Chapter 81

Ham Yejin’s response came late. An extended silence ensued, and without a word, she searched for a movie using the remote, though her eyes were no longer directed at the TV.

She remained like that for quite some time.

I didn’t rush her for an answer.

Probably, even if Ham Yejin gave no reply here, I wouldn’t push.

Anyway, there was no going back.

I had already been tamed, and to me, Ham Yejin had become a special presence. But whether I was special to her, I couldn’t tell.

Still, since Ham Yejin was responsible for me, maybe it wasn’t such a big deal.

Even so,

I wanted to know.

Being tamed by someone meant this: the possibility of shedding tears.

It’s funny, but now crying felt all too familiar.

Then, Ham Yejin soon picked a movie.

“Blade Runner.” From the separate copy of the Final Cut nearby, it was clear this wasn’t the final version.

“Have you seen this movie before?”

“…In college, as an assignment.”

“I guess my luck in picking movies isn’t very good. I was hoping for something neither of us had seen.”

Of course, we could have changed the movie right away, but Ham Yejin simply started it. Though I wasn’t fully immersed in the film, I couldn’t block out its content. And I’d already seen this movie before.

The Blade Runner asks a suspected replicant:

“So, tell me about a good memory. Something about your mother, perhaps.”

“Mother?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll tell you about my mother.”

The man fires a shot.

Replicants are artificially created, genetically engineered humans, and Blade Runners are the police who hunt them.

Ham Yejin turned her head and looked at me. Her eyes were trembling slightly. She hadn’t known what kind of movie this was.

Still, the movie continued. But by that point, the film held no meaning for either of us.

Perhaps Ham Yejin was trying to avoid answering. However, after glancing at my teary eyes, and as time passed with the movie nearing its end, Ham Yejin finally spoke.

“This is… a secret.”

Her voice trembled.

“It’s not a story I can share anywhere else.”

“I promise.”

The trembling didn’t subside.

“My first patient was the father of a household.”

“And he was a respected man. A wonderful father. He had a close relationship with his wife, and they had one daughter. It was a happy family until he fell ill.”

“After falling ill, naturally, the family fell apart. The teenage daughter couldn’t accept her father, and while the wife tried to cope, it was difficult. After changing identities, the whole family moved elsewhere. They could have emigrated, but they didn’t go that far. The father’s original identity was declared deceased, and the person who had been the father became a cousin’s adopted child whose parents had died.”

“It was tough, but it seemed like he was slowly adapting. That’s how it appeared.”

“The wife committed adultery.”

“There was no way to stop it. There was no justification because the man was no longer the head of a household. He was already dead.”

“The daughter no longer treated him as a father, and the wife no longer treated him as a husband. Even when the woman’s lover visited the house and treated him as the daughter, there was nothing he could do.”

“He hanged himself.”

“It’s said that the wife quickly ended things with the lover. At the funeral, both the wife and the daughter were half-insane.”

“Only in death did he reclaim his place.”

Ham Yejin looked outside through the balcony. This apartment was located on a fairly high floor.

“The second patient was a high school girl.”

“She probably led a happy life. She had many friends at school, and she had a boyfriend.”

“She attempted to jump from the hospital.”

“Fortunately, a nurse found her and stopped her. Afterward, her identity was changed, and she transferred to a distant school.”

“Her family was made up of good people. They still cared for their daughter, loved her, and positively accepted her changed appearance.”

“But the school was different.”

“You know, a person doesn’t completely change overnight just because they wake up one day as a man. The difference was likely not well-received by the young students.”

“She began refusing to attend school.”

“One day, she secretly left home alone.”

“She went to meet her ex-boyfriend.”

“That night, she jumped.”

“The boyfriend refused to disclose what they talked about. He only sat silently with a vacant expression at the funeral before leaving.”

“Regardless of what was said or whether it was a mistake, it was irreversible.”

Ham Yejin’s expression contorted as if she were suppressing nausea. It wasn’t anger. Definitely not anger. Yet, it burned like fire.

“I…was inexperienced.”

