The Last Wish
The girl looked as though she might stop breathing at any moment, her condition heartbreakingly frail. In that instant, the shadow drew away from Hwan.
“What the…” Hwan muttered in alarm, reaching out to seize it. He had feared the shadow might lunge at the child, but nothing of the sort occurred. Instead, it was gently supporting the girl, who seemed unable to hold herself upright and on the verge of collapse. Moreover, the look in its eyes…
“It truly is the gaze of a mother,” Miho observed.
Just as she said, the eyes fixed on the child were exactly like a mother’s looking upon her own offspring—filled with sorrow and restless anxiety for a child grown unbearably weak. Seeing this, Hwan felt his conviction deepen.
Meanwhile, the girl was speaking to him, each breath a labored wheeze.
“Please… please…”
Ironically, the child was trying to protect the shadow. For Hwan, this was an entirely new sight. Perhaps the girl did not know the shadow’s true nature, yet she might still sense it—the sincerity it carried.
“Please… don’t ruin it…” the child managed to say.
With that resentful look directed at him, Hwan had no choice but to lower the sword he had been gripping tightly.
At this point, all Hwan could do was watch them from a distance. Of course the hospital was likely in an uproar, staff running frantically in search of the child who had suddenly vanished. Her parents, having lost their daughter, might still be drowning in grief. Yet what the child desired was not a return to the hospital. Because the girl—who looked as if she might collapse at any second, like a candle flame flickering precariously—appeared utterly happy in this moment.
By the time morning had brightened the sky, she was sipping a warm cup of cocoa and smiling brightly. She asked the shadow what they would do today. The shadow had become the child’s parent. It suggested trying fishing again. Since they had failed to catch anything yesterday, they would surely succeed this time. At those gentle words, the child burst into delighted laughter.
Hwan could only stare blankly, at a loss for how to handle this tangled situation. Ironically, the child’s laughter never ceased. There were occasional dangerous-sounding coughs, but each time it was the shadow that grew anxious and fidgety. The child paid them no mind. Instead, she would smile even more brightly, as if to comfort the restless shadow. That smile bloomed like a flower in full flower—adorable and beautiful. And she looked so very happy.
With morning came large snowflakes. The child delighted in them as well. She enjoyed the quiet fishing. And then—
“Ah! It’s moving!”
The fishing rod began to twitch. Beaming, she lifted it with her small hands. The line pulled taut. Beside her, the shadow stomped its feet in excitement. The child smiled wider than ever, reveling in the moment.
“It’s heavy! Help me!”
At the child’s cry, the shadow hurried to assist. Before he realized it, Hwan was clenching his fists tightly, silently cheering her on.
Splash!
At last a large fish broke the surface.
“Waaaah!” The child laughed with pure joy. She had caught a big one. With her tiny hands she lifted the fish nearly as large as herself. A radiant smile like sunlight spread across her face.
“I caught it! Wow! I caught it!!!”
The shadow shared in her delight, pulling the child into a tight embrace. The girl showed the prize to Hwan as well. Holding up the large fish and declaring “I caught it!” she looked at him. For a moment Hwan did not know how to respond. He simply offered a soft smile and a nod.
He could not bring himself to drag the child back to the hospital by force. He could not destroy her happiness. And the shadow, too, regarded the child as its own.
They grilled the fish they had caught. Each time the child bit into the rich, oily flesh, her eyes sparkled like stars. Once her stomach was full, she finished with warm cocoa. Soon she began dozing off again. It was only natural—she had been awake since very early. The shadow stayed by her side the entire time, gently placing a hand on her chest as she nodded off, patting her soothingly so she could sleep in peace.
The child fell asleep.
Hwan waited a moment, then asked the shadow,
“We cannot leave the child here forever… You understand that, don’t you?”
The shadow hesitated. After a long pause, it gazed at the quietly flowing stream and finally spoke.
“I don’t know. What I should do… what I must do for this child…”
Confused answers followed. Heavy sighs came one after another, revealing pity and compassion for the girl. Yet the shadow still could not understand its own heart.
“Why am I like this? Every time I look at this child, my chest feels torn apart. When she is in pain, my heart aches the same. When she is sad, the same anger rises in me. Why? I feel as if I have been broken.”
The shadow’s gaze returned to Suji.
“Why only this child? I have committed countless evils until now. I have seen children far more pitiful than her. So why does only this one feel different?”
It seemed unable to accept its own emotions.
At that moment, Miho, who had been sipping cocoa, asked,
“Does she remind you of a lost daughter?”
It was an abrupt question. The shadow faltered. Miho responded with a mischievous expression, casually taking another sip. The shadow’s face stiffened further. Then it looked at the child once more.
It was then that Hwan spoke.
“There are souls that become gwoeyi from the grudge of losing a child… Such beings grow especially obsessed with children. Above all, when they encounter a pitiful one, they cannot simply pass by. In the end they take that child’s soul and become its parent.”
“What are you—”
“We call them Gwijamoshin. Gwijamoshin… have you found the child you lost?”
The shadow began to peel away.
A faint light poured forth, revealing the noble figure of a woman.
Her eyes were closed, hands pressed together like a Buddha.
Compassion radiated from her, gentle and boundless as that of Guanyin.
Hwan rose from his seat and faced the woman whose shadow had been shed. Miho set down her empty cocoa cup. The two of them turned and left the place together. There was nothing more for them to do.
The child had returned. It was nothing short of bizarre. The girl who had suddenly vanished had once again suddenly appeared, sleeping soundly on the hospital bed. The hospital was thrown into chaos once more. In particular, Heein and Hyuksoo wore expressions of utter disbelief at the sight of Suji, who had disappeared without warning only to reappear just as suddenly.
Yet their daughter’s face looked brilliantly bright. She no longer seemed burdened by pain, suffering, or loneliness. She appeared to have cast it all aside. She looked truly happy.
Heein pulled her daughter into her arms and burst into loud sobs. Hyuksoo, for this one moment, let quiet tears fall in relief.
Time passed after Suji’s return. It was the Christmas season, and the world outside was loud with festive noise. Suji was placed on the operating table for her final surgery. Regrettably her condition was poor. The emergency operation began, but the odds of her surviving did not seem high. The long procedure continued. The lead surgeon’s expression remained grim. The solemn atmosphere, so different from the approaching Christmas cheer, lingered for what felt like an eternity.
Yet on the operating table Suji wore a more peaceful expression than ever before. It was as if she were having a pleasant dream—an incredibly happy one.
In the dream Suji was with a certain woman. Other children stood beside her. The woman and the children reached out their hands toward Suji, smiling brightly, waiting for her.
Suji gazed at them for a moment, then lifted her head high. The indigo sky stretched out in clear blue. The wind that blew was warm. Had winter finally passed, giving way to a gentle spring? The scent of flowers riding the breeze felt pleasant. A faint smile formed on Suji’s lips. With quick, light steps she walked toward the children and the woman. She paused once, glancing back, but then simply shrugged her small shoulders and continued forward.