Chapter 53: Open Your Heart

“Oh, by the way, I brought some jujube tea.

You seemed a bit low on energy lately, so I made some for you.”

After the meal, around the time Grandma Sunbok finished clearing the dishes, I took out a thermos and two mugs I had brought and poured the contents.

“Ehh, it’s too sweet.”

Despite her one-word complaint, the grandmother sipped continuously from the cup as if it wasn’t even hot.

I’m glad she’s enjoying it.

Truly.

“Grandma, do you remember when we first met?

You scolded me and threw me out.

You didn’t even accept the rice I brought you.”

Although she still has a prickly personality, the day I first visited Grandma Sunbok as a community support center employee, she was incredibly sharp-edged.

“When I was young, my paternal grandmother was just like that.

So from the first time I met you, you felt like my grandmother, and for some reason, I was happy.

It was also kind of funny.”

The story about my grandmother is, of course, a lie.

My grandparents passed away before I was born.

But, it’s a truth I’ve told Grandma Sunbok time and time again.

So much so that we’ve had long conversations about the memory of an old candy box, one just like the one Grandma Sunbok owns.

For a story made up on the spot, it was quite good.

“Yes, that’s right.”

The grandmother listened to the story quietly.

“But you didn’t mind me keep visiting, did you?”

She whipped her head away.

A reaction typical of someone stubborn and prickly, but who hides a shy nature deep down.

What kind of expression am I making?

Resting my chin on my hands and touching the corners of my mouth, it seems I’m wearing a rather natural smile.

This is pretty good.

“It was a month after that before you finally let me into your house.

The bowl of gukbap you served me then was so delicious.

It’s been the exact same taste ever since, so I’ve enjoyed it every time I came.”

The grandmother’s cup, from which she had been constantly sipping the jujube tea, was almost empty.

I offered her more, poured it, and continued speaking.

“Do you remember the story you told me about the old gukbap restaurant?”

“Yes.

It was a place my grandmother’s family had run since her time.

There were so many people back then, it was nice…”

An old story told with clouded eyes, lost in reminiscence and regret.

It’s a pleasant story to hear, no matter how many times.

Because now, I’m the only one left who knows this old tale.

“…It was exactly on the seventieth anniversary.

The day the monsters invaded.

Aigoo, now they’re all gone, and all that’s left is this aching body, aish.”

“But you have me, Grandma.”

“Yes, you’re the only one I know now, Yujin.

It’s lonely, but having a young lady like you visit makes life worth living.

It really does.”

The grandmother laughed heartily, her wrinkled, slightly reddened eyes crinkling.

Within that, I felt I had confirmed my own magnitude, so I smiled too.

Happily.

A completed masterpiece.

Although a slight impurity, the relationship with Lee Seoa, had seeped in, to the grandmother I was still her only window, her only outside world, her only connection, the person who stood in for her granddaughter.

And since we are spending such a dense period of time together right now, a slight impurity is fine.

The stories continued.

Her original name, which now only I know.

The circumstances under which she came to be called Sunbok.

Memories of her deceased family.

Memories of the days I visited.

I reconfirmed the memories we had recounted countless times, bringing them to the surface again.

Almost all the memories, but excluding the stories related to Lee Seoa.

“You know, what do you think of me?”

And then, I asked the final question.

“I’m worried, was I a good granddaughter to you?”

“…Where else would I find a granddaughter like you?

My child and grandchild all went before me.”

“You seem tired, let me help you up.”

The grandmother, who stood up from her seat, seemed to have grown melancholic, her eyes were red, and she swayed.

And, with that final answer, I was glad to have it confirmed.

“You’re going to go sleep, right?

Sleep well.

I’ll clean everything up.”

I supported her staggering steps and laid Grandma Sunbok down in the bedroom.

Her small frame moves in time with her even breathing.

“Good.”

With this, Grandma Sunbok truly becomes my 12th completed masterpiece.

I placed my bag on the dining table and rummaged inside to find what I needed.

Tape, rope, scissors, nippers—I laid out such small tools on the table.

Next to them, the jujube tea in my own mug hadn’t diminished by a single drop.

I didn’t think a sleeping pill dissolved in hot, sweet tea would be this effective.

A small dose of sleeping pills added on top of sufficient trust and mental fatigue.

It’s always an effective combination.

It feels ironic that a person who prided herself on being healthy, who rarely took medicine, could fall asleep so easily.

Well, it’s better for both of us that she falls asleep quietly rather than being noisily put down with a hammer.

It won’t be an overdose.

I’ve read several articles about drug dosages during my many trips to the abandoned hospital, so she’ll wake up after an appropriate amount of time.

Shall I get started then?

First, I should probably start by tying her to the bed so she can’t move an inch.

I have long pondered what it means to completely own a person’s life.

To approach a person left all alone, a hollow person who is merely existing,

give them food, give them necessities,

use time, have conversations,

give them warmth, give them affection,

and when they finally open their heart, Ahn Yujin becomes a precious part of that person’s life.

As the relationship develops, Ahn Yujin’s importance grows ever larger,

and Ahn Yujin becomes their acquaintance, family, friend, benefactor—their everything—and that life can no longer exist without Ahn Yujin.

It is a noble way of love, filling another’s life with one’s own existence.

But that alone is not enough.

Because you can’t say you truly own it.

Since that life began in a place unrelated to me, I must be the one to take its end.

In other words, death.

It’s sad if my masterpiece dies where I can’t see, from illness or a monster attack.

So very sad.

Because I cannot be with them in the moment of their death.

