이 포스팅은 쿠팡 파트너스 활동의 일환으로, 이에 따른 일정액의 수수료를 제공받습니다.
# Chapter 140: The Price of Salvation
Sae-ah couldn’t see the sky when she left the noodle shop. The low buildings of the Hongdae alley held it captive, and all that showed between them was gray. 6:42 PM. Do-hyeon had said he needed to get back to cram school. Sae-ah didn’t follow. Instead, she wandered the alleys. Without direction. Without purpose. As if something were pulling her somewhere against her will.
Her mother’s words had embedded themselves in her bones. “What if noona is trying to save someone right now? What if she’s trying to save someone because she couldn’t save herself?”
The words were precise. Too precise to escape. Like a voice that haunted her every moment of thought. Sae-ah had always believed she was doing things for Kang Ri-woo—paying his lawyer fees, visiting his hospital room, holding his trembling hand. She’d convinced herself it was all for him. But the moment she heard her mother’s words, Sae-ah understood. Everything she’d done might have actually been for herself.
Without Kang Ri-woo, what was she? Who was she? That question shattered her. Because the answer was terrifyingly clear. Sae-ah was no one. Nothing. All that remained was burning. For something that didn’t exist.
Stickers lined the alley walls. Band posters. Concert advertisements. Someone’s phone number. Someone’s dreams. All of it layered on the wall, peeling away when it rained, charred under the sun. Like Sae-ah’s dreams.
Her phone rang. It was Kang Ri-woo. The first time in three hours. Or more precisely, the first time since last night. Sae-ah didn’t answer. She only felt the vibration on the screen. Once. Twice. Three times. Then silence.
A text came through.
“Sae-ah. What are you doing right now?”
It wasn’t a question. It was as if Kang Ri-woo already knew where she was. His tone said as much. Sae-ah didn’t respond. Instead, she walked faster. She didn’t know where she was going.
Toward Hongdae Station. A subway sign appeared. Green. White lettering. Number 2. It felt like it was calling to her. Sae-ah descended the stairs. Music drifted up. The kind they play in subway stations. Someone was playing a guitar. A young man. Sun-darkened. There were barely any listeners. Maybe three or four. All of them holding their phones—not to listen to the music, but to kill time.
The man’s music wasn’t technically good. But it was good because it was honest. He wasn’t trying to save anything with his music. He was simply playing. For himself. Not to make money. Not to move anyone.
Sae-ah sat quietly on a bench, listening. Three songs passed. In that time, some people left and others arrived. The world doesn’t stop. That was Seoul’s law. But in this small corner of the subway station, as long as this music played, time seemed to slow down.
Another text from Kang Ri-woo came.
“Sae-ah. Please just answer. I have something to tell you.”
What was it? What could it be? Sae-ah already knew. She knew what Kang Ri-woo wanted to say. That because she’d done something for him, now it was his turn to do something for her. It felt like a transaction, and the thought made it impossible to breathe.
She left the subway station. Back to the street. The sky was still gray. Seoul was turning to evening. To night. To darkness. And Sae-ah felt the fear that the darkness would swallow her whole.
Her phone rang again. This time not a text—a call. Kang Ri-woo. Sae-ah answered.
“Where are you?”
His first words. Not a question so much as a command.
“I don’t know.”
Sae-ah answered honestly.
“You’re out somewhere, aren’t you? Where are you going right now?”
“Ri-woo.”
Sae-ah spoke. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do right now.”
Silence came through the phone. Long silence. As if Kang Ri-woo were thinking about what to do.
“What do you think I’ve done for you?”
Kang Ri-woo asked slowly. There was something broken in his voice. Like the sound after someone throws a glass.
“Lawyer fees. Hospital bills. All of it.”
Sae-ah answered.
“That’s it? You think that’s all?”
“What else do you want?”
Sae-ah asked. And the moment the question left her mouth, she knew what she’d really asked. It wasn’t “What else do you want?” but “What else should I receive?”
“I saved you. You couldn’t have done it alone. The verdict. The lawyer. Everything. What would you have done without me?”
Kang Ri-woo’s voice rose. “You should be grateful. You should be grateful for everything I’ve done.”
