I'm Not the Mask
"I..."
His true heart. The true heart he held for the people who had fought beside him.
Is this even the right place to say it?
The words caught in his throat before he could let them slip. It was only a moment, but long enough to look back at himself.
Did I even have anything you could call a true heart?
Everyone had fought together, and the road had succeeded because everyone was there. Alone, he could never have done it. Forever was not a world where one person's strength could accomplish everything. Another One could have folded the Earth itself without a second thought, and still there was a reason he had built an organization and run it instead of simply doing so—even an organization that had volunteered itself as useful.
If I'm going to break Forever, and kill Another One, I can't fight alone.
One hand can't hold back ten. The world's chaos was unfolding in real time, and danger still lay heaped like mountains.
Right. That's what I should say.
He would explain it properly to Hong Yumin, close enough to touch.
But the moment he looked into her eyes, he understood. This was not the answer she wanted. As if she didn't know that they had to stand together to break through. Her intent lay somewhere else.
Ah. I see.
This was a sulk. A sulk aimed at herself, for having been able to do nothing while he fought. A complaint the drink had dragged out of her.
And if he started explaining the necessity of comrades here, what then? He would be no ordinary tactless fool.
Remember. This was a date. Even this back-and-forth was only the date, carried a little further.
He laid his hand gently over the fist bunched in his collar. The rigid shackle loosened with a soft slide, and their hands were clasped once more.
"Yumin."
"What."
"Are you really angry?"
"...I am not angry."
Perhaps because he had gone quiet for so long, Hong Yumin seemed to be looking back at herself as well. Where their skin met, it burned.
"Forget what I said before. I was talking nonsense."
She made to draw her head away. He lifted his other hand and stopped her.
"...What do you think you are doing?"
"I like it like this."
He stroked her hair. Red threads slipped between his fingers and fluttered through the empty air—softer than silk, cleaner than water. A masterpiece nature itself had wrought lay in that hand.
Hong Yumin only twitched an eyebrow. She stayed as she was, and offered no resistance.
So this is what a woman's hair is like.
He thought he understood why men lost their minds over it. He'd heard plenty of women hated the feeling. At the very least, Hong Yumin seemed all right.
While she's allowing it, I'll enjoy every bit I can.
He did not stop at stroking her hair. Every sense he had. Everything.
How unsettling.
Forehead met forehead. Their breath mingled, and their lips were left with nothing between them but the obstacle called distance. It was a mercy the man had closed his eyes, lost in her hair. If he had not, her face would have given everything away.
Have I ever let a person this close?
She had not.
She had gone with Soryeong to a place called a sauna, and to a massage parlor too. They had seen each other bare and played like children. Never once, though, had she shared a stillness like this with a man.
Why did I allow it?
When he took her hair in his hand, she had not wanted to resist. As if drawn along by his touch, she had given her body over.
It tickles.
She stole glances at him and felt the shape of his hand. Perhaps it was his first time stroking someone as well. The way his fingers combed down through her hair was a little clumsy. Now and then it tangled, and once his hand kept riding the strands down until it reached a place it had no business touching.
It was not particularly unpleasant.
No. If anything, it set her at ease.
Familiar?
All at once she thought she had felt this before.
When was it?
Turning the sensation over, she went back. She left the idle years behind her, far and far downward, into a past so distant she could no longer even call it up.
A young housewife wiped a little girl's face with a cloth.
"Aigoo. What is all this? Were you playing in the dirt again?"
"Bleh."
"Mom, that hurts!"
"Just bear it a little. The dirt's dried on, so it won't come off."
The girl windmilled her arms under the woman's hands. The housewife found it so dear that she laughed.
"Stay this much of a tomboy and who knows who'll take you when you're grown? Shall we let Cheoldong from next door have you?"
"Don't say horrible things! I'm never playing with that mutt again!"
"Oh, I'm sure."
The housewife took the cloth away. The girl's face was clean. She wiped her hands on her apron.
A slow, gentle stroke. The cleaned hand rose over the girl's head.
"Hm?"
"Play without getting hurt, all right? And when it's time to eat, you come straight home."
"Yeah! I got it!"
The girl smiled, shy and bright, beneath the woman's hand.
Hong Yumin watched the scene.
So I had a memory like this.
A small fragment of a family grown faint. A child's heart buried under the years. One of the happinesses she had known when she was small. An ordinary, peaceful day.
Was it to that extent? This thing I feel toward him?
Just because he stroked my hair?
No. It is not something so simple.
Like a bird that had never been able to settle anywhere, finally finding a nest, she felt safe with this man.
Funny. How ridiculous.
