A Friend's Visit
A short while later, the clattering from the kitchen fell silent, and Seoa stepped out carrying a plate of fruit.
A few perfectly ripe apples sat nestled on it, looking plump and inviting. She settled quietly beside me and, with practiced ease, picked up a paring knife and began to peel one.
The soft, continuous scrape of the blade as the skin unspooled in a long, unbroken ribbon sounded especially clear against the stillness of the night. I watched her in silence.
Her hands moved with a delicate certainty that never hesitated. For ten long years she must have sat like this—quietly holding her place, doing whatever needed to be done. Every motion carried the weight of the time she had endured, and something in my chest ached with a dull, sharp throb.
Gratitude and guilt, and an affection that had grown far beyond either, washed over me in waves. I no longer wanted her to bear any heavy burden because of me. I never wanted to see Seoa suffer on my account again.
"…Let me do it."
My voice came out low as I held out my hand, meaning to take the apple and the knife from her.
For the briefest moment her hands stilled. She looked up at me with wide eyes. Confusion flickered there, and something that might have been a faint smile.
"It's all right, Taejun."
She shook her head gently and gave my hand a light push away. The warm, small touch of her fingers lingered against my skin.
"I'll do it. I'm better at this sort of thing."
She turned her attention back to the apple. She spoke as if it were nothing, yet a subtle tremor seemed to run through her voice. Perhaps she felt a quiet relief knowing I did not take her devotion for granted.
I did not press the point. I simply drew my hand back and shifted a little closer to her side. The night air had grown quite cool, yet sitting beside Seoa somehow felt warm.
Only the soft scrape of the knife filled the silence. I picked up a finished slice and put it in my mouth. Sweet, cool juice flooded my tongue while she continued peeling the next piece without a word. The steady rhythm of the sound marked time like the pendulum of an old wall clock. I focused on it and chewed slowly.
The crisp texture and the bright, refreshing sweetness suited the quiet night perfectly. Another pale slice of apple flesh settled onto the plate. She still said nothing, wholly absorbed in the fruit. The profile of her concentration looked almost sacred.
Ten years. Not a short span of time. How many nights had she spent like this—peeling fruit, knitting, or simply staring blankly at the night sky? The thought of her enduring those years without me made my heart sink heavily once more.
What can I even do for her?
Simply being here is not enough. There is no way to restore the ten years she lost, the brilliant youth I stole from her completely. But at the very least, the time still ahead of us… I can keep her from loneliness and hardship, shield her from every threat the world can throw, and make her happy. That is the least I owe her—and perhaps the only meaning left for me to find in this wretched life.
The thought hardened my resolve as I looked at her again. Seoa was finishing the last half of the final apple. A thin red ribbon of peel curled away from the careful tip of her knife. Her delicate hands had not changed at all.
"…"
I felt I ought to say something, yet the words would not come. Thank you? I'm sorry? Those empty phrases could never hold the weight of what I felt, or of the years she had carried. Simply sensing her presence in the silence seemed to be all I could manage.
At last the final slice joined the others on the plate. She set the knife and the peelings aside and let out a small breath, then turned her face toward me. Even in the dark her eyes shone with unusual clarity.
"Please eat, Taejun."
She nudged the plate a little closer. Even that small gesture was full of care. I nodded without speaking and took another piece. Fresh brightness filled my mouth, yet this time her gaze mattered more than the taste.
Seoa was watching me quietly. What was she thinking? What feelings lived in those eyes? I could not guess lightly; her heart was more intricate and difficult than any labyrinth in the deepest reaches of a Gate.
I do not know how long we sat there on the porch beneath the night sky. Still no words passed between us. Only the occasional cry of insects broke the quiet. I did not mind the awkward yet comfortable silence. It felt far more human and peaceful than the endless blood-soaked noise and screams I had known inside the Gate.
"…I think I need to go into town for a bit tomorrow," Seoa said, the first to break the stillness. "There are a few things I need."
"I'll come with you."
The answer left my mouth almost by reflex. I did not want to send her alone. It was not only the anxiety that something might happen. I simply wanted to be with her—to share even the smallest piece of ordinary life.
My immediate reply made her eyes widen in mild surprise. Then a soft smile touched her lips and she nodded.
"All right. Let's go together, then."
Warmth bloomed in a corner of my chest at her answer. I had half expected her to refuse the way she had refused the apple. Perhaps she felt the same as I did.
