The Meaning of a Friend
The friend candidates had gone on their way, and now it was time to fell some trees, wasn't it?
"Something with the feeling of striking with something sharp..."
The plan was to cut down trees using a blade of telekinesis. Alright. Focus. Fire! Snap.
"Huh?"
Crash, crackle, bang, thud.
Pointing with my finger as if I had some kind of target in mind — maybe that had been the culprit? The moment I moved my finger just a little, the trees came crashing down in a rush.
"I've become a destroyer of nature. This is way too strong."
Ugh, that gave me chills. If I ever used this on a person by mistake, it'd be a disaster.
The forest had opened up a little, revealing what lay inside — and a surprising number of trees had toppled over.
"Well, since they've already fallen, might as well put them to good use..."
Creak, crack, snap, crunch, rip.
"Huh?"
When I exerted force to haul the trees over, the tangled vines and branches wrapped around them seemed to snap off like they were nothing.
I felt a twinge of guilt. Please, let there have been no birds nesting in those trees.
"So just how strong is this telekinesis, anyway?"
I was lifting an enormous pile of trees, yet I felt no strain whatsoever.
.
.
.
I returned to the spot where I'd roasted potatoes, carrying a mountain of timber on my back.
"Simple is best — a log cabin, or maybe a board shack?"
First things first, I needed to process the logs. Since this wasn't seasoned wood anyway and I'd have to rebuild it properly later, I decided to work roughly for now.
Whirr, whirrr, whir.
Spinning the blade of telekinesis in circles as I ran it along the trunks, the bark and branches were trimmed smooth in the blink of an eye.
"Isn't this a little too easy?"
Sorting, of course, was non-negotiable. I stacked the branches and bark neatly to one side. They'd come in handy eventually.
The logs bared their pale, fresh flesh under the moonlight, and the scent of trees wafted all around.
"Sniff, sniff. Oh? That woody smell? It's nicer than I expected. Is this phytoncide?"
I'd only ever heard about it, but it was a far more refreshing scent than I'd imagined.
"I'll need some planks too, won't I?"
Wooden planks — an absolute impossibility in the true Stone Age. Under the blade of my telekinesis, the trees were sliced into neat, even boards.
"Hmm? That's a lot, though. What am I going to use all this for..."
While trimming the wood, I finally understood something for certain. I'd sensed it back with the water droplets too — anything my telekinesis touched felt connected to me, and I could only cut things while in that connected state. Which meant I could now perform far more delicate, precise work than before.
"Nice. I've officially upgraded myself one more level."
After that, I began churning out wooden planks with ruthless abandon.
Once again — what kind of terrorism had I inflicted on this forest?
Sigh...
"I'll save the leftovers for whenever I need them, I suppose."
I was wondering where to build the house, but since the land was the land — the spot right before my eyes — I simply drove posts into the ground where I stood.
Thud.
"One, two... (omitted)... ten."
Thud.
No ruler handy, so I paced off ten strides between each post as I went.
"Eh, it's a little crooked, but who cares?"
Rising into the sky to inspect my work, I could see it was slightly off-plumb — but close enough.
I laid four beams across the posts in a simple frame and pinned them down with wooden pegs, carved with my newly refined precision. A finished, presentable skeleton.
"Should be fine to live in for a while, right?"
And for the finishing touch: hammering plywood panels into place with the wooden pegs.
When it was all done, I realized I'd somehow completed what looked exactly like a storage shed.
"Can you even make hinges out of wood?"
I needed to make a doorway, and hinges were the problem. The housing project's first crisis.
"I guess I'll just stand one plywood panel up and slide it side to side? Hmm... wait."
Am I a genius? A sliding door! I just need to make a sliding door!
Hurriedly, I carved two lengths of wood into L-shapes, plus a few protruding nubs, then bored matching holes into the wall and fitted them in. Slide an appropriately sized plywood panel into the tracks, and done.
"Phew~ time really does fly when you're at this."
After hammering and thudding away for ages, the moon was already high overhead.
"Should I call it a night? Furniture can wait~"
It being my very first day, I just laid a few plywood sheets across the floor of the house, flopped down, and closed my eyes. I was curious how sleeping would work for me now, anyway.
"I'll just wake up around sunrise, I guess?"
