SHUDDER 10

He stopped walking and came back, whispering teasingly. Gijeong shrank his neck, burying his head deep into the blanket. The door closed behind him. Then, the sound of Hwang Jangyeop’s footsteps, leading Giyeong out the gate, gradually faded.

A deep sigh escaped. Around this time, Gijeong had thought he’d be attending university in Seoul. Life would still be tough, but working part-time, aiming for scholarships, and studying late into the night—he imagined he’d be happy despite the relentless pace.

The gap between his grim reality and that dream kept his heart heavy. He probably wouldn’t escape the island easily. Even if Hwang Jangyeop let him go years later, it might be too late, leaving him a helpless fool unable to do anything alone.

He wanted to be independent, to build a life with his own hands, his own strength. Relying on others for mere physical comfort held no meaning. Wouldn’t death be better than living like that forever?

It was his life, Gijeong’s own, yet why couldn’t he choose anything freely?

Just once would be enough. Even a fleeting moment. The parents who passed down only poverty, a brother too young, the endless hunger and destitution, a lonely existence with no one to rely on—he wanted to forget all those secondary things and live solely for himself. Even for just a moment.

“…….”

Realizing the source of the weight crushing his chest, he wondered why it couldn’t be. He wasn’t physically bound, nor was he penniless.

His eyes darted around. A bulging spot on the floor caught his attention. That was where Hwang Jangyeop kept his bankbook. Once, Hwang Jangyeop had tossed it to him, saying he’d fund Giyeong’s education, so Gijeong should spend the money he earned freely.

He leapt up and grabbed the bankbook. If he had this. That single thought filled his mind.

Without hesitation, he left the room. Slipping on worn sneakers without a coat, he rushed out the gate.

He ran toward the harbor without looking back. Fierce winds seemed to push him forward. Standing precariously at the dock, he anxiously awaited the ferry, constantly scanning for Hwang Jangyeop, fearing he’d appear and stop him. His head spun from vigilantly watching his surroundings. In that moment, escape was his only thought.

“Huh? Isn’t that Gijeong?”

A voice from behind startled him so much he nearly screamed. Mr. Park, surprised by the intense reaction, widened his eyes. Gijeong, confirming it was Mr. Park, exhaled a choked breath and belatedly bowed.

“…Hello, mister?”

“Hey. Long time no see. Where you headed? Going to town to see the market?”

He just said yes. Cold sweat trickled down his spine. His fingertips trembled with anxiety. If he opened his mouth again, his wildly pounding heart felt like it would spill out. His mind went blank, unable to think.

Soon, the awaited ferry arrived. Gijeong boarded hastily before everyone disembarked, prompting complaints from bumped villagers. Mr. Park, watching from behind, tilted his head at Gijeong’s odd behavior. He didn’t board, perhaps just passing by.

The ferry left the island. The place that took his mother, father, and life’s hope grew distant. He forcibly, painfully pulled himself from the deep swamp-like fate dragging him down.

Gijeong went to the corner of the cabin, squeezing his eyes shut. His breathing quickened, heart racing. His stomach churned as if seasick. Barely aware of what he was doing, he just wanted the fearful, uncertain moment to pass quickly.

The market stretched from the ferry terminal’s main road to the traditional market’s entrance. It was the busiest path, so he couldn’t relax after disembarking. The chance of running into Hwang Jangyeop, who’d gone to the market, was high. Gijeong stayed tense, even before leaving the terminal.

Thump, thump. His heart raced, aching his chest. He mentally traced the route from the terminal to the train station, constantly scanning his surroundings. If it seemed safe, he planned to sprint to the station.

But Gijeong barely took a few steps before seeking a hiding spot. He saw Hwang Jangyeop nearby. The market was more crowded than expected, but spotting him wasn’t hard. Even from behind, Gijeong recognized him instantly.

Giyeong seemed to have gotten new shoes, glancing down at the shiny pair while circling Hwang Jangyeop. He held a hot dog as big as his face. To someone unaware, they’d seem like father and son, so close.

Hwang Jangyeop lingered at a shoe stall, hesitating. He started to leave, stopped, stared at something, shook his head, and walked on. But he soon returned to the same stall. His odd behavior caught the vendor’s attention.

“Buying something?”

“Just looking… How much are those sneakers?”