And so we made another promise—not some grand oath or contract, merely a simple agreement to go shopping in town together the next day. To me it felt more important than any vow I had ever sworn.
The next day—more precisely, the afternoon of that weekend—we really did go into town together after the brief conversation of the night before. It was nothing special, just ordinary shopping. She bought a few groceries and household necessities while I followed silently behind her, carrying the bags.
Yet inside that ordinariness I felt a kind of security I had never known before. Walking the noisy market lanes, watching Seoa haggle with sharp competence, catching her shy smile whenever our eyes met—simply looking at the person who had waited for me. All of it seemed to push back, little by little, the hellish memories of those ten years.
We had just returned home and sat on the edge of the porch to catch our breath. Late-afternoon sunlight slanted across the yard, stretching long shadows. A peaceful country weekend scene.
That was when it happened.
"Seoa! Yoon Seoa! Where are you?!"
The quiet alley in front of the house suddenly erupted. A bright, ringing voice carried clearly, and a moment later a young woman burst into the yard like a small whirlwind.
Her short black bob bounced with energy; large brown eyes sparkled with curiosity. In both hands she carried dessert boxes wrapped in the kind of flashy paper young people liked. She was clearly Seoa's friend.
The instant she spotted me sitting on the porch she strode straight over without the slightest hesitation.
"Huh? Are you… that famous Sword Demon, Mister Kang Taejun?"
She planted herself in front of me and looked me up and down with frank boldness.
Mister.
Technically accurate, yet the word did not sit well.
"You look a bit… scary, just like the rumors said!"
A completely unfiltered greeting. I regarded her in silence. Around twenty, maybe—Seoa's age, yet her entire atmosphere was the opposite: lively, unrestrained, brimming with energy.
Seoa, emerging from the kitchen at that exact moment, went white as a sheet and rushed over.
"Lee Haeun! How can you be so rude all of a sudden?!"
Seoa grabbed her friend's arm and tried to pull her back, but the girl called Haeun did not budge. She shook Seoa's hand off, planted both fists on her hips, and glared straight at me. She looked like a small predator whose territory had been invaded.
"Don't stop me, Seoa! Some things need to be said straight!"
Haeun fixed her eyes on me again. The playfulness and curiosity were gone; a serious, sharp light filled them now.
"Do you have any idea how hard our Seoa had it waiting for you for ten whole years?"
Her voice rose. Resentment and anger mixed in the sound that rang across the quiet yard.
"She's only twenty! And she spent her entire beautiful youth waiting for one man—you!"
Every word struck like a blade driven into my heart. Not a single one was wrong. This was what I had done.
"Do you know how much the neighbors gossiped? Can you even imagine how much Seoa cried when no one was looking?!"
"…Haeun, please stop."
Seoa's voice trembled pitifully. I gave her a small signal with my hand that it was all right. She flushed deep red and lowered her head.
So Seoa had a friend like this.
Even so, Haeun showed no sign of stopping. If anything her voice grew louder.
"People said you died in the Gate, that they never even found a body! And still our Seoa… she believed with all her heart that you were alive, that you would come back!"
"…"
I could say nothing. Should I make excuses to Seoa's friend—that I had been forcibly conscripted into the Gate? Should I weep bloody tears and tell her I had walked home over the corpses of my comrades? No. I simply listened to Haeun's furious voice and pictured the ten years of Seoa's life that her words painted.
She had spent far lonelier, far more painful years than I had ever imagined. Guilt crushed me from every side.
Haeun seemed to catch her breath for a moment, then fixed me with a resolute expression and fired her final shot.
"So listen carefully, Mister!"
She locked eyes with me and shouted.
"You have to cherish Seoa more than anyone else in the world for the rest of your life, love her, and make her the happiest woman alive! Promise me! Right now! Promise me this second!"
A breathless silence fell. Only Haeun's ragged breathing, Seoa's soft sobs, and the sound of my own heart seemed audible.
I looked at Haeun steadily. Her eyes were full of deep friendship for Seoa and genuine worry. If she had been selfish she would never have gotten so angry on Seoa's behalf—especially a young person who surely knew the weight of my reputation.
She found herself a good friend.
Her manner was rough and blunt, yet the feeling behind it was real. The demand she made so boldly matched exactly the vow I had sworn to myself only the night before.
I quietly folded the newspaper I had set down on the porch. Then I straightened, faced Haeun fully, and met her gaze without flinching.
"I understand."
My low voice came out calmer than I expected.
"I'll keep your words in mind."