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# Chapter 125: The Hand That Moves Fire
The basement of the tattoo parlor felt like a deep cave. Fluorescent lights flickered against the ceiling, their shadows dancing across the walls. Saea sat on the waiting sofa while Haeneul guided a needle across a young man’s forearm. The machine hummed—like the wings of a swarm of bees, or the distant rumble of an engine.
As Saea listened to that sound, she became aware of how long she’d been in this space. Since the day Haeneul first tattooed her, Saea had come to think of this place as her second goshiwon. A warmer place. A place more alive. Unlike the convenience store with its flickering fluorescent lights, the light here was steady. Intentional. A brightness someone had chosen.
“Three weeks left now.”
Haeneul spoke without stopping the needle. Her voice was the voice of concentration. When Haeneul worked, she became someone else entirely. The moment her hands were most precise. The moment her mind was most still.
“Yeah.”
Saea answered.
“What are you going to do in court?”
Haeneul asked.
Saea didn’t answer. Instead, she watched Haeneul’s hands. The hands holding the tattoo machine. Those fingers didn’t shake. Perfect angle. Perfect speed. Haeneul had already etched hundreds of tattoos with those hands. Each one was someone’s decision. Someone’s permanent choice. And Haeneul had executed it with her own hands.
“I’m going to testify.”
Saea said.
“Testify?”
Haeneul asked. She stopped the needle and looked at Saea. Breaking her concentration for the first time.
“Yeah. I saw something. At the hospital. About why Kang Riou couldn’t move his fingers.”
Saea spoke slowly.
Haeneul began inserting the needle again. The hum returned. Her concentration came back.
“What did you see?”
“That he gave up. Really gave up. Not just restraining himself—actually surrendered.”
Saea’s voice was low. As if speaking only to herself.
“Is that… good?”
Haeneul asked.
“I don’t know. But I think I need to say it in court.”
Saea said.
“Why?”
“Because… it’s the truth.”
The tattoo machine’s hum continued. Saea surrendered herself to that sound, as if believing it was carrying her somewhere. Within that sound, she saw Kang Riou’s hands again. The hands on the hospital bed. Trembling hands. But now that tremor meant something different. It wasn’t the tremor of resistance. It was the tremor of surrender. The tremor of acknowledging that he had already lost.
“Saea.”
Haeneul spoke again.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t try to bear this alone. Understood?”
Haeneul said it this time with seriousness. She set the tattoo machine down briefly.
“Yeah.”
Saea answered. But her voice was weak. It wasn’t a promise, just a simple affirmation. Affirmation to buy time.
Haeneul knew this. So she said nothing more. Instead, she picked up the needle again. The hum. The song of the tattoo machine. It was a song of pain and, at the same time, a song of transformation.
Time passed. Saea didn’t know how many hours. Since leaving the convenience store, her sense of time had become blurred again. But here, it felt different. Time at the convenience store was the time of death. Here, it was the time of living. The machine’s hum. Haeneul’s breathing. Someone’s pain. All of it together created a symphony.
The young man stood up. A new tattoo marked his forearm. Something drawn in black ink. Saea didn’t see it clearly. But it was beautiful. When the man lifted his face, his eyes glistened. Not from pain, but from something else. Perhaps relief. Perhaps confirmation. Confirmation that he was alive.
After the man left, Haeneul collapsed into the chair.
“Tired?”
Saea asked.
“Yeah. But I like being this tired. When I’m tired like this, I can sleep.”
Haeneul said.
Saea looked at her. Her face was pale. Fatigue sat on her face like white powder. But her eyes were still alive. Bright. Eyes ready to help someone.
“What about you?”
Haeneul asked.
“Me?”
“Yeah. Are you tired?”
“Yeah.”
“Then lie down here. The sofa’s long enough.”
Haeneul said.
Saea lay down on the sofa. It wasn’t actually that long, but right now it felt like a bed to her. The most comfortable bed. Not the narrow bed of the goshiwon, but a sofa where someone had told her, “Lie down here.”