.
.
.
Wow. I just had the most astonishing experience.
"What is this?"
This wasn't some video game...
When I decided it was time to sleep, I fell asleep. When I decided it was time to wake up, I woke up. I swear, the moment I blinked, the sun was rising.
It was the strangest feeling — like I wasn't quite human anymore.
"Well, I suppose I really am not human..."
Still, watching the morning sun climb over the horizon freshened my spirits. Humans really are at their best when they watch the sunrise...
"Aaah~"
A sigh escaped me all on its own. In the dark of night I hadn't noticed, but the front yard was an absolute disaster — splintered chunks of wood scattered everywhere, sawdust coating the ground. I'd made the mess building the house yesterday and then just gone to sleep.
"Nothing urgent, right? I'll eat a few potatoes and then clean up."
Those green, freshly-felled logs lying over there — the ones you could walk straight into the forest with — wouldn't burn even if you tried. Fire drill practice, at best.
I picked out some good dry wood, got a fire going, and was tossing potatoes into the flames when a welcome sound rang out.
"Haneul!"
"Haneul!"
There they were in the distance — the Three Musketeers, of all people.
My, what booming voices. How on earth could I hear them from that far away?
"Hi there, guys! You can hear me, right~?"
I shouted at the top of my lungs, but apparently they couldn't hear me.
The diligent Three Musketeers had set out at dawn. They'd been quite far off, yet here they already stood before me — they must have run the whole way.
"Ohh~ hello, Three Musketeers~"
My mood that morning was wonderful. My only friends had come to visit. Good thing I'd turned in early yesterday. I tossed more potatoes into the fire. It was the greatest gift I had to give.
"Hello, Haneul."
So happy to see each other, yet here we were in this odd situation, just waving our hands at one another. Ah — I know just the thing.
"Here. This is a handshake. You do it when you meet a friend you're happy to see."
"Friend? Handshake?"
The meaning of "friend" was important. Let me explain it properly while we eat our potatoes.
"A friend is someone you trust — someone you can share your heart with."
"Trust? Heart?"
"Yeah. Trust means believing in each other. Now, how do I explain this..."
Then a good idea came to me.
I lined the Three Musketeers up side by side.
If I just crumple straight onto the ground, that'll hurt — never mind the humiliation.
But I had faith that the Three Musketeers would never just leave me lying there. Yes. This was trust. I wanted so badly to show them.
I stood just within reach of their outstretched hands, looked the three of them in the eye — utterly bewildered, all of them — and then, turning my back, let myself fall straight backward.
"HANEUL!"
Six hands caught me, and three faces filled my view.
"That's trust."
"Ahh..."
Whether out of worry or being moved, the Three Musketeers burst into tears.
Uh oh. This was not what I intended.
"Waaah."
"Boo-hoo."
"Hnngh."
"Oh no, why are you crying, guys? I'm sorry."
When they started crying, tears welled up in my eyes too, and before long the three of us were wringing out tears and snot together.
And through those tears, it came naturally to teach them joy and sorrow as well.
Though they were getting a bit too emotional about the whole "friend" thing.
"Us! Friends!"
Ah... a touching moment, truly...
Guys, please, let's wash up before we live like this. Along with the tears and snot, the sweat's running down too.
Aigoo. That's just my lot in life, I suppose.
The Ugra tribe had decided to send the Three Musketeers to seek the spirit's permission to settle on its land.
"Chieftain, we will not fail."
"I'm counting on you."
Steeped in grim resolve, the Three Musketeers left the village before anyone else had even woken. The tribe's very survival hung on this mission.
The place they currently dwelt was only a temporary camp — ground they'd abandoned after war with a neighboring tribe drove them from their home. But the land where the spirit resided was fertile and warm. They had to win that land.
Hurrying to the spirit's ground, they found that it was already awake, roasting those things it called potatoes. As expected, the spirit had known everything.
"So, about what a 'friend' is—"
"Friend?"
"Yeah. You get the feeling of it, right?"
"Feeling?"
Another day of the Three Musketeers learning words from the spirit. Friend — a precious word, a name spoken between people who cherish and believe in one another. The spirit already counted them as friends. Beings to cherish and trust. Ones who share your joy and your sorrow alike.
