이 포스팅은 쿠팡 파트너스 활동의 일환으로, 이에 따른 일정액의 수수료를 제공받습니다.
# Chapter 137: A Place Beyond Reach
The noodles were growing cold. Steam still rose from the bowl in front of Dohyun, but Seah had yet to pick up her fork. “Master Noodles” in Hongdae. 5:52 PM. Dohyun’s question hung in the air. What should I do? It wasn’t a question directed at her. It was a question he was asking himself. That realization made Seah’s body go rigid.
“Noona.”
Dohyun spoke again. His voice lower this time. As if he’d rehearsed these words several times. “Do you know what I’m asking?”
Seah still didn’t answer. Outside the window, the Hongdae streets continued their endless motion. A Saturday evening in Seoul doesn’t stop. To stop is to die. That was Seoul’s logic.
“When I ask what I should do, I mean what I should do because of you.”
Dohyun explained slowly. As if speaking to a child. But there was nothing childlike in his voice. It was the voice of someone who had become an adult. “You’re doing something right now, but I don’t know what it is. And watching you, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Should I help? Should I look away? Should I just live my own life and let you sink? Or should I go down with you?”
Seah’s hands trembled. Precisely at that moment. Just as Dohyun had predicted. Not every three seconds anymore—constantly now.
“Dohyun…”
Seah opened her mouth. But she didn’t know what to say. That she was waiting for a verdict? He already knew that was a lie. That she was trying to let go of Kang Riou? A lie. That she was fine? A lie. Everything Seah could say was a lie.
“Who are you burning for right now?”
Dohyun asked directly. “For yourself? Or for someone else again?”
That question pierced through Seah’s chest. Because it was precise. What was the title of this novel again? The Girl Who Burned for Nothing. That was exactly who she was. Burning for nothing. Burning for no one who mattered. Waiting for a verdict, unable to release that person whose hands trembled, unable to answer her brother’s question—trapped in that state.
“I…”
Seah began to speak. But her throat closed. Her voice wouldn’t come. As if she’d lost the ability to speak entirely. Or maybe she’d never had anything to begin with. A voice? Music? Dreams? They’d all been consumed by others. By Kang Riou. By JYA. By the verdict system itself.
Dohyun ate his noodles. Respecting her silence. But that made it worse. If he’d gotten angry, if he’d shouted—she could have fought back against that. But Dohyun was quiet. And that quiet was suffocating her.
On the wall of the restaurant hung woodblock prints. Old Korean landscapes. Mountains, rivers, thatched-roof houses, and people. The people in those prints were all moving. Going somewhere. Toward something. But Seah wasn’t going anywhere. She was only waiting. For a verdict. Believing that verdict would decide her life.
“What did Kang Riou say?”
Dohyun suddenly asked.
“That he doesn’t know what to do.”
Seah answered honestly. “That we should wait until the verdict comes.”
“And you?”
“I’m waiting too.”
“Waiting for what? For him to go to prison? Or for him to reach out his hand to you again?”
Dohyun’s question was razor-sharp. Seah couldn’t answer. Because it was a question even she didn’t know the answer to.
“Noona, can I really ask you something?”
Dohyun asked again. Setting down his fork. “Do you love him? That person?”
Seah’s hands froze. The hand reaching for the fork stopped. The hand reaching for water stopped. Her breathing stopped. In that moment, Seah had to acknowledge exactly what she was feeling. Love? Responsibility? Guilt? Addiction?
“I don’t know.”
Seah said. And that was the only truth.
Dohyun laughed. Suddenly. It was a sad laugh. Or the laugh of despair. “Seriously. Your situation right now is insane. Really. You can’t even feel anything? You’re waiting for a verdict? You…”
Dohyun stopped himself. And took a deep breath. As if he too needed air before he drowned. “Okay. Then let me tell you what you need to do. You need to let him go. Really. Right now. In this moment. In this restaurant. While eating these noodles.”
Seah looked at Dohyun. For the first time, directly. His eyes were wet. Tears. That meant Dohyun was crying. Not in his expression, but in the water flowing from his eyes.
“Why are you like this?”
Dohyun said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Really. You’ve always burned for others. For Mom. For me. And now for that person. But you’ve never burned for yourself. Not once. What is that? What are you trying to become? Until you’re completely consumed?”
Seah heard Dohyun’s words. And she knew they were true. She had always been the flame for others. For her mother. For her brother. For Kang Riou. For everyone. But where was her own flame? Was there a fire that burned for her?
“What can I do?”
Seah asked. Her voice was one of surrender.
“First, send him a message.”
Dohyun said. As if commanding. “That you won’t see him until the verdict comes. That you won’t accept any contact until the verdict comes. And most importantly…”
Dohyun picked up noodles with his fork. “Tell him that you’re going to burn for yourself now. Not for anyone else. Only for yourself.”
Seah picked up her phone. Her hands trembled. Every three seconds. Or constantly. It didn’t matter. What mattered was sending that message. The one Dohyun had told her to send. That declaration of burning for herself.
But Seah’s fingers wouldn’t move on the keyboard. As if she were sitting at that piano in Berlin. Her fingers wanted to do the right thing, but her will was stopping them.
“Noona.”
Dohyun said. “You can do this. I know you can.”
In that moment, Seah really looked at Dohyun. Really saw him. His face. His eyes. His tears. And she understood. That Dohyun was crying for her. Crying to stop her self-destruction.
Seah typed the message. Slowly. One letter at a time.
I won’t meet you until the verdict comes. And I won’t accept any contact.
Seah paused. And added:
This isn’t for you. This is for me.
And she sent it.
Her phone rang immediately. A call from Kang Riou. Seah hung up. It rang again. She hung up again. A third time. A fourth. A fifth.
“Turn it off.”
Dohyun said. Turn off the phone. And Seah did. She pressed the screen, darkened it, cut off all signals to the world.
And in that moment, Seah could breathe for the first time. Really breathe. As if she’d been holding her breath for three days.
The noodles had gone completely cold. But Dohyun kept eating. As if nothing had happened. Or as if he knew the most important thing had just occurred.
“So what are you going to do now?”
Dohyun asked. A fork of noodles in his mouth.
“I don’t know.”
Seah answered. And that was the truth. For the first time, complete truth.
“Good. Then let’s finish these noodles. And let’s call Mom. She’s been worried about you.”
Dohyun said. Like an older brother. Or a father. No—like a younger brother protecting his sister.
Seah picked up her fork. Even though her hands trembled. And she began to eat the noodles. Slowly. One bite at a time. As if for the first time, she was eating something for herself.
The music drifting in from outside—from someone’s speaker in Hongdae—continued to play. A song carrying someone’s dream. But Seah didn’t listen to it. Instead, she listened to the sound of Dohyun’s spoon. The sound of noodles sinking into water. Her own breathing. And the sound of her heart beating again.
The verdict hadn’t come yet. Kang Riou’s fate hadn’t been decided yet. But Seah had decided not to wait anymore. Not for a verdict on Kang Riou. Instead, she would issue a verdict on herself.
That verdict was this: I will survive. I will burn. But now, only for myself.
The fluorescent light in the noodle shop flickered. Once, twice, three times. Perfect intervals. But Seah wasn’t counting anymore. Instead, she looked into Dohyun’s eyes. What they were telling her. You can do this. I know you can.