Off to Moonrise
The next day for the Japan trip. The moment Park Kyung-ho entered school, something felt off in the atmosphere.
"Hey, Park Kyung-ho!"
Someone shouted from the end of the hallway. He turned to see a few boys from his class waving.
"You're really going to Japan?"
"When ya leavin'?"
"Whatcha gonna do there?"
Even as he wheeled into the classroom, the questions kept pouring in without a break.
"Ya speak Japanese?"
"Ya make cartoons, right?"
"They say Japanese girls are super pretty—is that true?"
"Hey, when ya come back, can ya bring one of those... y'know... gravure magazines?"
Kyung-ho sighed and set his bag down beside his desk.
"One at a time."
But they clearly had no intention of taking turns.
"Ya gonna see celebrities in Japan?"
"Hey, how much do animators make?"
"Is the food good there?"
"Can ya eat sushi every day?"
Kyung-ho finally raised his hand.
"I haven't even gone yet."
Laughter erupted in the classroom. That's when a familiar voice came from behind.
"Y'all idiots, ya gonna get crushed before Kyung-ho even heads to Japan!"
It was Han Seung-gyu.
"Aigo, ya all packed and ready?"
Kyung-ho nodded.
"Yup. Anything ya want me to bring back?"
"Nah, nothin'. Just tell me how the plane ride was. Oh, yeah—my cousin said ya gotta take yer shoes off on planes, right? Be careful, yeah."
In modern times, no one would've fallen for that prank, but...
"Whoa, really?"
"That's right! Planes ain't cheap—ya think they'd let ya board with shoes that've stepped in shit?"
"True, true."
"Seung-gyu's smart, huh?"
The '70s kids were still pure.
"When ya leavin' tomorrow?"
"9:40 a.m. flight, so I gotta be there by 7:30."
Seung-gyu widened his eyes.
"Whoa... damn... if I go to the airport with ya, I'd have to leave crazy early."
He went quiet for a moment, then muttered casually,
"Kinda jealous, though."
Kyung-ho smiled.
"Ya wanna go to Japan too?"
"Pigs can't fly, right? How's that fat pig gonna soar through the sky?"
It was Choi Jung-hye's voice.
"Here she comes pickin' fights again!"
"And how the hell ya gonna make it to the airport in the mornin'? Ya late for school every day."
"Argh, shut up!!!"
Jung-hye crossed her arms and looked down at Kyung-ho.
"Besides, he'll probably just draw pictures the whole time he's there."
"That's why he's goin', ya idiot."
Seung-gyu shot back, and soon the two were bickering as usual. They always made such a cute couple.
"When ya two gettin' married?"
"Hey, Park Kyung-ho!"
"Ya crazy?!?!"
Aigoo, my ears!
The bell rang. Ding-ding-ding— Regular classes were over. The kids poured out of the classroom in a rush.
Kyung-ho grabbed his bag and gripped his wheelchair wheels.
"I'm headin' out."
Seung-gyu said,
"See ya, man."
Jung-hye, who'd rushed over the second classes ended, smacked Seung-gyu's back.
Smack!
"Ow, why?!"
"Ya call that a friend? At least walk him to the gate!"
"I gotta piss!"
"Just piss yer pants!"
In the end, Seung-gyu pushed Kyung-ho's wheelchair on Jung-hye's orders.
"I'll give ya ten thousand won if ya get married."
"Keep it—make it a hundred thousand."
Kyung-ho chuckled at Seung-gyu's grumbling as they left the classroom. Before he knew it, chatting away, they'd reached the school gate.
And standing there was a familiar figure.
His father, arms crossed in his gray work clothes, waiting by the gate.
"Kyung-ho!"
"Comin'! See ya, Seung-gyu!"
"Don't cry over there."
"Hurry back. Don't piss yerself."
Kyung-ho watched Seung-gyu curse as he headed back inside, then wheeled toward the gate.
That's when hurried footsteps came from behind.
"Park Kyung-ho!"
A breathless voice called from afar. It was Jung Sun-hee.
Her face flushed red, she ran up to him and stopped, then plopped a sketchbook from her arms onto his lap.
"Have a safe trip."
Before Kyung-ho could respond, she dashed across the field even faster than she'd come.
Stunned, Kyung-ho flipped open the first page of the sketchbook.
'...!'
A fierce oil painting of Captain Varok assaulted his eyes, thick layers of paint bringing the spaceship's metallic sheen to life amid the rough texture.
Something warm bloomed in his chest.
His father, pushing the wheelchair, asked casually,
"Girlfriend?"
"Nah, just a friend."
"Then is it that Jung-hye next door?"
"Dad!!"
His father burst into hearty laughter at Kyung-ho's shout. Under the sunset sky dyed red, the taxi's engine hummed cheerfully.
The next day. Early morning.
Kyung-ho rode to the airport with his parents in a yellow Pony taxi. It sped out of Jongno toward the Han River, arriving soon at Gimpo Airport.
This era's Gimpo was different from what he remembered. The building was small, few travelers, but crowds of well-wishers waving and snapping photos everywhere.
He, too, got his parents' send-off, checked in, and boarded the plane.
Less than a year since dying in Japan, now returning—it felt like heading back to a first love, heart pounding.
