I Am a Bear
I am a bear.
The barbecue joint sat tucked deep inside a market alley.
The sign was worn, and the glass door was filmed over with grease. Smoke drifted out in lazy curls. Aside from us, only two other tables had customers—faces that looked like they were finishing the day with a glass of soju.
"This is the place."
Seo-yeon pushed the door open and went in.
I twisted my body through after her. The frame was too narrow; my shoulder snagged on it. No matter where I go, this body never quite fits the world. I'm used to that by now.
When I sat down, the chair screamed—a long, thin creeeak. I perched on half the seat. Better that way. Beats breaking the thing.
"What'll you have?"
The middle-aged woman working the floor asked.
Seo-yeon looked at me.
"You pick," I said.
That expression crossed her face again—the look of someone who has never chosen anything for herself. The same one I'd seen a few days ago in front of the convenience store.
"…I can really pick anything?"
"Yeah. Whatever you want."
Seo-yeon stared at the menu for a long time. Her finger drifted over the items—settled on one, hesitated at the price, drifted to another.
I just watched.
This little girl still checked the room before ordering a single plate of meat. Nobody was scolding her. It was just in her bones—the idea that she wasn't allowed to claim her own share without looking over her shoulder.
"…Pork belly. Two servings."
"That's it?"
"…Yeah. That's enough."
"That's not enough."
I turned to the woman.
"Ten servings of pork belly. Five of pork neck. Five bowls of rice. Two doenjang stews."
Seo-yeon's mouth fell open.
"Hey—hey! Who's supposed to eat all that?!"
"Me."
"…"
"You pick for yourself. I just ordered mine."
Seo-yeon laughed like she couldn't believe it. But the laugh didn't look like she minded.
The meat came out.
Pork belly hit the grill. Oil spat. Smoke rose.
I picked up the tongs. In my hand they looked ridiculous—like I was pinching a toothpick.
That short wait while the meat cooked.
Waiting was hard.
When I was a bear, I never waited for food. When I was hungry I took it, and when I took it I ate. I never cooked anything. I tore into living things just as they were—
…There it is again.
The sensation rose sharp and clear in my head. The raw smell. The warmth. Flesh catching on teeth.
Not my memory. A bear's memory.
But my mouth watered anyway.
…Get a grip.
I shook my head. It had been happening more often lately. Raw meat, uncooked flesh—my body reacted before I did. A human body, and the bear's instinct still clawing its way out.
Maybe Seo-yeon saw it. She set a well-done piece of meat on my plate.
"What are you doing? Eat."
"…Yeah."
I picked it up and ate. Cooked meat. Hot, salty, greasy.
It was good.
Oddly, I felt relieved. Because it wasn't raw. Because this was how people ate.
"Is it good?"
"…Yeah."
"I can tell from your face. When something tastes good, your ears move."
"…My ears?"
"Yeah. Like a bea— I mean, whatever. Your ears move. They just did."
She almost said bear again, then stopped. She was used to catching herself by now.
But that my ears moved—that was news to me. Another bear habit, maybe. Parts of this body I still didn't know kept leaning back toward the animal.
Anyway, Seo-yeon ate well.
Small as she was, she put away a surprising amount. No—not surprising. She was eating without holding back for the first time in a long while. I could see it. She'd said she had no appetite before, but now her chopsticks never stopped.
She stuffed her cheeks with rice, wrapped meat and ate it, spooned up stew.
I kept grilling while I watched her. I put more on her plate than on mine. She didn't notice; she just took it and ate.
It felt good.
This little girl eating until she was full.
A strange thing. When I was a bear, no animal shared its kill. Eating meant taking, and if something was taken from you, you starved. But now, cutting into my own share to feed someone else felt good.
Was that what being human was? Or was it just because it was Seo-yeon?
I didn't know.
Once her stomach had some weight in it, Seo-yeon set her chopsticks down and drank some water.
"…That was good. It's been forever since I was this full."
"Want me to order more?"
"I'm good. I feel like I'm about to burst."
She laughed, patting her stomach. Then, almost to herself, she glanced at the meat still on the grill.
"…But hey—are you okay for money? This is gonna add up."
"I'm fine. We made some today."
"True. You even got the one-punch bonus, right?"
Seo-yeon snorted a little laugh.
"Must be nice. You win, and the whole purse comes straight to you."
She tossed it out like it was nothing.
But something about it snagged on me.
…The whole purse?
"…It doesn't for you?"
I asked.
Seo-yeon's chopsticks paused for a second.
"…What doesn't?"
"You've got a thirteen-fight streak. You should've been paid for every win."
She turned her water cup in her hands. Silence sat between us for a beat.
"…I get paid."
"But?"
"…It's nothing."
The way she said it was wrong. Too flat. The voice of someone who never admits something hurts.
"What do you mean, nothing."
"…"
Seo-yeon hesitated, then shrugged.
"Almost all of it goes out the second I get it. Debt."
"Debt."
"Yeah. Interest."
She said it like it was ordinary. Like someone so used to it that even anger had burned out of her voice.
"Even with a thirteen-fight streak?"
"Even with a thirteen-fight streak."
She took a sip of water.
