Trouble Getting Home

Suseo Station at quitting time was packed to the rafters.

Eunha gave her phone a light tap and checked the time glowing on the screen.

"I'll meet you at Suseo Station by seven."

The call had come from a number she didn't know, and the stranger on the other end turned out to be Do Seongyun of Bulmyeol. A few words were enough for her to realize he was one of the three people she had saved at Jagalchi Market in Busan.

When she offered to come to headquarters herself, he talked her firmly out of it—then turned around and pressed her for her home address anyway. In the end they agreed to meet at Suseo Station, which was why she was waiting for him here.

It was 6:58 p.m. Seven o'clock, and Seongyun with it, was nearly on top of her.

She lifted her eyes from the phone and looked around. No one who might be Seongyun had appeared, and the people streaming past kept stealing odd, sidelong glances at her.

It's been a while.

Since anyone looked at me like that.

Eunha dropped her gaze and quietly studied what she had on. A dress of pure black, and a parasol blacker still. She could hardly remember the last time she had walked outside in a getup this elaborate. There was precedent for it: on the way to see Yu Hwan, combat clothes were the wiser choice, in case something happened.

And yet it was a strange thing.

It isn't uncomfortable at all.

If anything, she felt at ease. Light might have been the better word. Standing here fully done up in this loud dress and parasol, she felt lighter than she had yesterday, with the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pet-grooming academy bag in her hand.

A murmur rose. The noise swelled all at once, and a huge shadow fell across her.

"Good evening. You were here ahead of me."

She looked up. A familiar man bowed his head.

"Do Seongyun, of Bulmyeol. I'm not sure you'll remember me..."

He scratched his cheek. Last time he had worn a combat uniform; today he was in a martial-arts gi. The wear was different, but the cut was the same as Yu Hwan's.

"I remember. Are those two colleagues of yours doing well?"

"Thanks to you."

At that, Seongyun's face brightened a little.

"Let me thank you again for last time. I went looking for your number because I wanted to repay the kindness... and somehow I ended up being the one to call my benefactor."

With that he half-turned and gestured, all courtesy.

"Shall we? The car's parked nearby."

He seemed conscious of the crowd. Eunha's clothes had already been drawing stares, and with Bulmyeol's number three on the scene even the passersby stopped where they stood, until the sidewalk looked like the middle of a busking show.

"Headquarters should be about ten minutes."

Seongyun said it as he climbed into the driver's seat and took the wheel with easy practice. Eunha buckled her belt and looked around the cabin. He had plainly tried to smother things in a hurry with air freshener, but dust, sweat, and even a faint trace of alcohol still hung in the air.

She glanced at the rearview mirror. The front seats were spotless, not a speck of dust on them, but the back seat in the glass was a wreck—empty plastic bottles, dumbbells, a spare gi, crumpled bandages, boxing gloves, all of it strewn about.

"Ah. I left in a rush..."

Following her gaze, Seongyun smiled, embarrassed.

"It's all right. Please don't mind it."

Eunha answered with cool detachment as she looked away from the mirror. Even so, he reached a long arm into the back as if stamping out a fire and swept the clutter into one corner.

She thought they were finally about to leave. Instead he worked a button and put on classical music. Once the volume sat where he wanted it, he smiled with elegant poise.

"Antonio Vivaldi. His Leh... Lastroi... Vganza."

He seemed to have just bitten his own tongue, but Eunha pretended not to notice and nodded.

Having finished nearly every preparation for receiving a distinguished guest, Seongyun took the wheel and asked, perfectly polite:

"Would you like the butt-warmer?"

"The... butt-warmer?"

"Yes. It's gotten quite chilly, so just say the word if you need it."

Eunha had no idea what he meant by a butt-warmer, so she simply said she was fine. Five months into modern life, new words were still everywhere. She would remember this one and ask Jehwi later.

After all that fuss, the car finally pulled out. The road was so clogged they could hardly build speed, and waiting more than five minutes at every light was simply how the drive went. Perhaps the quiet had started to feel awkward. Seongyun rummaged under the seat and held out a bottled drink, a blue energy supplement.

"The traffic's terrible. Would you at least have this?"

"Thank you."

She accepted it readily enough, but she didn't drink. She set the bottle on her knee. Seongyun took one of the same, twisted off the cap, and spoke.

"Come to think of it, whereabouts do you live? Ah, I don't mean anything by it... I'd like to see you home when we're done."

"That's kind of you, but I'll go on my own. It isn't that far."

On the phone, and again now, Seongyun kept fishing for her address without ever tiring of it. She didn't sense any bad intent. If anything, it felt like kindness. Even so, she had decided to refuse that kindness politely. Nothing good could come of her home address getting around.

"Mm... but it may be hard on you."

He sounded a little troubled. Hard on her? She had just turned to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠look at him when the classical music was overrun by a blaring ringtone.

Seongyun scrambled to lower the ringer, asked her pardon with a look, and answered.

The call was short. He set the phone down and spoke again.

"I expect getting home may be difficult for you... Do you happen to like drinking?"

Drinking, out of nowhere? Eunha blinked, then gave a small nod.

"More or less."

"And your tolerance?"

"I couldn't say. I've never really thought about it."

"I see."

For some reason the face above the wheel grew a little heavy. He thought for a moment, then glanced at her through the rearview mirror.

"Then let's do it this way."

The instant his lips moved, the phone went off again.

Seongyun broke off mid-sentence.

"Pardon me a moment."

The phone went off every two or three minutes, and it was enough to make her head spin.

Crunch.

In the end Seongyun crushed the phone the way one mashes a potato, so it could never ring again. A phone, just like that. When the startled Eunha glanced at him, he only smiled, as if nothing were wrong.

"The guys don't have any patience, that's all."

"...Ah. Yes."

He didn't seem to have much of it himself.

Only after the phone was in pieces did a comfortable quiet settle over the car.

"Where was I? Ah, right. What if you passed our headquarters address to someone you know well, ahead of time? So that, if it comes to it, you can get home safely."

That would be best, he added, and took a business card from the compartment in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dash—the headquarters address and the main number written on it—and handed it to her.

Only after some thirty minutes did they finally reach Bulmyeol Headquarters.

As for the true meaning of what Seongyun had said, she would understand before long.

Meanwhile, at a university hospital near Legion Headquarters.

Junhwan had bought a lunch box at the first-floor convenience store for his dinner. He carried it out to a bench on the terrace, sat down, and started peeling back the wrapper.

The newly released lunch came with a tiny character keychain, limited quantity. Every time the brand launched something new, it made a keychain aimed at the devoted. The adorable rabbit in a military uniform was the star of a famous American cartoon, and the character Minju loved best of all.

Back when the lunch brand had first come out...

Junhwan, staring at the keychain, felt the rims of his eyes flush red. He scrubbed roughly at them with the back of his hand and tucked the little thing carefully into the breast of his clothes.

I'll give it to him the moment Master opens his eyes. He's been under so long he won't even know a new flavor came out. He'll like it. He will.

Junhwan sniffled—a small sound, all wrong on a man his size—then set his stopped hands moving again and tore the rest of the wrapping ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠open.

"Bae—Bae Junhwan!"

"...?"

An urgent voice. He had been splitting a pair of wooden chopsticks for his meal, and he turned his head. A nurse from the hospital came running at full tilt, a chart clutched in one arm.

"What is it?"

At his question she moved pale lips, looking as if she might collapse for want of breath.

"Th-the patient... Trickster..."