The fluorescent light flickered on the ceiling. The machine’s hum had stopped, replaced by the sound of Haeneul cleaning. Washing the tattoo needles. That sound was cold and clear. The sound of something being made clean. Preparation for the next person.
“Haeneul.”
Saea spoke.
“Yeah.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For doing this. For just… being here.”
Saea said.
Haeneul stopped and looked at Saea. On the sofa, Saea’s face looked smaller. Like the thirteen-year-old Saea she’d first met in Jeju.
“Saea. Why do you keep saying thank you?”
Haeneul asked.
Saea didn’t answer.
“What do you think? That I’m doing something for you? That you’re grateful because I’m helping?”
Haeneul said. Her voice was low but firm.
“No, it’s not that…”
Saea said.
“Then what is it?”
Haeneul asked.
“That… someone acknowledged that I’m allowed to be here. That I’m a person who can exist.”
Saea said.
Silence flowed. Haeneul didn’t fill it. Instead, she began cleaning again. Wiping the tattoo machine, cleaning the chair, removing drops of ink from the floor. All those movements looked like a dance to Saea. The dance of everyday life. The dance of living.
Night deepened. The basement of the tattoo parlor became an even deeper cave. The sounds of the night street outside gradually faded. This is how night arrives in the Hapjeong-Hongdae area. Slowly. Silently. After people have gone home.
Haeneul sat in the chair and drank coffee. Convenience store coffee. Saea received a cup too. It was warm. So warm it could burn your lips.
“Do you have anything else to say about Kang Riou?”
Haeneul asked.
“What?”
“Do you know what he’s doing now?”
“No.”
“Is he just at the hospital? He hasn’t been released?”
“No, not yet. Whether he gets released or not will be decided by the court.”
Saea said.
“Then right now?”
“He’s in isolation. Under protective custody.”
Saea said.
Haeneul looked out the small window. The basement window that showed nothing but ankle-height street views. Shoes. Pants. That was all.
“Do you think he’s a truly bad person?”
Haeneul asked.
“I don’t know.”
Saea answered.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I really don’t know. He seems like a bad person, but also… like a broken person.”
Saea said.
“Broken?”
“Yeah. Broken by himself. Like he didn’t know what he was doing. Like he was moving beyond his own control.”
Saea said.
As Haeneul heard this, she thought of her own tattoo needle. It was precisely something controllable. The only moment her hands and mind were in complete sync. But people? How do you control people? Who controls people? Or are people uncontrollable?
“What about you?”
Haeneul asked.
“Me?”
“Are you uncontrollable too?”
For the first time hearing this question, Saea let out a small laugh. A tiny laugh. As if mocking herself.
“Yeah. I think I’m uncontrollable too. But in a different way from him. He seemed not to know what he was doing, but I… I know what I should do, but I can’t do it.”
Saea said.
“What can’t you do?”
“Just… live? Normally?”
Saea said.
As Haeneul heard this, she looked at Saea’s hands. Her fingers. Thin, with prominent knuckles. Hands that looked like a pianist’s. But Saea wasn’t a pianist. So what were Saea’s hands for? Organizing ramen at the convenience store? Holding and then releasing Kang Riou’s hands? Or writing something?
“Saea. You should make music.”
Haeneul said.
Saea set down her coffee cup when she heard this.
“Why?”
“Because that seems to be who you are. When you do other things, you become transparent. Like you don’t exist. But when you make music… you’re alive.”
Haeneul said.
“But I…”
Saea said.
“What?”
“I can’t sing. My voice…”
“What happened to your voice?”
Haeneul asked.
“It’s gone.”
Saea said quietly.
Deep silence flowed. Silence that filled the basement of the tattoo parlor. As Haeneul heard it, she looked at her own hands. The hands that had held the tattoo needle. Those fingers still didn’t tremble. Perfectly controlled hands. But what could those hands do? Only engrave patterns on skin. Engrave patterns. That’s important work, but it’s not enough.