Sae-ah lowered the phone from her ear. But she didn’t hang up. His voice continued, quieter now.
“Sae-ah? Sae-ah?! What are you doing? Listen to me!”
His voice grew louder. Desperate. And listening to it, Sae-ah finally understood what she’d been doing. What she’d been doing for Kang Ri-woo. And that it had actually been for herself.
“I’m sorry.”
Sae-ah said, bringing the phone back to her ear.
“Sorry for what?”
“For not being able to save you.”
Sae-ah spoke slowly. “I can’t save you, so you keep trying to save me, and I became dependent on that. But it’s destroying both of us.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t want to lean on you anymore.”
Sae-ah said it. She could feel how difficult those words were. Like tearing something from her own soul. But she had to say them. Because she was burning. And Kang Ri-woo was burning with her.
“Sae-ah.”
Kang Ri-woo spoke. His voice had become small. As if someone had placed a hand around his throat.
“Can you wait until the verdict comes down?”
Sae-ah asked.
“What does the verdict matter?”
“It means we end after that. After the verdict comes and your sentence is decided, we end.”
Sae-ah said it honestly. “That’s what I mean.”
Silence came through the phone again. Different this time. Like the emptiness after someone has sucked away all the sound in the world.
“You abandoned me.”
Kang Ri-woo said it, very quietly.
“No.”
Sae-ah answered. “I found myself.”
The call ended. Not because Kang Ri-woo hung up, but perhaps because he dropped the phone. Sae-ah couldn’t tell. She only heard silence.
When Sae-ah returned to Hongdae street, her hands trembled. Just as Do-hyeon had predicted. Every three seconds. Precisely. Like a machine. But this time it was different. Not the trembling of fear, but the trembling of liberation. No—it was both. Mixed together. Simultaneously.
A café door opened. An old café. Its name was “Matches.” Sae-ah went inside. Without thinking. As if someone were holding her hand and pulling her forward.
The café was empty. Just past 7 PM. At this hour, people were leaving. Going home. Going to someone. But Sae-ah was here. In this old café.
She saw the barista. Someone she’d never seen before. Probably in his mid-to-late thirties. His hands were large, and Sae-ah thought he was someone who made things with those hands. Coffee. No, more than that. Stories. Memories. Things like that.
“What can I get you?”
the barista asked.
“Espresso.”
Sae-ah answered. “Double. No sugar.”
It was the kind of coffee she’d last had with Kang Ri-woo. He’d put a lot of sugar in his. To hide his bitterness. As if to hide his life.
The coffee arrived. Black. Simple. Beautiful.
Sae-ah picked it up. And drank. Slowly. One sip. Then another. Each moment felt present. The bitterness. The heat. And the small truth within it.
Her phone rang. It was Haneul. Sae-ah’s best friend. The one who runs a tattoo shop.
“What are you doing? I haven’t seen you in a month.”
Haneul’s voice came through bright. But beneath that brightness was concern.
“I’m at a café.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Which café? Should I come?”
“Matches. In Hongdae.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Wait for me.”
The call ended. Haneul was always like this. She didn’t ask questions. She just showed up. As if whenever she sensed someone needed her, she simply appeared.
Sae-ah continued drinking her coffee. Waiting for Haneul. In the meantime, the barista served other customers. One. Two. Three. All of them alone. All of them waiting for something. Or running from something.
When twenty minutes had passed, Haneul came in. Carrying the smell of the tattoo shop on her. Ink. Disinfectant. And something else. The smell of reality.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Haneul said as she sat down. Confused. “You have no face. Seriously.”
“Yeah.”
Sae-ah answered.
“Kang Ri-woo?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you break up?”
Sae-ah didn’t answer. More precisely, she couldn’t answer. Because it wasn’t over yet. Not until the verdict came down. Not until after.
Haneul took Sae-ah’s hand. As naturally as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. There was no transaction in it. No expectation. Just holding hands. That was all.
“Did you really think you were alone?”
Haneul asked slowly. “You always seem alone, but you’re not. I’m here. Do-hyeon’s here. Your mom’s here. And now you’re here too. You exist.”
Sae-ah squeezed Haneul’s hand. As if she were drowning and someone had thrown her a rope.
“I’m sorry.”
Sae-ah said.
