The Password
Washington Dulles to Incheon International Airport flight path. The two passengers who boarded the plane first in Delta One class chose beef tenderloin steak with red wine sauce for dinner. The man speared the last remaining piece of meat with his fork, scraping up the sauce left on the plate before popping it into his mouth.
"You already finished it all?"
"Hanwoo beef is delicious. They said it was from Jeju Island, right? I'm really looking forward to this Korea trip."
"Dr. Fuller. We're not here for a vacation."
The beautiful platinum blonde wiped her mouth with a napkin and shot a displeased look at her bald companion.
"I know, I know. But since we're representing the Seferon Foundation, we need to familiarize ourselves with Korean culture, don't we?"
Dr. Fuller fiddled with the gold-plated badge on his suit lapel. It featured a logo shaped like an hourglass, with top and bottom surfaces and one diagonal rendered in thick lines, resembling the letter 'S'.
Robert Fuller and Emily Mayakovsky. They were personnel dispatched by the Seferon Foundation.
"Anyway, let's not forget our purpose is purely verification."
NoName's proofs for the previous seven mathematical conjectures had all been deemed 'unverifiable.' To quote the mathematicians, it was like driving down a perfectly paved road only to slam into a massive boulder out of nowhere. The path was blocked midway before they could even tell if the direction was right or wrong. In the end, the only option was to confront the road's designer directly, so Dr. Fuller and Emily headed to Seoul, where NoName was.
Dr. Fuller, who had a broad interest in Korean culture including K-Pop. Current altitude: 10km above the clouds.
"Isn't this kid NoName?"
After finishing dinner, it was no coincidence that he started searching for NoName online. This was a hot video ranking 10th on VTube's real-time chart.
"What? Gayageum...?"
The title gave no clue as to the video's content. Mesmerized like he'd been bewitched by a fox spirit, he hit play, and there was NoName furiously shredding the gayageum with insane speed-picking for a full five minutes.
"What the hell did I just watch?!"
His review was short. Even after watching the whole thing, his brain refused to process it.
"Oh my oh my god... But do Koreans keep pet snakes?"
"What did you say?"
"Emily, look at this. There's a snake flicking its tongue right next to her."
"...!"
As Dr. Fuller said, a massive python as big as NoName slithered up a pillar onto the platform, then suddenly shook its body and started dancing. Emily Mayakovsky seriously considered canceling the Korea trip.
"Someone might see the video and come all the way out to this island."
"You think so?"
"If you meet any, don't be too cold—welcome them. They're fans of yours, after all."
I'd left everyone else at the house and climbed the back hill with the old master. I'd just gotten word from Seramaru that the VTube upload was live. Baek Bong-gon propped his kelpwood cane on the ground and perched on a stump. He gazed out at the sea stretching in all directions and let out a deep sigh.
"The world's changin' too damn fast. Don't ya think, Nami?"
"Yes."
"Don't I sound like some old fogey sayin' that?"
"Yes."
"Heh, you're one honest kid."
There's a thing called the Red Queen hypothesis. In the world of the Red Queen from Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, you have to run forward just to stay in place. It's a biological theory saying that in endless competition, you have to keep struggling nonstop or get weeded out.
If you go by that alone, Baek Bong-gon could be called outdated.
"But the world ain't a 100m dash. It's like a circular track—think you're fallin' behind, next thing ya know you're ahead. And trends come back around, right?"
Just look at the periodic retro booms. Denim pants with a denim jacket might seem like a fashion crime, but before you know it, it's leading the trends.
"Dividin' old from new don't mean much anymore. If you really wanna promote your magic crafts, you shouldn't hole up on this island—you need to advertise online or wherever, aggressively."
But the old master knows that. He bought bitcoin for ransomware, so he's no stranger to digital culture. His place has a door lock, and he even uses a medical capsule just fine.
"I heard you used to be a famous craftsman people respected. Why'd you end up hidin' away like this?"
"Hidin'? This here's my hometown."
"Before the mana power plant, there wasn't even cell service here—that's basically hidin'."
Professor Cheon told me. Baek Bong-gon had a well-known workshop in Seoul with plenty of regular customers.
