Kang Soo {1}

Kang Soo sank into the plush, king-sized bed, the crisp white Egyptian cotton sheets cool against his skin. Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, illuminating the room in a warm, golden glow. The walls were adorned with a shimmering, silk wallpaper, a delicate pattern of interwoven gold threads on a cream background. A massive, ornate mirror, framed in gilded wood, reflected the light, creating dancing sparkles across the room. A Persian rug, a rich tapestry of deep blues and reds, cushioned his feet. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and lilies, emanating from a crystal vase overflowing with fragrant blooms on a nearby side table. A low, velvet chaise lounge in a shade of deep emerald green sat opposite the bed, inviting relaxation. The overall effect was one of opulent comfort and understated elegance.

He rose, his movements languid and graceful, and walked towards a large, antique wooden writing table. The wood, a rich mahogany, gleamed under the sunlight, polished to a mirror sheen. Its intricate carvings, depicting scenes of mythical creatures and swirling vines, hinted at its age and craftsmanship. On the table sat a single, leather-bound journal, its pages pristine and untouched, lying next to a sleek, silver ballpoint pen. The pen felt cool and weighty in his hand, its smooth surface a contrast to the rough texture of the journal's cover.

Instead of sitting in the comfortable chair provided, he perched on the edge of the writing table itself, the polished wood surprisingly smooth and yielding under his weight. He opened the journal, the crisp crackle of the new pages a small sound in the otherwise quiet room, and began to write, his thoughts flowing onto the blank pages, creating his own private world within the elegant confines of his journal.

"I have left my family, my home, and my life, for a caring yet, deadly family in the inside." The words, stark against the pristine page, felt heavy with unspoken implications. The casual dismissal of his confession, however, spoke volumes about his current state of mind. Boredom, a familiar foe, had quickly overtaken the gravity of his situation. He abandoned the pen, its silver glinting in the sunlit room, and let his gaze wander. The opulent surroundings, once captivating, now felt strangely sterile, their beauty somehow hollow.

His fingers, exploring the surface of the mahogany table, discovered a subtle imperfection – a barely perceptible indentation in the polished wood. A gentle pressure revealed a hidden door, swinging silently inward to reveal a descending staircase carved into the stone. The steps, surprisingly smooth despite the rough texture of the surrounding walls, were subtly textured to prevent slips. A musty odor, redolent of aged paper and forgotten secrets, emanated from below, hinting at the mysteries that lay hidden.

"What is this place?...this...is quite new," he whispered, a tremor of unease in his voice. The descent was slow, each step echoing in the oppressive silence. The air grew colder, the faint scent of decay mingling with the musty aroma of old books.

The hidden door at the bottom groaned open, revealing not just a library, but a labyrinth of shadows. Towering bookshelves, their dark wood warped and cracked with age, seemed to press in on him, their countless volumes shrouded in a perpetual twilight. Dust motes danced in the scant light filtering from unseen sources, creating an ethereal, almost spectral atmosphere. The silence was profound, broken only by the occasional creak of the shelves or the whisper of unseen drafts. A sense of ancient secrets, of forgotten knowledge and long-dead authors, hung heavy in the air, a palpable weight that pressed upon him, a mystery waiting to be unveiled. The books themselves seemed to hold their breath, their spines whispering untold stories in a language only the shadows understood.

His fingers, trembling slightly with anticipation and a touch of apprehension, closed around a thick, leather-bound volume. The cover, cracked and worn with age, felt cool and smooth beneath his touch. He opened it carefully, the brittle pages whispering a protest as they parted. The script within was a stark surprise—ancient Korean characters, elegant and flowing, yet utterly unfamiliar. He was astonished; these texts, centuries old, were still preserved, their secrets locked within the intricate strokes. He couldn't decipher a single word, but a surge of determination filled him. He would learn. He had to learn.

One by one, he examined the books, each a testament to the library's age and the meticulous care it had received. They were all the same – ancient Korean, a language lost to time, yet somehow preserved within these walls. The uniformity of the texts fueled a growing suspicion. Was this a secret archive? And what secrets did it hold? Nam-yoo, the enigmatic head of the household, immediately came to mind. An assassin? The thought wasn't as far-fetched as it once seemed. Or was it Ji-Yuri, the maid? Her quiet efficiency and watchful eyes had always held a hint of mystery, a subtle undercurrent beneath her gentle demeanor. Despite her kindness, a seed of doubt remained.