“Sorry for what? I love you. Just be. That’s enough.”
Haneul’s words pierced through Sae-ah’s chest. Because they were closer to the truth than anything Kang Ri-woo had ever said.
The café walls held old posters. Posters of matches. Posters of fire. Whoever created this café must have had fire on their mind. And Sae-ah understood it now.
Fire was two things. Fire that burns you. And fire that warms you. Until now, Sae-ah had only known the first kind. But now, in this moment, holding Haneul’s hand, Sae-ah understood what the second kind was.
It was fire for yourself. Not fire that consumes you, but fire that makes you shine. And it wasn’t something someone gave you. It was something you found yourself.
7:45 PM. Seoul was turning to night. And Sae-ah was changing too. Still burning, but for a different reason now. A better reason. For herself.
End of Chapter
# After the Call Ended
The call ended.
Sae-ah stared at her phone screen. Call duration: 23 minutes 47 seconds. Haneul’s voice still lingered in her ears. That single simple question: “Where are you? Are you at a café?” That was all it took. She didn’t rush for answers. Didn’t demand explanations. Haneul was the kind of person who, whenever she sensed someone needed her, would simply appear. As if it were an obvious duty—or rather, an obvious act of love.
Sae-ah picked up her coffee cup again. It was losing its warmth. The heat against her lips had turned lukewarm. She drank. And drank again. It was all she could do. Wait for Haneul while her thoughts remained in disarray.
The café held the shadowed atmosphere of late afternoon. Beyond the windows lay Seoul’s streets. Cars passing. People walking. Everyone heading somewhere. But in this café, there was stasis. Time that didn’t move.
The barista attended to other customers. One. Two. Three. All alone. Sae-ah observed them. Like actors photographed on a studio set, each in their designated position playing their assigned role. The woman drinking a latte. The man typing on his laptop. The young man staring only at his phone screen. All of them waiting for something. Or running from something.
Sae-ah couldn’t tell which category she belonged to.
The barista greeted a new customer. “Hello, what can I get you?” His voice was mechanical, yet kind. An awkward smile. But within that smile was a small consideration. Perhaps that barista was also alone. Perhaps he too was waiting for something.
Sae-ah checked her watch. 3:22 PM. Eight minutes had passed since she ended the call. Where was Haneul now? The tattoo shop was two subway stops from here. Fifteen minutes on foot. Ten by subway. Five by taxi.
Sae-ah stopped calculating. What was the point of such calculations?
The sunlight outside shifted its angle. Mid-afternoon light was transparent. Almost white in its transparency. That light touched Sae-ah’s face. Through the window that mirrored her face like a mirror, Sae-ah saw herself.
A pale face. Dark marks beneath her eyes. Lips drained of blood. A face that hadn’t smiled in too long. A face that had been alone too long.
Yes. The moment Haneul arrived, she’d say it. “What’s wrong with you?” She would.
Sae-ah drank her coffee again. Already cold, it was bitter and stale.
When twenty minutes had passed, the door opened.
Haneul came in. In that instant, the air in the café changed. As if someone had opened a window to let in the outside breeze.
Haneul carried the smell of the tattoo shop on her. The sharp smell of ink. The stinging smell of disinfectant. And something else—the smell of reality. Carbon beneath her fingernails. Alcohol soaked into her sleeves. The smell of the world in which Haneul lived.
Haneul went straight to Sae-ah’s table. She didn’t wait for a greeting. Didn’t wait for confirmation. She just sat. Across from Sae-ah, as if it were a seat promised long ago.
Haneul’s eyes scanned her. Top to bottom. Slowly. Like a doctor examining a patient.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Haneul’s voice was confused. But never judgmental.
“You have no face. Seriously.”
Sae-ah had prepared an answer. An excuse. An explanation. Those things. But when she opened her mouth, only one word came out.
“Yeah.”
That was all. Haneul didn’t ask further.
“Kang Ri-woo?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you break up?”
Sae-ah didn’t answer. More precisely, she couldn’t. Because it wasn’t over yet. Not until the verdict came down. Not until after. They were still legally connected. On paper. But in her heart, it had ended long ago.
Haneul took Sae-ah’s hand.