“Those? If they’re for you, wouldn’t those sturdier ones over there be better?”

The vendor suggested tougher leather sneakers. Hwang Jangyeop scratched his neck, grumbling.

“Not for me, for someone else, so don’t waste my time.”

“Oh, a gift?”

“Gift, my ass.”

Hwang Jangyeop cleared his throat, embarrassed. When the vendor showed the sneakers in different colors, he sat down deliberately. Holding them, he asked for a smaller size. He inspected each pair meticulously.

Seeing a burly man squat and carefully choose someone else’s shoes made Gijeong’s chest tighten inexplicably. Whose shoes were they? Giyeong already had new ones, and they looked too small for Hwang Jangyeop. He refused the vendor’s advice against white sneakers for getting dirty easily. The reason seemed tied to the white sneakers Gijeong wore.

A lump hit his heart like a bruise. Leaving such a person would bring punishment. Hwang Jangyeop had always helped, however reluctantly, despite Gijeong’s being stuck here because of him. Betraying him like this was wrong.

Knowing this, he backed away and ran. Pumping his arms, he sprinted to the station, eyes shut tight.

He lacked confidence. Confidence to repay Hwang Jangyeop’s heart, to accept him and the inescapable island and sea. Pitying such a devoted Hwang Jangyeop, staying out of attachment would drive him mad. If not, he might throw himself into the blue sea.

Just once. He wanted a life built by his own choices, not swayed by others. Even if it was greedy, if he had to pay a price, he’d do so willingly.

“Seoul, the fastest one.”

“One ticket?”

“…Yes.”

The clerk handed over the ticket. The train, arriving in five minutes, would stop for three before heading to Seoul. Gijeong stood in the waiting area, hesitating. Clutching the ticket, he paused before heading to the platform, looking beyond the station, wrestling with doubts. The train arrived. No one disembarked. It seemed ready to leave.

Would he regret it? That question became futile the moment he left the island. He’d regret staying or going. Better to try and regret than not. As his conflicted heart leaned one way, the departure announcement blared. Clenching his teeth, he ran to the platform.

He ran until his breath caught. Each step felt like the ground clung to his feet, sticky with guilt. A shadow of guilt seemed to swallow him.

Gijeong barely boarded as the doors closed. The mechanical sound rang, and the train jolted forward. The all-too-familiar scenery slowly slid past the window.

The train’s announcement listed the destination and stops. Gijeong heard nothing.

As it ended, a crew member walked through, checking seats. Spotting Gijeong standing blankly between cars, he asked for his ticket.

“Excuse me, sir. May I see your ticket?”

Silent, Gijeong was stared at. The crew member gasped.

“Sir? Are you okay?”

Leaning against the swaying train, Gijeong’s face was drenched in tears. He didn’t know why they flowed. It wasn’t just relief from escaping the island or shame for leaving Giyeong. Countless thoughts and emotions swirled.

But the hardest to shake was Hwang Jangyeop, squatting at the shoe stall, carefully choosing sneakers like picking a ring for a bride.

He was sorry. Shameless. He could vividly see Hwang Jangyeop realizing his absence, crushed by betrayal. He hated repaying his kindness so cruelly, yet had no choice, and hated that too.

Gijeong didn’t wipe his sweat- and tear-soaked face, pressing his hand to his mouth to stifle sobs, crying endlessly.

*

Dense skyscrapers blocking the view, people hurrying to their destinations, a ten-lane road buzzing with noise, streetlights never fading. Ears blocked by earphones, lips tightly closed, eyes open but seeing nothing.

That was Seoul’s first impression. Too long away, everything felt unfamiliar and awkward.

Staring at the complex subway map, he pondered where to go. He’d grown used to the quiet island life, so this felt chaotic. He told himself he’d adapt to the bustle soon.

Gijeong first went to a cram school. Before filling his empty stomach or planning his life, he did that.

After registering, he needed a room to sleep in. Naively visiting real estate offices near the school, he was laughed at for his meager budget and told to try goshiwons.

“This room…”

The nearby goshiwon was full, so he searched deep in the alleys. He found one last room. A corner space, barely 1.5 pyeong, next to a karaoke bar building, with poor light and noise exposure. The layout made lying down fully difficult.

The goshiwon owner spoke as if doing a favor.

