PON 03

The doctor hurried in, panting slightly.

“What’s going on here?”

Jeong-oh stepped forward to explain.
“Yes, doctor. He just woke up… but I think he’s a foreigner.”

“Traitor? Did you say he’s a traitor?”

The elderly doctor squinted. Perhaps his hearing wasn’t what it used to be. No matter how many times she repeated foreigner, he just kept mishearing.

Eventually, he turned helplessly toward the nurse. The nurse, pretending to be absorbed in the patient’s chart, averted her eyes and fiddled with her pen.

The grandmothers clucked their tongues impatiently, muttering among themselves.

Just then, the man on the bed groaned, his brow furrowing. His voice rose, raw with pain.

“[Damn it! My head— it feels like it’s going to explode! Somebody do something about it, now!]”

The words rolled out in sharp, rapid English, making everyone freeze.

One of the grandmothers, Sam-grandma, suddenly gasped and grabbed Jeong-oh’s hand.

“Of course! Our Jeong-oh went to school abroad, didn’t she?”

“W–Wait, Grandma, I—”

“Right! You lived overseas, didn’t you?”

“Then you must speak the squiggly foreign talk real well!”

“Exactly! Go on, Jeong-oh, talk to him! We can’t understand a word he’s saying, and it’s driving us crazy!”

The pressure from half a dozen eager eyes made Jeong-oh sigh. She stepped forward, her shoulders stiff.

“He says… his head really hurts.”

That one sentence lit up every wrinkled face in the room.

“Oh my, oh my! Did you hear that? Our Jeong-oh really does speak foreign!”

“I told you! Her mama’s tuition money didn’t go to waste after all— ouch!”

“You old bat! Why bring up her mama at a time like this?”

Ignoring the bickering, the doctor perked up and asked more questions, gesturing toward the man.

Jeong-oh nodded, turning back to the patient.
“He’s asking if you’re hurt anywhere else.”

The man lifted his gaze. His eyes—ash-grey, deep and glinting strangely under the fluorescent light—met hers.

Up close, she noticed his mixed features. He wasn’t quite Western, not quite Korean. Somewhere in between.

After a long silence, his lips parted.

“[I don’t know.]”

His low voice reverberated faintly in the quiet room.

“[I don’t know anything. I can’t remember a thing.]”

Jeong-oh’s breath caught. “You… can’t remember?”

“[Who am I? Where is this place?]”

The man’s eyes trembled with confusion, his voice cracking.

“[Damn it… it’s like my head’s empty.]”

The doctor glanced between them.
“What is he saying?”

Jeong-oh, still staring at the stranger, translated quietly.
“He… says he doesn’t remember anything. Not even who he is.”

Even as she spoke, she couldn’t pull her eyes away from him—
from that look of lost desperation.

Cheongho Island was usually the kind of place where even gossip traveled by ferry—slow and sleepy.

A speck of land off the southern coast, home to only a few families. Days blurred together, filled with the sound of waves and old women shouting over drying seaweed.

And yet, lately, the island felt cursed with events.

First, a stranger had fallen bleeding from the sky. Then he turned out to be a foreigner.
Now he had amnesia.

The doctor performed every test, but found nothing. The surgery had gone perfectly. The man was, inexplicably, healthy.

Still, when questioned, all he could say was:

“[I don’t know.]”

He couldn’t recall his name, his home, his purpose—nothing. It was as if his mind had been wiped clean.

Even his clothes offered no clue. No wallet, no ID, not even a single label or logo.

“So, you’re saying… he has amnesia?” Jeong-oh asked.

“Well, that seems likely,” the doctor replied. “It’s probably temporary, caused by trauma. For now, his guardian should—”

“I’m not his guardian.”

Jeong-oh’s tone was sharp.

Yes, she pitied him. Anyone would.
But pity wasn’t obligation.

“I don’t even know this man.”

She brushed past the doctor and walked out.

When she returned to her grandmother’s ward, the scene nearly made her laugh—or cry.

The old woman was feeding the foreign man slices of apple, one by one, like a baby bird. He opened his mouth obediently each time.

“I sent the other grannies home,” said Cheong-seok, who was still loitering nearby with his phone. “They went back with Young-ho hyung.”

Ignoring him, Jeong-oh strode over.

“Grandma, let’s go.”

But her grandmother—Flower Granny—ducked behind the man, clutching his sleeve.
“No! I’m staying with my prince!”

Suppressing a groan, Jeong-oh grabbed her arm.
“Let’s go, now.”

“I said no! I’m staying by my prince’s side! You go, you nasty girl!”

Cheong-seok stepped in, waving his hands nervously.
“Uh, Flower Granny, how about some black-bean noodles, huh?”

The old woman froze. “With sweet-and-sour pork?”

“Of course! Eat till your belly bursts!”

That did it.

Her face brightened like a child’s, and she eagerly shuffled over to take his hand.
“Yay! Let’s go, let’s go!”

And just like that, “her prince” was forgotten.

When they finally left, Jeong-oh exhaled deeply—relief flooding her chest.

But before she could step out, her shirt tugged backward. She turned.

The man was gripping her hem tightly, his face pale but earnest.

“[Where are you going?]”

Those grey eyes—fragile, pleading—made something twist in her chest.

But she forced her voice steady.

“[I’m sorry, but we’re not connected in any way. If you need help, call the doctor or the nurse.]”

There was nothing more she could do.
Nothing she wanted to do.

Life on Cheongho Island was hard enough without strangers falling from the sky.

She turned sharply and walked out.
Still, his eyes clung to her, following her until the door clicked shut.

She had the same dream again.

Usually, it was about her time in the U.S.—
about the day everything went wrong.
Or about her mother, cold and still in that hospital bed.

But tonight’s dream was different.
No, not a dream—
a memory.

“[It wasn’t me.]”
“[Maybe not. But you did abandon your post, didn’t you? You were supposed to protect my brother.]”

The man’s face was blurred, but his voice was clear—calm, low, freezing.

“[What’s the difference between that and murder?]”

“[Jeong-oh Yoon, was it?]”

There was no emotion in his tone. Only frost.

“[You’ll never escape this. I’ll use everything I have to destroy you.]”

The voice echoed in her skull, burning cold.

Then—

“My name is Cheong-seok!”

Her eyes flew open.

She blinked, clutching her pounding head. The room was filled with noise—voices, laughter, and a familiar accent that grated her nerves.

“…Cheong-seok?”

She got up, frowning. She could hear her grandmother too—along with a low, smooth voice that didn’t belong here.

“[Your English is terrible, Cheong-seok.]”

“Good! Very good! Ha! Maybe I’m a natural-born Englishman!”

Jeong-oh yanked the door open.

“What on earth are you—”

She froze.

In the yard, sunlight poured over three people huddled around a wooden bench.

Her grandmother, hands dusted with flour, was frying cabbage pancakes on a portable stove.

Beside her, Cheong-seok sat in a bright yellow tracksuit, grinning ear to ear.

And next to him—

“…What the hell have you done?”

The man who should’ve been in the hospital looked up, smiling radiantly.

“[Hi.]”