The Weight of a Single Question
Her lips were so chapped from all the kissing that every pass of her tongue brought a sharp sting. Yeo-won took a steadying breath, sat back down in front of the board, then immediately lost all desire to continue. The game in front of her was a complete and utter rout.
No matter how she looked at it, he really had been going easy on her before. She had lost count of how many times her carefully chosen moves were effortlessly blocked by Shin-wol’s pieces, each one placed without the slightest hesitation.
When Yeo-won glared at the board with a sullen expression, Shin-wol let out a soft chuckle and swept several of his own pieces onto the floor. Only his king and two knights remained in his camp.
“……What are you doing?”
“Let’s take back a move and start over.”
Yeo-won’s eyes flashed. The situation was certainly damaging to her pride, but she had never been the type to let pride get in the way.
As long as she reached Seoul, it didn’t matter which road she took.
“No take-backs after you lose.”
“You move first.”
Only then did a smile bloom across Yeo-won’s face. Shin-wol watched her with a low, resonant laugh. Anyone who saw that smile would have mistaken him for a completely different person—so tender, so gentle.
While Yeo-won pondered her next move, Shin-wol rested his chin on his hand and studied her slowly, thoroughly.
Her slightly hunched shoulders made her already slender frame look even more fragile.
A small wrinkle had formed between her brows. Whenever she was deep in thought, she had a habit of frowning and gently biting her lower lip.
Her face was pale as if it had never seen sunlight, her jaw delicate, her body soft and without a trace of muscle, her shoulders gently rounded.
When she smiled, a faint dimple appeared. When she felt shy, her lips pressed together with unconscious tension.
His gaze, thick and languid as if he were licking her with his eyes, slowly traveled downward.
When she straightened her back, her modest breasts—slightly fuller than her frame suggested—pushed forward, the buds at their peaks the same color as her lips, like ripe fruit.
Those nipples, swollen from days of relentless teasing, poked faintly against the fabric of her clothes.
The strange satisfaction he felt came from knowing he was the one who had made them that way.
A burning thirst rose in his throat. Even seven long kisses had not been enough to quench this fundamental craving.
In the eyes fixed on Yeo-won, dark flames of lust blazed.
No matter how many times he sucked on her, no matter how deeply he thrust inside her, it was never enough. She had no idea how fiercely he was restraining his instincts.
In truth…….
“Shin-wol, aren’t you going to move?”
Yeo-won’s voice sliced through his dark thoughts. When he looked down, she had played a rather decent move and seemed aware of it—her face was openly triumphant. Unlike his usual instant responses, Shin-wol paused for about three seconds before moving his king. Her expression immediately crumpled into gloom.
Janggi was, after all, a game of strategy. Even when your pieces were captured and your position overrun, you were supposed to maintain composure.
“Drop the ‘sir.’”
“……”
Without answering, Yeo-won once again glared at the board as if she wanted to kill it. Watching her hesitate to move a piece, he leaned back and waited with leisurely patience.
Well, this wasn’t so bad once in a while.
He knew all too well that moments like this were nothing but fleeting.
Humans were creatures who lived in the blink of an eye. That was why they expressed their emotions without restraint and never hid their desires. Some humans harbored ambitions far beyond their station, but for the most part, they were beautiful.
Like flames that burned fiercely and then died in an instant. Just as no flame fears its own extinguishing, they always burned hot—then vanished without a trace.
Shin-wol gazed at Yeo-won in silence.
He did not urge her to move faster, nor did he try to engage her in conversation.
He simply tried to etch this moment into his eyes for as long as possible.
*
The eighth match ended.
The dramatic reversal she had hoped for never came. Shin-wol won. Yeo-won lost. Even with only two pieces left, his king stood behind an impregnable fortress that showed no sign of falling. Every time she thought she saw an opening and charged in, it turned out to be a trap, and her own pieces were the ones that fell.
Could she even win at all? Who on earth had taught him to play like this? Did he have a master? Or had he simply been born with the talent?
Yeo-won let out a long sigh and tried to collect herself. She was still fiddling with her stinging lips, unable to stand up from her seat, when Shin-wol—who had been putting the pieces away—suddenly spoke.
“Do you want to go down to the mortal realm that badly?”
She had played so much janggi that for a second she wondered if this, too, was some kind of trap. She considered what he might say if she answered yes, then decided there was no point in overthinking it and answered honestly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m curious how my hometown is doing, and there are still things I need to take care of.”