“What are you going to do when you testify in court?”
Haeneul asked.
“I’ll talk about what Kang Riou did.”
“That’s not what I mean. How are you going to say it?”
“Just… I’ll tell the truth.”
“The truth? In silence?”
Haeneul asked.
Saea looked at Haeneul. Her eyes were demanding something. That Saea reveal what she already knew but hadn’t spoken.
“Then what should I do?”
Saea asked.
“You should sing. You should sing your testimony. That’s the only way people will hear it.”
Haeneul said.
As Saea heard this, she touched her own throat. Something moved there. A small movement. Like a bird fluttering its wings.
The night deepened further. The fluorescent light in the tattoo parlor still flickered. But now Saea was thinking something different as she watched it. The time until that light went out. What could she do in that time? Organize ramen at the convenience store? Stare at the ceiling of the goshiwon? Or sing something?
“Haeneul.”
Saea said.
“Yeah.”
“Do you have a recording device?”
Haeneul smiled. It was the first time Saea had seen her smile like this. A smile of victory.
“Yeah. I do.”
Haeneul said.
Saea slowly stood up. She pushed herself up from the sofa. That movement felt like lifting something heavy. But it was just her own body weight. Her own mass. Her own weight in this world.
In the corner of the tattoo parlor, Haeneul took out an old laptop. It had music production software installed. Audio tracks. Waveforms. Beats. Everything was ready.
“When did you start doing this?”
Saea asked.
“About a month ago? Just doing tattoos felt like something was missing. So I wanted to learn music. But…”
Haeneul said.
“But?”
“I was waiting. For someone to give me a song.”
Haeneul said.
Saea looked at the laptop. What was on that screen? The beginning of music. The silence of sound. An empty space for someone to fill.
“I don’t know what to sing.”
Saea said.
“Then what do you know?”
Haeneul asked.
Saea thought. What did she know? That she had to testify in court. What Kang Riou had done to her. How his hands felt. What register his voice was. How his eyes changed. And how she had resisted him. How she had survived.
All those details. Things she’d never properly told anyone. In court, she’d only been asked questions like “Where did you meet?” and “What did he say?” But the important things—the sensations, the emotions, the internal processes—couldn’t fit into those questions.
Saea opened her mouth.
At first, no sound came out. She just opened her mouth. Like a fish. And after a brief silence, her voice emerged.
At first it was barely audible. But it was definitely her voice. The voice she thought she’d lost.
Haeneul reacted immediately. She brought her hand to the laptop screen and pressed the record button. A red circle began blinking.
“Keep going. Don’t stop.”
Haeneul whispered.
And Saea sang.
The testimony was set to music—a truth transformed into something that could reach the heart in ways words alone could not. The song was not beautiful. It was rough, unstable, sometimes off-key. But it was clear. It was truth.
The basement of the tattoo parlor filled with that music. As the night deepened, Saea’s song grew louder. Like a fire growing larger. Like someone reigniting her flame.
# The Voice of Evidence
## Part One: The Weight of Silence
The basement of the tattoo parlor was bathed in the dim light of afternoon. The world was visible only above the window level—people’s legs, the changing colors of seasons. But here, in this narrow space, time flowed differently.
Saea sat on the sofa. An old black fabric sofa with its edges wrapped in tape, and stuffing poking out from one arm. Her fingers continuously picked at the knee of her jeans. A nervous habit. The only way she could control something.
Haeneul stood with her back against the wall, arms folded across her chest. The vibration of the tattoo needle still seemed to echo in her ears. She’d heard that sound all day. The sound of the needle piercing skin. The small sighs of clients. And the music flowing between them—someone’s song from the radio.
Saea was the first to speak. Her voice was low, as if careful not to take up too much space in this room.
“Haeneul.”