“This room must’ve been waiting for its owner. You said you registered at a cram school, so you know this area’s full of them, quiet day and night. The room’s cozy enough, and we only take students, so no weird disturbances. You’re just studying and sleeping, so light’s not a big deal, right? Thirty a month is a steal here. Don’t believe me? Check other goshiwons. You won’t find this deal.”

A savvy vendor sells shame first. Only with such cunning could one survive Seoul’s harsh streets.

Gijeong knew the owner was trying to scam him, but he had no choice. Other goshiwons were full, and he couldn’t waste time searching.

The owner counted Gijeong’s 300,000 won, wetting fingers with spit, rattling off rules.

“There’s a shared kitchen per floor, use it to cook. We always have kimchi and rice, take what you need. There’s a fridge, but it’s shared, so no smelly stuff or hogging space. Most dishes and tools are broken, so wash them right after. Men’s bathrooms are on even floors, don’t go to odd ones by mistake. And no bringing outsiders to hang out or sleep.”

Finished, the last bill flipped. The owner handed Gijeong a worn key and shuffled off in slippers. Alone in the hall, Gijeong stared at the tightly packed doors before entering.

The cramped room barely fit a bed and desk, but it was just for sleeping and studying, so it didn’t matter. He opened the window to air out the cigarette smell. The opposite building’s wall greeted him. Breathing deeply, there was no fishy or salty scent, just faint cement and dust.

He collapsed onto the small bed. His swollen eyes burned from crying. For a while, he felt numb, unreal, but lying alone in the tight space, certainty grew. He’d escaped the island.

Thinking of Giyeong and Hwang Jangyeop, who’d have noticed his absence, made him uneasy, but he pushed it away. It was irreversible now.

From then, he lived a monotonous life between the cram school and goshiwon. Like a machine with one command, he buried himself in studies, leaving no room for Giyeong, Hwang Jangyeop, or stray thoughts. That’s how he endured each day.

He left the hive-like goshiwon after half a year. A year later, he retook the college entrance exam and moved to a university dorm.

“Leaving now?”

Packing his few belongings into a supermarket box, the guy from room 406, whom he’d occasionally seen, stopped by. A man who’d become a ghost studying for the civil service exam for ten years after college. Sharing kimchi had built some bond, and he handed Gijeong a milk carton as a farewell gift. Gijeong smiled bitterly, accepting it.

“Don’t like milk?”

“…No, I’ll drink it.”

“Got a story behind it, huh?”

“Just reminds me of someone.”

Gijeong toyed with the milk, lost in sentiment. The 406 guy looked curious but didn’t pry, soon to part ways. He just shrugged, venting his own woes.

“Must be nice there. Done with goshiwon life in just half a year. No more dodging calls or feeling ashamed. You’ll walk tall. My folks believe I’ll make it big, waiting without a clue how I’m struggling.”

He escorted Gijeong to the goshiwon’s entrance, advising firmly.

“Don’t come back here. Even planning a short stay, once you’re in, it’s hard to leave. Study hard, become someone big, live well.”

They didn’t say “see you again.” Never meeting was likely better for both.

Gijeong walked away from the goshiwon village, a mix of hope and despair.

At university, he juggled tutoring and part-time jobs. He wanted to repay Hwang Jangyeop’s money, used bit by bit during re-preparation, to lighten his heart’s burden.

Classmates enjoyed dating, trips, clubs, and parties, but that wasn’t for Gijeong. During breaks, he studied in the library; after classes, he worked.

Early in the semester, people called him excessive. He didn’t care. Unlike classmates with parental support, his situation was different. Having hurt others and abandoned his brother, even a normal life felt like a luxury.

Around then, Gijeong was plagued by nightmares. Whether deep or light sleep, closing his eyes brought dreams of being chased. Running until breathless, he was caught and dragged into a dark abyss.

A fishy stench overwhelmed, choking him. A child’s cry for his brother crashed like waves. A voice blamed him for thinking he could live well after such deeds, grabbing his ankle. He thrashed against the crushing grip.

“…Hah!”

Gasping, he snapped his eyes open. The familiar ceiling filled his view. But he couldn’t breathe. Clutching his chest and throat, he trembled, as if pressed by a nightmare.

His sleeping roommate, startled, shook him, and Gijeong exhaled shakily. His stiff limbs went limp. The bed sheets were soaked with sweat from thrashing.

