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# Chapter 63: The Names of Burning Things
Haneul watched Sae-ah’s face when she bit into the tteokbokki. That face wasn’t eating. It was sitting in front of the tteokbokki. A significant difference.
“Hey. What have you been up to?”
A street stall in front of Hapjeong Station. Red sauce painted the surface of the rice cakes. Winter sunlight reflected off the glaze, turning it black. Sae-ah picked up her fork, set it down, picked it up again.
“Nothing. I worked. At the convenience store.”
“That’s not what I meant…”
Haneul swallowed the tteokbokki in her mouth and asked. Her eyes were mercilessly precise. Sae-ah couldn’t meet them.
“What did you do in Jeju?”
“I just…”
Sae-ah trailed off. She speared a rice cake with her fork. It was soft, already thoroughly soaked in sauce.
“Just what? Dohyun said you went to Jeju. And not alone—someone took you. Who?”
She put the rice cake in her mouth. The sauce burned. Still hot. The tteokbokki made at dawn hadn’t lost its heat under the afternoon sun.
“Kang Riou.”
“Kang Riou…”
Haneul repeated it, as if the name itself would explain something. But nothing was explained.
“JYA’s son?”
“Yes.”
Sae-ah answered. Briefly. With the intention of ending it with silence.
“You’re insane. Seriously.”
Haneul set down her fork. The sauce dripped onto white paper, leaving a mark. It looked like a map. A map going nowhere.
“What’s insane?”
“Everything. Do you know who that guy is? He’s the JYA CEO’s son. You just signed your contract a few days ago—you’re a rookie. And he’s… well, I don’t know exactly, but he’s that kind of person.”
“That’s—”
“Not ‘that’s.’ Sae-ah. You always do this. You need to judge whether someone’s good or bad before you fall for them. You’re already falling, and then you’re trying to judge. That’s why everything gets tangled.”
Haneul raised her hand. There was a new tattoo on her wrist. A matchstick. A small matchstick drawing.
“See this? Got it new. For you.”
Sae-ah looked at Haneul’s wrist. A matchstick. Red head. Black stem. Simple but unmistakable. Easy to recognize.
“Why a matchstick?”
“Why? Because you’re a matchstick. Always burning, lighting someone else up while you melt away.”
Haneul picked up more tteokbokki. Sauce smudged around her lips. Red. Like a bloodstain.
“But that’s not what matchsticks are for. Matchsticks aren’t meant to light up someone else—they’re meant to light themselves up. You should be lighting yourself. Why do you keep trying to light up others?”
Sae-ah didn’t answer. Instead, she picked up another rice cake. The sauce dripped into the broth, leaving another mark. A map.
“What does that guy say? Kang Riou? Does he like you or something? Do you even know what he does?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know who he actually is?”
Sae-ah said nothing. What Kang Riou did—that was complicated. JYA’s son. A student in Berlin. The shadow of a dead friend. A musician. Or someone who was no longer a musician. The owner of trembling hands. Someone trying to “save” someone else as a way of honoring his friend who killed himself.
How could she explain that.
“I don’t know.”
Sae-ah answered. It was the truth.
“You mean you literally don’t know? You went to Jeju without knowing what that guy does?”
“Yes.”
Haneul sighed. A deep sigh. A sigh of surrender. Sae-ah felt the weight of that sigh. Like it was settling on her shoulders.
“This. This is your heart.”
Haneul lifted Sae-ah’s wrist. The inner side. The tattoo Haneul had given her before. A small flame. Sae-ah had almost forgotten it was there.
“You’re still burning. Still. And from what I can see, this Kang Riou is just another fire. It looks bright and warm, but you’re going to burn to death in it. For someone else.”
Sae-ah looked at her own wrist. A flame. Small but unmistakable. Like it was alive.
“That’s… not it.”
Sae-ah said quietly. A voice unsure of itself.
“Not what?”
“Kang Riou isn’t fire.”
“Then what is he?”
Sae-ah couldn’t answer. What was Kang Riou? That was a question that required time. Eternal time, even. Because Kang Riou himself didn’t know.
Haneul pushed the tteokbokki pot closer to Sae-ah.
“Anyway, eat. It’s cooling down. And you’re not going to talk about this again, so let’s just eat and go.”
“Okay.”
Sae-ah picked up her fork. This time to eat. To breathe. To not speak.
Sae-ah returned to GS25 at 8 p.m. She’d arrived before the shift change, as always. She came ten minutes early, prepared herself, received the handover from the previous staff, and then night began.
Clerk Kim Eunju was sitting at the counter. Eyes on her phone. A game. Or a novel. Her fingers moved quickly across the screen.
“Oh, Sae-ah. It was pretty slow today. Not many customers.”
Eunju spoke mechanically. Her mind was already on the next thing.
Sae-ah put on her apron. Black apron. She remembered Kang Riou wearing one. The apron didn’t suit him. His hands were too delicate for cooking. No—they trembled too much.
“Understood.”
Sae-ah answered. Eunju was already standing. 8 p.m. was her quitting time.
“Hey, by the way—do you want to learn something? Or are you just going to work at the convenience store forever?”
Eunju asked. It was a strange question. They’d worked together a year, but she’d never asked before.
“Why?”
“Oh, nothing. Just… you seem like you have dreams or something. Your eyes. They look somewhere else.”
Sae-ah didn’t answer.
“Ah, you’re already doing something, aren’t you? Good. Fighting.”
Eunju laughed and left. The door closed. An automatic sensor responded, and the thin plastic door closed smoothly.