"Here."
"?"
The old master suddenly handed me his phone.
"Bitcoin or whatever ya call it—that what ya wanted? Download a crypto exchange app."
"Now...?"
"You plannin' to wait till I kick the bucket? Hochan was bitchin' about the price droppin'."
Mentioning cryptocurrency from the old master felt all kinds of wrong. As the digital wallet password screen popped up, he grumbled on.
"You're right, Nami. Leavin' the world was my choice. This natural beauty healed me, or my guts would've burst from the pain."
"Were you that sick?"
"Body too, but mostly my heart. It hurt somethin' fierce."
He pounded his chest in grief. Sorrow deepened in his eyes.
"A man who loses his wife is a widower, a wife who loses her husband is a widow, kids who lose parents are orphans. But what's the word for parents who lose a child?"
"I don't know..."
"There ain't one. Can't even put it into words. Closest is chamcheok—惨戚, tragic sorrow."
"Ah..."
It's the word for the tragedy of a child dying before their parents. He sniffled but shed no tears. The old master's eyes had dried up long ago.
"Password? 'baek221214lee221210'."
A password chaining surnames and dates. Typing it as he said opened the electronic wallet Baek Ho-chan had so desperately wanted.
December 2022. What did it mean? Baek Ho-chan had tried his own birthday, his parents'—everything. No 2022 in there.
"My precious only grandson was Baek Ho-jun. My daughter-in-law was Lee Na-yoon."
"Hochan's parents?"
"Yup. December 2022 was their death anniversaries. Sigh..."
I turned off the phone and sat beside him, staring at the crashing waves for a long while. This was a scene unchanging 365 days a year—and it never would.
Baek Bong-gon's time had stopped in 2022.
"Hochan probably don't even know what his parents looked like. They handed him to me right after birth and ran off to the Middle East to kill folks."
2022—Baek Ho-chan would've been barely three. Losing parents is heaven-falling grief, but a child going first? I couldn't fully grasp the old master's bottled-up anguish.
"Shut down the shop, chased off all my friends, got pushed to this island—my hometown. But I had to raise Hochan right. What'd he say about me? He don't like me much, huh?"
"Yeah, Uncle Hochan said he hated Grandpa."
"Figures. Can't have the kid gettin' bullied for no parents. So I raised him strict. Couldn't break his stubbornness about goin' to the academy, though."
"Were both his parents academy grads?"
"Beyond master craftsman—grandmaster level, Nami."
His face still shadowed with grief, he patted my head. That explained his hatred for the academy.
"America's individualist, Korea's collectivist? Bullshit. The academy and foundation pretend to be liberal individualists, but their actions? No different from commies!"
Baek Bong-gon ground his teeth.
"Dressed up in money and glory, lure young green kids who know nothin' to hellish battlefields—what're they if not devils?! Commandin' hot-blooded youth to slaughter each other—what else but devils...!"
Baek Bong-gon hated the foundation that took his children's lives. It was a conviction unchanging till death.
Parents bury in the mountains; children bury in the heart. The noble sacrifices of wartime magic craftsmen were etched in history, but as someone's child, sibling, parent, they were interred in survivors' hearts.
"So Nami, stay out of danger—don't even think about it. Byeong-ho's boy is pitiful too. Maybe more than me."
As I just blinked, he grabbed my shoulders.
"Your old man ain't told ya nothin'?"
I nodded.
"Damn... Heart don't get numb for shit! Can't forget a thing. Fine. If you're curious, ask Byeong-ho—no, Kyujin? Ask Kyujin. C'mon, let's head down for dinner with those troublemakers."
The red sunset dipped below Biano Island right beside us. Dragonflies flitted freely across the clear summer sky, awash in blue and orange.
"Hurry up!"
The kelpwood cane waved side to side by the dragonflies, urging me on. Having unburdened his long grief, Baek Bong-gon looked relieved. As the brilliant sun vanished completely, deep shadows cloaked the little woods.
Thinking of Professor Cheon suddenly made my chest tighten uncomfortably.
"Comin'."
I called out to Sebastian (half-eaten python) trailing behind me.
"Master. Come here a sec?"