Was it the outburst of deep-rooted guilt? He thought his neglected conscience was punishing him.

As he grew resigned to the recurring nightmares, he headed to the dorm after a part-time job, as usual. The area, more known for bars than universities, was lit late. Spotting drunkards sprawled on the streets wasn’t hard.

He passed under sparse streetlights quickly. As the crowd thinned and the noisy streets faded, silence grew. The dorm building came into view.

“Hey.”

About to hurry, someone called Gijeong from behind. The low, intimidating voice made him flinch. No other shadows were around. Heavy footsteps approached. Gijeong froze, unable to flee or turn.

“Thought you could steal my money, run off, and live well?”

The gruff voice and accusing tone stiffened Gijeong’s shoulders. His neck chilled. His nerves tightened, his heart plummeting. His breath caught.

With effort, he turned. His clenched fists trembled with fear and uncertainty.

Then, his strength drained. He nearly collapsed. The figure was on the phone, not Hwang Jangyeop. Drunk, his voice boomed.

“Hey, you bastard! You dare hang up on me? You piece of shit!”

The man yelled at the disconnected phone, throwing it down. Gijeong’s racing heart sank. He laughed weakly and continued on. A thief’s guilt, they say. Too startled to notice the voice difference.

How would Hwang Jangyeop find him? Hidden so well, how could he?

Shaking his head at the absurdity, Gijeong paused, looking back at the spot. The man was gone, only faint streetlight remaining.

Yet he couldn’t look away. He didn’t know why. Nor the strange regret settling coldly in his heart.

During holidays, the dorm emptied. Going home wasn’t mandatory, but there was no reason to stay. Gijeong was the only one who didn’t leave.

When roommates or dorm mates asked why he didn’t go home, he made excuses. Taking summer classes for early graduation and increasing tutoring weren’t complete lies.

Eating alone, the festive street atmosphere brought Giyeong to mind. Was he healthy, free of trouble?

Having fled for his own sake, feeling nostalgic or worried was shameless. Yet, human hearts are fickle, and he kept wondering about his brother. He vaguely trusted Hwang Jangyeop to care for him. Having betrayed him, Gijeong believed he wouldn’t betray that trust. Absurd, but true.

Fearing a weakening heart, he pushed himself relentlessly, but those left behind lingered. Try as he might, thoughts and emotions, like water, seeped through. Sleepless nights were common.

But he endured. He had to. How could he return empty-handed after leaving so ruthlessly, knowing it’d hurt those dear? He couldn’t face their resentment for abandoning them with nothing but this. Whenever his heart wavered, he steeled himself.

Machines or people break when overheated. One night, with his roommate gone, Gijeong, forcing sleep, was struck by searing abdominal pain. Trying to sit up, the sharp, heavy pain forced him down. Cold sweat drenched him. Clenching his teeth, moans escaped.

“Ah… ugh…”

All he could do was writhe, groaning in agony new to him. His vision blurred. His feet kicked the sheets, slipping. The pain was so intense he wanted to snap his spine. Struggling to seek help, he fell off the bed.

The dorm supervisor, patrolling, opened the door at the odd noise. Casually asking what was wrong, he rushed to Gijeong, nearly unconscious.

“Student! Where does it hurt? Your stomach? Hold on. I’ll call an ambulance.”

The supervisor’s shouts echoed. He called 119, explaining the dorm’s location and Gijeong’s condition. Gijeong’s fading vision caught his back, flickering.

Clutching his stomach, Gijeong reached out. His trembling fingers were visible. Flailing, his hand fell without touching anything.

Losing consciousness, he thought of Hwang Jangyeop. That cold night, carrying a groaning Gijeong, running breathlessly, shoes clattering. His warm body. Embracing his neck despite the sour sweat was instinctive, feeling comfort in his broad, solid back. It reassured him for no reason.

It was as if he’d soothe him, saying not to worry. Recalling that, tears welled.

*

He enlisted right after his freshman year. If it was a duty to fulfill eventually, there was no reason to delay.

Military life had improved, but not everywhere. Like any place with a few bad-tempered people, the army was no different. A senior treating juniors like servants made the first year grueling. Still, it wasn’t unbearable.

Rather, the hardest part of military life was the intensified loneliness. Wasn’t it said, half-jokingly, that in the army, one recalls even trivial kindergarten memories?

