Continuation...
The last money I had was about 50,000 won, and that was all my savings. The night was unusually cold, and I had no place to go. I didn't want to go back to my mother and her husband. Then a thought came to me. I just wanted to be with my father, but he was far away in Seoul. "I will go there," I said to myself, determined to travel from Jeju to Seoul and hoping my 50,000 won would be enough. When she got to Mokpo Port, she boarded the ferry at the shore of the river. It wasn't filled yet, so she quickly took a seat by the window. She didn't need to slot in her card because she had cash, and when the ferry driver came to collect the fare, she thought it was quite costly for him to take 30,000 won for the trip.
The ferry started sailing at about 6:39 p.m., along with two other ferries. A boy later joined her on the seat next to hers. She only nodded and cast a quick glance at him. He didn't look bad, she thought, and seemed to be about the same age as her. Her phone was switched off, and when she tried to turn it on, it didn't respond. The low battery indicator flashed a dim red light on the screen. She tossed her remaining 20,000 won into her sweater pocket and placed the sweater on her lap along with her phone.
Looking out through the glass window of the old ferry, she listened to it creak as the waves lapped gently against its side. The faint glow of the evening sun faded behind her, casting the sea in shades of blue and gray. The cold wind carried the taste of salt and diesel smoke.
She was glad she had paid for a shared economy cabin instead of the cheaper floor seating.
He had been staring at her for a while now. She seemed lost in thought—her pale face partly hidden beneath long strands of black hair. He felt an urge to brush it aside for her but decided against it.
"Hey there, you look worried," he said softly.
She turned from the window and looked into his face.
"I didn't mean to bother you," he added quickly. "You just looked worried, and I was wondering if I could help." He smiled.
"I'm fine," she replied.
But he could tell when someone wasn't. So he decided to keep the conversation going.
"Are you from Jeju?" he asked.
"Not really," she said. "It's my maternal home."
"Me too," he replied, smiling. "I just came to visit my grandmother."
She smiled faintly. "Looks like we have something in common," she said. "I'm on my way to Seoul. What about you?"
"Wow, me too," he said. "I think we should exchange contacts. When we get there, we can text each other."
She chuckled softly. "Don't you think you're going too far? We just met."
"I'm sorry," he cut in quickly. "I'm Seok-jin." He looked at her expectantly, waiting for a reply.
It wasn't hard for her to tell he was a good talker. Her mother once told her that people like that were usually good listeners too.
"Ji-eun," she said at last.
He smiled. "That's a beautiful name."
"Thank you," she replied.
"I'd still like for us to exchange contacts," he said again.
"My phone is switched off," she answered.
"Not to worry," he said, handing her his phone. "You can just give me your number. I promise to call you as soon as I get to my destination."
She took the phone and typed in her number.
"Ji-eun," he said softly as he saved it under her name. "I think we should also exchange our addresses."
She cut him short. "I think exchanging contacts is enough," she said, turning back to the window. Closing her eyes, she settled in for a warm night's nap.
He couldn't stop staring at her—and that was exactly what he did for the rest of the journey.
The ferry arrived at Mokpo Port on the mainland around 6 a.m., after nearly eleven hours of travel. As she stepped off, the faint glow of dawn greeted her, its light reflecting softly on her face.
Before she knew it, she was walking toward the Mokpo Bus Terminal, where she boarded a bus bound for Seoul. The ticket cost 15,000 won.
The boy waved goodbye as their buses went separate ways.
She was heading to Yeongdeungpo-gu, a quiet area near the Han River, where her father lived.
Outside the window, fog lifted slowly over the rice fields as the bus sped along the highway toward Seoul. The ride took about four to five hours.
It was around 10:52 a.m. when he opened the door of his villa—and saw her.
She stood there, a sweater draped across her shoulders.
"How are you here? Why are you here?" he asked, puzzled.
"Let me in first," she said, pushing her way past him.
The house looked exactly as it had the last time she visited—the white walls, the simple furniture, a low dining table, a small sofa, and a flat-screen TV. The kitchen was neatly arranged, with a two-burner gas stove, a rice cooker, and a small refrigerator.
She went straight to the sofa and sat down.
He closed the door and followed her quietly.
"Why are you here? Do you know how worried your mother is?" Dong-soo asked.
"Don't you want me here?" she said softly.
"That's not what I meant," he replied.
Silence filled the room.
"We've been calling you since yesterday," he continued. "Do you know how worried we were? We were even about to inform the police."
"My phone was out of battery," she said, standing up.
With that, she walked toward a door and disappeared behind it.
Dong-soo sighed. He wasn't ready for this. She was his daughter—but he didn't want to be responsible for her.
The night passed quietly for Ji-eun. She woke up the next morning to the smell of something cooking.
Not long after, Ji-eun stepped out of her room and walked to the kitchen.
Her father was at the stove, preparing gyeran-mari—rolled omelettes. On the table, the meal was already set: gonggi bap (plain steamed white rice), doenjang-guk (soybean paste soup), and kimchi-bokkeum (stir-fried kimchi).
She inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar aroma. It had been a long time since she'd last had a meal like this.
She quickly sat down as her father brought the rolled omelettes to the table. Smiling, she bowed her head and said a short prayer before eating.
"This food is so good," she said to her father, taking a spoonful of the soup.
"You think so?" he asked, smiling.
"Yes, of course," she replied. "How did you make this soup so flavorful?"
"It's not that hard," he said with a light chuckle.
"It is," she insisted. "I made this kind of soup once, but it didn't have that spicy, hot taste."
"Don't worry," he said. "I'll teach you how to make it. Now that we're together again." He paused, his tone softening. "And while we're at it, call your mother. She's worried about you."
"Okay," she said quietly, lowering her gaze as she finished her food.
After the meal, her father handed her some money to buy clothes and a few things she might need.
When her father left the house, Ji-eun wasn't in the mood to go out. She kept the money safely aside in her room and promised herself she would go shopping the next day, since it was Sunday and most stores were closed.
She lay on the sofa in the living room with her phone, which she had plugged in the night before. When she turned it on, she found several missed calls from her mother.
She quickly texted to say that she was fine and safely with her father. Almost immediately, her mother replied with an okay — followed by a long message, telling her to stay safe, be a good girl, and take care of herself.
Ji-eun didn't bother to read it all; she only skimmed through the words.
She noticed another text from an unsaved number. Opening it, she read:
> This is my number. Save it. It's Seok-jin—the guy from the ferry.
She smiled. She immediately saved his number and texted to ask if he had arrived safely — because she had. Then she set the phone aside and spent the rest of the evening watching TV.
Not long after, her father came home carrying a nylon bag. After exchanging a few pleasantries, he took out a neatly folded school uniform, a pair of sandals, a school bag, and some socks.
He handed them to her.
"What are these?" she asked, puzzled.
"They're your school uniform," he said. "You're starting tomorrow."
"But I just got here," she said.
"It's Hanuel High," he replied simply.
Before he could say another word, she grabbed the uniform and dashed into her room.
He smiled at her disappearing figure. He knew he didn't work so hard to secure her a place at one of the most influential schools — he sighed and went into his room.
Ji-eun couldn't wait to try on the uniform and take pictures to post on her Instagram page.
In the middle of her excitement, her phone chimed with a message from Seok-jin.
Presently...
Soo-ah's lips curved into an evil grin.