Chapter 38.1

Chapter 38.1

Heeju rubbed her eyes, waiting for her older sister, but it was always a long time before Heejin returned. Sometimes, sleep overcame her, and she drifted off before the sound of footsteps finally reached their room. Each time her sister slipped back late at night, she carried with her the faint, heavy scent of incense from the prayer room.

Wrapped in that scent, Heejin felt strangely distant, colder than before. It was the first time she had ever been like that, and it unsettled Heeju in ways she didn’t understand. That was when she began watching her sister’s moods more closely.

In her small, frightened heart, was it fear? Fear that her sister might abandon her too, vanish the way their dead parents had? After that, whenever she sensed her sister stirring quietly from the bed, her eyes flew open.

Only later did she discover that it was the orphanage director who summoned her sister to the prayer room. Around that time, she also began noticing strange wounds appearing on her Heejin’s body.

She was too young to understand what they meant. All she could think, instinctively, was that just as her sister protected her… the only one who could protect her sister was her.

Creak. Heeju shoved the chair back and leapt to her feet. Memories she didn’t want to revisit brought a wave of nausea.

“Nghh, ugh…”

Heeju staggered out of the prayer room. When she pushed open the old wooden door, the cold winter wind slapped her face. Her cheeks and even her throat felt frozen, but as the lingering incense smell faded, she could finally breathe a little easier.

“Haa, ughh…”

Heeju weakly leaned against a barren, branch-stripped tree, and hunched over. She thought vomiting might make her feel better, but all that came out was the rasp of ragged breathing.

As she hung her head and gasped for breath, a faint rustle came from nearby. Startled, Heeju pushed herself up with her hands and straightened up. In front of the white Virgin Mary statue at the prayer room’s entrance, a tall man stood with a cigarette between his lips.

“There she goes, doing all this all alone again.”

Kwon Gukhyun muttered while chewing on the filter. A thin wisp of smoke curled from the tip of his cigarette.

“I told you to stick close to the kids. Did you ditch them somewhere?”

Heeju wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Gukhyun’s eyebrow arched slightly as he looked at her. He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushed it underfoot, and walked over with long strides.

“Did you cry?”

Gukhyun grabbed her chin and tilted it up. He examined her face closely, like he was checking for damage on something he owned.

Heeju let him turn her face this way and that, then asked what was on her mind.

“I used to live here a long time ago. Did you know that?”

At her words, Gukhyun slowly released her chin.

“I know you inside and out, but…”

His l4wd and obscene gaze slid from her face down her body. Then he suddenly shrugged.

“Even I wouldn’t go that far.”

“…Really?”

“What would I gain by lying to you?”

Gukhyun frowned slightly and adjusted the collar of Heeju’s coat. He was still wearing just a shirt.

In the harsh, snowy weather, Gukhyun wore nothing but a thin shirt exposing his skin, yet he looked at her coat with mild disapproval and began buttoning it up, one by one.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“You, of all people. Do you even know your lips are turning blue?”

His thumb brushed across her lips. Heeju grabbed his wrist with both hands and pulled it down. Looking into his eyes, she said,

“I once made up my mind to kill the orphanage director here. I think it was snowing that day, too, like today.”

“Ooh. Is that a confession?”

“I thought back then that stabbing someone with something sharp would kill them.”

“A confession during a fling is a bit blasphemous.”

“I was going to use scissors, but I failed. Someone snatched them away.”

“…”

“It was some oppa from the orphanage. He always wore a cap and never said a word, so honestly, he scared me a little.”

Heeju stepped closer to Gukhyun. His sharp eyes narrowed slightly.

Eyes that were far from ordinary for an East Asian. Staring straight into them, she said,

“But that day, I think I saw his eyes for the first time. They were the same color as yours.”

“Who would give this to a child?”

That day’s memory wasn’t anything special. She was too young, and the only thought that filled her panicked little mind was a desperate wish to make the person tormenting her sister disappear.

“Kids should be in bed.”

The uneasy déjà vu she felt when she first met Gukhyun’s eyes came from an old, worn memory buried deep in her mind.