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# Chapter 54: The First Breath of Jeju
The moment the wheels touched the runway, Sae-ah’s ears rang.
That sound—the screech of the aircraft’s tires grinding against black asphalt, like someone dragging a crayon across a chalkboard. Sharp yet strangely familiar. Beyond the window lay Jeju at night. Buildings glittering with lights, the silhouette of distant mountains, the dark waters of the southern sea. Six years. Sae-ah had lived in Seoul for six years. How had Jeju changed in that time? Or more precisely—how had she changed?
Sae-ah couldn’t tear her eyes from the window.
When the aircraft came to a complete stop, the cabin announcement echoed. The flight attendant’s voice was mechanical. “We have arrived at Jeju International Airport. Please wait before unbuckling your seatbelt.” Sae-ah unbuckled anyway. Her fingers were still trembling. Like Kang Ri-u’s hands. No—that wasn’t quite right. Kang Ri-u’s trembling was the grief of something lost in Berlin. Sae-ah’s trembling was for something she didn’t even know she was waiting for.
As she lifted her carry-on from the overhead bin, the woman next to her looked at her. She appeared to be in her fifties, a travel guidebook in her hands. Her expression was kind, but there was a subtle pity in the way she regarded Sae-ah. Ah, she’s categorized me as another lonely traveler, Sae-ah thought. A young woman traveling alone. Perhaps fleeing a breakup. Or maybe contemplating something darker. Or simply burned out from city life. Jeju was a place for people like that—those seeking to wash away the wounds of the city.
“Is this your first visit?” the woman asked.
Sae-ah paused. First visit? No. This was a homecoming. A return home. But she couldn’t say that.
“Yes. It’s my first time.”
The lie came naturally.
The airport arrival lobby bustled despite the late hour—11:30 PM. Tourists, returning islanders, airport staff. Everyone was in motion toward somewhere. Sae-ah needed to move too. But where? Kang Ri-u had only said, “Go to Jeju.” “Wait there until I find you.”
Sae-ah checked her phone. Seventeen messages from Do-hyun. Six from her mother. Eleven from Hae-ul. And not a single one from Kang Ri-u.
The last message had arrived an hour ago, from Do-hyun. “Sis, have a good trip to Jeju. I’m gonna crash. Call you in the morning.”
Sae-ah replied. “Got it. Sleep well. See you tomorrow.”
Then she pocketed her phone. She decided not to contact her mother or Hae-ul yet. She didn’t know what to say, and hearing their voices would only confuse her about where she was and what she was doing.
When she stepped outside the airport, the wind struck her face. A southern sea breeze—completely different from Seoul’s wind. Seoul’s wind carried construction noise and exhaust fumes. Jeju’s wind carried salt and the smell of something alive. The sea. Sae-ah breathed deeply through her nose. And in an instant, memories from six years ago came flooding back.
“Sae-ah! Look! Did you see the clams? Look at this one!”
Young Do-hyun’s voice. He’d been in sixth grade then. Sun-darkened skin, a face that always smiled. While her mother worked in the sea as a haenyeo, Sae-ah had watched Do-hyun. They’d collected clams together on the beach. Back then, she’d been happy. Or rather, she hadn’t even thought about happiness. She’d simply existed. She’d breathed. She’d moved. She’d been.
Am I existing now?
She took a taxi. The driver was a man in his forties. As soon as she sat down with her luggage, he asked, “Where to?”
Sae-ah couldn’t answer. Where should she go? Kang Ri-u hadn’t given her a specific address. He’d just said, “Go to Jeju.” As if all of Jeju were a single destination, as if she could go anywhere.
“Where… should I go?” she murmured. The question wasn’t directed at the driver—it was for herself.
The driver looked at her in the rearview mirror and sighed. As if thinking, another lonely traveler.
“A hotel? A pension?”
“Ah… yes. A hotel. Somewhere near the center of the city.”
“I’ll take you to downtown Jeju City then. Lots of hotels there.”
He started the engine. The taxi merged into the night streets around the airport—streetlights, convenience stores, small restaurants. Places that would be crowded with tourists by day, now quiet in the darkness. Sae-ah stared out the window. Everything felt foreign. Six years was long enough to forget. Not just for young brains, but all brains—they erase uncomfortable memories first.
Her phone rang.
It was Hae-ul. 12:02 AM. Far too late. Hae-ul always slept by eleven, something about needing rest before tattoo work the next day. For her to call now meant—
Sae-ah didn’t answer.
A text came immediately. “Hey. What are you doing? Why won’t you pick up?”
Sae-ah texted back. “I’m in a taxi now. Might not have signal.”
A lie. The signal was fine. 4G displayed clearly on her screen.
“So what did that bastard Kang Ri-u do to you? Do-hyun called me freaking out. Why won’t you tell me anything?”
Sae-ah paused. Do-hyun called Hae-ul? When had those two gotten so close? Right—Hae-ul was Sae-ah’s friend, but she also looked out for Do-hyun. When he’d started high school, Hae-ul had seen him around Hongdae and spoken to him first. “You’re Sae-ah’s brother, right?” After that, Do-hyun called her “noona.”
“What am I supposed to tell you?” Sae-ah replied.
“Anything. Whatever. Do-hyun is seriously worried. Kang Ri-u called him directly about you going to Jeju. How does that guy even know Do-hyun’s number?”
Sae-ah’s hands trembled. That was true. How did Kang Ri-u know Do-hyun’s number? She’d never told him. Ah, right. Kang Ri-u was the president’s son of JYA. He could find anyone if he wanted. But did he need to go that far? Why would he?
“I don’t know. But Hae-ul, I… I’m—”
“What?”
“I’m in Jeju.”
Silence. A few seconds. The taxi kept driving. Outside was darkness.