A few hours later.
Haneda Airport felt far more orderly than Gimpo. Exiting customs, he spotted a staffer holding a sign:
Moonrise - Mr. Park Kyung-ho
"Are you Mr. Park Kyung-ho?"
Awkward Korean. Maybe Zainichi Korean, Kyung-ho thought, nodding.
"Yes."
"From Moonrise. Name's Takushi."
Kyung-ho replied in Japanese.
"Feel free to call me Kyung-ho. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu."
Takushi's eyes widened slightly.
"Your Japanese is sugoi good."
"Gotta be at least this fluent to work in Japan."
Following him outside, a taxi waited. With Takushi's help, Kyung-ho got in.
He hadn't felt too inconvenienced before, but with more travel ahead, the wheelchair was starting to chafe. Japan's medical system was advanced even then—maybe squeeze in some rehab later.
Tokyo's scenery blurred past the window. Then, suddenly—
His stomach growled.
And a thought popped up.
Come to think of it...
Kyung-ho muttered in Korean,
"Is Taroken still around..."
The staffer in the front passenger seat turned.
"Pardon?"
Takushi's eyes went wide. Shit, he speaks Korean.
"Taroken? It's a new place, open just a few months..."
Taroken: Animator-famous ramen joint in modern times. Old-school spot.
Taroken was a legendary animator haunt in his past life. He'd mumbled remembering it as old, but now he was embarrassed.
After a pause, he said casually,
"Think I saw it in a magazine."
The staffer suddenly nodded. "Ah! You mean the Saitama main branch!"
Kyung-ho laughed. He hadn't even known there was a main branch.
"Maybe."
Takushi beamed.
"Perfect timing. A Taroken branch just opened near our studio."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Good food, fair prices—we go a lot."
He grinned. "Let's go together sometime."
The taxi turned into a narrow alley in Suginami Ward. Low buildings typical of Tokyo's outskirts stretched on—wooden homes mixed with small factories, power lines tangled like spiderwebs on poles.
Still like this back then, huh.
Then he pointed out the window.
"Right there."
The taxi slowed to a stop. A small sign by the door read the company name in fine print.
Moonrise.
The building was humbler than expected. A three-story concrete structure. A modest company plaque by the entrance, fluorescent lights leaking through the windows even in daylight. It looked more like a neighborhood print shop than an animation studio.
Hard to imagine this as the precursor to the modern Moonrise under Bandai's wing—a strange mix of emotions welled up.
"This way."
Takushi opened the door. Ink and cigarette smoke hit him like a wave.
Piles of paper boxes and key animation envelopes lined the hallway.
That smell—it felt oddly familiar.
This scent...
He'd breathed it countless times in his past life.
The staffer opened a small office door.
"Just need to handle some paperwork here."
A few thin sheets lay ready on the desk. A simple contract.
"Not official employment—it's technical training, as you know?"
Kyung-ho nodded.
"Yes."
"Normally, you'd start with in-between animation, but..."
He pointed to a line.
Once basics confirmed, immediate participation in production. Per-sheet rates apply. Company handles residency guarantee—report any issues.
Kyung-ho replied quietly in Japanese.
"No problems."
He handed over a pen.
"Sign here."
Kyung-ho took it and wrote his name.
Park Kyung-ho.
Takushi checked and nodded.
"Good."
After filing the papers, the staffer said,
"I'll show you to your lodging first."
Pushing the wheelchair outside, they walked a few minutes along the main road, then into an alley. They stopped at a small two-story building.
"Here."
Kyung-ho looked around. Quiet residential area. A few bikes against the fence, laundry swaying in the breeze.
He opened the door at the far end of the first floor.
"This is it."
A small room appeared. Compact Japanese one-room: entry to tiny kitchen, then six-mat tatami space.
Kyung-ho scanned slowly. The entrance had no threshold—wheelchair-friendly.
"Picked first floor for the wheelchair."
Kyung-ho nodded.
"Thank you."
As he looked around, Kyung-ho asked,
"By the way..."
Takushi, opening a closet, turned.
"Yes?"
"I heard it was a dorm."
His expression stiffened.
"...Pardon?"
"Not complaining—just what I heard."
"Ah, ah... haha... well..."
He paused, then asked carefully,
"Who told you that...?"
"Director Tomizawa."
The staffer gasped "Ah!" and clapped.
"Ah!"
Then laughed.
"Director Tomizawa must've been thinking of his Mushi Production days."
"Mushi Production?"
"Yes."
Founded by Osamu Tezuka, revolutionized Japanese TV anime. Left huge legacy despite later collapse from overwork and loose management.
Director Tomizawa from Mushi, huh.
Kyung-ho nodded in realization as Takushi continued.
"No dorms here. We're not that big-time."
"It's fine. Curious, that's all. Shared dorm turned into a solo 1K? No complaints."
Takushi laughed "Ahaha."
"Oh, and..."
Kyung-ho looked up.
"Your luggage arrived—it's here."
Two large bags sat in the corner. Shipped from Korea.
Kyung-ho eyed them, then said,
"Thanks for the trouble."
He smiled.
"No problem."
Heading to the door, he added,
"I'll pick you up tomorrow morning."
"Pardon?"
"Any issue?"
"I want to start right now."