Chapter 141 – Ordeal

Rows of identical red brick houses. Stray dogs scavenging in overflowing bins. Cigarette butts and discarded chewing gum littering the cracked pavement. Rain-soaked flyers plastered on every surface. A rundown diner, a deserted laundromat, a small grocery store selling puffed rice snacks, a tiny church.

The steep, winding road leading up the hill. A chaotic jumble of narrow alleyways, too small for even a firetruck to pass.

My neighborhood.

Our six-story walk-up apartment building.

And next door…the neighbor’s apartment, its door plastered with flyers.

I peeled off the layers of paper and tape, and opened the door.

“Grandma!”

The smell hit me like a physical blow. Fermented soybeans, stale food, mothballs, bleach, dirty diapers, the lingering stench of…something unpleasant…and the faint, cloying sweetness of fabric softener.

I hated this smell.

“Mom!”

“Grandma, it’s not Mom. It’s Noah’s mom.”

“Mom!” The neighbor’s voice, loud and garbled, always scared me.

“Noah, just leave the containers and go home. I need to…clean.” Mom sighed, surveying the mess.

I followed her gaze. Used tissues, dirty clothes, soiled diapers, overflowing trash bags, our empty food containers, a soju bottle filled with sesame oil, a brimming chamber pot, cans of used cooking oil…

And on the wall, a grime-stained family photo, haphazardly taped.

“…I’ll help.”

“No, Noah, go—”

“It’s too much for you alone.”

“I’m used to it.”

“It’s still…work. Let me help.”

I stepped inside, ignoring her protests, the smell intensifying, making my stomach churn. I forced myself to keep a neutral expression as I walked into the kitchen.

Scuttle.

A cockroach, large enough to make an audible noise, darted under the fridge.

“…Ugh.”

Swallowing my fear, I placed the food containers on the cleanest spot I could find, then hurried back to Mom’s side.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes. I’ll organize the fridge later.” She patted my back, then opened the door to the grandma’s room.

I caught a glimpse of the interior and quickly averted my gaze, stifling a gag.

“…Noah…why don’t you…wait outside…?”

“I’m…fine… I’ll wait…”

“…Alright. We’ll go home soon.”

“Okay…”

Mom closed the door. I pulled on the plastic gloves I’d brought and started picking up the trash, my eyes darting around, wary of cockroaches.

Fifteen minutes passed. A burning smell drifted through the air.

At first, I dismissed it. It was a common smell in our neighborhood. But it grew stronger, more acrid.

Mom, inside the grandma’s room, probably couldn’t smell it.

I stopped cleaning, sniffing the air, trying to pinpoint the source.

The gas was off. The stove was cold. The wiring looked fine.

And then I saw it.

Laundry, smoldering on the veranda. Cigarette ashes scattered nearby.

I rushed to the kitchen, filling a basin with water, then ran back to the veranda, dousing the flames.

I checked for other fires, then looked up.

An overflowing ashtray on the floor above. A murky brown water bottle.

So…a cigarette butt. From upstairs.

“…I’ll tell Dad.”

That guy on the sixth floor…always causing trouble with his smoking… He needed to be told off. Seriously. Even if it was inconvenient living on the sixth floor…he had to be more considerate.

I gathered the charred laundry, thinking…

…it was a close call.

***

“That arrogant bastard.”

“What did he say, honey?”

“The usual. He’ll cut back. For a few days. Then it’ll be back to normal.”

“I wish he’d just…quit…” Mom sighed, her breath misting in the cold air.

Dad noticed her thin clothes and put his arm around her, pulling her inside.

“You’re cold. Let’s go inside.”

“Alright. Dinner’s almost ready.”

They stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind them.

Dad sighed.

“If it weren’t for Noah…that could have been bad. That waste oil…”

“Why does Grandma have cans of waste oil on her veranda?” I asked.

“Her husband…used to collect it. I’ll have to talk to them. It’s dangerous.” Mom scribbled a note and stuck it on the neighbor’s door. “Can you help me move them later, honey?”

“Of course.” Dad smiled, pulling Mom and me into a hug.

The small box in his pocket dug into my side.

The rings.

***

After dinner, after my bath, I went to my room, turning on the computer.

I logged into Black Sun.

Not the Greatsword character. A different one.

I started the raid.

***

I finished just before the stamina reset, then shut down the computer, collapsing onto my bed.

***

A special morning.

I woke up.

Waved goodbye to Dad.

Waved goodbye to Mom.

Turned on the computer.

Logged into Black Sun.

***

Anniversary.

Our usual all-you-can-eat barbecue place.

Food.

Photos.

Laughter.

Happiness.

Home.

***

Black Sun.

A silver ring with a blue gem on my finger.

***

A clear, sunny day.

Dad left for work.

Mom rushed out.

Computer.

Black Sun.

The ring felt heavy on my finger.

***

Another clear, sunny day.

Dad left for work.

Mom rushed out.

Computer.

Black Sun.

The ring felt heavy on my finger.

***

A seemingly or■inary day.

Dad left fo■ work.

Mom rushe■ out.

Computer.

Black Sun.

The ring felt heavy on my finger.

***

■■■■■.

■■ left for ■■■■.

■■ rushed out.

■■■■■■■.

Bl■■k Sun.

■■■ silver r■■■ felt ■■■■■ on ■■ finger.

***

[■■■ ■■ ■■ ■.]

[■■■ ■■■■ ■■■■.]

[■■■ ■■■ ■■■■ ■■■■.]

[■■■■ ■■.]

[■■ ■■■ ■■■■.]

[■■■ ■■■■ ■■■■ ■■■ ■■■■.]

***

Today… I die.

White urn. Cleaned.

Faded photos. Polished.

A tie. Around my neck.

Hanging from the light fixture.

Tightening.

***

The silver ring. Heavy on my finger.

The tie. Choking me.

***

The name of the ring surfaced.

***

RuBia.

***

Noah. You are not a character in a game.

***

“Hey! Wake up— Oh. You’re already up?”

He walked in, his face…familiar.

Not my biological father, but…more of a father than anyone had ever been.

Always strong. Always there. Always…believing in me.

My dad.

“Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s get going. Before your mom gets back.”

“…Okay.”

“…You’re being unusually obedient.”

“It’s your anniversary. Twenty years.”

“Doesn’t mean you get extra allowance.” His words were gruff, but his smile…warm and comforting.

“I know. Heh.”

“Let’s go. Made doenjang jjigae. Extra brisket. Gotta eat it before your mom gets back.”

“Okay!”

He held out his hand. Large. Calloused. Scarred. Not exactly…handsome.

But the hand of a hero.

I took his hand, and we walked into the living room.

And so began…

The happiest.

The saddest.

And the most unforgettable…

…day of my life.