But the woman, whom he had expected to shriek at those words, merely blinked her large eyes.
Only the prostitutes of the brothel shivered.
“Sir, what are you saying?”
She did not know why, but the unidentified man clearly wanted to take the woman away. Yet judging by the way he urged her to leave, they did not seem acquainted.
Not acquaintances.Not master and servant.
Then she could not allow her to be taken.
And since she did not dare speak to the man directly, she turned to Seo-ah with a determined expression.
“Do you want to leave?”
“…….”
“Alright. In any case, I only received money for tonight from you, miss. Tomorrow, even if you wish to stay, I will not want you to. But if you absolutely must leave today, I have no reason to stop you.”
“…….”
“Leave now if you want to. But at this hour, alone — where and how will you go? Though I am a stranger, I am concerned.”
Oscar burst into laughter.
Here comes the philanthropist.
The low mockery threaded through his laughter felt like a slap across the face. Yet the brothel owner held firm. She braced her knees. She did not bend.
Oscar, laughing long at the most amusing thing he had heard all day, placed a cigarette between his lips and asked Seo-ah,
“What will you do?”
Her moist brown eyes trembled.They trembled once.They trembled again.
On one side, a middle-aged woman with a benevolent face.On the other, a mysterious man standing at ease, a cigarette burning between his fingers.
The woman wore a modest dress.The man wore a loose white shirt.
Behind them, Simon sighed.
Seeing the two choices laid before her, he wondered if the answer had been decided from the beginning. Frankly, the word brothel suited Oscar better than it did the middle-aged woman.
“…I’m sorry.”
As expected, the woman chose the brothel owner over Marquis Reinhardt.
The door closed quietly.
Click.
Shit.
Simon despaired quietly.
Success.
The brothel owner shivered — a thrill crawling along her spine.
Now all that remained was to deal with the man behind her.
He was strange. A man she felt she might have seen somewhere before. But he could not be a great noble. Great nobles announced themselves, demanded their desired prostitute, and entered with certainty.
So, what remained?
A nouveau riche.Or a minor noble not yet within the ranks of the great.
Either way — difficult to confront.
But what time was it now?
Wasn’t this an era where even royalty had to consider commoners? Without evidence or trial, one could not overturn a business arbitrarily. And the crime she had committed — human trafficking — was still unknown to the victim. There was no evidence.
Yes. She could pass through this.
Tensing her stomach, she turned toward Oscar. She would apologize humbly. She would accommodate him for one night. Smoothly. Quietly.
“…….”
But his gaze was not on her face.
It was on the floor.
She followed his eyes.
He stood with both hands in his pockets, crushing a cigarette beneath his boot. Gray ash and tobacco leaves broke apart. The ember, still alive, was pressed down. Pressed down. Crushed. Extinguished.
If it had been an insult, contempt, or a slap delivered in a blink, she would not have flinched.
But inexplicably — though she had seen such things countless times — she could not understand why crushing a mere cigarette unsettled her.
The cigarette was being crushed.
And yet she felt as though she was being crushed.
“By day, I’m betrayed by a fool. By night, I’m screwed by a brothel owner. What kind of day is it for me today?”
He said it as though amused.
No one laughed.
Only him.
A red tongue swept across the edge of his teeth.
Oscar lifted his eyes. Whispered to the brothel owner, now paling,
“Smile. It’s a compliment.”
Then he turned away, muttering about her impeccable taste.
His steps were casual. Unhurried. Detached.
But the moment he disappeared from her sight, the brothel owner slowly sank to the floor.
Slowly.As though her bones had finally given up.
—
Brothel.
What did that mean?
Seo-ah stood blankly at the door, repeating the unfamiliar word several times.
Brothel.Brothel.
Repeating it did not make her understand. What was certain was that it was a place name. A place. A location. And it was not a word that carried a good meaning.
“This is a brothel?”
At the man’s words, the innkeeper had jumped to reassure her. She never denied it. She only emphasized that Seo-ah was a guest staying for the night.
