The Honor That Followed (2)
I stepped out of the car with Heo Da-yeong.
When I lifted my head, a massive building caught my eye. A grand structure whose outer walls were made up of countless windows. A sprawling convention center built to host all kinds of events.
Busan BEXCO.
“Hunter Choi. This way.”
Following Heo Da-yeong’s lead, I went inside. The ceiling was high, and the whole place felt spacious and comfortable. A banner hung on the wall.
Lee Chun-bae Poetry Exhibition.
That was right. Today was the day Lee Chun-bae made his debut as an author.
“How’s the progress going?”
Heo Da-yeong answered, “Like I said before, he isn’t officially publishing a poetry collection. We planned to see how people reacted to the exhibition, then raise funding from readers. But surprisingly…”
The hapless rabbit raised one finger with a solemn expression.
“We hit first-round closing on opening day! It was sold out in under five minutes.”
Oh.
I’d been worried because Lee Chun-bae was an unknown poet, but that concern had been needless.
When I mentioned Lee Chun-bae in that official interview and released his letter, it lit the fuse. Before long, the media had picked him up.
And then Lee Chun-bae ended up appearing in a documentary on a public broadcast channel.
The title of the documentary was pretty amusing:
Romantic Fisherman, Lee Chun-bae.
It told the story of how, when he was younger, he had wanted to go to university and study Korean literature, but after running headfirst into the wall of reality, he had ended up going to sea instead.
In particular, the scene where Lee Chun-bae downed a bottle of makgeolli and recited poetry became a hot topic, and soon it was spreading around every community site as a meme.
Lee Chun-bae himself probably never imagined it. That a single handwritten letter he’d written to request the extermination of the Dirty Kraken would send such massive ripples through his life.
“Let’s go in.”
“Yes, sir.”
Heo Da-yeong and I entered the exhibition hall.
Inside, the place was packed wall to wall with people. Framed poems by Lee Chun-bae hung beneath pin spotlights. Following the docent as he explained the works and the author’s intent, the crowd moved as one.
Heo Da-yeong clapped her hands. “Wow. At this rate, it’ll sell out all the way to the second, third, and even tenth round!”
In the center of the exhibition hall, a large frame hanging from a suspended cable caught my eye. I walked over to it.
A poem written in what looked at first glance like calligraphy drew my attention.
This is…
The handwriting was uneven in a strangely regular way. I could tell because I had already read Lee Chun-bae’s letter.
He wrote this himself.
The poem written in Lee Chun-bae’s own hand said this:
When you remember me far in the future, do not let your heart ache.
When I met you, it was like a bright spring day in full sunlight.
The title of the poem was To Geon-woo.
It was written in the form of a letter to his grandson.
Life had not been easy, of course.
But when you smiled, it felt as though I had won the world.
I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more.
If you were hurt, please forgive me with an open heart.
...
My chest grew hot, and something rose sharply in my throat.
There was no grand technique in it, no dazzling literary flair. And yet, from the calm, unadorned lines, his sincerity came through all the more strongly.
“Hunter Choi, when did you arrive?”
A voice came from behind me.
When I turned, Lee Chun-bae was standing there.
Not in his usual shabby clothes, but in a well-tailored suit.
“Author Lee Chun-bae. You look wonderful.”
“Oh, come now. ‘Author’ is a bit embarrassing.”
Lee Chun-bae blushed and waved a hand dismissively.
“To Geon-woo. It’s very good.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“How much is this? I’ll buy it.”
“No, no. If it’s Hunter Choi, then I should be the one giving it as a gift.”
We spent a while chatting about trivial things while staring at the frame.
“Ugh…”
Lee Chun-bae groaned and frowned.
“Guh!”
He clutched his chest and curled in on himself.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt somewhere?”
What was life, really? On such a good day, what now?
“Call an ambulance right now—”
“No. It’s not that. My body just feels a little strange.”
Lee Chun-bae straightened up.
Only then did I notice something strange.
From his body…
Aura was spreading out from Lee Chun-bae all over.
“I just heard something in my ear. And I think I saw a blue window in front of me.”
No way.
