A Bitter Taste of Longing
Han Si-eun was a student who had changed dramatically over the past year. Her personality, the way others saw her—everything about her had flipped one hundred and eighty degrees.
Back in the first semester of her freshman year, she used to laugh brightly and get along with everyone. But after that semester ended, the shifting circumstances around her turned her quiet and gloomy. And it was understandable. Anyone who went through what she did would have changed the same way. Even the people who disliked her transformation could at least comprehend why it had happened.
The Si-eun who had been living so quietly was now incredibly flustered. Of all the emotional shifts she had shown others lately, the biggest one was happening right on her face.
“Would you like some soybean paste stew?”
“…Excuse me?”
“Soybean paste stew!”
What on earth was this about? The two people who had come looking for her were both stunningly beautiful. Their snow-white hair and unusually colored eyes gave the impression they weren’t Korean, yet their features were so classically East Asian that they somehow still looked like they could be.
“Um… who are you, and why are you suddenly…”
The woman who looked gentler of the two spoke to the visibly rattled Si-eun.
“It’s soybean paste stew with a ton of mugwort in it. Would you like some?”
Si-eun’s eyes widened. On the surface, the words made no sense. Most people would have brushed them off as nonsense. Showing up late at night to ask if someone wanted soybean paste stew—who wouldn’t find that strange?
“…Pardon?”
But to Han Si-eun, those words could not be ignored. Soybean paste stew loaded with mugwort. It was a dish she hated with a passion… and yet desperately missed.
Mugwort soybean paste stew, spoken by a stranger. The moment she heard it, Si-eun thought of the one person she still couldn’t forget.
It had been the day she was about to head home after finishing her first semester of freshman year. That was when the devastating news reached her.
Her father had suddenly passed away.
The cause was acute cardiac arrest due to a myocardial infarction. He had been at work when he suddenly clutched his chest in pain and collapsed backward.
Si-eun had lost her mother long ago—when she was barely two years old. She barely remembered her. Even so, it had been okay, because her father had poured boundless love and devotion into her. There were times she felt the empty space her mother left behind, but her father made it possible for her to think, It’s not so bad.
He was also a capable man, so Si-eun had never experienced the financial hardships common in single-parent households. Aside from the absence of a mother, it had been a truly good home. All thanks to her father.
His death was like losing the very pillar that held up her life—both materially and emotionally. Especially emotionally, it had been devastating. The very last conversation they shared had been over the phone, when he asked how her final exams went. She had proudly told him she did well and that she would show him her report card when it came out… but she never got the chance.
It was only after her father’s urn was placed in the columbarium that she could finally show him that report card in front of his portrait.
He had been her only family, her support, her protector. So the news of his death hit Si-eun like a thunderbolt. Her once-lively personality died along with him, and she fell into a depression where she viewed everything negatively.
Many people eventually overcome the grief of losing a parent and move forward with their lives. But Si-eun couldn’t. She simply couldn’t. To others, parents are special, but to her, he had been even more so. It felt like she had lost everything in life. Like the very path she walked had become utterly meaningless.
Si-eun wasn’t a fool. She knew people die someday. She knew parents were no exception. But she had never imagined their farewell would come so suddenly. He had always been so healthy that the loss struck like a bolt from the blue.
Ten months had passed, yet the wound from that day still hadn’t healed. She still missed her father, who was no longer in this world.
And now this woman was telling her something so sweet, so impossibly tempting that she couldn’t dismiss it as nonsense. Even though her mind screamed that it was impossible, her heart—already frayed by grief—begged her to believe.
“There’s someone who really wants to make sure you eat this.”
Before she knew it, Si-eun’s feet were carrying her out of the dormitory.
“Huff… huff…!”
She had burst out of the dorm in such a rush that she left behind the two women who had called for her. Once outside, a man was standing there.
Someone her age? At most, he looked one or two years older. He was ordinary. The kind of average person you might pass on the street without a second glance. There was nothing particularly striking about him.
Yet the moment she saw him, Si-eun froze in place. Because of what he held in both hands.
