The Wrong Person

"Eunha. You are Cha Eunha, aren't you?"

Gyeon Woncheol came toward her at a slow walk. Gladness, longing, relief—all of it was tangled together in his widened eyes. Perhaps that was why it took her so long to look away.

"......"

Something ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠seemed caught in her throat. She could not speak at all, and it did not seem to be only because the contract with the cat had taken her name.

"When I saw a Concept Hunter who looked like you on TV, I wasn't sure. But it really was you."

"......"

Concept Hunter. From those words alone, she could roughly guess what sort of program he had watched. He would have seen her, too, sweeping about in a loud dress with a parasol in her hand. Without her meaning to, her fingers tightened around the bag strap. What must the Training Center Director have thought, seeing that?

But the voice that followed carried an inflection quite different from the one she had expected.

"I'm glad you're alive. All this time, I thought you were dead. I really am glad."

He pressed his fingers hard against his eyes and looked at her through lids gone red.

"How have you been? You've heard about Yijun, haven't you? As if being Korea's first S-rank weren't enough, he's become a Prime. The boy who couldn't even hold a rifle has gone and made something of himself."

Yijun. At that name, Eunha's gaze snapped up. In the shock of meeting the Training Center Director again, she had forgotten him completely. Her black eyes swept the street. She had to go after him.

"That's right. As it happens, I was just on my way to see Instructor Jang. You remember him, don't you? What do you say—if you aren't busy, come with me."

To Eunha, still glancing about, Woncheol offered his company and held out a hand. She flinched back before he could touch her. The refusal was so cold that Woncheol stopped dead.

"Cha Eunha?"

"......Ah."

A short sound escaped her, and out of habit she brushed the wrist ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on her left arm. The Wish Bracelet. Not the old one, which had looked ready to snap at any moment, but a band of a far cleaner, clearer blue.

She worried at it for a long while before her lips finally moved.

"I'm sorry, but......"

"I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

Even as she spoke words that dry, she could not bring herself to look at the Training Center Director. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ground. What face was he wearing now?

"What are you saying? There's no way I wouldn't recognize you."

She could not see his expression, but his voice had not changed. He was certain—certain that she was the Cha Eunha he knew.

Eunha closed her right hand around the Wish Bracelet on her left wrist and spoke again.

"I am not the Eunha you spoke of."

More firmly.

"......"

Woncheol stared straight through her. She never once gave him her eyes.

Then his gaze left her and moved to the bag slung over her shoulder.

The logo stamped across the bag. When he found it, something in his eyes wavered. He closed the lips he had parted to speak, and fell silent.

In that quiet, Eunha—Yura—slowly turned away.

"......I'm in a hurry."

He said nothing more. Only his eyes moved, resting quietly on her as she drew away.

She felt that gaze. Even with so much distance opening between them, it clung to her back and would not come loose. She quickened her steps. Was it to chase Yijun, or to run from something? She could not have said. Not once did she look back.

"......"

Only after she had cut through a narrow alley and turned corner after corner did she slowly glance behind her.

However long she waited, the Training Center Director did not appear. Once she was certain no one had followed, Eunha stepped out of the alley.

Cars rushed along the avenue. Crowds drifted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠down the sidewalk. She slipped, as if she belonged there, into that ordinary scene.

"......Right. Someone I know."

More precisely, someone she had known.

The Training Center Director's face was far more lined than she remembered. So was the white hair. So was the bent back. The gulf of time she had failed to feel when she saw Yijun came over her now like an ebbing tide.

She forced his face out of her mind, then groped at her throat and lifted the pendant. Or she meant to.

Beep— beep— beep—

It was set to vibrate, and still the phone shrilled. Eunha dug through her pocket and drew it out.

A gate alert no longer surprised her. The people walking nearby did not even bother to read it. They were busy silencing the sound.

"Ah, shit! I was watching a video!"

"Can't they just turn these alerts off for good? This is seriously pissing me off."

"Check your settings. You can probably disable the emergency-alert notifications. I turned mine off. They were driving me crazy."

There were more than a few of them, spilling complaints at the tiresome alarm.

......It's close. Right around here.

Eunha stared blankly at the message on the screen, and all at once she thought of the Training Center Director she had just met. Surely nothing would happen to him. It was a needless worry, but it came anyway.

Weeeeeeng—

Beneath the screaming sirens, police cars, fire engines, and ambulances tore down the road.

"......"

Eunha, standing as if rooted, pushed the phone deep into her pocket.

Hunters would arrive soon enough. The gate auction would already have begun, and plenty of guilds would be fighting over the bid. There would be many hunters heading there.

It doesn't have to be me.

In her pocket the silenced phone went on buzzing. She ignored the vibration to the end and closed her hand around the pendant.

And that night.

Beep-beep-beep—

The door shut with the chirp of the lock.

Home again, Eunha did not take off her shoes. She set her back against the front door, which had gone cold.

"......"

Then her hand slid up and closed softly around the pendant at her throat.

In the end, even the tracking skill had failed to find Yijun.

Failure after failure. Had it been nothing but an error? Or perhaps Yijun possessed some special skill, some trait, that canceled tracking outright. Whatever the reason, she had failed to follow him, and she came home without having asked him a single thing.

She slowly took off her shoes and stepped inside. The chill of the marble was stark against her bare feet.

The living room was dark. Feeling her way along the hard wall, she came to stand in it, and her lips moved as if of their own accord.

"Tissue."

In the unchanging stillness, she understood too late.

Right. Tissue was gone.

The days they had spent together had not even lasted a week. Soothing the emptiness left behind would take longer than that. Two days had passed, and still she was not used to it. Warmth was like that. Once it stayed awhile and then departed, it always left a greater cold behind.

Eunha set her academy bag on the table and reached for the remote beside the sofa. She turned on the television with the ease of habit, though she had no ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠intention of sitting down to watch. It was a habit she had formed while living alone after her mother died.

The television's light fell across the cold marble. Only then did the suffocating silence wrapped around the house seem to loosen, just a little.

Letting the anchor's voice wash past her, Eunha walked to the refrigerator and took out a can of beer. It hissed open. She drained half of it where she stood. Cold enough to raise a chill, it slid down her throat, and the tight, tangled feeling in her chest seemed to settle, if only a little.

"......"

Sipping her beer near the refrigerator, Eunha flicked a glance at the television. The gate on the news was the very one the alert on her phone had reported.

Manipulating a winning bid? Did things like that happen? Back in Eunha's time there had been no such thing as a gate auction, so the whole matter was unfamiliar. Drawn in spite of herself, she went to the sofa and fixed her eyes on the screen.

The hand that had been lifting the beer can to her lips stopped dead in the air.