Perhaps because, outside of training, there was so much time alone. Not a day passed without thinking of Giyeong, left on the island. Without trying, fragments of life there surfaced, inevitably bringing Hwang Jangyeop to mind.

Seeing barracks mates visit their parents or girlfriends made it worse. It was an unprecedentedly long and lonely time.

“Sergeant Yeom, heading out now?”

Gijeong was about to leave the base for his final leave before discharge. Corporal Cho, who’d received a reward leave, ran up, suggesting they go together.

He’d grown up in the southernmost countryside of Korea, raised by his grandmother. He spent every day on the phone, dissuading her from making the long trip to see him. Like Gijeong, he had a military life without visitors.

But he had a home to return to, and his longing for those left behind could be eased with a call.

“Corporal Cho, going straight home?”

“Yes. It’s so far, I’ll barely have a few days there. Gotta eat my grandma’s cooking and help with chores. You heading to Seoul, Sergeant?”

“…Yeah.”

“Country bumpkins like me don’t know when we’ll see Seoul. You promised to show me around after my discharge, right?”

“Sure. Hurry, you’ll miss your train.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll head out first. Have a good trip, Sergeant.”

As the announcement for the southbound train echoed, Corporal Cho saluted politely and dashed to the platform. Gijeong watched his expectant figure fondly for a moment, but his expression gradually darkened.

The announcement for the Seoul-bound train followed, yet he couldn’t bring himself to head to the platform. He just stared endlessly at the southbound train closing its doors and departing.

Giyeong would be eight now. Old enough for elementary school. Had he grown taller? Had his face changed much? Did he even remember having a hyung? Gijeong hoped he didn’t know his hyung had left him behind. If he did, he’d surely resent him.

Questions chained endlessly. Gijeong stood there for hours, until a puzzled station clerk approached him.

Right after discharge, he returned to university. He’d always been bookish, but post-military, he dove deeper into studies. He vowed to achieve his goals and return to the island with some pride.

Since enrolling, he’d consistently earned scholarships, giving him academic leeway. Taking summer sessions, he graduated in seven semesters. That brought forward the time to find Giyeong.

Professors, noting his grades, repeatedly suggested graduate school, but Gijeong had little attachment to further study. His only thought was to get a job and establish himself quickly.

Visiting the department office for graduation matters, a familiar teaching assistant called him.

“Gijeong, hold on a sec.”

“What’s up, hyung?”

“You said you’re skipping grad school for a job, right?”

“Yeah. Preparing for the September recruitment.”

“Interested in the Hyu Group? Professor Bang asked if there’s anyone to recommend.”

“Hyu Group? That’s…”

“They build and run resorts and hotels globally, so you can’t avoid overseas or regional postings. But it’s under the H Group, pays well, and has great employee benefits. You’ve got the qualifications, so talk to the professor if you’re interested.”

As the assistant said, Hyu Group was a leading leisure company, expanding globally. Their resorts and hotels dotted major domestic and international tourist spots, known for high quality and service.

There was no reason to refuse. Thanking the assistant, Gijeong went to the computer lab to research the company. The screen filled with information and articles. One caught his eye.

Hyu Resort & Hotel. Korea’s hidden gem, Dong Island. Plans solidify for a paradise.

“…Dong Island.”

He murmured the island’s name in the title. It felt familiar, like he’d heard it before. Seeing the article’s photo, he realized why. He’d been there.

Once, Hwang Jangyeop had taken a despondent Gijeong on his fishing boat to a small uninhabited island. Clear water, warm sunlight—it was worthy of being called a ‘paradise.’

— Dong Island. That’s what they call it.

Hwang Jangyeop explained, setting Gijeong down. It was named ‘Dong Island’ for its cheap, dung-like soil. Despite the crude name, the scenery was decent, and he’d bring Gijeong back anytime. His shy demeanor stood out vividly.

A spark hit him—this was it.

*

“Mr. Gijeong, have some coffee.”

Manager Song returned to the driver’s seat, handing Gijeong an iced Americano. Gijeong thanked him and drank it in one go.

Song watched curiously. Gijeong’s stops at rest areas, frequent loosening of his tie, and speeding over the limit seemed anxious.

“Going home that nerve-wracking?”

“Huh?”

“You said you lived near Dong Island as a kid, right? I was at your new employee interview, heard your story.”