Is my belly full? Have I lost my mind?
She had gained a dear friend, stepped out into the world, and even welcomed back the one she had respected. What more was she wishing for?
Was I a woman as well, all this time?
Like some woman yearning for a mate to last her life—am I taking my satisfaction and my ease in the arms of a steady man?
Foolish. It cannot be.
This was nothing but a mishap born of drink. These were not sober feelings.
Love? Not a chance. There is no man anywhere who could take me.
I will never have cause to share love with a man.
"Sorry. That was pretty uncomfortable, wasn't it?"
"Ah..."
Satisfied at last, the man smiled softly and lifted his head away.
She set the wistfulness behind her. She could not show him a weak face.
"...You enjoyed yourself rather rudely."
"Sorry. It just felt too good."
"If it was so good, why not stroke it more?"
"I shouldn't. It's late besides."
The clock on the wall was already turning toward midnight.
"Has so much time passed?"
She was faintly startled. She was certain it had been time for supper when they came home.
"I was surprised too. Guess we were enjoying ourselves without noticing."
"...Ha."
The man began clearing the table. There was little trash, and it was gone quickly.
"I'll go throw this out."
"There is no need. I will see to it."
"No. They're boxes, so they have to be sorted. There's a recycling station right outside."
He gathered the bag in one hand and stood.
"...You could stay a little longer."
"It's too late."
Yes. Letting him go is the proper thing.
It was a first date for both of them. To hold him any longer would be rude.
She saw him to the door.
"The date was wonderful. I don't think I'll forget it."
"Is that so?"
"What about you, Yumin?"
"I think it was not entirely bad."
"I'm glad."
The man smiled, bright as anything.
"Then I'll go."
The door opened. He took one step away.
"...Go well, Mask."
He drew something from inside his coat. Her eyes flew wide.
"This is..."
"I'm Do Kyungsoo."
A sharp crackle. Upon the smooth white mask, a name engraved itself.
Those three syllables opened a door and stepped quietly through.
She took the mask.
"Is the name Do Kyungsoo your true name?"
"Yeah. I'm only getting to say it now."
She stroked the mask. The mouth, pressed tight into one straight line, was rather cute.
"Will you tell the others as well?"
"I can only say it today. Next time will probably be impossible. I'm telling only you."
He drew out another mask and set it over his face. Something twisted—unpleasant, and wrong.
"I'll really go now. Let's meet again."
"......Go well."
The man—no, the phantom thief Phantom—quietly closed the door.
She was alone in the dark hall.
"Not alone, perhaps..."
She put the mask to her face. It was a little large. She could hardly see in front of her.
"To think you fought so well wearing this."
Well. That would be why he was a phantom thief.
"Tonight will not be lonely."
She gathered the mask against her chest and went in. The dark hall, by the light glancing off the mask, was not dark.
"Everybody! I have returned!"
The phantom thief came rolling in, over and over.
"You're back?"
Pele, drinking alone in the living room, greeted him.
"And where has everyone else gone, that only Pele remains?"
"It's that hour. They all went to their rooms."
"Ah. It is certainly time for bed."
Pele looked at the phantom thief, propped crookedly against the wall.
"Haa..."
"A sigh, the moment you look at me? Have I done something wrong?"
"I'm frustrated, that's why. What are you going to do about it?"
Pele drank straight from the bottle.
"If you're going to go, go all the way. Don't leave an opening for nothing."
"Pardon?"
"I didn't say anything."
The phantom thief dropped down beside her.
"What."
"It would be too lonely to drink alone, so I shall join you."
"Forget it. Go sleep. You're tired."
"I could never leave a lady on her own."
He snapped his fingers. Two antique glasses popped into being.
"Cheers."
"...Cheers."
Pele clinked her glass before she quite knew she had.
"...So. Was the date fun?"
She emptied one glass, then asked with care.
"Hmm..."
The phantom thief tilted his head.
"Somehow I feel that if I speak of it, my head will split."
"Brat. You're sharp."
"For the present, I shall devote myself to Pele."
"Oh, you."
Pele smiled, just a little.
"Hey. Next time, take me on a date."
"What?"
"Why? You don't want to go with me?"
"...It's not that."
The phantom thief fidgeted with his fingers. Pele swallowed hard against the anxiety rising in her.
He would not meet her eyes.
"If a child and an adult went on a date, wouldn't that be a crime?"
Pele looked down at herself. It was the body of a child whose growth had only just begun.
"I see."
Pele formed a spear.
"Wait—Pele?! This is my house?!"
"Shut up."
The phantom thief's skull split.
It was a certain day, after a date had ended.