The Reason I Like Dongbaek
Lee-seol had been quietly turning his words over in her mind, and now she cut short the thought that threatened to drag on and on.
"Then... you don't actually like Dongbaek very much?"
"No, I do like it."
At that, she turned around after a moment to look back at Tae-shin. His cool, unfathomable eyes were gently closed, and a faint smile played on his lips, as though he found their entire conversation quite diverting.
It was the face of a young zelkova tree—limpid and green, yet harboring somewhere in it a shadowed gloom. Lee-seol's eyelids trembled.
"I'm fond of things that resonate with me. It would be no exaggeration to say I like it quite a lot."
Things that resonate, he says.
She could hardly picture this man receiving some profound emotional revelation or stirring through literature. And yet, the simple fact that he'd admitted to liking Dongbaek made her heart lift, honest as ever.
"That said, if Dongbaek has a flaw—"
"...And if it does?"
What would he come out with this time? She swallowed, a dry click in her throat.
"There are moments when I think... it might do him good to experience a wider range of intense things. I believe it would let him write even more breathtaking work."
"...And what, exactly, are these 'intense experiences'?"
"That's something Dongbaek will have to feel for himself."
He answered with artful nonchalance, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. An intense experience that only lands once you've felt it firsthand. Her face flushed, inexplicably, all on its own.
The lack of an emotional climax in her own writing was a weakness Lee-seol herself was keenly aware of—one of her biggest. Her editor had offered the consolation that it was the kind of thing that improved with practice, but a weakness was still a weakness.
Having the very spot she felt unsure about prodded so precisely left her stomach lurching, as if she'd caught motion sickness. It wasn't mere embarrassment.
It was a faintly twisted thrill—the realization that the man before her was reading her with startling accuracy.
Thump, thump. Her heart raced. She was only grateful she happened to be walking ahead of him at that moment. Lee-seol pressed her lips tightly together.
"Then may I ask, why do you like Dongbaek, Shin Lee-seol-ssi?"
"...!"
At Tae-shin's question, a chill crawled up the length of her spine. In the same instant, something caught hard against her foot, and her body pitched violently sideways.
"Ah—!"
Her shoe had snagged on a tree root jutting from the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut. Just as she braced for a hard fall, a firm arm wrapped around her waist.
"...You should be more careful."
From mere inches away came the low voice, and with it, his scent. She had never smelled anything like it. A clean, potent fragrance with something strangely heart-stirring buried in it. Briefly, a memory of the soap scent she'd once loved so much flickered past the tip of her nose and was gone.
Everything he had brought into this place was unfamiliar to her. And she hated to admit it, but those things were not entirely unwelcome. And yet some part of her still shrank from them—or no, she felt she ought to shrink from them. That strange, aching gap between the two kept muddling her.
Lee-seol, eyes still squeezed shut, staggered upright and steadied herself.
"...Thank you."
She smoothed down her rumpled clothing with a few brisk pats, then stole a glance back at him. In that instant, his gaze seemed darker than the canopy of leaves, and somehow more sinister. From somewhere far off came the clear cry of a songbird.
"Why I like Dongbaek, you said..."
The reason I like myself. She truly couldn't say she knew it.
Some grand, lofty answer would have sounded absurd, yet she didn't want to wave the question off with something modest, either—Dongbaek was one of her proudest achievements. What finally left her mouth was a shameless, self-serving dodge.
"...Does one need a reason to like something?"
"Of course not."
Tae-shin agreed with maddening ease. And with that question, he said nothing more about Dongbaek at all. She'd wanted to hear just a little more. Somehow, Lee-seol found herself disappointed.
By the time they reached town, a little over an hour had passed. As if in warning of rain on the way, the air hung thick and heavy with moisture that pressed against her skin.
Coming down through the mountain, she'd barely noticed it beneath the shade of the trees, but now that they were out in the open, summer's approach seemed to register through her whole body.
It's hot. Fanning herself with a languid hand, Lee-seol stopped at the crosswalk leading into town.
The signal glowed red, though few cars were passing. Tae-shin wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, glanced both ways, and strode straight out onto the crossing.
"It's still red."
Lee-seol cautioned him, once. She had never once jaywalked in her life, whether or not there were cars on the road. Rules, once set, must be followed—that was what Granny Yoon-hwa had drilled into her until her lips wore thin.
