The thing about Gate residue near water was that it spread.
Not immediately. Not dramatically. It didn't announce itself the way a Frost Giant announced himself or the way a Demon King announced himself or the way Jang Min-Seo announced himself by existing at maximum dramatic intensity at all times in a way that made rooms feel smaller and lighting feel more cinematic.
Gate residue near water just quietly, patiently, persistently spread.
Like a rumor. Like damp. Like the specific kind of problem that seems manageable until the morning you wake up and realize it hasn't been manageable for quite some time and now you have a situation on your hands and the situation has had three weeks to develop opinions.
Han-Ho had filed a report about the Mapo river residue three weeks ago.
Nobody had responded.
He was not surprised.
Monday morning. Six forty five AM.
Han-Ho stood on the bank of the Han River in Mapo-gu looking at the water with the focused professional expression of a man assessing a job he already knows he is not going to enjoy but is going to do anyway because that is the job.
The residue was worse than two weeks ago.
Not catastrophically worse. Not end-of-civilization worse. But worse in the specific way things get worse when you file a report and nobody responds and you spend two weeks watching the problem grow and thinking about filing another report and deciding it would be faster to just handle it yourself which was always the conclusion and had always been the conclusion and would probably always be the conclusion.
Moru was on his left shoulder.
Kjor was on his right shoulder eating honey butter chips at six forty five AM because Kjor had discovered that honey butter chips had no time restriction and was exercising this discovery freely.
Min-Seo was standing next to Han-Ho in full Hunter gear looking like someone who had woken up in a basement apartment in Mapo-gu for the fourth consecutive morning and had stopped questioning why.
They looked at the river together in the early morning quiet.
The water was doing something water should not do.
"How bad," said Min-Seo.
"Manageable," said Han-Ho.
"You always say manageable."
"It's always manageable."
"Han-Ho the water is moving in the wrong direction."
"I see that."
"Water moving in the wrong direction is not manageable. Water moving in the wrong direction is a Red Gate response situation."
"It's a mana eddy. The residue has been spreading for three weeks and created a localized flow distortion. Standard Class B progression." Han-Ho set his bag down. "Manageable."
"Class B," said Min-Seo. "You said Class B."
"Yes."
"The Registry manual defines Class B spreading contamination with localized flow distortion as requiring immediate specialist intervention with full containment protocols and a minimum four Hunter response team."
"I'm a specialist."
"You're one person."
"I'm a very thorough person."
Min-Seo stared at the river.
The river continued moving in the wrong direction with the patient confidence of water that has been doing something for three weeks and sees no reason to stop.
"I filed a report," said Han-Ho, taking off his shoes and lining them up on the bank with the practiced precision of a man who cares about where his shoes are. "Three weeks ago. Class B. Mandatory seventy two hour response window."
"I know—"
"It has been twenty one days."
"The monitoring division is understaffed—"
"The seventy two hour window exists because Class B becomes Class A if left unaddressed for more than two weeks." Han-Ho rolled up his work trousers to the knee. "It has been three weeks."
"Is it Class A now."
Han-Ho looked at the water.
"It's on the boundary," he said.
"What does that mean."
"It means I should have come sooner but I was dealing with giant-related things."
Kjor made a small sound.
"It's fine," said Han-Ho. "It's manageable."
He stepped into the river.
The water was cold in the specific way that early autumn Han River water is cold which is the kind of cold that makes you immediately regret every decision that led to you being in it. Han-Ho's expression did not change. He had been wading into things that were cold and unpleasant for ten years and had developed a professional relationship with physical discomfort that could best be described as mutual tolerance.
He pressed his hand against the surface of the water.
His skill activated.
Warm golden glow. Stain Removal. The most powerful skill in nine dimensions that its owner genuinely believed was a cleaning utility.
He started working.
Moru and Kjor transferred to Min-Seo's shoulders because water was water and their position was non-negotiable but they were also not going in the river.
Min-Seo stood on the bank.
One shoulder: purified Demon King, ten thousand years of darkness, currently watching Han-Ho work with the expression of profound devoted pride.
Other shoulder: miniaturized Frost Giant, nine thousand years of glacial conquest, currently eating honey butter chips and also watching Han-Ho work.
Min-Seo looked at the river.
Looked at Han-Ho methodically working his way along the contaminated bank.
Looked at his phone which had seventeen unread messages from the other six S-Rank Hunters asking about the alert from Friday evening and which he had been ignoring since Friday evening because he genuinely did not know how to respond to them in a way that would be believed.
