The Price Tag on Love
Pania had intended to kill Porim. She knew, of course, that he was a victim of the magical girls. But what did that matter? The fact that he was the one who had cast her into hell remained unchanged.
She had begun to resent him from the moment the villagers turned their backs on her and she was left huddled inside the tent. Those excruciatingly lonely hours slowly devoured her mind. She wanted nothing more than to hurl curses at Porim, yet she could not. Without him, she would have no one left in this world who stood on her side.
So every day she asked, and every day she confirmed—confirmations she herself could not bring herself to believe.
“Are you always on my side, Porim?”
“Of course. I’m always on Pania’s side.”
Of course he was. As a tool for his own satisfaction.
Pania always swallowed the words she could never say.
“I wanted to make you the most magnificent version of yourself. I hoped you would become the ideal magical girl.”
“It’s all right. I already know, even if you don’t say it.”
What did it even mean to be the ideal magical girl? She had never wanted to become anything like that. Was that why Porim had reduced her to this state? She was curious, but the question felt too sharp to voice, so she never asked. Venting her resentment might bring momentary relief, but she knew she would only regret it later—because she would remember the moment he had affirmed her worthless self and chosen her as a magical girl.
Still, she could not suppress a laugh at the claim that magical girls were not tools. While using her as a tool to create his ideal magical girl, he had the nerve to say that.
Once again, she forced the resentment down.
She hated Porim, yet she could not hate him.
It had been the same when Serafina and Gem arrived. Even then, her goal had not been survival, but to be loved. But the moment the bear trap clamped around her and a bullet struck her head, she woke from the dream.
So she asked.
“Why me?”
She needed someone to pour out the fury of a lifetime of deception. Go on, say it like you used to. That she was the finest person you had ever seen.
She knew better than anyone that she was no such person. If Porim lied again this time, she would truly snap his neck. She needed proof—proof that the man who had chosen her was just as hypocritical as the villagers, proof that every polished word had been a lie, a reason to kill him. She hated him, yet could not hate him.
But Porim gave no answer. Perhaps even he was not shameless enough to say such things at a time like this. She changed the question.
“You always said you were on my side. So what can you do for me now?”
“...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I can do.”
She felt the strength drain from his body. Porim had closed his eyes, as though accepting death. He was telling her that her anger was justified. In the end, Pania could not bring herself to snap that slender neck.
...
Pania—no, Kim Ye-eun’s father had been a notorious loan shark. He forced loans at rates far exceeding legal limits, and to collect debts he never hesitated to traffic people, issue threats, or exploit personal relationships. A leaking bowl outside will leak inside as well. The slightest offense would send him lashing out violently at his wife or at Ye-eun.
“You goddamn bitch!”
Mother became a goddamn bitch again tonight. At the time, Ye-eun had not understood what the words meant. She simply thought they referred to a person one despised enough to want to trample, kick, and strike in the face and stomach every single day. That was how young Ye-eun understood it.
Each time, she would hide inside the pitch-black wardrobe, trembling. She hated her father. She wished he would die, and every day she prayed for it from inside the wardrobe.
And her wish came true. He was stabbed to death by a debtor he had driven to the edge. No one came to his funeral. To be precise, a few people did appear, but none of them had come to mourn. Nine-year-old Ye-eun looked toward the neighboring funeral hall. It was packed to the brim, utterly unlike her father’s empty one.
“Mom, why isn’t anyone here?”
“Because Dad was a bad person. Bad people can’t be loved by anyone.”
Her father had never been particularly respectable, and her mother had likely said it only to soften the blow of his death for a young child. But Ye-eun took the words differently.
“I see...”
“Everything you do, good or bad, comes back to you. So Ye-eun, you have to be a good person.”
Her mother did not seem particularly sorrowful either. That sight gave Ye-eun certainty.
Dad was a bad person, so Mom isn’t sad. I’m not sad either, really. Bad people can’t be loved.
Ye-eun’s mother inherited the loan shark’s entire fortune. Plenty of men wanted a young, wealthy widow. None of them wanted the nine-year-old child attached to her. When Ye-eun watched her mother walk away with a foreign man she had never seen before, dragging a suitcase, she neither cried nor tried to stop her. She knew it would be useless. Even if her dead father had returned to apologize and beg, she would never have forgiven him. Bad people could neither be loved nor forgiven. That was why she had been abandoned.