Because they cannot spend their final moments with me, and only me.

This was a point I felt acutely when I completed my first two masterpieces.

I’ve finished tying up the grandmother.

I’m glad she’s sleeping soundly.

Even if she were to suddenly wake up, she wouldn’t be able to move at all.

I’ve restrained her limbs, torso, and neck, everywhere.

Right after, I brought a toolbox and a waterproof sheet from the car.

Useful tools like a hammer and a hacksaw.

Thanks to consistent maintenance, they are in very clean condition.

Usually, I prefer to spend the last moments together and then kill them in their sleep.

That way is better for both of us, and cleaner.

I especially like that I don’t have to wonder how many times my face appeared in the flashing memories of their life.

However, this time, I plan to complete this piece a little more roughly, with a bit of personal anger mixed in.

In any case, the painful process of death is also something I am giving, and as long as whatever emotion the other person feels is filled with Ahn Yujin, that is enough.

Whether it’s love, hatred, betrayal, or anything else.

To fall asleep forever, holding onto the last precious memory with a loved one, knowing nothing,

or to be brutally betrayed by the most precious person at the final moment, dying with resentment, hatred, and curses for that once-cherished person,

both are beautiful ways of completion.

When I touched my lips with my left hand, the one not holding the hammer, I found I was already wearing a wide, torn smile.

It feels natural.

Good.

***

By the time I finished wiping the last bloodstain and cleaning up, the time was perched on the border between late evening and night.

Fortunately, her body was small and thin, so the dismemberment was easy.

How my heart pounded when the talk of the mysterious dismemberment murder case came up among the centre staff.

I haven’t confirmed it, but it must have been my 3rd or 4th masterpiece.

There was also talk that the remains were at least half a year old.

Back then, my methods were less refined than they are now, so it wouldn’t be strange if someone had found them.

Though I doubt any trace of me was left behind.

It was a small mercy that with the collapse of public order and forensic science along with it, I wouldn’t get into trouble.

“And that’s that!”

I buried the large, multi-layered plastic bags separately among the debris deep in a nearby ruin.

The completion of the 12th masterpiece, with a clean disposal.

In reality, more of my charges have died, including those who passed from illness or monsters without my involvement, or those I had to kill before completion due to various problems, but anyway.

Listening to the center staff, the number of deaths isn’t excessive enough to make anyone feel suspicious.

Even without my intervention, it’s an era with many criminals and monsters.

Now, all I have to do is visit again in a few days and report her disappearance to the department head.

Then, as he usually does, he will surely embezzle the support goods or money designated for Grandma Sunbok without notifying the police.

How ironic.

After finishing all the cleanup, I drive through the dark, ruined streets, and as I get closer to home, my heart beats wildly.

Lee Seoa.

My 13th masterpiece, the greatest work of art, my most beloved person.

Thirteen.

A symbolic number.

“I like it.”

There are some minor issues, but I like almost everything about the current situation.

I entered the house humming and turned on the light.

The tools I used were simply washed and stored in the shelter, so I can organize them later.

Let’s worry about such trivial things later.

I look forward to Seoa’s return.

She, who goes out alone almost every day, or at least every other day, and returns late at night.

She always comes back smelling of cigarettes, or the faint scent of blood.

Today will be the same.

I should greet her with a passionate kiss.

Maybe today I’ll tell her.

About her identity.

I wasn’t certain until she actually used magic in front of me, but now I am absolutely sure.

Her identity.

The name of the fallen magical girl that shook the world.

The name of the criminal who murdered dozens of magical girls.

But that name only has meaning if it comes from her own lips.

Well, now that one element of uncertainty is gone, I can wait as long as it takes.

It’s not like I have a sure-fire way to kill her immediately upon her completion, and I’ve decided to slowly enjoy this romantic relationship.

Perhaps, if it’s Seoa, she might surprisingly die willingly if I ask her to.

Though I have no intention of taking that gamble.

It would be good to talk with her tonight when she returns.

A normal conversation, sprinkled with words of love.

With jujube tea that has no sleeping pills, perfectly ordinary and sweet with enough sugar, and some snacks.

It will surely be enjoyable.

And Seoa will feel happy.

And so, Lee Seoa did not return, even after midnight.

Not at 1 AM, nor at 2 AM.

Why?

There’s no way she would have left me on her own.

Just this morning, there was nothing different about her at all.

There was no way my murders would be revealed to her, nothing I did would tarnish my image.

Therefore, there is no reason for her to harbor even the slightest aversion to me, let alone hostility.

On the contrary, if she were to think even slightly ill of me, even subconsciously, she herself would suffer.

Then, it must be due to some external cause…

BANG!

I was startled awake by a loud bang on the front door.

My shoulders shivered in the cold air that had settled.

What time is it?

I must have dozed off.

And then I hear it, a soft knocking on the door.

Could Seoa have returned late?

Why didn’t she just open the door?

A feeling of my heart dropping into my stomach.

I feel a chill as the dawn air tightens around my windpipe.

I pulled out the revolver and loaded it with bullets.

My fingers, slick with cold sweat, fumbled with the bullets, but I picked them up one by one.

I slowly approached the front door, pressing myself against it.

Gripping the revolver in one hand, I placed the other on the doorknob and brought my eye to the peephole.

I couldn’t see anything.

It can’t be a prank.

At this hour, on a floor where no one lives but the two of us.

If it were a monster, it would be banging on the door like mad.

Or it would have already broken through.

Could it be below, out of the peephole’s view?

I fastened the security chain and opened the door.

And, through the gap in the open door…