He put his phone away.
"He does this every day," said Min-Seo. Not a question.
"The cleaning yes," said Moru. "Different sites. Different residue. Different levels of severity. Every day for ten years."
"Alone."
"He has always been alone. Until Thursday."
Min-Seo watched Han-Ho crouch down to address a particularly dense pocket of residue near a submerged rock. The golden glow brightened slightly. The residue dissolved. Han-Ho moved on with the methodical patience of someone who has a large job and is not going to rush it because rushing causes mistakes and mistakes mean coming back.
"Does he ever complain," said Min-Seo.
Moru thought about this seriously.
"About the work? No. About the Registry not responding to reports? Yes. Specifically and consistently. He has a list." A pause. "He has an actual written list. In the notebook. Of reports filed and response times. Or lack of response times."
"Of course he does," said Min-Seo.
"He filed forty three reports in the last year," said Kjor, helpfully. "He mentioned it on Saturday. Seventeen received responses. Twenty six did not. He has follow up dates written in red."
Min-Seo stared at Kjor.
"How do you know that."
"I read the notebook," said Kjor.
"When."
"Sunday morning. While he was sleeping. I was curious."
"You read his notebook."
"I cannot sleep. I have limited entertainment options." Kjor ate a chip. "He also has a schedule for the next three months. Very detailed. Color coded by district."
Min-Seo looked at Han-Ho in the river.
At the man with the color coded three month cleaning schedule and the forty three filed reports and the one green onion and the four minute loading laptop and the notebook with follow up dates in red.
"Moru," said Min-Seo.
"Yes."
"When you were the Demon King. Ten thousand years. Nine dimensions. Seventeen unmade civilizations."
"Yes."
"Did you ever think you would end up on the shoulder of someone like him."
Moru was quiet for a moment.
"No," said Moru. "I thought I would end up consuming the last light of a dying universe while the stars went out around me one by one."
"That's very dramatic."
"I am a former Demon King. I contain multitudes." A pause. "But no. I did not anticipate Han-Ho." Another pause, softer. "I think nothing could have anticipated Han-Ho."
They watched him work.
The river was getting cleaner.
At seven twenty two AM a duck arrived.
It landed on the water near the bank. Looked around. Spotted Han-Ho.
Immediately moved three meters to the left without being asked.
Han-Ho looked at the duck.
The duck looked at Han-Ho with the resigned cooperative expression of something that has encountered this specific human before and has updated its behavior accordingly.
Han-Ho nodded.
The duck nodded, insofar as ducks nod, which is mostly a beak movement but communicates the general sentiment.
Han-Ho cleaned the section where the duck had been.
Min-Seo watched this.
"Did the duck," said Min-Seo.
"Yes," said Moru.
"Did the duck just move out of the way without being asked."
"Yes."
"Because it recognized him."
"Apparently."
"The duck recognized him and preemptively moved."
"The duck has clearly been here before and learned," said Kjor. "It is a sensible duck."
Min-Seo looked at the duck.
The duck looked at Min-Seo with the expression of a duck that has made its peace with the situation and would appreciate it if everyone else did too.
"I have forty million views," said Min-Seo, to the duck.
The duck was not impressed.
Min-Seo looked at the sky.
The sky offered nothing.
At nine seventeen AM Han-Ho was two thirds along the contaminated bank and his hand stopped.
Not finished. Not satisfied.
Stopped.
Because there was something underneath the residue that was not residue.
Something that had been using the residue as cover. As camouflage. As a three week long carefully constructed hiding spot that had worked perfectly until approximately four seconds ago when the cover started coming off and the thing underneath it realized it was being found and that being found was not part of the plan.
Han-Ho looked at the water.
The water looked back.
Not the way water normally looks back. The way water looks back when something underneath it is doing the looking and has decided that looking is no longer sufficient and action is required.
"Master," said Moru very quietly, from Min-Seo's shoulder.
"I see it," said Han-Ho.
Min-Seo's Hunter senses activated. He scanned the water. Found nothing. No mana signature. No threat classification. Just water and residue and Han-Ho standing in it looking at a specific spot with an expression of mild professional inconvenience.
"I'm not getting anything," said Min-Seo.
"It's been masking under the residue," said Han-Ho. "Using the contamination as cover. Zero detectable signature because the residue signature was drowning it out."
"What is it."