"So what? There isn't a single car in sight."
"Still..."
"And it's hot."
Tae-shin stepped lightly over the line she had never once dared to cross, as if to ask what the problem could possibly be. Cracks began, bit by bit, to spider through the carefully cultivated terrarium of a world Lee-seol had built for herself.
Even having done something wrong, he looked utterly untroubled. Having already strode ahead and nearly finished the short crossing, Tae-shin turned and quietly watched her, still rooted to the curb on the far side.
He tilted his chin up in a slight nod. Come on, hurry.
Is this really okay? It wasn't even a serious wrongdoing, and yet Lee-seol hesitated, strangely unable to move.
"And Lee-seol, the same goes for you. Don't trouble the guests needlessly—and don't let them dye you."
Don't let them dye you. Perhaps it was those words.
It struck her as a little ridiculous, agonizing this deeply over such a trivial thing.
Just as she worked up the courage to take a step, the light turned green, right on cue. Shuffling across the crosswalk, Lee-seol made her way to him. He, still watching the light, glanced around the area without any inkling of the storm going on inside her.
"I'm hungry. Is there anywhere good to eat nearby?"
"I can't speak for 'famous spots,' but... do you have anything you like?"
"I eat everything, no complaints."
Lee-seol thought for a moment, then remembered the old noodle house about ten minutes' walk from there.
A small restaurant converted from an ordinary family home—unremarkable on the outside, but it had been doing business in Eulju-ri for three generations now. Word of it had quietly spread among the hikers of Mt. Hyeonak, too. It seemed like a perfectly safe place to introduce to a first-time visitor.
"How about knife-cut noodles? There's a place nearby that makes wonderful janchi-style kalguksu. They have a summer special, too—cold soybean noodle soup and naengmyeon."
"Sounds good."
Tae-shin nodded. Lee-seol led him at an easy pace toward the noodle house.
Along the way, they passed a scattering of Eulju-ri locals. Every one of them greeted Lee-seol by name, but every one of them seemed far more interested in the man standing beside her.
The sidelong glances, the hushed stirrings—they trailed after her uncomfortably. She'd done nothing at all, yet her face burned as though she'd been caught at something.
She pushed open the glass door with its faded shop-name sticker, lifted the long wooden curtain, and stepped inside.
A pungent, earthy scent of fermented soybean paste wafted from the jar stand just inside the entrance. The small shop was nearly empty, perhaps because the peak lunch hour had just passed. Perfect—it meant they could eat in peace without drawing attention.
"It's been a while, Auntie."
"Well, if it isn't Lee-seol!"
An old wall-mounted fan whirred and rattled as it turned. The owner, a woman of sixty-odd summers, came out from the back kitchen where she'd been washing dishes, her face lighting up visibly at the sight of Lee-seol.
"Granny's keeping well, I hope?"
"Of course."
"Give her my regards. And tell her if she comes by next time, I'll treat her to something good."
After exchanging the usual pleasantries, Lee-seol settled into a seat and looked up at the menu board hanging on the wall. The prices had crept up sometime in the last while. Surely she'd run the place at the same prices for years. She stole a glance at Tae-shin.
"What will you have?"
"I'll take whatever you recommend."
"Then—Auntie! Two bowls of janchi kalguksu, please!"
Lee-seol turned straight toward the kitchen and called out their order.
Tae-shin, seated across from her, seemed to have no objections. He poured her a cool cup of barley tea, then drained his own in one go. His prominent Adam's apple bobbed slowly.
"You seem to know the owner."
"Yes, she's known Granny for quite a long time."
Tae-shin glanced at the yellowed newspaper clippings plastered all over the shop's walls and gave a small nod. Before long, their food arrived.
"Here—a plate on the house."
Along with two steaming bowls of janchi kalguksu, a complimentary plate of dumplings landed on the table.
As she set the plate down, the owner kept darting furtive glances at the man seated across from Lee-seol. The girl had always come alone or with the household staff, and now here she was with some strikingly handsome man—the woman's curiosity was written all over her face.
"And this gentleman who's come with you—might I ask...?"
"Woo Tae-shin. I'm staying at Sehwawon for a short while."