After emerging from Yeouinaru Station,the two of them slipped away from the crowds and the ceaseless flow of traffic,making their way down toward the riverside park.They crossed the park on foot,then passed quietly through the shaded underpass beneath Hangang Bridge.

  As soon as they emerged on the other side,a staircase leading up toward Yoido Full Gospel Church came into view—and beyond it, once again,a long avenue of cherry blossoms opened in radiant bloom.

  They walked at an unhurried pacetoward the cherry blossom road behind the National Assembly Building,a place often called the heartland of cherry blossoms.

  During festival season,traffic was completely restricted here,making it one of the most crowded stretches of all.

  Beneath the white canopy of blossoms,a small child caught Dahye’s eye—hopping along, hands clasped tightly with both parents.

  Watching the scene,Dahye lightly nudged Hyeonpil’s arm.

  “Oppa, that kid is cute, right?I used to be like that too…”

  She paused, then continued softly.

  “But at some point, our house suddenly turned into a jungle.Everyone growling, always fighting…all the warmth just disappeared.”

  She glanced down at the petals settling on her shoesand added in a quieter voice,

  “But after meeting you and the boss,our house got a lot calmer.It really did.”

  Hearing that,Hyeonpil slowed to a stopand looked down at her with gentle eyes.

  “Thank you for saying that…I’m actually the one who’s grateful.My mom is always worried that we might end up being a burden to your family.”

  He hesitated briefly, then continued.

  “But the teacher—and… your mother—they treat my mom like a real younger sister.That means a lot to me too.”

  At the words “your mother,”Dahye’s gaze wavered, just for a moment.

  There was a reason for that.

  The previous Sunday, at the kalguksu restaurant,while Dahye had stepped away to the restroom,her mother, Yoonjeong, had quietly sat beside Hyeonpiland spoken with a serious expression.

  “From now on, call me ‘Aunt,’ Hyeonpil.If your mother insists she’s my real younger sister,then wouldn’t it be better to make our relationship clear—aunt and nephew?”

  When Hyeonpil later told her about it,Dahye had let out a small, amused smile.

  As they continued walking beneath the blossoms,their steps naturally drifted closer,side by side.

  The cherry blossom road behind the National Assemblywas nothing short of breathtaking.

  Some trees had bloomed early,their white petals spilling down like snow,while other branches still held tightly closed buds,waiting patiently for their moment.

  That subtle difference in timing made the scene feelnot like a fleeting spectacle,but like standing squarely in the middle of a season still unfolding.

  The older cherry trees were thick and sturdy,so wide that even someone stretching both armscouldn’t wrap around them.Between the rough bark lay the marks of decades endured—and above them hung impossibly delicate blossoms,layered and trembling.

  Each time the spring wind brushed past,petals burst into motion all at once.Pushed along the road,they spread across the asphaltlike a thin white cloth gently laid down.

  And as people passed,they stepped carefully over it,as if unwilling to disturbthe quiet miracle beneath their feet.

  On the vehicle-free asphalt road,footsteps flowed at an easy pace.Couples deliberately slowed themselves,some raising phones to capture photo after photo,children flailing their arms in the air,trying to catch falling petals.

  Laughter drifted from afar,mixing with the chirp of traffic signalsand the sweet scent of street food carried on the breeze.

  This was no longer just a walking path—it felt like a place where Seoul’s spring had gathered,pausing briefly to catch its breath.

  Following the natural current of people,the two of them made their way back downtoward the riverside park.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The final course of the Yeouido Cherry Blossom Festival—no matter who you asked—was convenience-store ramen.

  Inside the row of cooking machines lined up out front,foil bowls slid into place one by one.The moment the buttons were pressed,the ramen burst into a lively boil.

  Inside the machines,noodles swelled and stirred,broth bubbling up from the edgesuntil it filled each foil bowl.An egg loosened into the soup,its yolk gently wobbling on the surface.

  “Yeouido ramen…”Hyeonpil said, handing her the chopsticks.“You have to eat it here for it to taste right.”

  They sat side by side on a bench beneath drifting petals.A few blossoms left behind by someone else clung to the seat,and with each passing breeze,more petals quietly settled on top.

  When Dahye took a spoonful of broth,steam brushed against her lips.Hyeonpil followed, taking a bite as well.

  The wind was still cold.Petals continued to fall.The broth was so hotthey had to roll it around in their mouthsbefore swallowing.

  And yet—

  for some reason,it tasted far better than ramen made at home.

  Mixed with people’s laughter,the mechanical hum of the cooking machines,and the distant ring of bicycle bells,Yeouido in that moment was noisy—and yet, strangely peaceful.