“Oh, you were?”

“Hotels are in cities, but resorts are near tourist spots. They’re becoming regional landmarks. Few employees are from rural areas, and even thorough local research has limits. A sharp candidate from near Dong Island stood out. Your hometown gave you bonus points.”

“Oh…”

“It’s work, but it’s still home. I’d be thrilled, but why so tense?”

“It’s been a long time.”

He rubbed his neck awkwardly. He hadn’t realized he was tense until Song pointed it out, explaining his stiff neck and shoulders. He’d been too rigid. Understandably so—returning to a place he fled seven years ago couldn’t be calm.

He wanted to return quickly, but it took too long. Despite pushing himself, time passed cruelly fast. Reflecting, there was no part of his life he could’ve shortened, yet he worried he was too late.

A year had passed since joining the company. They were developing a major resort on Dong Island with leisure facilities, a national project enabled by a bridge connecting the mainland and nearby islands. After his probation, Gijeong joined the planning department and this project.

Today, he was heading with Manager Song to inspect the construction site. It hadn’t felt real until now, but as the island neared, his heart shrank.

He’d resolved to endure any humiliation, but fear grew. What if he couldn’t heal those he’d hurt? What if seven years had deepened the emotional rift beyond repair?

“Shall we get going? The ferry’s tight.”

“Yes.”

He pressed the accelerator hard. Leaving the rest area, the car sped along the open road. Soon, the sea appeared. Song lowered the window, marveling softly. Fishy, cool air rushed in. Gijeong’s chest tightened, breath faltering. His heart grew endlessly anxious.

What face should he show? What should he say first?

He’d pondered since the site visit was set, but found no answers. He couldn’t imagine how it’d feel to see Giyeong and Hwang Jangyeop again. Nothing came to mind, just a daunting void.

“Park somewhere and wait. I’ll grab the reserved tickets.”

Song headed to the ferry terminal alone. Gijeong stared at the changed terminal from seven years ago, then moved the car to the parking lot. His fingers trembled as he turned off the engine and unbuckled.

Stepping out, he took a deep breath. The moment his feet touched the ground, faint dizziness hit, vision blurring. Despite trying to stay calm, his heart pounded wildly.

Leaning on the car, he steadied himself. Maybe reaching the island and seeing Giyeong and Hwang Jangyeop would ease the trembling.

But Song didn’t return for a while. Something seemed wrong.

“No boarding? We arrived on time. How does that make sense?”

Entering the terminal, Gijeong saw Song arguing at the ticket counter. With rising demand, ferry trips had increased from three to five daily, but with the same number of ferries, schedules often clashed. Common for sea routes, but hard for city-bred Song to grasp.

The clerk handed over a timetable without arguing. Boldly printed: ‘Ferry and terminal schedules may change due to circumstances.’

“So we wait two more hours?”

As Song raised his voice, eyes turned. The ferry had left, so calming her was the only option. Gijeong moved toward Song but froze. A familiar figure entered his view.

Annoyed by the terminal’s commotion, a man stood abruptly, leaving. His presence was so striking Gijeong couldn’t ignore him. Seven years had passed, yet he was unchanged, as if time only flowed for Gijeong. He was exactly as in dreams and memories.

“Hey, Mr. Gijeong.”

Song turned to the dazed Gijeong. Despite hearing, Gijeong followed the man out like possessed. His body moved before his mind could command.

“Wait… hold on.”

“Mr. Gijeong? Where are you going!”

Ignoring Song’s call, his legs wouldn’t stop. He blindly chased the man. He hadn’t expected to meet like this, unprepared. He had no words. His mind blanked. Yet he half-ran after him.

That back. The broad, solid back that surfaced in pain or hardship was right there, close enough to touch.

His distinct scent, the habit of crushing sneaker heels—unchanged. The man, trudging ahead, hadn’t noticed Gijeong.

“The ferry, is it there?”

After agonizing over what to say, his hesitant mouth blurted something. Thinking it wasn’t for him, the man tilted his head, scratched his ear, and kept walking.

“The ferry to Sojak Island, next to Dong Island. Is it there?”

This time, louder, clearer. The man turned sharply. His face was grimly furrowed.

Hwang Jangyeop’s eyes scanned Gijeong’s features, slowly recognizing him. His expression softened, shocked, as if in a dream.

What should he say now?