It was an occurrence I’d experienced before.
Did he awaken?
Lee Chun-bae was seventy-two years old this year.
It was far too late to awaken.
Lee Chun-bae continued, stumbling over his words. “Hunter Choi. I don’t really understand it, but… could you run your hand over the poem I wrote?”
I did as he asked and reached out.
I placed my fingertips on the frame bearing the words To Geon-woo.
A vision bloomed before my eyes.
“Darling!!!”
The image of a woman being shoved aside by Lee Chun-bae, then swallowed whole by a monster, flashed past me.
That wasn’t all.
“Who are you?”
“Kim Geon-woo. Ah—actually, it’s Lee Geon-woo now.”
“Why are you here?”
“...I was hungry.”
The day Lee Chun-bae first met Geon-woo.
The memory of cooking meals, sending him to school, and spending time together passed by like film through a projector.
A talent that allowed an awakened person to touch a work and vividly experience the creator’s memories and emotions.
In other words, a bard.
Bard talents manifested in all sorts of ways. They didn’t have to be specialized in combat; they could grow in any number of directions.
And one such path was the bard.
For reference, bard works were so rare that they sold for at least hundreds of millions of won.
I said to Lee Chun-bae, “Congratulations. You’ve become an awakened person who can wield mana.”
“Heh-heh. Awakening at my age, of all things.”
Lee Chun-bae let out a hearty laugh.
“As Master Kong said, once a man reaches seventy, he may follow his heart without overstepping the proper path. I suppose I still haven’t grown up enough.”
Kongzi died at seventy-two.
That was why he never made terms for being eighty, ninety, or a hundred years old.
Was Lee Chun-bae’s awakening a coincidence?
No.
It was the reward for a lifetime of refusing to give up on his dream, for silently writing poetry while fighting the winds and waves of time.
Remembering the traces of the life Lee Chun-bae had lived, I let go of the frame.
“Your real beginning starts now.”
“I appreciate you saying that.”
In the midst of the crowded, noisy exhibition hall, Lee Chun-bae and I stood side by side, quietly looking at the frame.
“Hunter Choi. Are you nervous?”
Heo Da-yeong gripped the doorknob and spoke with solemn determination.
“Not really.”
“I am. Why? Because I’m nervous.”
The hapless rabbit kept babbling nonsense, all the while showing obvious signs of tension.
“Open it. I’m really about to open it.”
“Go ahead.”
Heo Da-yeong shoved the door open.
“Waaaah!!!”
A roaring cheer rushed at me like a gale.
This was the BEXCO Auditorium, a large event hall not far from Lee Chun-bae’s exhibition. Today was my fan signing event.
In other words, the people gathered here were my fans.
Three thousand of them.
The seats were packed so tightly there wasn’t room to breathe, let alone walk. Flashbulbs popped like lightning, and cameras that looked like bazookas were trained on me from every angle.
So this is how Lee Chun-bae felt. This is pretty embarrassing.
Heo Da-yeong leaned close to me.
“Hunter Choi! You’re supposed to wave!”
Was that how this worked?
I waved awkwardly as part of fan service and walked forward. Even such a small gesture drew a fresh wave of cheers.
Once I sat in my seat onstage, the event officially got underway.
“We ask that the one hundred people selected by lottery come forward now.”
There were so many people that I couldn’t possibly sign for everyone. For the sake of efficiency, only a portion would get autographs while the rest would attend the event itself.
In no time at all, the line stretched out long before me.
“What’s your name?”
“Lee In-seok.”
I’d been worried about the fan signing, but once I actually started, it turned out to be nothing much.
“Your name?”
“Heo Joo-yeon. Could you write the date too?”
“Sure. Next. Your name is…?”
I emptied my mind and kept repeating the same task over and over.
Feels like working on a factory line. Easy.
“I came in place of my son. He’s a huge fan of Hunter Choi.”
“I see. Thank you.”
Maybe thirty people had gone by when—
“Your name?”
“...Ha. Just as I thought! I was right!”
“Pardon?”
I slowly raised my head.
