly. Otherwise, I'd stumble into paradox myself. Imperfection is the greatest weakness.
"Um... excuse me?"
"Yes?"
"We're closing soon. Sorry, but you need to head out."
At the librarian's timid request, I finally checked my half-cracked smartphone screen. Battery full since I barely used it, but time had flown to near 10 p.m. I'd spent the whole day buried in books.
"My apologies. I'll shelve them and go."
"No, no—I'll handle it as the librarian. Don't worry."
Her face screamed just leave already, so I left the towering stack to her and exited. Still not enough. I need to know more, train through experience, become a true expert. Otherwise, I'd end up a mute like Seong Shinbu, whose convictions I broke.
A lone guy in a coat lugging a duffel stuffed with millions? Rare sight in Seoul. Translation: easy mark to fleece. Proof came quick—passing an alley between shops, I bumped into a pack of high school punks smoking.
"Hey, old man. Come here, empty the bag."
"Dude looks like a bum—think he has shit?"
"Nah, those homeless types always haul tons."
"Yeah, last bum we rolled had booze and smokes piled high."
"Perfect, I'm craving a drink."
Even in the shadows, I saw their sins oozing black and thick. Seeing sin doesn't show what they did—just how deep, long, and heavy the aura clings marks the magnitude. These underage thugs carried no small guilt.
"Hey, old man. Hurry up and open the ba—gahhhk!"
I swung first. Unpracticed punch, my knuckles throbbed. The lead punk crumpled; the rest swarmed wildly. Kicks, punches, body-slams into walls—I didn't stop. Nose gushing, skin splitting, bones aching like cracks—I fought on silently.
"Agh! Fuck! Why won't this bastard...!"
"He's drunk or some shit? Won't go down no matter what!"
"Drunk guy fighting back? Just stomp him!"
Stomp me? Fine, I'll stomp you too. We rolled, trampled, battered like maniacs. Finally, I stood over them, face swollen, blood dripping from my nose. They groaned, staring up in terror.
But the real terror for you isn't me—it's the poor victims you've tormented. And as a bonus, that almighty Judge on the final day.
"Hey."
"Ugh... grk!"
I grabbed the hair of the sinniest one among them.
"Wanna die by my hand, or believe in Jesus?"