The Broth Was a Little Spicy
Watching the fight between Weather and Siwoo, Gwi Hun let a faint smile touch his mouth. In truth, what Siwoo had said was a lie.
It was true he could command both ice and water, but the gift had a flaw. He could lower the temperature of water. He could not raise it. Even so—
No need to tell an enemy that much.
He was satisfied. More than he had thought he would be.
This had not been a battle with their lives staked on it, but even allowing for that, the fact that Siwoo had brought down both Commander and Weather on his own was an extraordinary thing.
And now, what remains...
From his wheelchair, Gwi Hun turned only his eyes, letting his gaze slide to the man standing beside him.
A snapback worn backward, his shirt on in a way that barely counted as wearing it, every button undone. The abdomen glimpsed beneath was solid enough, and his skin was tanned dark, as if he had only just come back from a summer sea. Late as the hour was, he wore sunglasses so black the eyes behind them could not be seen at all. Small wonder the people around him took him for an eccentric.
He was not, in fact, anyone to be suspicious of. The man was an A-rank Hunter Gwi Hun himself had invited from Korea. His world ranking lay outside the top one hundred, and yet among Korea's A-rank Hunters he was widely said to be the most likely to rise to S-rank: the Engineer, Pyo Uihyeok.
Commander and Weather. Those two had been dealt with, and now only Uihyeok remained. For some reason, though, he did nothing but stare at Siwoo through the sunglasses, and he did not move from where he stood.
"White Night. I'm sorry, but I'll have to sit this duel out."
Uihyeok spoke up without warning. Siwoo and Gwi Hun narrowed their eyes at the same time.
"What are you talking about?"
Siwoo's face twisted as he strode up to him. Uihyeok looked him over at a slant, then spoke with open discomfort.
"You look like standing is about all you've got left."
"What, you pitying me now?"
"No. It's a problem with my morals."
"I can fight."
"...Yeah?"
Uihyeok slid his sunglasses down a fraction. In that instant—
Crack—!
Lightning slammed into Siwoo. It came at a speed that Siwoo, riddled with wounds and nearly out of strength, had no hope of dodging.
"Kh—!"
He coughed blood and folded where he stood. Uihyeok only dropped his gaze and regarded him without expression.
"Sorry, but I don't feel like putting on a fight against someone I could finish with a tap."
Face-down on the ground, Siwoo clenched his fists as if he could not bear it. His fingers raked hard across the gravel and left streaks of blood behind.
His opponent, it seemed, was a nature-type like Siwoo himself—and among those, a Hunter who wielded electricity. Uihyeok slowly rubbed the back of his neck. Blue sparks crackled in the wake of the motion.
"...The matchup's pretty bad for you, too, isn't it?"
Uihyeok was an A-rank Hunter, and Siwoo was S-rank. The gulf between those two ranks was enormous, no question. But if one weighed their present condition, the matchup of their Unique Abilities, and the experience each of them carried onto the field, then in a fight between the two it was Uihyeok who held the clear advantage.
"You really set on this?"
He sounded reluctant. It might not have been a true battle, but one look was enough. Siwoo was already beaten to rags. If he fought Uihyeok once more here, the young man would not walk away without serious injury.
"You've already proved what you can do against those two S-rank Hunters. Feels to me like you don't need to cross blades with an A-rank like me."
"Wouldn't you agree, White Night?" Uihyeok looked to Gwi Hun.
"No."
In that moment Siwoo, who had seemed to be lying still, lurched to his feet. Behind the sunglasses, Uihyeok's eyes went wide.
"Matchups, whatever else—I don't care about any of that."
Swaying where he stood, Siwoo lifted a gaze gone cold and sharp.
I'm going to fight you.
And I'm going to see this damned proof through to the end.
Between lips that barely stirred, white breath spilled out like smoke.
"Haa... haa..."
Dragging heavy legs, Siwoo dropped onto a nearby bench as if he might collapse. He leaned back, tipped his head, and looked up at the sky. Through his disordered hair showed blue irises that had lost their focus. Slowly, he raised both hands and stared at them.
Not one of the ten fingers was whole. He had forced his Unique Ability past its limit, and the backlash had already stolen the feeling from both hands, as if he had frostbite.
Siwoo began to fumble through his pockets. What he drew from the right front pocket was a tube of ointment, crumpled beyond saving. He tried to open the cap, but his hands would not obey him. Damn it. The curse came out low as he bit down on the cap and twisted until, somehow, he got it open.
He squeezed. The back of his hand, the palm, the wrist, the elbow—a little ointment worked into every wound he could see.