Just one name, but the way she said it was full of questions. “What are you doing?” “Why are you asking me?” “What are we trying to do here?”
Haeneul lifted her head. Her eyes were dark, and their depth was immeasurable. As if stars were hiding within them.
“Yeah.”
A short answer. But it contained so much. “Listen to me.” “Understand what I’m trying to do.” “This matters.”
Saea looked at her. How long had it been since they met? She’d never counted. Time wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was what had happened in that time. The depth of conversation. The quality of silence. The growing trust.
“Do you have a recording device?”
Saea’s question was almost a whisper. As if worried someone might eavesdrop. But why? There were only the two of them in this basement. The door was locked, and only faint background music—probably from a nearby café—drifted in from outside.
Haeneul’s expression changed. A smile bloomed on her lips. It was the first time Saea had seen her smile like this. Not just any smile, but this kind. A smile of victory. That expression when long-awaited plans were finally about to unfold.
“Yeah. I do.”
Haeneul said. Her voice was full of certainty.
Saea slowly got to her feet. Rising from the sofa felt like emerging from water. Pushing through heavy air. Had her body ever felt this heavy? Of course it had. Throughout these past months.
That movement would have looked like someone lifting something heavy. But it was just her own body weight. Her own mass. Her own substance in this world. She had long considered her body property of others. Of Kang Riou. Of the court. Of journalists. But now, in this moment, it was becoming hers again.
Haeneul walked to the far corner of the tattoo parlor. There was a shelf, and behind it, dust had accumulated. As she wiped away the dust with her hand, an old laptop appeared.
As she took out the notebook, Haeneul murmured. “Here it is.”
The fan noise of the laptop starting up. The boot sound. And the program appearing as the screen brightened. Music production software. Multiple tracks on the graphic interface. Audio tracks. Waveforms. Beats. Drums. Bass. And an empty vocal track.
Everything was prepared.
Saea peered at the screen. She knew almost nothing about music. But she knew what this was. Waiting. Space. An empty space for someone to fill.
“When did you start doing this?”
Saea asked. Wonder mixed into her voice. But there was something else too. Curiosity. And perhaps anticipation.
Haeneul placed her hand on the laptop. Her fingers hovered over the mouse. Like a musician handling an instrument.
“About a month ago? Just doing tattoos felt incomplete. I wanted to learn music. At first I took some online courses. Watched tutorials on YouTube. In the process, I found this software. At first it was overwhelming. All those buttons and sliders meant nothing to me. But as I kept going… I started to feel something. The power that music holds. The emotions that sound creates.”
Haeneul said. Her eyes remained fixed on the screen.
Saea listened. Since they’d first met, Haeneul hadn’t been someone who talked much. But now, in this moment, she was pouring out her thoughts. As if finally releasing something she’d been holding back for a long time.
“And then?”
Saea asked. She knew Haeneul was hiding something. Something that came before that “and then.”
Haeneul clicked the mouse. The screen changed slightly.
“I was waiting for you. For someone to give me a song. Someone who wanted their story told through music.”
Haeneul said. Her voice was quiet, but it held a plan nurtured for a long time.
Saea looked at the laptop. What was on that screen was the beginning of music. The silence of sound. An empty space for someone to fill. And that space was waiting for her.
Saea’s heart raced. Her pulse echoed in her ears. What was she supposed to do? Sing? She wasn’t a singer. She had almost no musical experience. She’d barely paid attention in school music class.
“I don’t know what to sing.”
Saea said. Her voice trembled with anxiety.
Haeneul turned to look at Saea. Those dark eyes pierced her once again.
“So what do you know?”
A simple question, but heavy.
Saea thought. What did she know? That she had to testify in court. What Kang Riou had done to her. How his hands felt. The register of his voice. How his eyes changed. And how she had resisted. How she had survived.
All those details. Things she’d never properly told anyone. In court, she’d only heard questions like “Where did you meet?” and “What did he say?” But the important things—the sensations, the emotions, the internal process—couldn’t fit into those questions.