"Something that's been here three weeks." Han-Ho looked at the spot. "Growing with the contamination. Using it."
"What kind of something."
Han-Ho opened his mouth to answer.
The water exploded.
Internal Monologue Of A Mana Contamination EntityApproximately Six Seconds Before Everything Went WrongAnd Four Seconds After Everything Had Already Started Going Wrong
I have been here for three weeks.
I arrived as a small thing. Barely a presence. A whisper of condensed mana in river water that nobody was monitoring because the report about it sat in an inbox for twenty one days with no response.
I want to be clear that the lack of response was beneficial to me personally.
I grew carefully. Patiently. The residue was excellent cover. I fed on the ambient mana of the river and expanded and developed and grew and I was going to be magnificent.
I had plans.
Good plans.
The river was going to be mine.
There is a man in the river.
He has been cleaning toward me for two and a half hours.
I revealed myself because the cover was being removed section by section with the methodical patience of something that does not stop and I decided that offense was preferable to retreat because I am twelve feet of condensed mana contamination and I have been growing for three weeks and nothing in this river should be able to threaten me.
There is a large one on the bank.
Shadow energy. Significant power. S-Rank adjacent. I have felt S-Rank energy through the water before. I understand S-Rank energy. S-Rank energy is something I have a category for.
The man in the river has no energy.
No aura.
No mana signature above the ambient background of the river itself.
He is standing in water to his knees in work trousers that are rolled up and he is looking at me.
I am twelve feet tall.
I have been growing for three weeks.
I have eaten four ambient mana clusters and one small water sprite that wandered too close and I have developed opinions about this river and my place in it.
He looks annoyed.
Not afraid.
Not impressed.
Not activated.
Annoyed.
In the specific way someone looks annoyed when they have found a problem that is going to make their morning longer than planned.
I am not a problem.
I am twelve feet of condensed mana contamination with three weeks of careful growth and territorial opinions.
I am—
He is still just looking at me.
Why are my edges pulling back.
I am not pulling back. I made the decision to reveal myself. I am on offense. I am—
Why are my edges pulling back.
There is nothing detectably threatening about this human.
His mana is the ambient background of the river.
He has work trousers rolled up to the knee.
There are two small creatures on the shoulders of the large shadow one on the bank. One is eating something from a bag. The other is watching me with red eyes that contain something I cannot classify but which my three week old instincts are telling me to classify urgently as extremely relevant information.
The man in the river takes a breath.
He looks at me the way someone looks at a very large stain they have found in an inconvenient location.
Not with fear.
Not with awe.
With the particular mild exasperation of a professional who has found something that is going to take longer than he wanted it to take on a Monday morning when he has a two PM meeting at the Hunter Registry.
I am twelve feet tall.
WHY AM I RETREATING.
I AM NOT RETREATING I AM—
He just said something.
He said: "You've been here three weeks."
He said it the way someone says it to a stain.
I have been here three weeks.
I am not a stain.
I am—
The edges.
THE EDGES—
"You've been here three weeks," said Han-Ho.
The entity looked at him.
Twelve feet of condensed mana contamination. No specific shape. Just density. Just the specific wrongness of something that has had three weeks to grow and has grown considerably and has developed opinions about its territory in the process.
"The report I filed three weeks ago," said Han-Ho, conversationally, addressing the twelve foot entity the way he addressed most things — directly, patiently, with the expectation of eventual compliance. "If someone had responded within the seventy two hour window I would have been here three weeks ago and you would not have had time to develop into." He gestured at its full twelve foot extent. "This."
The entity conveyed the impression of something that had not anticipated being addressed as the direct consequence of bureaucratic failure.
"This is not your fault," said Han-Ho. "The report should have been responded to. Class B contamination. Seventy two hours. It's very clear in the manual."
From the bank Min-Seo turned to Moru.
"Is he," said Min-Seo.
"Yes," said Moru.
"Is he explaining the Registry's reporting failures to a twelve foot mana entity."
"He believes in accountability," said Kjor, eating a chip. "For institutions."
"It has been here three weeks," said Han-Ho, to the entity, "growing because nobody came. That's not a personal failing. That's a systemic one. I want you to know I have filed a formal complaint about the response time."
The entity conveyed the impression of something that was extremely confused about how to feel about this.
"That said," said Han-Ho, "you are still a mana contamination entity in a public waterway and you've been disrupting the river flow and that needs to be addressed."
