May 4, 1942
When I opened my eyes, I felt the softness of the blanket that had settled over my body. In contrast, the gentle touch on my face felt quite unfamiliar. Koharu let out a gasp as she opened her eyes. Her eyes brimming with tears, she hugged Yamato tightly.
"I thought I had lost you."
Koharu's gentle voice spoke softly. Yamato barely managed to raise his upper body and stroke Koharu's slender back. A familiar scent wafted through him. Subtle and refined, sweetly wafting from the tip of his nose. Koharu wept, still holding Yamato tightly. Her shoulders shook violently. He could do nothing but pat her back, still holding her in his arms. Have you come to hate me? It's okay if you don't love me. I won't ask you to look only at me. But... But... Please allow me to love you. Don't harm yourself because of me. Don't try to kill yourself. Yamato buried his face in Koharu's shoulder, soothing the incoherent words. The spring sunlight filtered in through the crack in the window, shining warmly. Finally, the two looked at each other. Beomgyu lovingly tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.
"I'm sorry."
"Yes...?"
"Unfortunately, I cannot marry you."
"Why?"
"I don't have the qualifications to do that."
“……”
Koharu's face contorted. His heart sank. But Beomgyu, believing this was the best thing for Koharu, opened his mouth again.
"Meet a better man. Meet a man who will love you first. Meet a man who is as warm as this spring sunshine, and fall in love so happy that he won't even notice me. Someone who will hold only what's beautiful and won't be shy about saying I love you, loved by such a man, we'll someday get jealous of each other, we'll break up, but we'll end up looking at each other, and I'll sleep happily every day dreaming of putting rings on each other's hands. You are worth it. I want to know what I want to know. I can't wait to see you, I can't wait I'm in love with you I want to know what I want to know ”
Beomgyu thought about Soobin for a moment. Then he cupped Koharu's face and wiped her tears, saying:
“You are too beautiful, kind and dazzling for a man like me to meet.”
"…Do you think I don't know? (…내가 모를 것 같나요?)"
Koharu looked up at Beomgyu with resentful eyes. He swatted away Beomgyu's hand, which was wiping away his tears, and spoke. Still, the distorted smile he wore was either a farewell or a special moment. Unable to say anything, Beomgyu simply stared down at Koharu.
“Why is it that you have never seen or set foot in a country like this…”
Are you trying so hard to protect her? I heard everything from my father. That you were hanging out with the spirit sages. That you did such… terrible things, it was all instigated by those spirit sages… … Beomgyu saw the contempt ingrained in Koharu’s jewel-like eyes. Koharu couldn’t understand Beomgyu, and Beomgyu couldn’t understand Koharu. This was why the two couldn’t be together.
"Korea was weak, and because of that weakness it was destroyed by Japan. Why should you help restore that country? Why you, of all people? Don't feel guilty about that. You have been Japanese since you were born. The reason Korea was destroyed is the fault of Korea and its uncivilized people, not you, your father or anyone else. And why should you help restore that country? 그런 죄책감 갖지 말아요. 조선이 망한 것은 Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry -)”
“Koharu.”
"Thank you for taking care of me. I'm even more grateful and grateful knowing how much you love me. Now go and rest. Let's talk about this later," Beomgyu said. Koharu stood up quietly, but with a clear sadness. She sighed. Beomgyu picked up the shirt next to him and slowly buttoned it up. The spring sunlight warmed his face.
May 2, 1942
After the Mirabeau Hotel was discovered and shut down, Kai's classroom was chosen as the next base. It was noticeably smaller than the original, but no place was safer. It had been chosen based on Kai's strong opinion. However, the air inside was different from the hotel room, once brimming with determination. The chilling silence that had descended was the young man's despair and cold anger. Taehyun sat down in his chair. According to group rules, Beomgyu was excluded from the meeting, and everyone else attended. Except for Soobin.
““I think we need to prioritize.”
Taehyun said.
