NTN 31

Chapter 31 The Past

One more minute passed before Sung Geon-woo also came out and washed his hands.

The two of them, as if silently agreeing not to speak about what had just happened in the public restroom, crossed through the dirty, cluttered alleyways without exchanging a single word.

Then, suddenly, a young girl ran up to stand in front of Geon-woo.

She looked about seven or eight years old, with shoulder-length hair. Her light green sweater was covered in fuzz and had two holes in it, and her jacket — long enough to reach her knees — was so worn that it had faded almost white, with patches everywhere.

Her pants were a dull gray, crudely sewn in several spots with fabric of different colors, and she wore black socks that looked as though they’d been cut and stitched from old clothes. Her thin little face was sallow, but her eyes were bright and clear.

In her hands she clutched a handful of random junk — bits of thread, scraps of cloth, a faded button, a broken hair tie, a glass marble with a flower petal trapped inside, an empty matchbox, and a lump of old eraser shavings.

Looking up at him, the girl asked in a small but steady voice,

“Big brother, can you trade this for some food? Just a little. Please? You can’t?”

From a nearby shed came the faint, savory smell of simmered beef.

Geon-woo stared silently at her for a moment, then crouched down before she could speak again. Reaching out, he sifted through the collection of junk in her hands.

From it, he chose a single clear marble with a yellow flower petal inside, smiled, and stood.

“This will do.”

“⋯⋯Thank you, oppa. Thank you!”

The girl flinched in surprise, then repeated her thanks several times in a rush.

Turning toward the shed where Jang Mok-hwa and the others were, Geon-woo said,

“Let’s go over there.”

“Mm-hm,” the girl replied quickly, following right at his heels.

Yong Yeo-hong, unsure what to say, glanced around awkwardly before striding ahead.

A short while later, they reached the jeep.

“Who’s that?”

Jang Mok-hwa pointed at the girl trailing behind Geon-woo.

He answered with a faint smile.

“I traded one very fine item for a piece of beef.”

Sitting down, Geon-woo lifted his bowl and chopsticks.

“May I start?”

“Go ahead,” Mok-hwa replied, exchanging a glance with Jeon Du-ha.

Geon-woo scooped up a chunk of beef, placed it in a bowl, and handed it to the girl.

She swallowed hard, quickly accepted it, and was just about to shove the meat into her mouth when Geon-woo suddenly took the bowl and chopsticks back.

The girl looked up at him blankly.

“You’ll burn your mouth,” he said softly, his expression unchanged.

Balancing the bowl on his thigh, he carefully used his chopsticks to break the meat into several small pieces. When he finished, he picked up one and held it to her lips.

The girl’s eyes lit up as she accepted it and began chewing eagerly.

“Is it good?”

He watched silently until she finished chewing.

She nodded vigorously.

“It’s delicious!”

Smiling faintly, Geon-woo offered her another piece.

“You…”

Jang Mok-hwa let out a heavy sigh, unable to stand watching any longer, and pointed off into the distance.

Following her finger, Geon-woo saw about twenty children approaching across the plaza, their eyes wide, each clutching handfuls of trash and trinkets just like the girl.

He froze.

Jeon Du-ha sighed as well, then turned his head and shouted with a wry smile,

“Go on, all of you! Go back!”

The children slowed reluctantly, disappointment clear on their faces, glancing back three times with every step as they trudged toward their homes.

“Now you see,” Jeon said teasingly, turning to Geon-woo, “how hard it is to maintain order in a settlement like this?”

Before Geon-woo could answer, Mok-hwa interjected, trying to defuse the tension.

“Village chief, when we came in, there weren’t this many children around. Do they also work with the adults?”

Du-ha turned and pointed at three buildings arranged in an inverted triangle.

“The children study there. Their lessons end around the time the adults come back from work.”

“Study?”

Mok-hwa’s eyebrows twitched.

“You still keep classroom education?”

That was rare among Ashland’s smaller nomad settlements. In every other place Mok-hwa had visited, she’d never seen anything like it.