"Weird, right? I win and it still doesn't go down. I pay, the interest stacks, stacks again. At first I did the math—figured if I won a few more, I'd be clear. But…"
Seo-yeon gave a dry little laugh. Her mouth smiled. Her eyes didn't.
"I stopped counting. There was no end to it."
"…No end?"
"Yeah. I've been paying for twelve years and the principal never shrinks. It doesn't shrink—it grows. No matter how many times I win."
I stopped turning the meat.
Tongs still in my hand, I turned the words over.
Twelve years.
This little girl—from her teens until now. Winning every time with blood on her. Forehead split open, ribs cracked, stacking a thirteen-fight streak out of that.
And the debt never went down.
It grew.
"…How is that even—"
"I don't know. I don't know the details either. That's just how it is. From the start."
Seo-yeon went on, calm as still water.
"I was born into it. Don't know if my parents left it or someone else made it. By the time I knew what was going on, I was the Golden Cat, I had something to pay off, and so I stepped into the ring."
"…"
"A debt that never shrinks. I've been paying it for decades."
She drank again, like none of it mattered.
"So yeah—must be nice for you. You win and the money comes in whole. For me, winning doesn't leave anything behind."
With that, Seo-yeon picked her chopsticks back up, reaching for what was left of the meat.
But that hand.
Bandage on her forehead. Calluses locked into the knuckles. That small hand that had taken hits for decades and kept winning—looking at it—
…
Something inside me went cold, fast.
Not the heat from the day I met the pack of wild dogs in the mountains. Not the boil that rose when I drove that man into the vending machine.
Not that.
Cold.
Very cold.
Deep in my head, something that had been sleeping at the back of the den slowly opened its eyes. This time it didn't snarl. It didn't thrash.
It simply, quietly,
decided.
…Ah. This.
The debt Seo-yeon had been paying for twelve years—the one with no end.
A chain that never loosened no matter how many times she won.
Someone had tied this little girl down like that and been bleeding her dry.
For decades.
…Right.
I set the tongs down slowly.
Seo-yeon still hadn't noticed the change in my face.
She sat there chewing meat like nothing was wrong—still not knowing how wrong her life was. Still believing it was just how things were.
That made me angrier than anything else.
…Then I'll just smash it.
The thought rose, and my head went strangely clear.
Nothing complicated about it.
A debt with no end? A chain she couldn't get free of her whole life?
That kind of thing ends when you smash the one who made it.
That's how a bear lives. If something is in the way—rock, tree, animal—you break it. That's the law of the wild. The human world has debts and interest and contracts and all that tangled mess, but—
—I am a bear.
"Seo-yeon."
Han Daewong called her name.
"Yeah?"
Seo-yeon lifted her head.
In that instant, she knew something was wrong.
When Han Daewong stood, the chair scraped back with a sharp creak.
That huge body rising made it look like his head would hit the low ceiling of the barbecue joint, and as he blocked the fluorescent light a shadow fell over her.
"…Hey? What's going on?"
Her voice shook without her meaning it to.
It was strange.
A moment ago—just a moment ago—this man had been grilling meat and putting it on her plate. That dull, gentle, bear-like face, ears twitching when the food was good.
Not anymore.
His eyes were different.
Seo-yeon knew these eyes. She had seen them exactly once.
The day he drove that man into the vending machine. The moment the stuffed bear that had been running away over a single tissue turned, in a blink, into a real one. Those eyes.
A beast's eyes.
But different from that day, too.
That day they had been hot. Rage at a full boil.
Now they were cold.
Cold enough to raise the hair on her arms.
"I'm going to step out for a bit."
"…Where?"
No answer.
Instead Han Daewong took money from the envelope and set it on the table—far more than the bill. The calm of the motion only made it worse.
"That's for the food. You take your time eating."
Take her time?
In this atmosphere?
…What the hell. Why all of a sudden.
Seo-yeon's mind spun. What had they even talked about? Nothing special. Just the debt. Her debt. That it never went down no matter how many times she won—that nothing of a story.
Don't tell me.
Don't tell me… because of that?
"Han Daewong. Your eyes look wrong right now. Where are you going?"
Seo-yeon shot to her feet and grabbed his arm with both hands. Even both together couldn't close around that log of a forearm.
The thought that she had to stop him rose on pure instinct. She didn't know why. She only knew she shouldn't let him leave.
"…I'll be right back."
Han Daewong peeled her hands off. Gently, the way you handle glass—careful not to break it.
Those giant hands lifting her small ones away so carefully—that was what scared her more.
That a man this careful with her was about to be the opposite with someone else.
Han Daewong walked toward the door.
"Hey! Han Daewong! Where the hell are you going?!"
Seo-yeon shouted.
But that back didn't stop.
She stared blankly at the broad back as it pushed through the door, shoulders forcing past the narrow frame.
The door closed.
Left alone in the barbecue joint, Seo-yeon stood there for a long time.
On the grill, the meat was burning.
…Where is he going.
Her heart was hammering.
She had lived in this world for decades. She could smell danger faster than anyone.
And right now that smell was coming off no one but Han Daewong.
Don't tell me.
One person rose in her mind.
Her debt. The chain of a lifetime. The one who held it.
…Is he going after the boss?
A chill ran down her spine.
Seo-yeon left the half-burned meat where it was, slammed the door open, and ran out after him.