"There are four things we must do now. First, secure a stable supply of independence funds and firearms to Manchuria. Second, successfully carry out the bombing of the Japanese Government-General of Korea, a plan we've been planning since December of the year before last. And third,—"
“What about Subin?”
Namjoon asked sharply. Taehyun looked at Namjoon.
"…I'm sorry."
He apologized quickly. The air grew heavier. Taehyun opened his mouth again, as if he was being pushed.
“Third is… Comrade Choi’s release.”
“There must be something that comes before that.”
Taehyung said.
“Shouldn’t we start by catching the fox cub that sold out the group?”
"Just tell the truth. I don't like the fact that my father was pro-Japanese, so I want to kill him."
"Yeonjun spoke," he said. All eyes were on him. The scars of torture remained, brutally unhealed. His forcibly pulled fingernails hadn't yet grown back, his scalp was covered in scabs, and the bright lights illuminated his body, revealing chilling bruises. Despite this, his bearing remained commanding.
“Are you covering for him now?”
"How long will you continue to slander those who willingly become Joseon's dogs?"
Taehyun banged his head on the desk and stood up.
“Is there any law that says a dog that has bitten its master will not bite again?”
“Don't be so angry over one unpleasant incident. There must have been a reason.“Wasn’t it our great mistake to leave Comrade Choi alone there anyway?”
“That man has been asking for his master since the womb, and has turned his back on Joseon since birth!”
Yeonjun's mouth fell silent in utter contempt and anger. It wasn't something he could do. It was clear that no one present wanted to take responsibility for the arrest of the group member. Yeonjun was unfamiliar with Taehyun's anger. Taehyun's nerves, sharp as a well-honed sword, were driving its owner somewhere. The sword sang an eerie Japanese military song, and the gun found no place to point at its mouth. Yeonjun, by nature, saw through it and discovered Taehyun's small sense of superiority. The straight bamboo, unyielding, might break, but it was destined to be exposed, helpless, to a single longsword from the marching Japanese soldiers. The straight bamboo, unyielding, might break, but it was destined to lie haphazardly cut down in the bitter cold, staring at the sky, rotting.
“What about the other one?”
“…maybe that’s the most important thing.”
When Jimin asked hurriedly, Taehyun answered slowly. His bright eyes sparkled with a renewed passion for learning.
“I plan to establish a school in Gyeongseong.”
Jimin nodded. It was something that had already been agreed upon.
"Why would you invite such a risk? Even the Cooperative School (founded in Anseong, Gyeongsangbuk-do in 1907, closed in 1917 due to Japanese oppression), the Shinminhoe, the Seobuk, Honam, and Giho societies all failed to survive."
"Don't be talking nonsense. This is what we have to do. Aren't we all the most modernly educated people in some way?"
“I won’t let you go.”
“Why are you, the one who went all the way to Tokyo, doing that?”
Jimin tried to comfort Taehyung, who was wearing a displeased expression for some reason. Taehyun ignored his pounding head and continued speaking.
"Comrade Huening and Comrade Jimin will be the teachers. These two will be in charge. Are there any other volunteers?"
“I do it too.”
Namjoon raised his hand. Taehyun nodded. Taehyung raised his hand with a frown from over there. "We'll choose music, English and math, and Korean. Comrade Namjoon, you majored in Korean literature a few years ago, so I think you can teach Korean alongside Comrade Jimin. I'll also be attending every Korean class as part of our Malmoi activities." The members nodded. "How are we going to recruit students?" Namjoon asked.
“I think I’ll probably stick a bow on it.”
Taehyun answered. Jungkook raised his hand. All eyes were on him. "No... It's nothing...!" Jungkook said.
“I want to go too! That…school thing…”
"Jungkook spoke in a hesitant, crawling voice. Everyone smiled faintly. No school would reject a boy thirsty for learning. In fact, I was considering discussing the matter. Taehyun nodded and said, "It's dangerous to attend school these days, after all." He added, as if taking bitter medicine.
“Former comrade.”
