Chapter 70
I’m translating the chapter directly into the required HTML format and keeping the in-universe text in styled blocks where the source switches to broadcasts, posts, and quoted notices.CHAPTER_TITLE: The Bird Begins to Sing Again
On the night Episode 2 was released, Kim Si-woo had Nutflix playing at home.
His mother sat beside him.
The credits were already rolling, but she showed no sign of reaching for the remote.
After a long while of sniffing back tears, she swallowed hard and spoke.
"Si-woo, what happens next?"
He stroked Kkamangi, who was curled up beside the sofa, and said, "Come on, how am I supposed to tell you that? It’d be a spoiler."
"So what if it’s a spoiler? I’m your mother."
"That’s exactly why I can’t."
His mother narrowed her eyes. "So you’re really not going to tell me?"
Si-woo waved a hand. "It’s not like there’s some strict confidentiality clause, but still, it’s basic etiquette not to say."
He scratched under Kkamangi’s chin and went on, "With your personality, by tomorrow morning you’d call Auntie, tell the grocery owner, and then spread it again at the hair salon."
"When have I ever!" his mother snapped.
But Si-woo’s expression didn’t budge.
"You told all the ladies that I’d be on Nutflix, too."
"That was bragging that you were on it. I didn’t say anything about the content."
"......"
He didn’t argue any further.
He knew from decades of experience that arguing wouldn’t get him anywhere.
After wiping her tears, his mother shot him a glare. "But do you not have any tears? After watching this?"
Si-woo’s hand paused on Kkamangi’s back.
No, that wasn’t right.
He had almost cried.
When he first appeared on screen in Episode 1, he had stiffened with embarrassment.
The expression on his own face, the sound of his own voice in front of a camera, all of it had felt unfamiliar.
But as the story moved on, that awkwardness faded.
There were many parts of the story he was seeing for the first time, too.
Anna’s and Maria’s lives, which he had only known in fragments during filming, had been woven together into a single narrative and brought to life on screen. It felt strangely new.
The scene where Maria hid the bird box at dawn during the pressure of war. The tension in the moment when Japanese soldiers knocked on the door. Maria slowly wasting away in the internment camp. Everything had been brought together with remarkable force and care.
He kept stroking Kkamangi’s head as he said, "It was sad for me too. But if I start crying next to you while we’re watching together, that’s a little much, isn’t it?"
His mother looked displeased. "What are you talking about? If you’re sad, you cry."
"No, because you were already crying. If I started too, the whole house would turn into a flood."
Si-woo looked down at Kkamangi and asked, "Right, Kkamangi?"
"Meow-!"
Kkamangi meowed as if to agree.
Si-woo grinned.
His mother dabbed at her eyes and looked at Kkamangi. "Kkamangi, that one. You only like him."
"Cats are like that. The one who feeds them is the best person in the world."
"Do I not feed you?"
"I bring better snacks."
"You little..."
His mother laughed softly.
There were still tears in the corners of her eyes, but her expression had softened considerably.
Si-woo smiled faintly too.
Credits continued to flow across the screen, accompanied by the majestic, sorrowful sound of strings.
* * *
The next day.
And the one line that appeared after Episode 2’s ending credits finished.
Nutflix series Singing Bird additional release tomorrow
This one line shook the world all over again.
Viewers cheered at the fact that they wouldn’t have to wait a full week.
On social media, reactions poured in, a chaotic mix of delight and excitement.
Videos about Singing Bird exploded across YouTube.
So many different kinds, each with its own angle, each with its own take. It was astonishing that this much content could even be made from one series.
Hundreds upon hundreds of review videos.
Commentary videos and reaction videos kept going up hour by hour.
History channels rushed out urgent deep-dives on Black Christmas and Stanley Internment Camp, while antique-focused channels covered the history and value of the Frere Rocha Singing Bird Box.
The Episode 3 preview clip uploaded to Nutflix’s official YouTube channel passed ten million views in under a few hours.
Articles followed one after another.
News outlets from every country raced to cover Anna’s and Maria’s story, and the keyword Singing Bird took over the front page of news sites around the globe.
It spread beyond history, culture, art, and international affairs, even into the business pages.
Some articles went so far as to analyze how Singing Bird was affecting Nutflix’s stock price.
For that one day.
In offices, schools, and cafes alike.
Any conversation began only after someone brought up Anna and Maria.
"Did you watch Singing Bird?"
That single question became the greeting of the day.
* * *
As the release of Episode 3 approached, the media in each country flooded the public with special feature articles.
A clip of a CNN anchor choking up and struggling to speak during a broadcast even became a topic of conversation.
The New York Times ran the story on its front page.
