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# Chapter 123: The Speed at Which Fire Dies
The mechanical hum continued from Hae-neul’s tattoo gun. That sound was familiar to Sae-a. She’d heard it countless times at Hae-neul’s shop. It was the sound of pain and the sound of transformation all at once. The sound of something permanent being etched into skin.
“When are you going back to the convenience store?”
Hae-neul asked between the whirring of the machine.
“I didn’t go back. I just… came.”
Sae-a answered.
“Why?”
Hae-neul asked. It meant “What are you doing?” It meant “Get it together.” But Hae-neul didn’t say it directly. She understood what Sae-a needed right now—not direct criticism, but quiet companionship. So she simply asked.
Sae-a looked at the instant ramen boxes again. They were still arranged neatly. Some new part-timer had stocked them. Someone continuing the work she’d left behind. Sae-a realized her job had already been replaced. How long had it been since she left? A week? It felt longer. Time had become blurry.
With each passing day, Sae-a was learning how small she was in this world. Hands that could be swapped out at a convenience store. Hands that arranged ramen. It didn’t matter whose hands they were. Everyone did the same work, moved at the same speed, worked with the same blank expression.
“Sae-a.”
Hae-neul’s voice grew closer. The tattoo machine had stopped. She’d paused to focus on the call.
“Yeah.”
Sae-a responded.
“Did something happen at the hospital?”
Hae-neul asked.
Sae-a didn’t answer. Instead, she looked at the convenience store’s fluorescent lights. They kept flickering. Like breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Unstable breath. She couldn’t know when they’d go out. But they would. Eventually, all lights go out. That was a light’s fate. Bright, then dark. That’s how it ends.
“Sae-a?”
Hae-neul asked again.
“I… saw Kang Ri-u.”
Sae-a spoke slowly, as if saying it for the first time.
“At the hospital?”
Hae-neul confirmed.
“Yeah. That kid… something’s changed.”
Sae-a said.
“What?”
Hae-neul asked.
Sae-a didn’t know how to explain. That Kang Ri-u’s fingers were no longer shaking? No. That would be a lie. Those fingers still trembled. But now that tremor meant something different. It wasn’t the tremor of resistance anymore. It was the tremor of surrender. The tremor of admitting defeat.
“His hands… seem calmer. No, that’s not it. It’s like… he’s given up.”
Sae-a said.
“Given up?”
Hae-neul asked.
“Yeah. Until now, Kang Ri-u was… trying to hold onto something. Trying to hold onto himself. Or trying to hold onto me. But now… he’s stopped trying. His fingers don’t move anymore.”
Sae-a said.
Silence flowed through the phone line. A long silence on the other end. Hae-neul didn’t rush to fill it. She understood that sometimes silence carried more weight than words.
“Is that good or bad?”
Hae-neul finally asked.
Sae-a picked up a box of instant ramen. Shin Ramyun. Red box. It was light in her hands. Paper packaging. Inside would be a styrofoam cup and noodles. Someone would cook this ramen, drink the broth, slurp the noodles. Then it would disappear. Be replaced. Another ramen would take its place. It would go on like this.
“I don’t know.”
Sae-a answered, setting the box back down.
“There are three weeks left until court. What are you going to do in the meantime?”
Hae-neul asked.
“Live.”
Sae-a said, as she had before, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
“Live? What does that mean, Sae-a? Going to the convenience store? Visiting the hospital? Staring at the ceiling in your goshiwon?”
Hae-neul’s voice rose. For the first time. It wasn’t anger. It was despair. The despair of losing a friend.
“Yeah. Things like that.”
Sae-a said quietly.
“Sae-a. You’re dying right now. You’re still alive, but you’re dying.”
Hae-neul said.
Sae-a didn’t respond. Because Hae-neul was right. She was dying. Slowly. Imperceptibly. Like mold spreading across a ceiling. Like a fluorescent light gradually dimming.
“Come to the tattoo shop. Don’t stay home. Don’t be alone. Come to our shop.”
Hae-neul spoke in a commanding tone.
“I want to rest.”
Sae-a said.
“Resting isn’t what you’re doing. You’re dying. Don’t you get that?”
Hae-neul said.
The call ended. Hae-neul hung up first. Not out of anger, but because there was nothing left to say. And Sae-a understood. Hae-neul was reaching out to save her, and Sae-a kept missing her hand. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was simply that the distance between their hands was too great.
Sae-a left the convenience store. Into the night streets of Hapjeong. Night had deepened. It was past midnight. Or nearly past. Sae-a didn’t check the time. Even checking the time required energy. Looking at it, reading it, understanding it, thinking about what it meant for her life. All of it demanded too much energy.
She headed toward the Han River. Hapjeong Station Park by the Han. At night, the Han was black. Not because the water was black, but because without light, the water was invisible. Sae-a leaned against the railing. Cold and hard metal. It was real. It proved she was actually here. Not in the goshiwon. Not at the convenience store. Not at the hospital. Here, by the Han River.
“What are you doing?”
Someone’s voice called out.