“You really do seem to enjoy working.”
If she had to be precise, she didn’t particularly enjoy it. She worked for money and a small sense of responsibility, that was all.
“If you’re worried about their well-being, couldn’t I simply send a letter on your behalf?”
“These days, if you ask about someone’s well-being through a letter, people will suspect you of some new kind of crime.”
Even as she answered, Yeo-won kept watching Shin-wol’s expression. Since she didn’t know what the right answer was, she at least wanted to read his reaction carefully. He tapped the board absently with his index finger, his eyes indifferent.
“If you go down, the ghosts will swarm you again. Do you think I will come to your rescue every single time?”
His voice was deliberately cold. Yeo-won flinched and quickly looked away.
“I’ll be careful around anyone who approaches me, so it’ll be fine. This time was a special case. Ignoring people is actually one of my specialties.”
Of course, that hadn’t worked with the eodukseoni, but still. Thinking the conversation had taken an oddly uncomfortable turn, Yeo-won let out a small “Ah!” of realization.
“Don’t worry. I’ll stay alert at all times.”
Yeo-won smiled brightly as she answered. She assumed he was talking about the marble, not her. After all, if she died, the marble would be in danger too.
Shin-wol stared at her for a moment, then gave a short laugh. It was closer to a scoff, yet for some reason his face looked strangely human.
“I’m not so sure. I don’t quite trust you.”
“……”
She had seen him smile countless times, but this felt different. His face was so radiant that for a moment she was completely captivated.
“Go, then. I permit it.”
With those final words, Shin-wol poked her forehead. Yeo-won’s vision blurred instantly. She fell straight into sleep, and when she opened her eyes again, she was lying on the bed in her own room—which now felt strangely unfamiliar.
Yeo-won slowly sat up and pressed the back of her hand to her cheek.
*
Tick. Tick.
While absently scratching at the hangnail beside her fingernail, Yeo-won stared down at the phone in her hand. No matter how much she scraped at the small, stubborn piece of skin with her index finger, it refused to come off. After staring blankly at her nail for a while, she turned on her phone and pressed the keypad with firm, deliberate taps.
The familiar sequence of numbers that followed the area code. The home phone number that had not changed once in twenty-eight years was so deeply ingrained in her muscle memory that she could have dialed it with her eyes closed.
Yeo-won let out a long sigh, then pressed the call button.
Tu-ru-ru— Tu-ru-ru—
The repeating ringtone somehow made her nerves spike with tension. She swallowed dryly and counted. Exactly ten times. If it rang ten times without an answer, she would hang up. She made that promise to herself.
After what felt both short and endlessly long, right as the tenth ring was about to end, there was a click, and a dry voice came through the speaker.
“Hello.”
How long had it been? It had only been about a month since she last saw that face, yet the voice sounded strangely foreign, as if she hadn’t heard it in years. Because of that, an awkward feeling settled over her.
“Grandmother, it’s me. Han Yeo-won.”
“……I see.”
The old woman’s complete lack of ordinary greetings made Yeo-won laugh bitterly to herself. Still, the fact that she was exactly the same as always helped ease some of the tension.
“Have you been well?”
“Yes.”
“How is your health?”
“About the same as usual.”
“That’s a relief.”
Silence stretched between them. If Yeo-won didn’t ask a question, her grandmother would not speak. While she hesitated, wondering what to say next, Yeo-won let out a short breath.
There was no need to force the conversation. It would only make both of them uncomfortable.
This was enough. Neither more nor less. Just knowing her grandmother had returned to the same person she had always been brought Yeo-won a strange sense of relief.
Just as Yeo-won opened her mouth to end the call, her grandmother spoke first.
“It’s almost your grandfather’s memorial day, isn’t it?”
Startled, Yeo-won quickly grabbed the calendar on her desk. On the brand-new, pristine calendar, only a single day was circled in red.
Yeo-won didn’t usually make much use of diaries or calendars, but she always made sure to mark her grandfather’s, mother’s, and father’s memorial days in big, bold letters on both her phone and any calendar she could get her hands on. She kept them in plain sight so that even if work made her forget, she would still see them and remember.
When she checked, the sixth was indeed her grandfather’s memorial day.
“What? Oh… yes, I know.”
“Will you come?”
“Pardon?”
The question was so unexpected that Yeo-won couldn’t hide her bewilderment as she asked again.