A single tray. On it sat a bowl of soybean paste stew, still steaming as if freshly boiled, packed with mugwort, alongside a serving of white rice.
“Are you… Han Si-eun?”
The man spoke first to Si-eun, who couldn’t tear her eyes away from the stew. She gave a small, dazed nod without looking up.
“Here.”
He held the tray out to her.
“Someone said they really wanted to make this for you. That’s what they told me.”
“…Who… who exactly?!”
Si-eun’s voice was urgent. She had every reason to be. This was a rustic soybean paste stew overloaded with mugwort, its distinctive bitter aroma rising strongly. There was only one person in her life who loved it that much.
And that person was no longer by her side.
“That person couldn’t make it themselves, so I tried to recreate it in their place.”
“Then who—!”
“You already know, don’t you?”
The man’s calm reply made Si-eun flinch. His tone was somewhat detached, but not cold. Looking at her with eyes that seemed to fully understand what she was feeling, he introduced himself.
“I’m Yoo Se-hwan. I help wandering souls leave this world behind so they can move on.”
“……”
Si-eun’s eyes widened. Se-hwan’s words weren’t exactly easy to believe. And she wasn’t the type to trust strangers so readily. But if what he said was true, it explained why he had brought her this particular stew.
“It probably won’t taste exactly the same, so please understand. I did my best, but… it’s bound to be different.”
Se-hwan handed her the tray.
“I couldn’t quite capture that special touch.”
“Ah…”
Si-eun stared blankly at the still-steaming stew. Mugwort was in season right now, and the bowl was piled high with it, releasing a powerful herbal aroma. To Si-eun, her father had been a nearly perfect, beloved parent. There had only been one thing she found difficult.
He loved mugwort so much that every spring he would cook endless dishes with it. Even after learning that Si-eun didn’t particularly enjoy the taste or smell, he couldn’t give up just one thing: this very soybean paste stew loaded with mugwort, something that could only be properly enjoyed in spring.
He had insisted he could never compromise on it, so Si-eun had no choice but to eat it. If things had been normal, she would have been served this at least once when she went home.
“……”
With slightly trembling hands, Si-eun picked up the spoon. She took a bite. It was a little hot, but she didn’t care. She chewed slowly.
Every time she chewed, the strong flavor and scent of mugwort filled her mouth. She swallowed it down, bite after bite.
“…It’s still bitter.”
It really wasn’t good. The subtle yet persistent mugwort aftertaste was unpleasant. “Even though he was a good cook, I always felt that way… and I still do…”
A taste so different from her own preferences that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t like it. It was still awful. Yet Si-eun couldn’t stop lifting the spoon.
She had skipped dinner earlier because she had no appetite, and normally she didn’t eat much at this hour anyway. But she kept eating until she had scraped the bowl clean and finished every grain of rice. Her head never once lifted.
Se-hwan watched as Si-eun scraped the very bottom of the bowl. He took back the now-empty tray and asked quietly, almost too quietly:
“…Did it not suit your taste?”
Most people would ask if it tasted good. But Se-hwan had phrased it the other way around. Si-eun looked at him for a moment, then let out a small, helpless laugh she couldn’t hold back. In a low voice, she answered.
“…Yes.”
It was obvious she was trying to sound composed. She spoke carefully, enunciating each word, but her voice trembled and her eyes wavered.
“It really is still bitter. But…”
Si-eun swallowed hard, as if trying to hold something back. The sight of her desperately suppressing her emotions was heartbreaking. She was forcing herself to stay dignified, forcing herself to hold it in.
“It… hic… it tastes awful, but…!”
“…I see.”
“I still… hic… I still want to eat it again… next year, the year after… forever…”
She couldn’t hold back the emotions any longer. In the end, she broke down sobbing.
“Dad… hic, I miss you, Dad…”
“……”
Se-hwan watched her for a moment. Then he glanced to the side.
"M… mi… s… s… orry… Si-eun… ah."