He pressed his hand flat against the surface of the water between himself and the entity.
The glow started.
Warm. Golden. Stain Removal. The most powerful skill in nine dimensions operated by a man who was primarily concerned about getting this done before noon so he had time to change before his two PM meeting.
The entity looked at the glow.
Twelve feet of carefully accumulated three week old existence looked at the soft warm golden glow of a man in work trousers and processed what it was seeing.
Every three weeks of growth said one thing simultaneously.
Oh no.
"Almost done," said Han-Ho.
"I HAVE DEVELOPED OPINIONS—"
"I understand."
"ABOUT THIS RIVER—"
"I know."
"I HAD PLANS—"
"There's a stubborn bit near the center."
"THAT IS MY—"
"Hold still."
"I HAVE BEEN HERE THREE—"
"I know. Hold still."
At ten forty nine AM Han-Ho stepped out of the river.
The bank was clean. The water was clean. The residue was gone. The mana eddy had resolved. The river was moving in the correct direction with the relieved energy of water that has been doing the wrong thing for three weeks and is glad to stop.
The duck was back. Sitting on correctly flowing water. Looking considerably more comfortable.
Han-Ho put his shoes on. Looked at his work trousers which were wet to the knee.
Looked at the section of water where the entity had been.
Something small was there.
Floating on the surface.
Very small. Maybe the size of a large marble. A concentrated point of condensed mana that had been the core of the entity — the part that had been there from the beginning, before the three weeks of growth, before the territorial opinions and the river plans.
It was looking at Han-Ho.
With the specific expression that Han-Ho was beginning to recognize.
Wide. Bewildered. Clean.
The expression of something that has just had everything it accumulated removed and found something unexpected underneath.
Han-Ho looked at it.
Looked at Moru on Min-Seo's shoulder.
Looked at Kjor on Min-Seo's other shoulder.
Looked back at the small floating core.
"No," said Han-Ho.
"Master—" said Moru.
"No."
"It has nowhere—"
"It's a contamination entity Moru."
"Former contamination entity. You cleaned it."
"The apartment is a studio."
"I know—"
"There are already three of you. Four if you count Min-Seo."
"I am not temporary," said Min-Seo, with considerable offense, which was the moment he realized that at some point in the last four days he had stopped being temporary and was not entirely sure when that had happened or what it meant about his life choices.
"You're sleeping on my couch," said Han-Ho.
"That doesn't mean—"
"You have been sleeping on my couch for four days."
"That's—" Min-Seo stopped. Considered. "That's fair actually."
"The point," said Han-Ho, looking back at the small floating core, "is that the apartment cannot accommodate another—"
The small core looked at him.
Just looked at him.
With enormous bewildered eyes for something the size of a large marble.
It had the specific expression of something that had spent three weeks growing carefully and planning extensively and had just had all of that removed in forty five minutes and was now floating on a river it no longer had claims to with nowhere to go and nothing to be.
Han-Ho looked at it for a long moment.
Looked at the sky.
The sky was very blue for a Monday morning in autumn.
It offered no guidance.
"It's very small," said Kjor helpfully. "It would not take much space."
"The space is not the primary concern Kjor."
"What is the primary concern."
"I have three eggs."
Kjor looked at the small core.
Looked at Han-Ho.
"It probably does not eat eggs," said Kjor.
"You didn't eat eggs either. Now you eat honey butter chips. Things escalate."
"That is a fair point," Kjor conceded.
The small core continued looking at Han-Ho with the patient expression of something that has nowhere else to look.
Han-Ho rubbed his face with both hands.
This was becoming a pattern.
He was aware it was becoming a pattern.
He did not know how to stop it from being a pattern because every time the pattern repeated there was something small and clean and bewildered with nowhere to go and he was constitutionally incapable of leaving a clean thing in a mess.
That was the problem.
That had always been the problem.
"What's your name," said Han-Ho, to the small core.
The small core thought about this.
It had been a contamination entity for three weeks. Before that it had been a small ambient mana cluster in river water. Before that it had been part of the Gate residue that had started the whole situation.
It had not had a name.
"I don't have one," it said, in a very small voice that was mostly just a vibration in the air near the water's surface.
"We'll figure something out," said Han-Ho, in the tone of a man who has said this before and knows exactly where it leads and is saying it anyway because the alternative is leaving something clean and lost in a river and that is not something he is capable of doing.
He held out his hand.
The small core floated up from the water and settled in his palm.
