BS 3

Hyejun sat on the edge of the guest room bed, pressing her fingertips into the mattress.

“It’s soft.”

The room Jeongun had lent her for the night contained only a single bed, surrounded by stark white walls. There wasn’t even a single framed picture hanging up. But rather than feeling uncomfortable, the emptiness felt oddly familiar.

It reminded her of her own room—bare except for a worn-out desk, a chair, and a small, square window.

Ziiip.

She knelt on the floor and unzipped her Boston bag. Inside were a few changes of clothes, some daily necessities, and three well-worn notebooks with frayed edges.

Taking one out, she ran her fingers over its surface, whispering to herself—

“Just a little longer. I’ll send it back to its owner soon.”

Everything about Seonju that now existed only in memory was contained within these pages.

She hadn’t planned on coming to Jeongun in the first place.

She had assumed that their connection had ended the moment the funeral was over—and that it was supposed to be that way.

So she fully understood why Jeongun had been so exasperated by her unexpected presence. If anything, she was lucky he hadn’t thrown her out on the spot.

Hyejun’s gaze remained fixed on the notebook as her mind drifted back to that day—a month ago, when she had returned to the archery hall after the funeral.

* * *

The archery hall, Sounjeong, was a good twenty-minute walk from the village entrance. Nestled in a sunken area at the base of Taejin’s tallest mountain, it was a place known only to dedicated archers and a few locals.

Hyejun stared blankly at the target set up on the other side of the training grounds. The sunlight bathed it in warmth, as if mocking her frozen world. Though it was a familiar sight, today it felt strangely foreign—like someone else’s world. She stood there, dazed, before slowly moving forward.

Creak.

On the empty second floor of the archery hall, she pushed open Seonju’s door.

The stale room, left unventilated for days, was thick with the scent of the cigarettes Seonju used to smoke. Instead of airing it out, Hyejun curled up on the bare floor, lying on her side.

[Haah…]

As she closed her eyes, a memory surfaced—a day when Kim Cheonghyeon, whom Seonju had treated with the utmost respect, like a father, had visited the archery hall.

Seonju had hurriedly prepared drinks for their esteemed guest. At her instruction, Hyejun had run to the local store to buy a few bottles of soju. “Get yourself a snack while you’re at it,” Seonju had added, so she had returned with a lollipop in her mouth, cheerfully pushing open the office door on the first floor.

[“Saem… Sometimes, that kid really scares me.”]

The tremble in Seonju’s voice, thick with alcohol and the verge of tears, made Hyejun’s hand tighten around the doorknob. She didn’t need to ask who that kid referred to—her instincts already knew.

[“She never smiles, always staring at people with those eyes, just like her father’s. And when she does… I wonder what’s really inside her.”]

Was she saying she was afraid of her father’s killer eyes?

The lollipop slipped from Hyejun’s lips, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

Then came Cheonghyeon’s stern voice.

[“Now, now, Seonju. What are you thinking, saying something like that about a ten-year-old child? Didn’t you say it yourself? The sins belong to the father, not the child. You were the one who insisted you couldn’t bear to send her to an orphanage.”]

With a shaky hand, Seonju downed another glass of soju before letting out a bitter sigh.

[“Back then, I had a younger sister, right? She told me to know my place. Said, ‘You couldn’t even protect your own kid—how could you possibly take care of someone else’s?’ I told her to worry about herself instead of me. But these days, her words keep coming back to me.”]

She sniffled, wiping away tears with a rough palm.

[“She was right. Who was I to take anyone in? I knew it was wrong, but… I just couldn’t help it. Maybe it would’ve been better if I had sent her to the orphanage back then. Don’t you think that would’ve been better for Hyejun too?”]

Hyejun’s head dropped, her gaze sinking to the floor.

It was the first time she truly understood Seonju’s feelings.

She had been seven when Seonju took her in—fully aware of who she was and what her circumstances were. Hyejun had always believed Seonju had taken pity on her. That even if she despised her father, she had at least found her, the child, pitiful enough to give her a place to stay.

She had been grateful for that.

For years, she had convinced herself that the coldness, the sharp stares, and the lack of affectionate words were just part of Seonju’s personality.

But she had been wrong.

That night, ten-year-old Hyejun turned around and walked away without a word. She couldn’t face Seonju after hearing those words.

She dumped the soju onto the pavement, wandering the village aimlessly until late at night before returning empty-handed.

As expected, a slap greeted her the moment she walked through the door.

But strangely enough, she felt relieved.

She would rather Seonju scold her, revealing her emotions, than continue to be met with those cold, indifferent eyes disguised as mere detachment.

* * *

Hyejun shifted from lying on her side to lying flat on her back. The yellowed ceiling wallpaper filled her vision.

Seonju had taken her in and lived with her, but she had never truly raised her. To outsiders, they might have appeared as mother and daughter, but not once had Seonju ever opened her heart to Hyejun.

So she had lived believing that Seonju had no affection for her whatsoever. She had resented her, hated her, throughout their time together. But what did these falling tears mean now? Was it that even resentment could turn into attachment?

Leaving the tears to stream unchecked, Hyejun closed her eyes. She just wanted to rest. If possible, she wanted to sink into a deep, endless sleep like Seonju.

It was about a week later when it happened.

Hyejun received a call from one of the archers who used to frequent the archery range.

— “I heard about Kang Gungjang’s daughter. Yeah… It must be tough for you too, huh?”

About sixteen years ago, Jungun’s late grandfather, Kang Hansu, had been a renowned gungjang¹, a master bow maker. Among those who occasionally visited the archery range, many would praise him, saying no one in the area could craft bows as well as he did. The caller was one of those admirers.

— “But how long are you going to sit around like this? The archery range needs to open again.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m not in a position to do that right now.”

She vaguely explained that there was no head instructor to run the range, so she had to be cautious, then ended the call.

There was no way she would reopen the range. She had once thought it was her hope, but in the end, it had only pushed her further into despair. This place had made her painfully realize that no matter how much she strived and longed for it, she could never grasp even the faintest trace of affection. Reopening the archery range would mean reliving all those years of disappointment and resignation.

Yet, she had no alternative path in mind either. Her life had been too barren for even the smallest wishes, let alone dreams.

And so, one day passed, then another, then three, as she let time slip away meaninglessly.

On one of those days, Hyejun sat on a sunken couch in the far-right corner of the shooting platform, staring at the empty targets in the distance. It was the same spot where Seonju used to sit, often smoking as she gazed at the targets.

She pulled out a cigarette from the pack left on the side table next to the couch. She had no intention of lighting it—she was just curious. Sitting here, staring at the targets and smoking… what had Seonju felt in those moments? The weary expression she wore—was it grief for the son she had lost?

Rustle. Rustle.

The soft crunch of footsteps on grass broke through her thoughts. The cigarette in her mouth dropped to the ground.

— “Hyejun.”

The voice belonged to Gwangho, the son of the owner of Sunflower Restaurant at the entrance of town. A confirmed bachelor in his forties, Gwangho had always been distant, even at the restaurant. The fact that he had sought her out like this was unsettling in itself.

The restaurant was where Hyejun had worked every evening since graduating high school. Living off the archery range’s earnings alone had not been feasible, especially with the lingering debts from its reconstruction years ago, so she had taken the job to help cover the payments.

Come to think of it… I still have unpaid loans, don’t I?

She had been so overwhelmed that she hadn’t even considered that yet. Her shoulders slumped under the weight of another burden.

— “Are you… okay?”

Hesitantly, Gwangho approached, wiping his palms against his pants. A sour stench of makgeolli lingered on his breath. Hyejun wrinkled her brow and stood up from the couch.