While the bells of freedom rang for the world, an ear was sealed by another hand, and a veil was drawn over the eyes so nothing could truly be seen.
This magnificent assassination sounded beautiful—perhaps.
Or perhaps even its beauty was another trick of God, a way of mocking the human mind.
It was early morning. The sun hesitated on the horizon, unsure whether to rise or retreat. Father Ko awoke only because the light burned his eyes. He blinked, waited for the pain to fade, then forced himself upright.
He was awake again.
Responsibility did not sleep.
Today required preparation. Confessions awaited. He would listen to what people could not say to God, in God's name.
He shaved, left the bathroom in disarray, avoided his reflection. He dressed, draped his clerical garment over his shoulders like a cape, and left without breakfast.
I'll find something on the way, he thought.
There was no way. And nothing was open.
At the church entrance, the guard nodded.
Father Ko returned the gesture.
"How are you today?" the man asked. "It'll be crowded—you should've rested."
He didn't know why he'd said it.
"I'm exhausted, Father," the man replied.
"We've just had twins."
He smiled. Sleepless, but strong.
"Of course," Father Ko said. "Bring them for baptism soon."
He walked inside.
Of course, he didn't know.
All day, people came and went. Sins were spoken, lightened. Father Ko grew heavier.
A man sat before him.
"I've been released from prison," he said. "I want to steal again. Wallets call to me. May God save me."
"Write to Him," Father Ko said. "For a week."
"Can't I just say it?"
"No. Writing is better than silence."
Then a woman.
"I'm married. We don't love each other. He loves men. I see someone else. We agree. I ask forgiveness."
"Will it continue?"
"Yes."
"Then why ask forgiveness?"
"I believe in God."
"You are forgiven," Father Ko said.
She left.
At midnight, he stepped out of the church, refusing to think about meaning.
The sky split open.
The car did not fall.
It descended.
A soldier stepped out. His face was worn by time itself.
"I've been fighting for two hundred years," he said. "I ask God for mercy. I know it won't come."
Father Ko felt something align inside him.
"I don't believe in God," he said. "But people believe in me."
"Come with me," the soldier said. "Let's end the war."
Father Ko did not hesitate.
Because after God, only humans remained.