“I shouldn’t have stopped monitoring just because it seemed like the patient was improving or didn’t want it.”

“I should’ve had more conversations with the patient, the daughter, and possibly the wife.”

“I should’ve created opportunities for the patient and his wife to talk.”

“I shouldn’t have let the patient part ways with her boyfriend without even a proper introduction.”

“Changing identities or transferring schools again wouldn’t have solved the problem.”

“Still, I think I should’ve tried.”

“All of it, I could’ve prevented.”

“I failed.”

“Maybe I didn’t even try.”

“…”

“The reason I help Seol-guk… Is it because I don’t want to repeat the same thing three times? Guilt? Sympathy? Atonement? All of the above.”

“And yet, it’s none of those.”

“They ultimately chose their paths, ones I couldn’t prevent. But Seol-guk chose to live. This isn’t about stopping Seol-guk from committing suicide; it’s because Seol-guk chose to live that I’m doing this.”

“Yes, Seol-guk might not be perfect. You removed the tomatoes from the sandwich I bought initially, then the cucumbers next time. You snapped at me when I worried, ignored my advice and got your picture taken carelessly, appeared on TV despite my warnings, and cried in front of the entire nation like a child.”

“So…”

“It’s because you’re someone with a bad temper, not wealthy, lacking humor, prone to irritability, picky eater, incapable of cooking, lacking survival skills, and having no hobbies…”

“That I help.”

“Because you’re still trying to live.”

People help each other.

“It’s a simple story.”

She continued the simple story.

We talked a lot.

Ham Yejin cried a little, but I didn’t.

I don’t know if it was the answer I wanted.

But it wasn’t an answer I didn’t want to hear. I still don’t quite understand what it all means.

The climax of the movie was playing on TV.

“I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.”

Just as the next line was about to come, Ham Yejin’s smartphone rang.

Apologizing briefly, she stepped into the room to take the call.

While she was on the phone, the movie ended.

The last line drowned out by the ringtone was undoubtedly:

“It’s time to die.”

~

“Yes, I received the call.”

“Yes, yes, understood.”

“No, thank you. It’s unavoidable. Anyway… I was planning to quit.”

“Yes, I’ll speak to Father.”

“Yes, please take care. I’ll hang up now.”

The call ended. She didn’t leave immediately.

She stood there for a moment.

With a few tears, her distorted face revealed painful emotions rising up.

“I’m…a liar.”

She repeated it quietly.

I,

am not bad.

~

A woman was typing furiously on a keyboard in a spacious room.

She was intensely focused, writing rapidly, deleting, and continuing to write.

The room was clean, and her attire was neat.

The bookshelf in the room was filled with numerous books.

Her expression, contrary to her frantic typing, was calm and even joyful.

A knock sounded.

“Come in~”

The person who entered said,

“Take it easy, miss.”

On the desk was a plate with a rabbit-shaped apple slice.

The woman used a fork to pick up the apple and took a bite.

She chewed it crunchily.

Another knock sounded.

“Come in~”

Without turning around, she said again,

“Miss, your mail has arrived.”

“Oh, thank you. Just leave it there.”

After the person left, the woman tore open the envelope.

Inside were several photos and a note written on A4 paper rather than letterhead.

As she carefully read it, realization dawned on her, and she stood up. She began searching for her phone, which she had buried somewhere in a corner.

When she finally found it, the battery was almost dead.

Frustrated, she plugged it into the charger and waited.

As soon as the battery charged a little, she turned it on.

Soon, she made a call.

“Hello, yes, Oppa. I have a question about the story you told me before.”

“Oh, do you remember? Yes, yes, about that person’s sister.”

“Could you elaborate further?”

For quite some time, the woman was engaged in the conversation.

After the call ended, she looked at the photos again.

“Hmm…this person is terrifying.”

She muttered.

“Liar.”

She glanced at her phone again.

She checked missed calls and messages from her senior.

Seeing the request to contact him, she frowned.

She immediately dialed, but he didn’t answer.

The night sky was pitch black, like ink.

Had it always been like this?