[My First Love Lives in the Attic] Chapter 19
Secret Gift
“I must’ve disappointed you.”
“What’s there to be disappointed about?”
“…Because I didn’t tell her anything.”
“Tell her what? The incident you’re talking about is all over the internet.”
“But Muru doesn’t remember it. She wouldn’t even know what keywords to search for.”
“Then just tell her yourself.”
“Ah, hyung. I just…”
Tarim took a sip of his clear liquor and leaned back in his seat.
“…I feel so guilty just talking about it.”
“What are you guilty for? You didn’t do it.”
“But you and I both have that ‘thing’ we’re working on together. And here I am again, hiding it, giving her just the bare minimum, then leaving her to dig for the rest. ‘It’s your memory, not mine,’ like that.”
“So what? Are you and Muru a married couple or something? Dating? Do you think there should be no secrets between you two?”
“No, of course not.”
Baekmo, feeling the tickle of his long blond hair on his neck, found it annoying and reached under the table to open a drawer. He remembered something in there he could use to tie it back.
“If I tell her everything…”
The drawer was filled with miscellaneous things—nail clippers, a box of staples, band-aids. In the corner, a crumpled yellow office rubber band.
While digging through the drawer, Baekmo discovered an unfamiliar USB flash drive.
“…I don’t think I can handle seeing her fall apart.”
“Just because you liked her when you were kids?”
Baekmo gave up on the rubber band and instead pulled out the tiny USB.
“…I don’t know. I really don’t. Just thinking about Muru makes me…”
Tarim set his glass down and covered his face with his hands. He couldn’t even finish his sentence.
His heart ached.
That was the real confession.
“Hey. I get that you’re drunk, but…”
“I’m not doing this because I’m drunk! I don’t even know anymore. I just felt so guilty being under the same roof with her, I used the shoot as an excuse and ran off. I only have to film on-site tomorrow. That’s all. But I just left.”
Baekmo fetched a laptop from the corner, powered it on, scanned the drive for viruses and malware, then inserted the USB. A strange image appeared on the screen.
“Guess Gyeoul left us a gift.”
He turned the laptop so Tarim could see. What came up was a scan of an old, yellowed paper that looked like it had originally been handwritten.
“What’s this?”
The high-resolution scan showed visible wear and decay, confirming its age.
It was formatted in columns, written vertically in both Hanja (Chinese characters) and Hangul. About a third of it was illegible due to damage. Even if it weren’t, the heavy use of Chinese characters made it difficult to determine its content right away.
Tarim cautiously zoomed in on the bottom-right section that caught his eye. His thick brows furrowed.
“A land document.”
“Whoa, you can read Hanja??”
Baekmo widened his eyes and scooted over. Tarim pointed at a red stamp on the bottom right of the file, which read “지적 제 六 권” (Land Survey Volume 6) in Hangul. Based on that, he made an educated guess. Baekmo was unimpressed.
“Well, I can read numbers.”
“Same here.”
The character 토(土)—which means “earth” or “land”—appeared frequently, confirming that this was indeed a very old land registry. It contained hand-recorded entries of owners, addresses, sales, and purchases by public officials.
“So, Gyeoul just snuck this in, huh?”
“Are you sure it was her?”
“Who else would come in here?”
“What is it, exactly?”
“That’s what…”
Baekmo stuffed a cold pancake into his mouth and chewed.
“…we need to figure out.”
“So basically, you don’t know anything.”
“But it looks like a land document, right?”
“…Yeah, probably.”
“Vertical writing means it’s really old.”
“Can you even get stuff like this these days?”
They both stared intensely at the monitor, then shook their heads at the same time.
“Let’s blow it up.”
At Tarim’s suggestion, Baekmo connected the laptop to the wall-mounted TV. The scanned document was soon displayed on the 220cm screen. The two stood side-by-side and stared. After a while, Baekmo pointed at a section.
“These two characters.”