The BBC hastily arranged a special program, and a spokesperson for the German Foreign Ministry said in an official briefing:
Among Hong Kong residents, a movement began to visit Stanley Internment Camp in person and see Maria’s gravestone with their own eyes.
Hollywood was stirred as well.
Film director Steven Spielberg posted on his social media account.
The post received more than two million likes in a single day.
Actress Angelina Jolie posted a long message on Byeolstagram.
Pop star Taylor Swift also left a message.
Even U.S. President Donald Trump posted directly to his own social media.
The comment sections were filled with question marks.
And Japan.
They stayed silent.
The government said nothing, the media said nothing, and there was no official response of any kind.
No rebuttal. No apology.
As if they knew nothing.
As if a documentary like this had never existed in the first place.
As if, given enough time, every reaction would simply vanish.
They acted as though ignorance itself was their policy.
While countries around the world discussed Singing Bird, mourned, and raged, Japan alone kept its mouth shut.
And the more they did, the more people spoke out against Japan.
Japanese far-right figures claimed it was all a lie, but the moment any of them posted their words on Twitter, they were hit with global backlash and forced to delete their posts.
Some pushed back at first.
But under overwhelming pressure, a few even ended up posting long apologies.
With the world enraged, Japan’s right wing could do nothing at all.
The same was true of the politicians who usually talked recklessly while calling themselves conservatives.
The Japan they liked to boast about did not exist.
They all went quiet, like people with their mouths stuffed full of honey.
They only waited for the present moment to pass in silence.
* * *
The next day.
Miako was the first to arrive at Yui’s house.
"You’re first again," Yui said with a smile as she opened the front door.
"I couldn’t sleep at all last night. I was too curious about what happened to Anna."
Miako said this while taking off her shoes.
Before long, Sakura and Hina arrived together.
"I brought four packs of tissues today."
Hina said, waving the tissues she pulled from her bag.
"Even four packs might not be enough."
Sakura said this with deadly seriousness.
"Hey, we haven’t even started yet and you’re already preparing to cry?"
Yui laughed as she picked up the remote.
Miako sat down on the sofa and said, "Honestly, before bed last night I looked up Josef online."
"Me too."
Hina raised her hand.
"Me too..." Sakura added.
Yui sighed. "You’re all the same."
For a moment, laughter broke out.
But it didn’t last long.
All four of them knew this wasn’t going to be a light story.
Miako spoke quietly. "... It’s starting soon."
Yui nodded and pressed play.
Dong.
Nutflix’s familiar low chime filled the living room.
Singing Bird : Episode 3 - Anna and Josef
The screen changed.
Manhattan, New York. 1940.
From the moment Josef arrived in New York, he began working as a clock repairman.
And not just anywhere, but two blocks from the Empire State Building.
A cramped workshop.
A single lightbulb swayed from the ceiling.
All kinds of clock parts hung on the walls, and on the narrow shelves, gears and mainsprings were lined up by size.
Josef was working on clock components with a magnifying lens in place.
The hands of a Viennese watchmaker’s family that had been passed down for three generations.
Precise. Unerring. Not a single motion wasted.
He lifted a thin spring with tweezers and held his breath.
Then he set it down in exactly the right place.
Tick-
The dead clock began to beat again.
His skill quickly spread by word of mouth. Among Manhattan’s technicians, people began to say that "if a clock goes through Josef’s hands, even the dead will come back to life."
A customer took the repaired clock and admired it.
"Amazing. It looks brand new."
Josef smiled as he handed it over. "Thank you. It’s a fine clock. It should last you a long time."
And then he added the same question as always.
"If I may ask something a little rude... do you happen to know anyone in Hong Kong?"
The customer tilted his head. "Hong Kong?"
"I’m looking for my family."
"... Hmm. Sorry, I can’t say I do."
"That’s all right. If you happen to know anyone around you who does, I’d be grateful if you let me know."
Josef bowed deeply.
Every time, the answer he got back was the same: no, I don’t know.
But Josef never stopped asking.
He was certain Maria had gone from Shanghai to Hong Kong.
If she was the wise woman he knew, then like many other Jews, she would surely have headed for safe Hong Kong.
He was convinced of it.
For Josef, clock repair was both a means of making a living and the only path through which he could meet people.
Why hadn’t Josef gone to Hong Kong himself?
Many people asked that question.
The answer was simple.
He couldn’t.
December 8, 1941.
An urgent news bulletin crackled from the radio.
"The Japanese Navy has attacked Pearl Harbor. The United States of America is entering a state of war."
Josef lifted his head from the workbench.
The voice pouring from the radio grew faster and faster.
"On the same day, Japanese forces have launched an attack on Hong Kong."