"Dad… has to… g… go… now…"
The spirit was speaking clearly only when calling out to his daughter. His eyes trembled. His emotions surged. The more they did, the faster the malevolent energy seeped into his soul, rapidly twisting his appearance.
Seeing this, Se-hwan stepped closer to Si-eun. He knelt slightly so their eyes were level and spoke to the sobbing girl in a tone that was perhaps a little stern.
“Miss Han Si-eun, you mustn’t hold on to him.”
“…Hic, sob…!”
“It may sound heartless, but the longer you hold on, the stronger his lingering attachment becomes. I understand your circumstances and your feelings, and I’m truly sorry… but the dead need to be able to rest in peace.”
“…Hic.”
Si-eun looked at Se-hwan through eyes still streaming with tears. In her gaze were longing, sorrow, and obsession. To put it harshly, it was obsession—but it was also the most natural emotion any human would feel. What child would ever want to be separated from a beloved parent? He understood all of it, but…
“For the sake of your precious father, please help him rest comfortably.”
Right now, she needed to steel her heart a little.
“……”
At his resolute tone, something in Si-eun’s eyes changed. It was the look of someone asking what she should do. Se-hwan bit his lip, barely gathered his own emotions, and spoke.
“Tell him you’ll be fine, so he can go in peace. That even without him, you’ll live bravely.”
Se-hwan continued.
“…You just need to say the words every parent who must leave first wants to hear.”
He pointed a finger into the empty air. Si-eun couldn’t see anything there, but that was where the spirit stood. Even now, a father who wanted nothing more than to cast off his lingering regrets and move on—a father who didn’t want to show his daughter an ugly sight—waited.
Si-eun stared blankly in that direction.
It felt like she could hear a faint voice.
“Will… Dad… be… able to… stay… by… your… side…?”
Si-eun squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then opened them. And with all her strength—
“…No.”
She shook her head.
“I’m okay. Really. You left me so many things, Dad. I realized I can live on my own just fine.”
Tears kept rolling down her cheeks, but Si-eun spoke clearly, enunciating every word.
“You can rest easy. You went through a lot too, didn’t you? I know. I know how hard you tried to fill the space Mom left behind. So you don’t have to struggle like that over there either.”
Si-eun bit her lip hard, trying to hold back the sobs threatening to burst out. There was so much more she wanted to say, but if she kept talking, she wouldn’t be able to stop crying. So she simply said,
“Goodbye, Dad.”
And smiled through her tears.
“The stew… it was delicious.”
To his daughter, who was bidding him farewell, the spirit gave his last words.
"Th… ank… you… my daughter."
The spirit, who had been on the verge of turning into a malevolent ghost, resolved his lingering attachment and vanished. It seemed her father’s final wish had been to make sure his daughter ate one last meal. Even though he knew she hated the dish, he had specifically asked for soybean paste stew loaded with mugwort… probably because he wanted her to recognize it was from him. If it had been ordinary stew, Si-eun might not have reacted at all.
“Hic… don’t cry, Si-eun… you have to live bravely… sob, waaah……”
Baek Seol-hwa, who had somehow appeared at some point, tried to comfort the crying Si-eun, only to start bawling herself. It was unclear what good it did to have the person offering comfort break down in tears, but… it wasn’t hard to understand why.
Even I had struggled to keep my own emotions in check a moment ago. For someone as kind and pure-hearted as Baek Seol-hwa, being unable to hold back her tears was… honestly inevitable.
“One case resolved.”
“…That last part—was that you?”
I asked Jang San. She gave a small nod.
“I could at least let him say those final words.”
Normally, it was dangerous for the dead and the living to converse… but just as Jang San said, this was different. Danger or not, it was a final conversation between parent and child.
“…Yeah.”
There was no need to cling to the old, rigid rules of exorcism in a situation like this.
“How did he look at the end?”
“…What do you mean?”
“The spirit’s expression. Did he look at peace?”
Most of his face had already twisted into something grotesque, so it was hard to be sure. But right before he disappeared, he had definitely…
“He was smiling.”
In that final moment, it looked like he had smiled brightly.