Chương 9: Just an Iron Rod

Golden Dawn. Kichan searched the name. There were plenty of results. Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, Western occult society, magical order, tarot, ritual, Hermeticism. Every article dragged out old words and tried very hard to sound serious. Kichan was already tired by the third paragraph.

"Even the name makes me want to clock out." He closed the window. The texts kept coming. `The document you came into contact with is not something an individual can manage. ` `Do not contact Raon Bio. They do not understand it. ` `We can offer protection and interpretation. ` Interpretation. He didn't like that word. Kichan didn't want to be interpreted. He didn't want protection, either.

He just wanted these bizarre events to die down, the sprout-shaped mark on his fingertips to disappear, and the basil pot to either live or die on its own. But the world showed no sign of granting him that wish. On his way home from work, he deliberately took the busier route. A convenience store. A snack shop. Vans from cram schools. Students on bicycles. The more ordinary noise there was around him, the safer he felt. With only two blocks left before home, the alley ahead grew a little too quiet.

Kichan slowed down. Footsteps followed behind him. One. Two. No, three. He swore under his breath. If this were a movie, this would be where the protagonist calmly turned around and assessed the situation. In real life, Kichan was trying to decide all at once whether he should duck into a convenience store, run, or start yelling. Then a man appeared in front of him too. Black jumper. Cap. A face so ordinary it was almost impossible to remember. Kichan stopped. The footsteps behind him stopped too.

"Mr. Han Kichan." The man in front spoke. Kichan said nothing.

"Let's talk for a moment."

"I'd rather not."

"This is a favorable offer."

"Why is it that everyone offering me a favorable deal these days wants to do it in an alley?" The man didn't smile. The other two drew closer from behind. Kichan scanned the area. On one side of the alley stood a temporary fence around a building under construction, with pieces of rebar and several long iron rods stacked beside it. On the other side were a low wall and a row of parked cars. There was still a way out. But he'd have to move before they sealed it off.

"We were sent on behalf of Golden Dawn," the man in front said. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Ah. Outsourcing." The answer slipped out before Kichan could stop it. The man's eyes narrowed.

"If you cooperate, you won't be hurt."

"Meaning if I don't cooperate, I will be?"

"You're a quick study." Kichan took a breath. His fingertips burned. He didn't want to put his hands on another person's body. He was careful with medicine. Careful with injuries. He hadn't even laid hands directly on his mother's back. But the people in front of him clearly had no intention of being careful with him. One of the men behind him reached out. Kichan dropped his center of gravity and slipped sideways. He wasn't athletic. It was just that frightened people moved faster than they thought they could.

The man's hand closed on empty air, and Kichan bolted toward the construction fence. A long iron rod caught his eye. He grabbed it. It was heavy. And the moment he touched it, his fingertips read the metal. Cold. Long. The inside isn't uniform. The end is slightly bent. The sensation was rougher and heavier than anything he'd felt from guitar strings or cheap rings. Where to hold it so it wouldn't wobble as much. How to swing it without wrecking his own wrist first.

That shoving sideways was better than bringing it down head-on. That was all. He didn't know more than that. He didn't want to. Too much information came in at once. Kichan clung only to the part that seemed most likely to clear a path without badly hurting anyone.

"Don't come any closer." The men didn't stop. The first one rushed him. Instead of taking a wide swing, Kichan slammed the rod hard into the ground in front of him. Bang. The metallic crash ricocheted through the alley. While the man flinched, Kichan used the tip of the rod to shove through the open space outside his arm, not at the wrist itself. Startled, the man staggered back and banged his shoulder into the wall. The second man tried to grab him from behind.

Kichan turned and drove the middle of the rod into the front of the man's thigh. It wasn't really a strike so much as a redirection of the force he was charging in with. The man lost his footing and dropped to one knee. Kichan looked for the angle he needed to escape. He wasn't trying to win. He just had to get out. The third man pulled something from his pocket. A small stun-gun-looking device. The moment Kichan saw it, something in his head shut cold. Ah. So they really were planning to take me.

Fear turned into anger. Kichan smashed the rod into the ground again. Bang. The sound rang through the alley. The grain inside the metal twisted under his fingertips. The tip of the rod suddenly grew heavier. Kichan didn't aim for the man's body. Instead, he twisted the rod upward and struck beneath the hand holding the stun gun. The device clattered to the ground, and the man recoiled, clutching his hand. Gripping the rod in both hands, Kichan backed toward the open mouth of the alley.

"Move. I'm just leaving." His voice shook. Maybe that made it sound more sincere. The men looked at one another. One of them spoke briefly into something that looked like a radio.

"Contact failed. Subject's resistance capability confirmed." Subject. Kichan hated that word most of all.

"Don't call a person a subject." He didn't step toward them. He retreated farther toward the alley entrance. The men widened the distance by the same amount. Then someone shouted from the alley mouth.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" It was the owner of the neighborhood snack shop. The man came running out with a spatula in hand. Behind him, several students were already holding up their phones. The three men scattered fast. Kichan didn't chase them. His legs felt like they were about to give out. The snack shop owner came over.

"You okay? You hurt anywhere?"

"I'm fine." Kichan tried to put the iron rod down. But it didn't come easily out of his hand. The feel of the metal still lingered. Cold, heavy, and strangely dependable. He forced himself to set the rod on the ground. The sprout-mark on his fingertips had spread into three branches. When he got home, his mother took one look at the dust on his arm and asked immediately,"What happened?" Kichan couldn't answer. His father rose quietly.

"Who did that to you?" The voice was so low that it calmed Kichan instead.

"It's nothing."

"That is not the face of someone who went through nothing." Kichan sat down on the living room sofa. His mother brought him water, and his father went to check the front door before coming back. Kichan couldn't tell them the full truth. But he couldn't manage a complete lie, either.

"Some weird people followed me." His mother's face hardened.

"Why?"

"I don't know." That was half true. His father said they should report it to the police. Kichan stopped him.

"I didn't get a good look at their faces. They ran right away."

"Even so."

"I'll be careful." It wasn't any kind of solution. But he said it anyway. That night, Kichan sat in his room holding an old mop handle instead of the iron rod. Having some kind of stick in his hands made him feel a little better. He hated that. In his dream, something appeared wearing Sooyeon's face. Faint shoot-like lines spread behind her back. Kichan couldn't tell whether they were decoration or just an afterimage left by tired eyes.

"You got through that without getting hurt."

"I didn't get through it. I just ran."

"Which is why you did well." Even in the dream, Kichan was holding the mop handle.

"I don't want to do this kind of thing."

"Even so, people will come to take it from you."

"Why?"

"Because you've been read." At that, Kichan quietly drew in a breath. And for the first time, he asked,"Then how do I keep them from taking it?" The thing smiled.

"Make something of your own." After waking from the dream, Kichan went back to the alley by the construction site. It was dawn. One iron rod still lay abandoned inside the fence. Bent tip. Rusted surface. The kind of thing nobody considered important. Kichan picked it up. His fingertips warmed quietly. It was just an iron rod. But for now, it was what he needed.