"...Ah."
Then the tube slipped and fell. It dropped without dignity beneath the bench, and Siwoo only stared at it.
The hour was already late, and not a single person walked the area. In the hush, only the streetlamp flickered faintly. He sat rigid for a long while, then straightened without picking the ointment up, and simply closed his eyes.
From not far off came the faint cry of cicadas. Then the night wind moving through the roadside trees, the flap of wings as some bird left its branch—listening to it all, his ears seemed to fill. Maybe that was why.
Young Master Siwoo. So this is where you were.
It felt like a hallucination he had no reason to hear. He knew it was foolish, and still he lifted his head.
As expected, there was no one—
"...Senior?"
Black hair, and eyes blacker still. Eunha.
Siwoo blinked slowly. Even with her face confirmed before him, he looked as if he could not believe it. There was no telling how long she had been standing there, stock-still in front of the bench, watching him. He closed his eyes and opened them again and again, and then his expression crumpled all at once.
"What are you doing here?"
He set his mouth hard and raised every thorn he could. Eunha, blank-faced as ever, answered with perfect calm.
"I was looking for you. You weren't answering."
Those pitch-black eyes slid over his face.
"...You fell again, didn't you."
Siwoo whipped his gaze the other way, as if he had not heard her.
"What business do you have? I believe I already gave you notice that the contract was terminated."
"I know."
"Having second thoughts now? Was the money not enough?"
"It's not that."
Eunha denied it quietly, her voice plain and detached. Siwoo, by contrast, spoke as if something in him had surged up.
"Then what? What reason do you have to show up in front of me again? I'm sorry, but now that the contract is over, I would rather we never have to see each other's faces. From here on. For good."
That was what he wanted. It was the only way. They had not known each other long, but he did not dislike Eunha, and that was precisely why he had to do this. Otherwise she, too, would end up like Ilseok—
"Just."
Eunha's lips moved, barely.
"I thought we might go get something to eat."
Siwoo slowly raised his eyes to her. His lips had parted, blank. He looked a little startled. Or perhaps angry. Either way, he only stared at her with that strange expression and gave no answer at all, so Eunha spoke again.
"Like you said, we won't have any reason to see each other after this."
"I've owed you a lot. There isn't much else I can do for you, but I wanted to buy you one last meal. At least that."
For a long time his blue gaze did not leave her. What he was thinking, there was no telling. His lips opened and closed, and in the end nothing came out of them—not yes, and not no either.
A little later, seated on a plastic chair, Siwoo looked around with a reluctant face. Eunha, having just finished ordering, glanced at him.
"Thought we'd go to the rice-soup place? They're not open this late."
"What? You don't like street stalls?"
"No."
Siwoo gave a small shake of his head.
Soon the food they had ordered came up onto the table. Rolled omelet, spicy seasoned sea snails, tofu with kimchi—and amid the dishes that kept arriving, Siwoo's gaze stopped in one place.
"I hope it suits you. If it hadn't been so late, I meant to treat you to something more expensive."
After a brief hesitation, Siwoo's hand fumbled out and closed around the spoon. A clear broth, with thin slices of green and red pepper floating on it.
Oh. There's a lot of cheongyang chili in the mussel soup, too. If I'd known, I should have ordered something that wasn't spicy.
Even at this hour the place was noisy around them. Vermilion lights hung in clusters from the ceiling. Charcoal smoke filled the air, and the smell of alcohol had soaked deep into everything. A broth that was white, and viciously spicy for all that. Everything was exactly as he remembered.
In silence, Siwoo took one spoonful of the broth and closed his mouth. Across from him, Eunha, opening a bottle of beer, glanced his way.
"The broth..."
He set the spoon down with a soft tap.
Outside, the rain began to fall.
"The broth is a little spicy."
Eunha, who had been watching him steadily, drew a few napkins from the corner of the table and set them in front of him.
"There's a lot of pepper in it."
A quiet that did not belong amid all that noise settled between the two of them. Rain tapped against the tarp of the stall. Then, suddenly, Siwoo spoke.
"Senior."
With a light tap, he set the pitifully crumpled ointment on the table.
"I'll give this back."
Eunha's black gaze fixed on the tube. After a short silence, her lips moved.
"Why?"
The question was short. The answer took a long time.
"...Because I'd rather you kept something like this than me."
The night deepened.
On the burner between them, the pot of mussel soup simmered and popped. The steam hung so thick he could hardly see ahead, but Siwoo looked at it for a long time. For a very long time.