It was sudden, yet simultaneously the most natural thing. As if it were already one of the things that had happened. As if it were already a predetermined scene.
“Did you really think you were alone?”
Haneul asked slowly. Haneul’s hand was warm. Sae-ah’s was cold. The temperature difference was noticeable.
“You always seem alone.”
Haneul continued, looking directly into Sae-ah’s eyes.
“But you’re not really. I’m here. Do-hyeon’s here. Your mom’s here.”
Mom. That word brushed against Sae-ah’s chest. Her own mother. The person she’d run from, thought she had to run from.
“And now you’re here too. You exist.”
Haneul’s words were simple. Not literary. Not elaborate. But within that simplicity was everything.
Tears formed in Sae-ah’s eyes. Without her knowing. As if her body had reacted before her mind.
“I’m sorry.”
Sae-ah said. Her voice trembled.
“Sorry for what?”
Haneul asked. In that question was genuine curiosity. Not reproach. Not judgment, but pure curiosity.
“I love you.”
Haneul continued.
“Just be. That’s enough.”
Haneul’s words pierced through Sae-ah’s chest. Like an arrow. No—not an arrow, but light. Light that illuminates the darkness.
Because it was closer to the truth than anything Kang Ri-woo had ever said.
Kang Ri-woo’s words were always plausible. “I love you.” “Don’t worry.” “Everything will be okay.” Those words came out as if an actor were performing, fulfilling their role faithfully. But behind those words, there was no need for Sae-ah. Behind those words was no individual named Sae-ah.
Haneul spoke differently. “Just be.”
Don’t do anything. Don’t become anyone. Simply exist. That’s enough.
Sae-ah squeezed Haneul’s hand tightly. As if she were drowning and someone had thrown her a rope. No—not a rope, but a hand. A human hand. A warm hand.
The barista took someone’s order. “One iced Americano.” A mechanical voice. But even in that voice was a small consideration. Everyone is waiting for someone. Everyone is connected to someone. Everyone in this café.
Old posters lined the café’s walls. Posters of matches. Posters of fire. Whoever created this café must have been thinking of fire.
The first time Sae-ah came to this café, she hadn’t really looked at those posters. But now, in this moment, holding Haneul’s hand, Sae-ah saw them properly.
Fire was two things.
First: fire that burns you. Fire that consumes you. Fire that erases you. Sae-ah knew that fire well. Fire with the name Kang Ri-woo. Fire with the name her own expectations. Fire with the name her own longings.
And second: fire that warms you. Fire that illuminates you. Fire that makes you exist.
Until now, Sae-ah had only known the first kind of fire. She had burned herself in that fire. Believing it was love.
But now, in this moment, holding Haneul’s hand, Sae-ah understood what the second kind of fire was.
It was fire for yourself. Not fire that burns you, but fire that makes you shine. It wasn’t something someone gave you. It was something you found yourself. Something you created yourself. Something that existed within you.
“Thank you.”
Sae-ah said.
“Thank you for what?”
Haneul asked.
“For being here.”
Sae-ah’s voice was clear now. It didn’t tremble.
Haneul smiled. The smile wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.
Outside the window, the sunlight was gradually weakening. Afternoon was fading.
Sae-ah checked her watch again. 3:47 PM.
Half the day still remained. And Sae-ah would spend it not alone, but with someone. No—more precisely, with herself.
Holding Haneul’s hand while being with herself.
The two of them sat in the café. They didn’t speak anymore. There was no need. They were simply together.
The barista made a new coffee. “Hand-drip Americano!” Warm water dripped slowly onto the brown powder. Drop by drop. The process was like a ritual. Like a gift being prepared for someone.
That coffee wasn’t Sae-ah’s. It belonged to another customer. But Sae-ah saw it. And she understood.
Everything requires time. Everything requires process. Coffee, love, finding yourself.
Haneul’s hand was still warm.
Evening was coming.
7:45 PM. Seoul was turning to night. Street lamps were flickering on one by one. Car headlights were growing brighter.
And Sae-ah was changing too.
Still burning. But for a different reason now. A better reason. For herself. For what she wanted. For what she loved.
The coffee was cooling. But warmth remained. The warmth between hand and hand.
The two of them sat in the café.
That was enough.
End of Chapter