As Jungkook came out to get some fresh air, Taehyun's voice came from behind him. Jungkook turned around to face Taehyun. Taehyun leaned against the railing Jungkook had been leaning against, resting his chin on it.
“Comrade Wolsong, are you still very upset?”
“How did you know?”
Taehyun chuckled at the startled Jeongguk and spoke in a dry voice.
“That’s because it’s not like the usually active comrade.”
Jungkook tore his fingernails. The dimly lit streets were quiet. His heart, suddenly filled with emotion, grew even more sorrowful. Yoongi acted as if combat was his life's calling. Guns and gunpowder, as if he couldn't survive without them. Watching Yoongi, Jungkook realized he must be as addicted to combat as Yeonjun was to cigarettes. His life had long been consumed by the battlefield. If he were to die, he wouldn't even have a proper funeral. Just like some nameless soldier, his bones would crumble to dust in the moonlight in a pine forest. And Jungkook was no different. He'd never experienced a life outside of the independence movement, a child who'd shouted "Long Live Korean Independence" before his mother and father since he could speak. For him, the battlefield was his entire, short life. Perhaps that's why he longed to go to school. He'd longed to live a life where he could simply wear a uniform, hang out with his friends, shy away from pretty girls, and stay up all night doing homework. Gunpowder was a nuisance. Arriving at Gyeongseong, it suddenly flashed past me. But even so, if you ask me if I'll stay in Manchuria any longer, then...
“I felt like I had somewhere else to be anyway.”
“……”
“So I knew it would be short, but I really wanted to give it a try.”
That... learning. His rough tone was laced with sincerity. Taehyun patted Jeongguk on the shoulder. It's an age where everything is scary. No, it's an age where everything is scary. And he wasn't the only one who felt it.
Namjoon stood in front of the prison. It was a place he never wanted to return to. It was incredibly frustrating. The sound of someone's screams breaking through the solid red brick wall was miserable. Asking for a visit felt daunting, especially since he'd never fought like this before. Namjoon simply stared blankly at the prison, taking several deep breaths. He hesitated several times, considering whether to enter or not, before finally leaning against a ginkgo tree and facing the oppressive spring breeze.
“Subin.”
My throat was so tight that I couldn't speak properly.
“Don’t die?”
He lived his life dedicating himself to Korea. Just as Soobin saw him, Namjoon thought of himself as fire. A fire that indiscriminately consumed all, friend and foe alike. Among the things he burned was literature, which he had once cherished so deeply. I can't tell you how astonished I was to hear the sheep's proverb: "The pen is mightier than the sword." I wanted to understand what it was about writing that made it so powerful. Just yesterday, as a boy, having witnessed the death of Mr. Kim, the neighbor, by the sword of the Japanese military police, I had blindly entered literature. After admiring the writers of the past, a yearning to become like them enveloped my young youth. But what was the price of that yearning? His feeble pursuit of literature ultimately led to the arrest and betrayal of his comrades. Literature couldn't prevent Yeonjun from being reduced to a slaughtered lamb, or Endo Yamato from betraying his comrades. Literature couldn't prevent Soobin from being arrested simply for being there at the right time. Now, I'm no longer sure what power is. The power that guides me, the power of literature. I can't help but question its very existence.
Literature, he ultimately had to conclude. Literature merely guides people's bodies and minds into vain dreams. No. No. Namjoon shook his head harshly. This wasn't the conclusion he'd hoped for. But it was undoubtedly a negation of the literature he so dearly loved. It's a means. Literature is a tool. A tool for carrying out a method. Tickets to the Emperor's birthday party at Hongkou Park, used to carry out a bombing. It could never be the method itself.
What was the reason for wanting independence in the first place?
Namjoon asked himself.
If literature cannot be used to protect the lives of the powerless, is it right to reach out to it in these difficult times? As a man of the Korean people, is that truly the right thing to do?justCould it be called the Way?
Namjoon asked himself again.
As I called out Subin's name repeatedly and helplessly, the flames slowly died down in agony and resignation, and a downpour began to fall in Gyeongseong.