In the section where the year was written, based on other character numbers, were the characters ‘大正 五年’ (Taisho 5th year). Baekmo pointed at the first two.
“This says ‘Taisho’, right?”
“As far as I know.”
Below that, in the same format, was written ‘昭和 二年’ (Showa 2nd year).
“Something-something second year.”
“Even I can read that.”
Neither had studied Hanja or taken any character proficiency tests in school, and now they regretted it.
Suddenly, Tarim exclaimed and pointed to ‘昭和 二年’.
“Showa! Showa 2nd year!”
“How do you know, you traitor!”
Baekmo glared at him dramatically.
“Taisho, Showa, they pop up in Japanese manga a lot.”
“…What?”
“When a new emperor takes the throne, they change the era name. Back then they didn’t use AD years—they used the regnal years of the emperor.”
“How do you even know that?”
“‘Demon Slayer’ mentioned it.”
“Otaku. You don’t even look like one.”
“I borrowed I-gyeom’s copy.”
“Otaku Oh I-gyeom…”
Tarim transferred the file to his smartphone and started annotating it. After adding notes, the only deciphered parts were years like 1880 and 1920.
Since it was all handwritten, OCR-based dictionary apps were useless.
The two of them emptied the last bottle and passed out. Baekmo was always a lightweight, and Tarim—drinking for the second night in a row—was tipsy much faster than usual.
Tarim, curled up on the three-seater sofa with his long legs folded, stirred at the sound of Bibari Super’s iron shutter opening.
His throat was completely clogged.
Probably because of the two dehumidifiers running in the basement to prevent dampness. A few strands of moonlight streamed through the fan vents into the pitch-black room.
He heard the shutter closing again. Then the sliding door to the living area opened. Then the basement stair door. Then the sound of someone descending the steep steps.
The pain in his throat grew worse. In his half-conscious state, he couldn’t even open his eyes fully.
Eventually, a shadow entered the basement quietly and turned on the desktop computer. The hum of the machine sounded, and the shadow approached Tarim’s feet. He barely managed to open his eyes and saw the figure illuminated by moonlight and the monitor.
It felt like a dream.
“…Do your best.”
A low voice whispered in his ear. Sleep overtook him completely.
When he woke late the next morning, only Baekmo was snoring on the bed.
The computer was powered off. Everything was dark.
Tarim felt a chill creep over him, like he’d just seen a ghost. His ribs quaked with a sudden, bone-deep cold.
“Huh?”
Muru stopped outside the fence of Hwaran House’s garden. Tarim’s jeep was parked there.
It was only 10 a.m.
Tarim had messaged her yesterday saying he was leaving for a one-night shoot. There was no way he could be back yet.
She had stocked the fridge with egg sandwiches for the residents’ breakfast, slept in for once, and taken a walk to Bibari Spring Park to eat one herself.
She had also been meaning to talk with Tarim that evening to smooth things over after yesterday’s awkwardness.
Muru rushed inside. Seeing Tarim’s camera bags and shoes tossed carelessly at the entrance, worry instantly took hold.
Park Tarim was curled up under a blanket on the living room sofa, shivering. His forehead and temples were soaked with sweat, and his breathing was visibly labored. Muru hurried over and knelt beside him.
“Tarim, Tarim.”
He startled awake, his eyes bloodshot.
“…Muru.”
“Are you sick? Tell me what hurts. I’ll get medicine.”
“…It’s fine. I just need to sleep…”
His forehead was burning hot. Muru dashed to the bathroom to soak a towel in cold water. When she pressed it to his forehead and eyes, he relaxed noticeably, though his bronchial tubes wheezed with swollen congestion.
“I have something to tell you.”
“Tell me later. After you’re better. Here, take this first.”
She brought a glass of water and two pills, lifting him gently. He opened his mouth obediently. She placed the pills on his tongue and held the glass to his lips.
“It’s a general cold medicine. I always carry it around—it works great if you take it early.”