It was warm. Slightly luminescent. The concentrated remainder of three weeks of growth, cleaned down to its essential self, which turned out to be something approximately the size and weight of a large marble and completely harmless.
Han-Ho looked at it.
It looked back.
"You're not going on my shoulder," said Han-Ho. "It's crowded up there."
"I can go in the bag," said the small core, helpfully.
Han-Ho looked at his work bag.
"There's cleaning solution in there."
"I don't mind."
Han-Ho looked at the small core for another moment.
Then he opened the front pocket of his work bag which contained his notebook and two pens and the formal response form Ms. Yoon had given him that morning and carefully placed the small core inside where it settled between the notebook and the pens and looked up at him through the mesh with its large eyes and appeared to be entirely content with this arrangement.
Han-Ho zipped the pocket partially closed.
Picked up the bag.
Looked at Min-Seo.
Min-Seo was looking at the bag.
Looking at Han-Ho.
Looking at the bag.
"Han-Ho," said Min-Seo.
"What."
"Did you just put a contamination entity in your notebook pocket."
"Former contamination entity."
"In your NOTEBOOK POCKET."
"It said it didn't mind."
"It's a mana entity Han-Ho it would say anything—"
"It's clean now. It's fine."
"It JUST tried to—"
"It didn't try to do anything. It grew because nobody filed a response. Institutional failure." Han-Ho started walking toward the path. "I filed a complaint."
Min-Seo stood on the riverbank in Mapo-gu on a Monday morning.
Moru floated back to Han-Ho's left shoulder.
Kjor floated back to Han-Ho's right shoulder.
Min-Seo watched Han-Ho walk up the bank toward the path with a purified Demon King on one shoulder and a miniaturized Frost Giant on the other and a former contamination entity in his notebook pocket.
He had Re-Awakened twice.
He had destroyed a mountain.
He had forty million views.
He was standing on a riverbank at ten forty nine AM on a Monday with wet shoes from where he had been standing too close to the water and his next four hours consisted of following an F-Rank Mana-Janitor around Mapo-gu until a two PM meeting at the Hunter Registry.
He had a very nice apartment in Seocho.
He had not been to it since Thursday.
The duck looked at him.
"Don't," said Min-Seo.
The duck looked away.
Min-Seo followed Han-Ho up the bank.
Three blocks away Han-Ho stopped at the GS25.
The Monday morning clerk — different from the Sunday clerk, different from the Friday clerk, part of a rotating cast of GS25 employees who were all independently developing coping mechanisms for the regular customer in the janitor uniform and his increasingly varied companions — looked up when the door opened.
Looked at Han-Ho.
Looked at Moru.
Looked at Kjor.
Looked at the bag, from the front pocket of which two small eyes were visible through the mesh.
Looked back at his register.
"The usual?" he said.
Han-Ho stopped.
Looked at the clerk.
"I've been in twice," said Han-Ho.
"You come in every Monday," said the clerk. "Tuna mayo triangle kimbap. Honey butter chips. Whatever the small ones want to try that week." He looked at Kjor. "Last Monday it was the shrimp crackers."
"That was only four days ago," said Han-Ho.
"You come in a lot," said the clerk.
Han-Ho looked at him.
Looked at the store.
Thought about the fact that the GS25 clerk knew his order and his companions and apparently tracked what they were trying each week and felt the specific complicated feeling of a man who has lived alone for four years and has accidentally developed a community through a convenience store.
"Tuna mayo," said Han-Ho. "Two. And whatever they want."
Kjor went to the chip aisle with the focused purpose of something that has been thinking about this since they left the river.
Moru followed to advise.
The small core watched from the bag pocket with enormous interested eyes.
Min-Seo stood by the door.
The clerk looked at Min-Seo.
"You've been in every day since Friday," said the clerk.
"I know," said Min-Seo.
"You always look like you're processing something."
"I am always processing something."
"Is it the small ones."
Min-Seo looked at Moru and Kjor in the chip aisle engaged in what appeared to be a serious comparative analysis of available flavors.
"It's everything," said Min-Seo.
The clerk nodded with the understanding of someone who has also been processing everything since last Thursday and has found that the processing never quite finishes.
"The one in the bag is new," said the clerk.
"Yes."
"What is it."
"Former contamination entity."
The clerk looked at the bag pocket.
The small core looked back.
"Okay," said the clerk, and went back to the register because it was Monday morning and he had a shift to finish and some things you just accept.
