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# Chapter 134: Until the Spoon Is Set Down
The broth was cooling.
After Seo-ah took a single spoonful, everything else stopped. The spoon froze above the bowl. The gukbap was still warm, but Seo-ah’s hand wouldn’t move. Hae-neul, across from her, was steadily emptying her own bowl. One spoonful after another. Rhythmic. The way someone had taught her long ago.
“His fingers,” Seo-ah said suddenly. Unrelated to the food.
Hae-neul’s spoon paused. Above the gukbap.
“Kang Ri-u’s fingers. The trembling. It started in Berlin, they say. When his friend committed suicide.”
Seo-ah continued, as if compelled to speak. “But when I think about it… it doesn’t make sense. Sure, fingers can shake from psychological trauma. But not for eight years. Not medically.”
Hae-neul spooned more broth. Not waiting for a response, but to let Seo-ah keep talking. Hae-neul knew her friend was the type who spoke through silence. It took time to start, but once she did, it flowed.
“So what’s the real cause? I’ve been thinking. The trembling only happens when he’s about to do something. When he reaches for me. When he tries to grab something. That’s not psychological. That’s physical. That’s a matter of will.”
Seo-ah paused.
“A matter of will?”
Hae-neul asked. She’d nearly finished her own bowl now.
“It means he wants to do something, but he’s stopping himself. He wants to act, but he thinks he has no right to. That’s why his fingers shake. His internal war shows up in his fingertips.”
Hae-neul set her spoon down. She looked at Seo-ah. Seo-ah was still eating slowly. One spoonful at a time. As if she needed time to understand what she was doing.
“Are you a doctor?”
Hae-neul asked, almost joking.
“No. It’s just… watching him, that’s how it looks to me.”
“Seo-ah.”
Hae-neul rarely called her by name. Usually it was just “hey” or “you.” Using her name meant something serious. “What are you actually doing? Really.”
Seo-ah kept eating. One spoonful. Then another. She didn’t answer right away because she didn’t know herself. What she was doing. What she was trying to do for Kang Ri-u. Why she’d entered his hospital room when she couldn’t wait three more days for the verdict. Whether it was love or responsibility or just self-destruction.
“I have to wait for the verdict now. No matter what he does.”
Seo-ah said it. And only after the words left her mouth did she understand what she’d said. It was a renunciation of Kang Ri-u. Or a renunciation of herself. One of them had to be sacrificed.
“Yeah. That’s right.”
Hae-neul said. Then she gestured to the waiter. To pay.
A convenience store near Hapjeong Station. 8:15 PM. Seo-ah had already decided not to take the night shift. After the dinner with Hae-neul, she needed to understand what her body was asking for. It wasn’t work. It was time. Time alone with herself.
She didn’t go back to the goshiwon. Instead, she walked to Hangang Park. The Hangang at night was different from the Hangang during the day. The lights were on, but they looked like illusions. Something unreal. As if she were dreaming right now.
When she sat on a bench, Seo-ah looked at her hands. They weren’t trembling. That was strange. After meeting Kang Ri-u, she’d expected her own hands to start shaking too. As if his emotions were contagious. But no. Her hands remained steady. As if she were made of marble.
She picked up her phone. A KakaoTalk message from Do-hyun.
“What are you doing, noona? You’re not responding.”
Seo-ah replied briefly.
“I’m fine. Just taking some time.”
Do-hyun’s response was immediate.
“lol taking time? YOU? That’s weird. When noona takes time, something’s seriously wrong.”
Seo-ah laughed. For the first time in days. Do-hyun was right. When she “took time,” it meant something was deeply wrong. She was always busy. Always moving. Always going somewhere. “Taking time” didn’t fit her nature.
“I’m just organizing my thoughts. The verdict’s coming up soon.”
Seo-ah typed.
Do-hyun’s response:
“Oh, that thing. But noona, are you okay? I’m asking seriously. Mom’s worried. Your voice sounds weird, and you’re not eating.”
Seo-ah paused. Her mother was worried about her. She knew that, but hearing it from Do-hyun’s mouth felt different. It meant she was hurting the people she was supposed to protect. It meant her silence and absence were transforming into other people’s anxiety.
“Tell Mom not to worry. I’m fine. And you focus on studying. These last months matter.”
Seo-ah typed, slipping back into the role of guardian. Setting aside her own dread.
Do-hyun’s last message:
“Ok. But text me when the verdict comes out. Please. I want to know too.”
Seo-ah didn’t reply. Instead, she set the phone down. Over the Hangang. The night sky was still black. No stars visible. Seoul’s nights always swallowed the stars.
Seo-ah’s goshiwon was cramped. A semi-basement room, 4 pyeong. A bed, a desk, one small window. Outside the window, only the legs of passing people. As if she were buried underground. As if she were already dead.
She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Moisture was trickling across it. Time until mold bloomed. Her life felt the same way. Slowly, invisibly, rotting.
She spread her fingers. Examined each one. Hands that could play piano. Hands that could make music. But now they did nothing. They simply existed. Like a corpse part, not a tool.
She picked up her phone. Opened Instagram. Found Park So-jin’s account. Still active. New photos. New songs. Other people’s songs, not hers. But still under Park So-jin’s name.
There was one new post. From two hours ago. A selfie Park So-jin took in the studio. The caption read:
“New project in the works. I have a feeling the songs are really going to be good this time ✨ Wait for it.”
Seo-ah stared at it. Stared at it again. She thought back to a conversation she’d had with Park So-jin a few days ago. Park So-jin was a victim too. Seo-ah knew that. But did it matter now? Did she need compassion, or did she need justice?
Seo-ah set the phone down. Looked at the ceiling again.
The next morning, Seo-ah didn’t get up. She just lay there. Light filtered through the window. Even in a semi-basement, morning light penetrated. In that light, Seo-ah observed her own body.
How small she’d become. How light. As if she were slowly evaporating.
Hae-neul sent a KakaoTalk.
“Want to get a tattoo today? I’ve been thinking about a new design.”
Seo-ah stared at it for a long time. Didn’t reply. Because she didn’t know what she wanted.
Two days until the verdict.
Seo-ah searched for Kang Ri-u’s hospital address. Then deleted it. Then searched again. Then deleted it again.
She couldn’t understand what she was trying to do. Her fingers were moving without her consent. Like Kang Ri-u’s fingers.
She understood now why Kang Ri-u’s fingers trembled. It was a battle with himself. A war between what he wanted to do and what he had to do. That war showing up in his fingertips. Fighting without knowing what you’re fighting.
Seo-ah’s hands were trembling now too. Very faintly. But clearly. As if she’d inherited his tremor. As if she’d already become part of him.
And that was the most terrifying part. That she couldn’t do anything. Until the verdict came down, she could only wait here. Without moving. While trembling. Wanting something she knew she had to give up.
Night deepened. Seo-ah still lay in bed. She watched the moisture on the ceiling. The mold was growing fast. By tomorrow, it would probably spread noticeably. Like inside her. Like she was already decomposing.
She spread her fingers again. This time they were trembling. Faintly. But clearly. In that tremor, Seo-ah realized something: she’d already decided something before the verdict came down.
She didn’t know what it was yet. But she knew it was coming.