"Hnn... hnng."
The Three Musketeers soon began to weep. Out of joy. Out of gratitude.
"We. Friends."
"Yes. Yes, that's right. We're friends."
"Haneul. Thank you."
After crying for a good long while, the Three Musketeers huddled together and whispered among themselves for a moment.
"Haneul. Going. Come back."
With that, two of them bowed in farewell and took off down the path they'd come, running so fast their heels seemed on fire.
"Eh? Where are you going?"
They were in such a hurry they could barely manage even a proper goodbye. I hadn't even had time to give them gifts — my, how they could run. Where on earth were they going?
Garungda had stayed behind, so I figured I'd ask him.
"Garungda, what's going on?"
"Haneul. Thank you."
"Huh? What did I do that you're thanking me for?"
"Haneul. Thank you."
"Aigoo."
This was getting too frustrating. Fine — language lessons it is, today. Garungda, this is the path you chose. See it through.
And so Garungda and I peeled potatoes and threw ourselves into language study. He really did grind through it, gritting his teeth the whole way.
.
.
.
Then, as the sun began to set, I noticed something wriggling beyond the glow of that sunset, and looked closely — a whole crowd of people was streaming toward me.
"Wow. What is all that?"
It wasn't even morning — they were arriving at sunset. What was going on? Where were they planning to sleep?
"Ah. Friends."
Garungda, already handling simple conversation with ease.
"Our friends."
Men, women, old and young — some sixty-odd people were trudging toward me, laden down with bundles upon bundles of belongings. My jaw dropped.
Hold on. Those are... moving loads? They're moving here?
"Wow. Looks like you're really about to have a lot of friends."
"Yes. Good. Many. Friends."
"Well. I suppose that's fine too."
A happy smile bloomed across his face. You call them friends, but at this point they're family, you dummies.
Welcome, my very first friends.
I felt tears welling up, just a little.
"Haneul sad?"
"No — these are happy tears."
"Happy?"
"Yeah. I'm happy."
"We. Thank you."
"I'm thankful too."
The Ugra tribe crowded around the tree where I made my home. They'd brought large baskets and clay pots, filled with cloth and hides, cords, and grain. Apparently they had been a farming tribe all along.
"Haneul. Here. House. Okay?"
"Yes, yes. Build wherever you like."
Living close by suited me just fine too. All around me, the tribespeople set to raising their homes — until I noticed a group cautiously creeping toward the forest, stone axes in hand. Remembering what had happened there last night, I hurriedly went looking for Garungda.
"Garungda!"
"What?"
"The forest is dangerous. Tell them not to go."
I anxiously told him to keep everyone out of the woods, but he just gave me a look that said it couldn't be helped.
"Know. Trees. Need."
"There's plenty right here — use this."
You dummies, if you wanted the wood lying everywhere, you only had to say so.
I gestured at the fallen trees scattered all around. So that's why I'd felled so many yesterday — fate had a sense of foresight, apparently.
"Truly, thank you."
"Use all of it. Just don't go into the forest. Got it?"
"Got it. Thank you."
"If you need more, just tell me."
Past me, I salute your foresight. Well done.
Watching my friends build their homes, I was struck by how skilled their hands were.
"Wow, everyone here is so good with their hands."
The men busily dug out the earth, raised the posts, and layered plywood and branches over the roofs — the classic pit-dwelling form. The division of labor was remarkably organized: once the men threw up the basic roof covering, the women and children took over the finishing work, weaving together twigs and grasses gathered from the riverside to seal the roofs. In no time at all, the skeleton of a village had taken shape.
The digging did take a while, though, so I lent a little helping hand with that part.
And once the houses were more or less done, everyone filed inside to rest. They all looked utterly drained. Strange? Why weren't they eating?
"Garungda!"
"Yes. Haneul. Coming."
Garungda came running, his voice weak and listless. Ah, these dummies, honestly. A feeling hit me.
"Why isn't anyone eating dinner?"
"Hunt. None."
"Aigoo, you dummies — eating comes first!"
I nearly choked on my own frustration. Piecing it together: they'd spent all their time clearing out their old camp and moving, so they hadn't gone hunting, and now they were going hungry. Nothing for it, then. Potato party again today.