  In truth,one of the reasons Hyeonpil had insisted on coming herewas this very bowl of ramen.It mattered more to him than he let on.

  And although Dahye didn’t know it yet,this memory—this day—would resurface again and again in the years to come,even before the cherry blossoms themselves.

  “But, oppa…”Dahye said quietly as she slurped her ramen.“When I went to the philosophy office last time…there were barely any clients.Isn’t that… kind of worrying?”

  Thinking of how tucked away the office was,she looked at him with a hint of concern.

  Hyeonpil nodded and answered carefully.

  “Yeah…I’ve been going there for about eight months now.It’s usually the same few people who stop by—it doesn’t seem very well known yet.”

  He blew gently over the hot broth and added,

  “It’s a really nice place to read…but when I think about the teacher,I do worry sometimes.”

  Dahye found her dad irritating more often than not,but because she genuinely wanted things to go well for Hyeonpil,she slowly savored another sip of the hot broth.

  After hesitating for a moment,she set her chopsticks downand spoke carefully.

  “Oppa… there’s something I want to say.I don’t know if I should…It’s a little embarrassing.”

  ---------

  Retrieval Division personnel, deployed on an Earth operation.

  “We’ve arrived at a rehabilitation hospital in Jeju. Over.”

  Kim Beom-u’s report crackled briefly through the radio.

  The sector assigned to him and Yoon Ji-chung lay along the path of the Hour of the Dog (Xu Hour)—latitudes 33° to 38.6° north,longitudes 124.6° to 131.9° east—a band that encompassed the entirety of South Korea.

  The Retrieval Division divided Earth by latitude.Each time the Hour of the Dog crossed a sector, field agents were deployed.

  Today followed the same pattern.

  Across Korea, retrieval operations were already underway.

  Their routine never varied.

  They always started in Jeju and moved north toward Seoul,circling the entire sector along the same route, day after day.Today’s first checkpoint was the rehabilitation ward of a hospital in Jeju.

  Kim Beom-u and Yoon Ji-chung were tasked with sequential searches within a 100-kilometer radius,prioritizing locations where death occurred most frequently—hospitals, rehabilitation hospitals, nursing homes.

  Souls that departed during the Hour of the Doglost their traces quickly if retrieval was delayed.Once those traces dissipated,recovery was nearly impossible.

  No one knew that better than they did.

  South Korea, in its entirety,had always been their responsibility.

  The mission objective was simple and unforgiving.

  Using Sam-si-chung data gathered at sixty-day intervals,they were to identify high-risk locations in advanceand prevent soul separation wherever possible.

  After arriving on site,Kim Beom-u completed his report to the situation roomand drew a slow, quiet breath.

  “Ji-chung. Sweep the rehabilitation ward thoroughly.

  Souls don’t usually run right away.At first, they hide.

  They favor enclosed, lightless spaces—containers, buckets, deep corners where nothing looks twice.

  If you find one, don’t rush it.Secure it carefully.Scan immediately.Report to the situation room.Then send it straight to the intermediate realm. Understood?”

  Yoon Ji-chung answered with a look that said I’ve heard this a hundred times.

  “Team Leader, relax~I’ve got some miles on me now.I’m used to this stuff.

  Let’s see where they’re holed up, yeah?”

  His easy, dialect-laced tone drew a faint smile from Kim Beom-u.

  “The souls lingering hereare the ones that couldn’t find their bodies.

  Hospitals, rehab centers, nursing homes—places where death is constant.Souls emerge here first.

  Right after death, some refuse to let go.They follow their bodies to the funeral hall.Some don’t stop there.They trail them all the way to the crematorium.”

  Kim Beom-u scanned the ward as he spoke.

  “That’s why our search radius matters—hospitals, nursing homes, funeral halls, crematoriums.Everything within a hundred kilometers.

  …You know all this.”

  Yoon Ji-chung nodded, smiling.

  “Well, maybe not that much.Like I always say—you’re solid, Team Leader. Always on point.

  That’s why I like working with you.”

  To Yoon Ji-chung,this kind of praise wasn’t flattery.It was manners.

  Then—

  from deep inside the ward,a stench rolled out.

  Thick.Rotting.Wrong.

  Yoon Ji-chung turned toward it,moving into the darker recesses,rummaging through bowls and cupsstacked along shelves and shoved into corners.

  And then—

  “Holy—what the hell?!”

  His voice broke.

  “Hey! Get outta there—NOW!!!”

  Yoon Ji-chung screamed.