For people struggling just to survive, spending resources and manpower on formal schooling was a luxury. Teachers who didn’t contribute labor, and children who didn’t help with work at home or in the fields, were seen as wasteful. Normally, parents or elders taught practical knowledge — farming, gathering, cooking, cleaning, shooting, hunting, childbirth, and childcare — in daily life.

Du-ha chuckled.

“Every outsider who visits Haija Village finds it strange. It’s true — maintaining a school with our limited means isn’t easy. Everyone has to tighten their belts to keep the tradition alive.”

He looked up unconsciously at the rain-dark sky, then continued with a nostalgic tone.

“The first person who proposed formal education for the children was a man named Mr. Seon Yu-shim. He said that no matter how hard life gets, the children must learn to read and gain basic knowledge. Only then could they — and their descendants — remember who they are, where they came from, what community they belong to, and what culture and history they inherit. He said that remembering these things was the only way to live with hope, even in a world as dark and hopeless as ours.

“I agreed with him, but my reasoning was simpler. Every time we scavenged ruins, I’d see strange words on devices and manuals. Even when I recognized all the letters, I couldn’t understand their meaning when put together. Without literacy, we couldn’t make use of what we found.

“It was a simple thought — but only recently have I come to grasp what Mr. Seon truly meant.”

Standing, Du-ha gestured toward the three buildings.

“Do you know what those used to be?”

Baek Sae-byeok, Mok-hwa, Geon-woo, and Yeo-hong all shook their heads.

“They were the old Haija Village School. Over there was the basketball court, the flagpole, the teachers’ dormitory, the students’ dorm, the computer room, the library, the lab… and that one was the main classroom building.”

The faint glow of the fire pit flickered across his face as he spoke.

Even though they could barely make out the silhouettes of the buildings under the dark sky, everyone focused intently on his story, following the direction of his hand.

Finally, Du-ha lowered his hand and turned back to them, repeating quietly,

“That place used to be a school.”

His expression was solemn, almost reverent.

Before anyone could reply, he sat again and gave a bitter laugh.

“Most of the villagers don’t really understand. They don’t want to abolish the school outright, but they think education should be for the original residents only. For the nomads who joined later, they believe feeding them is already generous — why waste more resources?

“They think the core of the security force — the original settlers — should own the land, and the wanderers should just rent it and pay a share of their crops. They even believe nomads shouldn’t be allowed to join the guards or possess good weapons.”

He shook his head.

“Ha… while I’m alive, I can keep those opinions suppressed with my authority. No one dares oppose me openly — they just grumble in private. But once I’m gone… who knows what Haija Village will become.”

Then he clapped his hands lightly.

“Enough talk. Let’s eat.”

Neither Mok-hwa nor Baek Sae-byeok could comment on the village’s internal issues. Remaining polite as guests, they ate their compressed biscuits and energy bars, along with the multigrain bread and beef stew that Du-ha had sent for.

Geon-woo didn’t eat right away; instead, he continued feeding the girl small pieces of meat one by one.

When she finished her portion, she didn’t ask for more. Bowing politely, she said,

“Thank you, oppa!”

Then, clutching her handful of treasures, she hopped away toward the section of the settlement where the mismatched houses stood — once a row of basketball courts.

“Well-mannered kid,” Geon-woo remarked, watching her go.

“She learned that from her teacher,” Du-ha replied proudly.

Even after the girl left, Geon-woo didn’t touch the beef stew, eating only the yellowish multigrain bread with water.

Instead of pressing him to eat more, Mok-hwa continued her meal and asked Du-ha about what had happened after the fall of the old world.

His stories were plain and unembellished — not thrilling, but steady. Thanks to Haija Village’s favorable location, it had escaped most external hardship. Still, Mok-hwa and the others listened with keen interest, and Du-ha, encouraged, even shared the tale of how he met and fell in love with his wife on a hunting trip.

By the time everyone was full, Geon-woo finally picked up a piece of beef, dipped his bread in the sauce, and ate.