The woman standing in front of me looked suspicious. She had her hat pulled low, and wore sunglasses and a mask. Then she stepped closer to me.
A sweet fragrance brushed the tip of my nose.
“Don’t you remember me? Sua.”
I tilted my head.
Who?
The woman slipped her mask down a little. She had a tiny face and eyes that were unrealistically large, with a youthful look that made her seem like an idol...
My hand tightened slightly around the pen I was holding.
“A total airhead?”
“Huh? That’s harsh! That’s really how you remember me?”
Sua, a member of Vernis.
She was a famous idol, and I had once saved her after she nearly got kidnapped by one of the Twelve Apostles of Cheonyangji.
“I even cleared my schedule just to get your autograph. I pulled in all my acquaintances too, just to win this signing event.”
Sua smiled brightly, her clear eyes gleaming.
“Write, ‘To Sua, I love you,’ okay? And draw a heart too. Hehe!”
She was every bit the same as she’d been back then.
I gave Sua her autograph and took a photo with her too.
“Can I post this on my SNS?”
“Do whatever you want.”
“Yay! I’m so happy!”
I was curious.
Sua wasn’t an awakened person with Sense, like Lee Yu-seol.
How did she figure out I’m the Purple Devil?
I lowered my voice. “How did you—”
“How did I know? I have perfect pitch. Especially voices—I never forget one once I’ve heard it.”
Sua pointed at me with a flirtatious little gesture.
“The Savior of Haeundae. You’re hotter than Vernis these days. I saw your interview on TV, and I knew it right then. That’s him.”
Then she gave me a wink with those big eyes of hers.
There was something very idol-like about the way she moved, as though the choreography lived in her bones.
“The secret—”
“Of course I’ll keep it! Shh. I’ll take it to my grave. Instead…”
Sua folded up a note and handed it to me.
“This has my contact info. Please call me.”
“Time’s up.”
The staff member beside us urged us on.
“I’m not doing this because I’m interested in you romantically or anything. I just want to repay my lifesaver—!”
“The next person is waiting. Please move along.”
“A-ah. J-just a second! I’ve never done this before, okay? So you get it, right? Right?”
Even as she was pulled away, Sua kept making a phone-call gesture toward me while the staff dragged her off by the arm.
Whew.
So even a fan signing wasn’t easy.
“Thank you for everything.”
On my last day in Busan, I said my goodbyes to the Dio Guild Busan team.
I had refused repeatedly, but every single one of them came out to see me off at Busan Station.
The train announcement came over the loudspeaker.
The door of the high-speed train slid open.
As the representative, Team Leader Mun Dal-su stepped forward.
“Take care of yourself, Hunter Choi. And if you ever want to visit Busan, just come on down.”
“Understood. You take care too, Team Leader Mun.”
Heo Da-yeong looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes.
“Hunter Choi, I’m going to miss you so, so, so much.”
“Thanks for everything, Heo employee.”
“Sniff.”
Someone else was sniffling too.
It was the team’s youngest member, Jang Na-ik.
“Hunter Choi…”
“You little punk, don’t go crying like a man.”
Jang Na-ik grabbed my hand tightly.
“Hunter Choi is my role model! I-I respect you! Someday I’m going to become a cool man just like you!”
There was a look of firm resolve in Jang Na-ik’s eyes.
Kid, you’re finally starting to look like a man.
“Yeah. Catch up to me soon.”
I ruffled Jang Na-ik’s hair and turned away.
I boarded the train and sat down.
After setting my bag aside, I looked out the window.
The familiar faces I’d grown attached to over those days were waving at me.
As I disappeared into the distance, they stayed there, standing motionless for a long, long time.
The maglev train accelerated little by little.
The world outside the window began to blur and rush past, until nothing could be seen anymore.
Shaking off the sentimentality, I made a call to someone.
“Hello.”
Lee Yu-seol picked up.
“Are you ready?”
“Of course. When are you coming up?”
“I’m on my way.”
Now that the Dirty Kraken had been defeated, there was one target left standing.
The head of Dio Guild, Go Pil-hun.
I drew a breath in and let it out slowly.
“Let’s replace the bastard in charge.”