Finally, amidst the sea of ancient texts, he found it—a single book written in modern Korean. Relief washed over him, followed by a quickening of his pulse. It was a short journal, more like a novella, perhaps five to eight chapters in length. He could understand it. But what did it contain?

Suddenly, the rhythmic echo of footsteps reached his ears, carried on the currents of air that snaked through the library. They were approaching, their measured pace sending a jolt of adrenaline through him. He snatched three of the ancient books, those he felt he could perhaps partially decipher with time, and hastily closed the hidden door, the wood groaning under the pressure of his hurried movements. The lock clicked shut with a satisfying thud, plunging the secret library back into darkness. He raced upstairs, his heart pounding in his chest, nearly losing his footing on the smooth, subtly textured steps. He made it to the top just in time, his hand flying to the mechanism hidden in the wall. With a click, the secret passage was sealed once more, leaving no trace of its existence.

Ji-Yuri entered, carrying a single, head-sized plate. Upon it, a culinary masterpiece was arranged: a perfectly cooked medium-rare steak, its surface a rich, mahogany brown, seared to perfection, sat proudly in the center. Around it, a vibrant assortment of vegetables formed a colorful halo. Tender asparagus spears, their tips delicately charred, lay nestled next to bright orange carrot coins and glistening green beans. A small mound of fluffy, herb-infused mashed potatoes provided a creamy counterpoint to the steak's savory richness. The plate was a study in contrasts—the deep red of the meat, the vibrant greens and oranges of the vegetables, the soft white of the potatoes—all arranged with an artist's eye for detail. A gleaming silver knife and fork rested elegantly beside the culinary creation. "Young Master, your food is here," she announced, her voice soft and melodious.

Kang Soo remained seated on the bed, his mind still lost in the labyrinthine depths of the secret library, its hidden lore clinging to him like a second skin. The weight of the ancient texts, the whispers of forgotten histories, held him captive. He was determined to unravel the mysteries they held, to understand the secrets hidden within those aged pages.

Ji-Yuri, observing his absent-mindedness, approached him gently. She poked his forehead lightly, her touch surprisingly firm. "Young master, your food is ready," she repeated, her voice carrying a hint of playful concern.

The gentle poke snapped him back to reality. "Right! Sorry, Yuri!" he exclaimed, a wave of embarrassment washing over him. He stood, offering a sincere apology. Ji-Yuri acknowledged it with a slight nod, her expression unreadable.

He moved to the table, the aroma of the food hitting him like a wave. The steak's savory scent mingled with the subtle sweetness of the roasted vegetables and the creamy richness of the potatoes. It was a symphony of smells, each note perfectly balanced. He dug in, the first bite a revelation. The steak was tender and juicy, its flavor intensified by the perfect sear. The vegetables were cooked to perfection, retaining their crispness and natural sweetness. It was, without a doubt, some of the best food he had ever tasted. He ate with gusto, savoring each mouthful, the flavors exploding on his tongue. It was as if Ji-Yuri ran a Michelin-starred restaurant, her culinary skills exceeding even the most renowned chefs.

Having finished his meal, Kang Soo leaned back, a contented sigh escaping his lips. The lingering taste of Ji-Yuri's cooking, a symphony of savory and sweet, still danced on his tongue. He felt a profound sense of gratitude towards her, not just for the delicious food, but for her quiet care and attentiveness. He was lost in these thoughts when he felt a gentle touch on his cheek.

Ji-Yuri stood beside him, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips. In her hand, she held a soft, white tissue. With a practiced grace, she gently wiped away a stray piece of mashed potato clinging to the corner of his mouth. The tissue, incredibly soft and absorbent, felt cool and soothing against his skin. Her touch was light, almost feather-like, yet precise and efficient. She didn't rush; each movement was deliberate, careful, and infused with a quiet dignity that spoke volumes about her character. There was a tenderness in her actions, a subtle intimacy that transcended the simple act of cleaning his face. It was a gesture that spoke of years of practiced care, a silent understanding between master and servant that went beyond the bounds of their formal relationship. The small piece of potato, once a mere speck of food, now seemed to bear witness to a silent exchange of unspoken affection. When she finished, she simply nodded slightly, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment before she quietly took the now-empty plate from the table, leaving Kang Soo to bask in the afterglow of a delicious meal and a gesture of quiet kindness.