Sae-ah was alone. With the fluorescent light. With the hum of the freezer.
And with her thoughts.
Why had Kang Riou taken her to Jeju? To actually “save” her? Or was she a replacement for Han Junho? A replacement for his dead friend. A replacement for his colleague. A replacement for a shadow.
Sae-ah leaned against the side of the counter. Her place. Where she sat every night. The fluorescent light still flickered. Flicker, flicker. Like a heartbeat.
Her phone rang.
Kang Riou. A KakaoTalk.
[You working right now?]
Sae-ah answered.
[Yes.]
[Until when?]
[8 a.m.]
[After that?]
Sae-ah thought. After that. After 8 a.m. What would she do then? Go home and sleep? Write music? Just walk around?
[I don’t know.]
[I’m on my way. I’ll pick you up. Let me know when you’re done.]
It was a command. Not a question. “I’ll pick you up” was already decided.
Sae-ah put down her phone. There was no way to stop Kang Riou from coming. She didn’t want to, either. That was the problem.
Night progressed. Customers came and went. Ajummas. Students. Taxi drivers. All different people. All the same routine. Come into the convenience store, buy something, leave. A repetition.
11:30 p.m.
A young woman came in. Mid-twenties. Her face was pale. As if she’d lost something. Or was looking for something.
She stood in front of the freezer. Looking at ice cream. She pointed at one with her finger.
“I’ll have this one.”
Her voice trembled. Like she was crying. Or about to cry.
Sae-ah opened the freezer and took out an ice cream. Strawberry flavor. Pink. It was odd to buy ice cream in winter. But no one asked about that.
“1,900 won.”
The woman paid. A bill. And Sae-ah gave her change. Heavy coins.
The woman left. Eating ice cream as she went into the winter night street.
Sae-ah watched her go. Her receding figure. Like watching herself. Like watching her own future. Would she become that too? Buying ice cream in front of a freezer while holding back tears?
1:47 a.m.
Few customers. Sae-ah organized products. Ramen. Cup noodles. Soup. All the same size. All the same price range. Same expiration dates. Products made days ago. Waiting to be sold.
Her phone rang. Kang Riou. A voice call.
“Can I come get you now?”
“Yes. Just let me clean up a bit.”
“I’ll wait ten minutes. Outside.”
The call ended.
Sae-ah took off her apron. Slowly. Like it was a ritual. Each movement was a ceremony.
Kang Riou was standing outside the car. 2:15 a.m. in front of Hapjeong Station. The street was nearly empty. A few taxis. And Kang Riou. His black coat. His breath in the cold air.
“Hi.”
Kang Riou said simply. As if they’d just met. As if three days ago didn’t exist.
Sae-ah got in the car. A black Mercedes. The heating was on. Warm. Warmth from a winter street.
“Where are we going?”
“Han River.”
That was all. Kang Riou drove. From Hapjeong Station toward the Han River. Passing through the night city.
They arrived at the Han River at 2:45 a.m. The river was black. Completely black. But the lights of the bridge reflected off the water. Like stars that had fallen from the sky.
Kang Riou got out of the car. Sae-ah did too. There was a bench by the riverside. Someone might have sat there during the day. But now it was empty.
Kang Riou sat. Sae-ah sat too. There was space between them. A safe distance. Or an unsafe one.
“I don’t know what to say to you.”
Kang Riou said.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“No. I do.”
Kang Riou’s hands trembled. From the cold of night? Or from emotion? There was no way to tell.
“I lied to you. Even in Jeju.”
“What kind of lie?”
“You’re not Junho.”
Kang Riou said.
“Then what am I?”
“I don’t know. But what I know for sure is… you’re not Junho. And that scares me more.”
Kang Riou’s eyes were looking at the light reflected in the water.
“Why?”
“Because… Junho was someone I couldn’t save. I thought if I’d won, he wouldn’t have died. That’s what moved me. That’s what took me to Tokyo. To save someone like ‘Junho.’ But you’re not Junho. You’re just… you.”
Sae-ah didn’t speak.
“And you seem like I could actually save you. Because I feel like I really could save you, I’m even more scared. Because what if I fail? What if I lose someone again?”
Kang Riou’s voice trembled. Like his hands. Like it was contagious.
“And there’s another reason. A darker one.”
Kang Riou stopped. As if speaking next would break everything.
“What?”
Sae-ah asked.
“You can’t like me. Because I’m the shadow of a dead friend, and you’re someone trying to save that shadow… and I know that’s not love. But I already can’t lose you. Even knowing that’s not love.”
Kang Riou looked at Sae-ah now. For the first time. Directly.
“So what is this?”
Kang Riou asked. Of himself. Or the sky. Or the river.
“What is this?”
Sae-ah had the same question.
The Han River was flowing. Night river. Beyond Gwangmyeong. Going somewhere unknown. Like all water.
Kang Riou’s hand found Sae-ah’s hand. On the bench. And this time Sae-ah didn’t hold his hand. Because he was already holding hers.
They looked at the Han River. Black water. Reflected light. And their own weight. The weight on the bench. The weight on each other’s hands.
“I’m sorry.”
Kang Riou said.
“For what?”
“Everything.”
At 5 a.m., Sae-ah was still sitting on the bench. Kang Riou was sleeping beside her. His head leaning on her shoulder.
Sae-ah didn’t move. Like stone. Like she’d sit here forever.
And she remembered. Those words from Chapter 62. “You were like Junho.”
Now that sentence was complete. The rest of it had been heard.
You were like Junho so… I’m afraid of losing you.