I wasn’t loved because I’m a bad child.
The nine-year-old forced the rationalization into herself. She always hid behind that tattered shield and lied to herself. After that, Ye-eun tried never to become a bad person. She turned away from the fact that the effort was merely a desperate struggle to keep her sanity. Even at the orphanage she never lost her smile. When other children tried to take her toys, she handed them over without complaint. Even when she was slapped, she smiled like an idiot. As she grew older she worked for less than half the wages others received. She had no days off; every weekend without work was spent on volunteer activities. She never voiced negative thoughts and always forced herself to keep smiling—for the sake of being loved, of not being abandoned.
So Ye-eun loved others. Yet she never once felt loved in return. No matter how hard she tried, to everyone else she was merely a convenient person. In truth, Ye-eun was not particularly altruistic. She was negative and cynical by nature. That was only natural. A child who had lived her entire life in instability could never grow into a kind and gentle adult. Beans do not grow where garbage is planted. She was still the same nine-year-old girl desperately trying to please others and win their favor so she would not be abandoned again—only now her body had grown larger. She was simply someone who had wanted to be loved. That was why Love became her True Name.
...
Pania regained consciousness. Through her hazy vision she saw Porim’s back. Beyond him, Serafina was approaching her fallen body. Rage surged through her once more. Pania coughed up a mouthful of blood and gathered the last of her magic into her hand. An axe materialized. She meant to bring it down on Porim’s head. She was going to die anyway. The fading sensation in her body told her so. In that case... couldn’t she be honest with herself for once at the very end? There was no longer any reason to struggle for love. The one who had reduced her to this state. She would not let him die alone... They would fall into hell together.
The moment Pania raised her arm—
“Please... I beg you... Save Pania. No... please save her... I’m begging you...”
Porim was prostrating himself on the dirt floor, begging. Begging that monster of a woman to save her.
“Why should I, Porim? I warned you clearly. I told you not to create any more magical girls. You’re the one who ignored that warning. Why should I grant your request?”
Pania’s arm trembled violently. She knew all too well from everything she had seen how much Porim despised magical girls. Whether he understood her feelings or not, Porim pressed his forehead harder against the ground.
“I’m begging you... It’s all my fault. I’ll pay whatever price is necessary, so please just spare Pania... I’ll do anything...”
Pania’s face went deathly pale. Why? You’re... a hypocrite. Everything was a lie. You used me like a tool! Ideal magical girl or whatever—nothing but empty nonsense! ...So why? Why are you now willing to throw away your own life to save me? You could sell me out and live. Aren’t you afraid of dying? I don’t want to die. I don’t care if I’m hated. If throwing another human being away would let me survive, I would do it without hesitation.
Even Pania herself did not value being loved more than her own life in this moment. The hand gripping the axe shook. Porim was not unafraid of death. He was terrified. That much was certain. Seeing him tremble with his head pressed to the dirt, something began to surface in her mind—the nine-year-old version of herself who had pretended to be calm, locked herself in the bathroom, and cried because she had been abandoned.
Pania swallowed a breath. Somewhere deep in her chest, a wound that had festered and dried began to ache.
Why only now...
The reward one could obtain only by helping others and enduring things one hated—that had been Pania’s definition of love. It had never once been free. To pay that price she had spent her life currying favor with others. Smiling, yielding, crawling on the floor just to be loved. That was how she had lived.
I’m always on Pania’s side. I wanted to make you the most magnificent version of yourself.
Porim’s voice echoed in her ears. It had not been hypocrisy. Not a tool, not self-satisfaction—only genuine feeling directed solely at her. The very form of love she had desperately longed for and dreamed of her entire life.
Pink particles of light bloomed and began to envelop her body. A languid sensation washed over her, and Pania’s consciousness sank beneath the surface. On the other side of that sinking mind, a nine-year-old girl was smiling brightly. It was not the smile of a child struggling to be loved, but the smile of a child who was loved. And within that smile, the True Name Love, no longer needed, began to fade—while a new True Name was carved in its place.