Now It's Spring
Now it's spring. The river's ice melts quietly away, trees push out fresh buds one by one, and birds call to me with bright laughter. Now it's spring, my friend. Like the wind gently calling out flower names, every spring I find myself whispering your lovely name first. Dreaming of the pale green fields where we might meet again, I gather a handful of sunlight and write of longing, excitement, waiting, and fragrant joy—only for the spring breeze to rush in, read the letter I meant to send, and carry it away first, my friend.
—Sister Lee Hae-in
Living as I had, I'd said goodbye to plenty of people, but nothing had ever hurt like this. That day I couldn't bring myself to drive, so I asked Cheol-min to take me up to Seoul. Part of me wanted to follow her to the lab and demand to know what she was sorry for, yet deep down I'd already sensed the end coming. I simply lacked the courage to hold on. I must have sat there in a daze until we reached the house in Seoul. I stayed blank until Cheol-min told me we'd arrived. I walked inside on autopilot and shut myself in my room.
The next day, Cheol-min called for me. So did Secretary Ko. Even Madame Lee. I stayed in my room. I couldn't understand why the world kept grinding me down like this. Was this the karma the monks at Donghaksa spoke of? Punishment for selling drugs? Every dark thought imaginable crossed my mind. Eventually I retreated to the corner of the room and crouched down.
I don't know how much time passed before I heard women's laughter drifting up from below—bright, carefree ha-ha-ho-ho. Anger flared suddenly. Whoever they were, I was suffering and they sounded like they were having the time of their lives. I threw open the door and stormed downstairs.
Why could I hear them from the second floor when the drawing room was on the first? The moment I reached the bottom, it became obvious the gathering had been staged for my benefit. I was ready to explode when Madame Lee struck first.
"Oh, son~ What took you so long to come down? These are our neighbors."
I felt the fight drain out of me in an instant. Since when had I been her son? Under the force of her presence I could only bow and greet them.
"Isn't our boy handsome?"
"Thank goodness he didn't take after his father—pure luck, I tell you."
"Indeed. Ah, let me introduce you. This is my daughter. Madame Lee was so insistent I bring her along. Say hello."
I wasn't about to snap at strangers, so I offered polite greetings. Madame Lee suggested the young people talk while the adults went downstairs. With a wink in my direction, she led the others away.
I had no real desire to chat, but hospitality demanded I see them out with vague promises to meet again. Once they were gone, Madame Lee and the other woman rose naturally and continued their conversation—how well the young pair suited each other, how they should arrange another meeting. Business talk finished, she escorted the guests to the door.
I was about to demand an explanation when she beat me to it again.
"The best way to forget one woman is with another."
"You haven't eaten in three days. Let's go have a meal."
Secretary Ko, who had followed us out, added his voice.
"...Fine. Let's eat. Suddenly I'm starving."
After the meal I returned to my room and slept. Life resumed. The sorrow that had felt crushing inside the house began to fade once I was back at school and moving through ordinary days. Five months apart helped. Still, certain streets or places tied to Miju could stop me cold. Every breakup song on the radio or television felt written for me; that part wasn't an exaggeration.
Ocean World seemed to have its own tradition: the days we had major lectures were also meeting days. Yunjeong and three second-year juniors attended morning classes with me, while three third-year juniors took the afternoon slot. Yunjeong kept me updated on the passage of time. When I jokingly called her the finance director she took the role seriously, even correcting a capital discrepancy from last time and apologizing. I told her it was fine—mistakes like that didn't make money disappear.
Mexican exports had paused briefly but were moving again. Someone had asked for product with the cocaine money, so I'd sent it through Toss. Inside the Camilio organization they were still trying to fill the hole Gonzales left. Product still moved through me, though I hadn't placed any new orders beyond the European shipment. The North Korean flag man had become a customer large enough to account for half our sales. Small amounts were also heading to the Philippines, China, and Japan. It looked like Yeoni was using those routes for imports and exports; I wasn't sure whether the juniors were being used as cover. The Pyeongtaek port incident still gave me chills.
"Oppa, after doing this for over a year I've built some connections. At this scale people are calling us a real company."
"Is that so?"
"We started as a school project for experience, and it's gone well. I'm glad."
"We also received an export order. I wasn't sure if we should accept it, so I called a meeting."
An export order? I checked and saw it was from WJ Pharmaceuticals. Why would they route pharmaceutical exports through us?
"Who sent it?"
"Deputy Director Hye-seon."
"I don't know her. You'll have to decide. I don't think it's a good idea."
Pharmaceutical exports looked complicated, so I deferred. If they wanted to pursue it, they could handle it themselves.
"I looked into it too. There are a lot of requirements—refrigerated transport, heavy insurance..."
If even the operations team thought it was difficult, we'd drop it. Besides, Deputy Director Hye-seon seemed to work under Yeoni; I'd tell Yeoni to find another company.
"But if you let us recruit a fourth-year class, we'd like to try."
"Don't we already have enough people?"
"The third-years are going to the military."
That damn military service. Before I knew it, the Ocean World interviews had become a semester event. That evening I greeted the new recruits—one man and two women.
"Nice to meet you. Please take good care of the third-years; they're younger. Listen well and learn a lot."
The man had already finished his service—he was my age and had returned after only one semester away. The evening dinner followed tradition: I paid the security deposit and slipped out early.
Back home I needed to contact Yunjeong about preparing the French shipment. When she answered, the team sounded drunk; high-pitched voices stabbed at my ear, but I ignored them. If orders came in we had to fulfill them. Having documentation of the back-and-forth would reduce risk. I also reached out to Scotch Whisky after a long time, asked how he was, and requested any Korean-bound product he had. He agreed readily—four containers a month.
I was resting at home after handling business when Secretary Ko came upstairs.
"Chairman, Executive Director Ha would like to see you. Do you have time?"
These days Ha rarely contacted me directly; everything went through Secretary Ko.
"Sure. It's been a while. Set it for tomorrow."
"Understood."
A message arrived with a chime. I checked my phone.
'You?' —USarmy(41.3)
It had been a while since I'd heard from the American. His tone felt off.
'Hello? Have you been well?' —GB(38.5)
'The cocaine in France. Was that you?' —USarmy(41.3)
He was asking directly. When I didn't answer, he pressed again.
'Did you know, or not?' —USarmy(41.3)
'Answer me. I won't scold you for selling it.' —USarmy(41.3)
'Yes, I sold it.' —GB(38.5)
'You bastard, when did you start selling to Europe?' —USarmy(41.3)
He'd said he wouldn't get angry, yet the sense of betrayal was obvious.
'I'm sorry. Did I need permission?' —GB(38.5)
'You're not even on our line—what permission?' —USarmy(41.3)
'Because of you, we're about to have a war.' —USarmy(41.3)
'Why?' —GB(38.5)
'You naïve little shit. This is why countries get shaken up.' —USarmy(41.3)
It was a classic butterfly effect. Or maybe I was mistaken. Europe's international situation had been on a knife's edge lately because of Ukraine's NATO membership bid. NATO existed to contain Russia, and Russia had never liked the alliance. The idea that former Soviet republic Ukraine might join had already raised tensions. Then cocaine from France flooded across Europe, and NATO pointed the finger at Russia as the source. Russia wasn't about to admit fault—especially not a leader whose pride was everything. Instead, the Russian president began posturing along the Ukrainian border. Scotch Whisky's smug expression suddenly made sense; he'd bragged about teaching another family a lesson. Dumping the product in France and spreading it across Europe had been a mistake.
My temperature dropped to 36.5 degrees as I whined into the phone.
"What should I do?" —GB(38.5)