Crash-rumble!
"Eat up, everyone."
Potatoes came pouring out, rolling every which way. Hmm? Too many, maybe?
"Gahhh!"
I could hear my primitive friends' jaws hitting the ground. They didn't exactly seem to mind, though.
Eat as much of this as you can, my friends.
"Dinner time~"
They'd all been staring at me in a daze, so I called out to them — and only then did the village spring back to life. No wonder the grain they'd brought hadn't seemed like much. It must have been seed stock for planting. I felt a little embarrassed that I'd mistaken it for their food supply.
"Gasp!"
I suffered a genuine case of culture shock. These friends of mine — they were using flint! They were even worse off than I'd been with my fire bow. To think I was behind actual Stone Age cavemen...
I couldn't snap out of the shock for a good while. While I stood there dumbfounded, the ones who'd gotten the fire going arranged the potatoes in a ring around the flames, then turned them over with sticks as they cooked. My, my. They really are better at this than me.
I attained a state of serene enlightenment.
"Haneul."
Garungda, smiling, was the first to offer me a potato. Ah. I might cry again. Dummies — I'm not even hungry. You're the ones who need to eat.
"Haneul happy again?"
"Yeah. Happy. Everyone eat, quick — you're starving."
"Yes. Eating."
What is happiness, anyway, if not something grand? So what if I'm behind a caveman? This is wonderful.
"Garungda..."
"Yes, Chieftain."
"What... what is all this?"
"That is... I'm not entirely sure myself..."
And so the Ugra tribe went hungry for an entire day. There'd been no way around it today — they had to move. Everyone was hungry and exhausted, but they'd rushed to build their homes first to guard against wild animals. They were so hungry they'd all been about to turn in early, when the spirit who'd called for Garungda produced a mountain of those things called potatoes.
"Garungda? Could these perhaps be... the spirit's droppings?"
"Wh-what?"
"Well, I mean, just look at them. They do rather..."
"Chieftain! You must not speak so irreverently!"
Startled, Garungda rounded on his chieftain.
"Ah! Right, of course. The spirit's blessed grace."
The chieftain caught himself and hastily repented.
Far, far in the future —
"Professor, is this actually credible?"
An interview with the professor who had recently discovered prehistoric artifacts along the banks of the Han River. The reporter found it hard to believe.
"Yes. After verifying it from every angle, we're confident these are the ancestors of our Daehan."
The professor pushed up his glasses as he declared it, brimming with confidence.
"I see. So Hangul was in use thousands of years ago?"
"Yes. The weathering is severe, but there are legible words."
Truly remarkable, wasn't it? That writing could survive across all those ages?
"And potatoes existed back then as well?"
"Yes. In nearly the same form as today."
Prehistoric artifacts unearthed from the Han River. At this rate, the very meaning of "prehistoric" might have to change. If writing existed, then surely there was history — surely there were records.
And so, little by little, the secret of the potato came to light. Even in the modern era, the potato remains a perfect plant requiring no improvement whatsoever. A miraculous plant that grows in drought, in summer, in winter alike. The leading cause of hair loss among modern plant geneticists.
And finally, prehistoric archaeologists revealed the potato's true origin: the droppings of a spirit — or a god.
He meant no harm by it.
"No! These wretches! How dare they, toward the Holy Maiden! And what do they take the potato for, of all things?!"
The archbishop of the Seoul headquarters. He was, to put it mildly, hot-tempered. Had he not devoted himself to serving God, he would have gone down in history as a great man. In more ways than one.
"Exactly. This is a challenge to everything we stand for."
"This is blasphemy! All of you, draw your swords!"
And their faith in God was, truly, devout — for God still walked the earth to this day.
"Er, Archbishop? Swords won't work."
"What! Why not!"
"Our weapons permits were revoked."
The priest could only sigh. How had that man become an archbishop? It had happened before, after all — the archbishop had gone on a sword rampage brandishing a ceremonial blade, and the diocese's permits had been revoked for it.
"By whose authority!!!!!!"
Who knew what he got up to in his daily life, but their faith in Haneul — a living, present god — was immense. Some had even gone on raging rants over the academic presentation.
A tale of a certain modern age — a little hot-blooded, perhaps, but where no one was truly bad at heart.