Saea opened her mouth.
At first, no sound came. She simply opened it. Like a fish. And after a moment of silence, her voice emerged.
It started small. Almost inaudible. But it was definitely her voice. The voice she thought she’d lost.
Haeneul reacted instantly. Her hand went to the laptop, and she pressed the record button. A red circle began to blink.
“Keep going. Don’t stop.”
Haeneul whispered.
And Saea sang.
At first it was speech. Simple testimony. “That morning I was working at a café.” But as the music Haeneul had prepared—a minimalist beat and repeating string sounds—accompanied her, that speech gradually became song.
Saea’s voice rose and fell. Sometimes it slipped out of key. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was what it contained.
“He came in. Wearing an old black jacket. I knew who he was. We’d met before. But I didn’t know he’d get that close. That he’d hold my hand like that. That his hand would pull me in.”
Saea’s voice wavered. That tremor was captured completely by the microphone—just the laptop’s basic mic, but faithful nonetheless.
“He dragged me to the back room. I resisted. I screamed. But… no one heard. Or maybe they did. But no one came.”
The music grew. The beat became stronger, the strings rose higher. As if Haeneul was adjusting it from the screen. As Saea’s voice grew louder, the music grew with it.
“My body wasn’t mine. It was his. His fingers. His mouth. Everything of his wanted to possess me.”
Tears streamed down Saea’s face as she sang. But she didn’t stop. She sang louder instead.
“But I was alive. My mind was mine. My will was mine. My voice was… my voice was mine.”
In that moment, the basement transformed. It was no longer just an ordinary space with an old sofa and a tattoo machine. It became something sacred. The music shook the walls. It shook the floor. And Saea’s voice penetrated everything.
As the night deepened, her song grew louder. Like a fire growing larger. Like someone reigniting her flame.
She sang about assault. But it wasn’t the song of a victim. It was the song of a survivor. The song of someone reclaiming her body. The song of someone reclaiming her voice.
“I resisted you. I told you no. I told you to stop. And you didn’t stop. But I’m here. Still here. You couldn’t kill me. You tried to break me, but you failed.”
Saea’s voice was no longer small. It was an explosion. A scream pouring out with the music.
Haeneul watched the screen and thought. This was what Saea was meant to do. This was the form her voice should take. Pain. Anger. And proof that she was still alive.
Court testimony had to be objective. But music didn’t have to be. Music could be subjective. Music could take the form of emotion. Music could speak truth differently.
“Can this… can this be evidence?”
Saea asked after finishing a song. Her breathing was rough, sweat beading on her forehead. Like after exercise.
“Evidence?”
Haeneul repeated.
“In court… can this song be evidence? Stronger evidence than my testimony?”
Haeneul was silent at Saea’s question. She couldn’t offer legal advice. She had no right to. But what Haeneul knew was that there were other kinds of evidence besides legal ones. The evidence of a judge’s heart. The evidence of an audience. And above all, the evidence of yourself.
“Keep going.”
Haeneul said.
And the night continued.
## Part Two: The Rebirth of Voice
Saea kept singing. One song after another, and then another.
The second song was about silence. The ways Kang Riou had tried to silence her. Threats. Shame. And what she had felt within that silence.
“No one wanted to listen. Or maybe I didn’t have the courage to speak. I thought I had no right to speak louder. As if it were my fault.”
Saea started in a low voice. That voice seemed to exist only to be absorbed by the walls of the basement.
“But this was wrong. It wasn’t my fault. I had something to say. I had the right to speak. And now… now I’m speaking.”
The third song was about the body. The process of reclaiming her body. Not the body that had been in Kang Riou’s hands, but the one that was now in her own.
The songs continued through the night. Each one a piece of testimony transformed into something that could reach hearts in ways words alone could not.
The basement filled with music. The walls trembled. The floor resonated. And Saea’s voice—the voice she thought was lost—filled every corner.