The tweezers slipped from Josef’s hand.
Hong Kong.
The very place where Maria and Anna might be.
The Pacific had become one vast battlefield.
All civilian routes from New York to Hong Kong were severed.
The seas were thick with warships and submarines, and every large vessel was being diverted to military supply transport.
At the post office counter, Josef asked, "Can I send a letter to Hong Kong?"
The clerk shook his head.
"I’m sorry, but that’s impossible. Mail service to territory occupied by the Japanese military has been completely suspended."
"Then what about Red Cross mail? Even during wartime, through the Red Cross..."
"Hong Kong is currently excluded from Red Cross mail as well. The Japanese side isn’t granting permission."
Josef stood at the counter for a long time.
His feet wouldn’t move.
He couldn’t even confirm whether his family was alive.
The night he heard that Hong Kong had fallen, Josef did not sleep at all in his workshop.
All he could do was repair clocks, meet people, and ask questions. Nothing else.
And when the day’s work was done, Josef always headed to the same place.
In front of the Empire State Building.
"If Dad goes to America... there’s this enormous building in New York. It’s called the Empire State Building. If Dad is late, Anna, you come to New York. Make the bird sing in front of that big building."
"Then Dad will hear the bird chirping and find you for sure. No matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing. If I hear that sound, I’ll run to you."
"Don’t lose it, Anna. This is our promise."
Josef kept that promise every year.
He stood there with his coat collar turned up, both hands in his pockets, watching everyone who passed by the building.
Maybe his daughter had come.
Maybe today...
At first, people looked at him with suspicion.
A man standing in the same spot every single day.
Passersby whispered among themselves.
"There he is again."
"Is he here every day?"
"Isn’t that kind of strange?"
"Should we call the police?"
The building’s security guards felt the same way.
A large guard approached Josef.
Arms folded, he looked down at him from above.
"Listen, sir. You can’t keep standing here every day. The people using the building are getting uneasy."
Josef bowed his head.
"I’m sorry. I’m only... waiting for my family."
"Your family?"
"My daughter. A family I was separated from in Vienna during the war, who went to Shanghai. We promised they would come here one day."
The guard’s expression shifted subtly.
"... How long have you been waiting?"
"This is my second year."
The guard turned away without saying anything.
From that day on, he did not drive Josef away.
Time passed.
The seasons changed.
Spring came.
Summer passed.
Autumn colored the city.
Winter arrived.
Josef stood in the same place, unchanged.
Two years became three.
Three became five.
His story naturally spread.
The bakery owner in the building next to the Empire State Building said to a regular customer, "You know that man? The clock repairman who stands in front of the building every day."
"Isn’t he kind of strange?"
"No. He’s waiting for family he was separated from during the war. From Vienna."
"... Really?"
"Rain or snow, he doesn’t miss a day."
"For how many years?"
"More than five now."
"Hah!"
The regular customer turned toward the window in disbelief.
Josef’s back was visible standing in front of the building.
"... Do you think his family will come?"
The bakery owner paused for a moment.
"Who knows. But he must believe they will."
People gave him a nickname.
A subtitle appeared on screen.
Waiting Josef.
The same guard who had once tried to chase Josef away now handed him a cup of coffee during his shift change.
"It’s cold today too. At least drink this."
"Thank you."
Josef wrapped both hands around the paper cup and blew on it.
"How old did you say your daughter was?"
"She was twelve when we parted. Now she’d be... eighteen, I think."
Josef stared off into the distance for a moment.
"She may not recognize me anymore."
The guard lost his words for a second.
"... You’re definitely going to meet."
Josef gave a faint smile. "She might come back as an adult rather than a child. Even so, I’ll know her at a glance. I’m her father."
The guard turned away, wiping at the bridge of his nose.
During the day he repaired clocks. In the evening he stood in front of the building. At night he wrote letters.
A small desk in the workshop.
Under the glow of the lamp, Josef picked up his pen.
- To my beloved Anna.
- A little girl came into the workshop today, holding her father’s hand. She had a broken watch strap and asked me to fix it. She kept peering over the workbench with such wonder that she reminded me so much of you when you were small.
- Do you remember how you used to wear Grandfather’s magnifying lens and pretend to be a watchmaker in the Vienna workshop? Grandfather laughed until he doubled over. I can still see it so clearly.
He turned the page.
- Father still wonders how much you must have grown. Have your favorite foods changed? What kind of clothes are you wearing? At twelve, you barely reached my shoulder.
- It frightens me a little to think that, without my noticing, you may have grown so much.
The pen stopped.
He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then wrote again.
- The evenings when the three of us sat around the table and ate soup were the happiest moments of my life.
- I didn’t know then how precious that was.
---