Seo-ah bit her lip. Hard.
A man shaped as though darkness had been carved into human form. Enveloped in the acrid scent of cigarette smoke. Dangerous. Violent.
She did not trust the innkeeper.But she could not follow that man into the night.
She had closed the door to buy time.Time to think.Time to escape them all.
Just then, she sensed the innkeeper beyond the door.
“Are you alright?”
Several men seemed to help her away. Their footsteps faded. Silence returned.
Saliva scratched down Seo-ah’s throat.
She gripped the doorknob with her left hand. Locked the bolt with her right. Then she checked it again. Once. Twice.
She moved to the window. Checked the lock. Checked it again.
Only then did she step back.
Seo-ah stood in the corner of the room and slowly surveyed the square space.
When she had first entered, it had seemed like paradise for a fleeting moment. A place to rest. A place to breathe. A place to sleep.
It had felt like salvation just to remove the winter coat and heavy dress she had not been able to take off even in heat. The meal she had eaten after days without food had melted into her blood. In fact, this was the first time she had seen a proper bed. The bed had looked so soft she could fall asleep before closing her eyes.
But where sleep receded, crisis surged.
She could not fail before executing her plan.
Seo-ah changed back into her original clothes. Only now did she notice the smell — sweat, dust, travel. Mixed together. Clinging to fabric. Clinging to her.
She didn't put on the coat immediately. She spread the coat on the bed, inside facing upward.
Then she checked the pockets.
One by one.Left to right.Top to bottom.
No holes.No missing items.Everything where it should be.
The inspection ended with the key and the certificate she had received today.
She unfolded the certificate and reconfirmed its contents.
The name written as if drawn.The date.The vault number.The seal.
All intact.
Afraid it might crumple, afraid something might smear or fade, she placed it in her pocket. Then another piece of paper on top. Then tied the pocket shut with string. Tight. Secure. Knotted.
Only then did she straighten her back.
And saw the lining of the coat. The uneven pockets. The mismatched stitching. The strings.
A memory surfaced.
That day.The midnight raid.Her grandfather’s grave dug open.Hoyeonjae burning.Her teacher swallowed by flames on that horrific night.
“This is it, right? This is what that person has been searching for?”
The night she had taken out the golden key she had hidden.
“Don’t go. The probability of failure is too high. You’ll be caught before you can execute the plan.”
Seo-ah laughed quietly.
“I know. Like a fool, I’ve been caught in all sorts of things the moment I arrived…”
She smoothed the hem of her worn coat. Tidied protruding threads. One by one. Thread by thread.
And as her fingers moved, she tucked the memories away. Pushed them beneath the surface.
Her hands moved faster.
She opened her travel bag. Folded the washed underwear. Placed them in a corner. They would smell because she couldn't dry them properly. She knew. There was no helping it.
She was about to close the bag when she paused.
She opened it again.
A crumpled piece of red silk lay inside.
The ribbon.
She carefully picked up a crumpled piece of red silk that had somehow become disheveled.
After lunch, in the main hall, she used to hear the sounds of play. If she approached the wall and peered over, she would see girls with faces like pale jade. Black eyes shining like hazelnuts. Black hair braided and flying. Red ribbons swaying at the ends.
She had once thought her own eyes and hair were just as black. Just as beautiful. She had wished red would suit her too.
Seo-ah folded the ribbon.
Once.Twice.
She folded it in half, then in half again, and placed it with the cleaner side facing up.
Until the embroidered butterfly rested on top.
Then she closed the bag. Without lingering.
She put on the coat spread across the bed. Cinched her waist with the belt. Tight. Ready. Prepared.
Dressed to leave at any moment.
Seo-ah moved to the window and pressed herself against the wall. Careful that her shadow did not fall and cast a silhouette. She lifted the edge of the curtain and peered outside.
When?And how? Could she escape this place?
Seo-ah searched for an exit. Her senses stretched outward. Probing. Listening. Measuring every presence lingering around the room.
Waiting.
Planning.
Preparing to escape.
—