They sat outside on the plastic stools.
Han-Ho ate his kimbap. Moru and Kjor ate their respective chips. Min-Seo ate his kimbap with the mechanical focus of a man fueling a body he is not currently fully inhabiting mentally.
The small core sat on the table between them looking at everything with the wide careful eyes of something experiencing the world for the first time at a scale it can actually see properly.
It looked at the chip bag.
Looked at Kjor eating a chip.
Looked at the chip bag again.
"Can I," it said, very quietly.
Kjor looked at it.
Looked at the chip.
Looked at Han-Ho.
"It's very small," said Kjor. "The chip is quite large relative to—"
"Break a piece off," said Han-Ho.
Kjor broke a small piece of honey butter chip and held it out.
The small core took it with both tiny hands.
Ate it.
The large eyes went wide.
"Oh," it said.
"I know," said Kjor.
"Oh these are—"
"I know."
"These are—"
"Honey butter does something to things," said Han-Ho. "Yes."
He finished his kimbap. Folded the wrapper. Put it in the bin.
Looked at his watch.
Eleven thirty two AM. He needed to change before two. He had the rest of the Mapo district to document for his follow up report. He had a notebook pocket that now contained a former contamination entity eating honey butter chip fragments with both tiny hands and appearing entirely at peace with its current situation.
He picked up his bag carefully.
The small core looked up at him from the pocket.
"What's your name going to be," said Kjor, to the small core.
The small core thought about this.
"I was in the river," it said. "For three weeks."
"Yes."
"I grew from river water and ambient mana and Gate residue."
"Yes."
"I don't have a name from before that because there was no before that."
"No."
The small core looked at the river in the distance. The correctly flowing Han River on a clean Monday morning in Mapo-gu.
"Han," it said. "Can I be Han."
Everyone looked at Han-Ho.
Han-Ho looked at the small core.
"That's my name," he said.
"Oh," said the small core. "I didn't know."
A pause.
"I'll think of something else," said the small core, with the dignified flexibility of something that has been in the world for three weeks and is not precious about details.
"River," said Moru.
Everyone looked at Moru.
"Its name can be River," said Moru. "It was in the river. It is from the river. It is now not in the river but it carries the river with it." He paused. "I got my name from the clean part. It can get its name from where it came from."
The small core looked at Moru.
Moru looked back with ancient red eyes that had named itself from a cleaned soul and understood something about finding yourself in what remains after everything else is removed.
"River," said the small core.
It tried the word.
Tried it again.
"River," it said, a third time, with the quiet certainty of something that has found the right fit.
"River," said Han-Ho.
"Yes," said River, from the notebook pocket, with enormous eyes and a small piece of honey butter chip still in both hands.
Han-Ho stood up.
Picked up his bag.
"Don't touch the pens," he said to River.
"I won't," said River.
"The report forms either."
"I won't."
"And don't read the notebook."
From Han-Ho's shoulder Kjor looked away with great innocence.
Han-Ho looked at Kjor.
Kjor ate a chip.
Han-Ho sighed very quietly and started walking toward the Mapo district because he had a route and a follow up report and a two PM meeting and a schedule that was not going to follow itself.
Behind him Min-Seo stood up from the plastic stool.
"Ara," he said, on the phone.
"Yes," said Ara.
"I need you to do something for me."
"What."
"I need you to check if there is a maximum legal occupancy for a studio apartment in Mapo-gu."
A pause.
"Min-Seo why."
"Just check."
"Is this about the janitor."
"Just check Ara."
Another pause.
"It's four," said Ara. "Maximum legal occupancy for a studio under forty square meters is four people."
Min-Seo looked at Han-Ho walking ahead with Moru and Kjor on his shoulders and River in his bag pocket.
Counted.
Han-Ho. Moru. Kjor. River.
Four.
"What about me," said Min-Seo.
"What about you."
"I've been staying there since Thursday."
A very long pause.
"Min-Seo," said Ara. "Are you living with the janitor."
"I'm not living with him I'm—"
"You have been there since Thursday."
"It's temporary."
"You said that on Thursday."
"It's still temporary."
"Min-Seo it's Monday."
Min-Seo looked at the sky.
The sky was still very blue.
It still offered no guidance.
"I'll figure it out," he said.
He hung up.
Followed Han-Ho into the Mapo district.
The duck watched them go from the river.
The river flowed correctly.
The morning was clean.
Some Mondays were just like this.