“What? Jeju? Now?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re insane. Seriously. Because of that Kang Ri-u?”
Sae-ah didn’t answer.
“Sae-ah. That guy is dangerous. Really. What are you doing? Why do you keep getting pulled toward people like him?”
“It’s not like that…”
Sae-ah started to explain but couldn’t finish. How could she explain something she didn’t understand herself?
“Anyway, be careful. Something’s off about that guy’s hands. His fingers shake, remember? That usually means trauma. And people with trauma are unpredictable. Got it?”
“Yeah. I got it.”
“And call your mother first thing in the morning. She’s losing her mind with worry. I already told her you were going to Jeju, so she calmed down a bit, but you need to call her. Understand?”
“Yeah. I will in the morning.”
“And just in case, don’t turn off my number. If anything happens, call me right away. Anytime. 3 AM, 4 AM, whenever. I’ll answer.”
“Thanks, Hae-ul.”
“Don’t thank me—get your head straight. And what’s that bastard Kang Ri-u planning to do in Jeju anyway?”
“He didn’t say.”
“He didn’t say? He just told you to go?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s completely insane.”
Hae-ul sighed. Then she hung up. No goodbye. Just like Kang Ri-u had done to her.
When the taxi entered downtown Jeju City, the clock read 12:35 AM. The streets were nearly empty. Only a few hotel and pension signs glowed, with the occasional late-returning tourist visible.
“How about here? Near Dongmun Street—lots of hotels around.”
“Yes. This is good.”
The driver pulled up in front of a nearby hotel. “Lahae Hotel.” The sign looked old, but the building seemed clean.
“That’ll be 28,000 won.”
Sae-ah paid with her credit card. Money that Kang Ri-u had deposited into her account. It still didn’t feel real—whether the money was truly hers or still his.
When she entered the hotel lobby, the night staff looked at her. They too wore that subtle expression of pity. A young woman alone. A single carry-on. No reservation apparently, just walking in. They probably imagined she had a story.
“Welcome. Do you have a reservation?”
“No. I just…”
“One night’s stay, then? Our cheapest room is 60,000 won.”
Sae-ah nodded and took the key card. Room 301, third floor. She took the elevator, catching her reflection in the mirror inside. Who is that person? Pale face, trembling hands, empty eyes. She looked like a ghost.
Room 301 was small. One bed, one desk, one window. And a bathroom. That was all. Sae-ah set her carry-on beside the bed. Then she looked out the window. Jeju at night. The sea visible in the distance. Dark water. In a way, it was comforting. The sea hadn’t changed in six years. In ten years, in twenty years, it still would be water. Still repeating tides. Still holding and releasing.
Sae-ah lay down on the bed. She stared at the ceiling. White ceiling. Empty ceiling. And above that ceiling, she waited for Kang Ri-u.
Will he come tomorrow?
Or will he not come tomorrow either?
Sae-ah couldn’t know. From the moment Kang Ri-u entered her life, everything had become uncertain. But that uncertainty was also, in a way, freedom. No certainty meant no plans, meant no prediction—which meant no one could completely control her.
Or it meant she was already completely controlled.
She picked up her phone. There was one message from Kang Ri-u. Sent at 1:12 AM, exactly twenty minutes after she’d entered the hotel room.
“Did you arrive? Get plenty of rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Sae-ah replied. “Yeah. I waited a bit. But what about you?”
The reply came a minute later. “My work is done. I’m heading down now. Should be there around 5 AM. Sleep till then.”
Sae-ah put the phone down. She stared at the ceiling again. 5 AM. That meant she had four hours to wait. Would she be able to sleep? Could she fall asleep while waiting for him?
No. She couldn’t.
Sae-ah got up from the bed and went to the balcony. It was small. But from there, she could see the sea. Jeju’s night sea. Black and deep, as if hiding something. The moonlight scattered across the water like silver fragments. But beneath that light was still darkness. Deep darkness. The kind from which no one returns.
Sae-ah breathed. She inhaled the smell of the sea. Salt and seaweed. The scent of life and death.
Six years ago, her mother had harvested abalone from this sea. The work of a haenyeo. Diving deep, holding your breath, gathering abalone from the seafloor. It was the most courageous and most desperate thing Sae-ah had ever witnessed.
Her mother had worn a black wetsuit and entered the water. Sae-ah sat on the beach, watching. When her mother’s head disappeared beneath the surface, Sae-ah held her breath too.
She wouldn’t breathe until her mother returned. As if her own breath-holding could help. As if they were somehow connected. As if her oxygen deprivation could ease her mother’s. Somehow.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
One minute thirty seconds.
Her mother didn’t surface.
Sae-ah’s face went pale. Her chest tightened. What if—
Two minutes.
Then her mother’s head broke the surface. She gasped for air. And smiled at Sae-ah.
“Sae-ah, breathe. What are you doing?”
But Sae-ah didn’t hear. She gasped like her mother had. Tears came.
“Mom, I’m scared.”
“I know, I know. Just wait till I come back up. Don’t do anything. Just wait.”
But Sae-ah had learned that waiting was the hardest thing. Waiting was the most frightening.
Is that what I’m doing now? Am I holding my breath for someone again?
For Kang Ri-u.
For Do-hyun.
For Mother.
Not for myself.
Sae-ah’s hands trembled. The hands gripping the railing trembled. Like Kang Ri-u’s hands. No—worse than his.
And watching those hands, Sae-ah understood something.
She had already become someone’s hands.
Hands that move.
Hands that are controlled.
Hands that are not free.
The night sea of Jeju kept making its sound. The tide came in, the tide went out, and in that rhythm, everything was either washed away or buried deeper.
Sae-ah couldn’t tell which.