Sae-a turned around. A man was standing there. Probably in his sixties. Wearing worn clothes, holding a can of beer. Likely homeless. Or something close to it.
“Just… being here.”
Sae-a answered.
“Alone?”
The man asked.
“Yeah.”
Sae-a answered.
The man leaned against the railing beside her. And together they looked out at the black Han. Neither spoke. They simply existed together. Two strangers. Before the black water of the river.
“I’m alone too.”
The man said after a while.
“Yeah.”
Sae-a answered.
“But… this place is good. The Han River at night feels good. Because you can’t see anything. And when you can’t see anything… it’s like there’s nothing there.”
The man said.
Sae-a listened to him. And strangely, it sounded like the clearest truth. When you can’t see anything, it’s like there’s nothing. It wasn’t philosophy. It was fact. Human perception was that fragile. If you can’t see it, it doesn’t exist. If you can’t see it, you’re safe.
“Want some beer?”
The man offered her the can.
Sae-a took it. Cold and damp aluminum. Light in her hand. It would grow lighter as she drank. Sae-a opened the can. That sharp crack sound. It was the loudest sound by the Han River at night. And she drank. The beer was bitter and cold. It stung her tongue. Proof of being alive. Proof of tasting something.
“Good?”
The man asked.
“Yeah. Good.”
Sae-a answered. It wasn’t a lie. In this moment, the beer truly was good.
The man drank from his can. Long and slow. As if it were his only pleasure. It probably was.
“I… lived here for thirty years.”
The man said.
“By the Han River?”
Sae-a asked.
“Yeah. I had a house. Over there. An apartment. But one day, suddenly… it was gone.”
The man said.
“How?”
Sae-a asked.
“Redevelopment. That’s Seoul. Redevelopment comes everywhere. And everything disappears. Houses, people, memories.”
The man said.
Sae-a listened. And she realized they were similar. He had lost something, and so had she. He had lost his house. And Sae-a… what had she lost? Her voice? Her dreams? Herself?
“But you have to keep living.”
The man said.
“Yeah. You have to keep living.”
Sae-a answered.
“So I live here. By the Han River. I come here every night and drink beer. And when I can’t see anything, when there’s nothing… it gets a little better. A little.”
The man said.
Sae-a looked at him. Really looked at him. For the first time. Trying to read his face. His face held despair. But there was something else too. A way of living. Some form of resistance. The kind of resistance that comes every night to the Han River, even while despairing.
“I… have to go to court.”
Sae-a suddenly said.
“Why?”
The man asked.
“Someone hurt me. And I… have to prove it. In court.”
Sae-a said.
The man looked at her. For a long time. As if trying to read her soul.
“Then you have to do it.”
The man said.
“But… will I really win? Will anything really change?”
Sae-a asked.
“I don’t know. But… you have to fight to find out.”
The man said.
Sae-a listened to him. It wasn’t great comfort. But it was honest. It wasn’t a lie. No false promises. Just reality. You have to fight to find out. That was all.
At 2 a.m., Sae-a said goodbye to the man. He returned to a bench by the Han, and she headed back to her goshiwon. Walking through Hapjeong’s night streets, Sae-a realized she was still alive. Which meant the fire hadn’t completely gone out. Faint as it was, the fire still burned.
When she returned to the goshiwon, Jangpan was still waiting. As if Sae-a had never left. In the cat’s world, time seemed to flow differently. Or perhaps not at all.
Sae-a lay on her bed and looked at the ceiling. The mold was still there. Green. Growing slowly. But now Sae-a saw it differently. Mold wasn’t death. Mold was change. Slow but definite change. A form of growth.
Her phone rang. 3 a.m. It was Do-hyun.
“Noona?”
Do-hyun’s voice came through. Tense.
“Yeah. What’s up?”
Sae-a asked.
“Mom… is sick. She has a high fever. We need to go to the hospital, but… the money…”
Do-hyun said. Trailing off.
Sae-a got up. From the bed. In that moment, something shifted. The mold. The fire. Her own heart. Something moved. Do-hyun needed her. Mom needed her. And Sae-a… had to go back.
“Go to Jeju. I’ll meet you on the way.”
Sae-a said.
“But… the trial?”
Do-hyun asked.
“The trial can happen in Seoul. Before that… I need to see Mom.”
Sae-a said.
And in that moment, for the first time, Sae-a felt like she’d chosen something in her life. Not forced. Not out of desperation. Just something she wanted to choose.
At 4 a.m., Sae-a started packing her goshiwon. A few clothes. Medicine bottles. Phone charger. And Jangpan. She put the cat in a carrier box. The cat cried. A cry announcing a new journey.
In the taxi heading to the airport, Sae-a looked at her hands. Her fingers weren’t trembling. Not like Kang Ri-u’s. Instead, these were hands of decision. Hands of choice. Hands heading to Jeju.
The plane took off at 6 a.m. Through the window, Seoul’s lights were visible. Like fluorescent bulbs. Dim. But growing more distant. And when those lights completely disappeared, something new was ready to begin.
Sae-a closed her eyes. And for the first time in a long while, she fell into a deep sleep.