By Ji-eun
The police came. Two young officers. They took notes. They said they would "investigate." As if stones tied with threats were a rare occurrence in Seoul.
"Probably vandals," one said, closing his notebook. "Or someone angry," the other added, looking at the café as if it were urban trash.
When they left, I stood in the middle of the room, with a roll of duct tape and a rag.
It seemed ridiculous. Stranding plastic over a broken window while spirits and corporations want to destroy me.
But I did it anyway.
Because my grandmother taught me:
"As long as you take care of the ground, the world can't say you've given up."
—
I cleaned up the shards.
I covered the window.
I left the café locked, but secure.
And then…
I went.
To the Namdaemun market.
Damp night.
Dim lights.
The smell of dried fish, spices, memories.
Number 23-B is squeezed between a lantern shop and a rice warehouse.
Dark wooden door.
No sign.
Only a wind chime with jade beads.
I push slowly.
Inside, time seems to have stopped.
Low light.
Incense smoke.
And in the center, a baduk board, illuminated by a yellow lamp.
An elderly man sits.
White beard.
Sunken eyes.
Trembling hands, but firm on the black stones.
He doesn't even stand.
"You took your time," he says, his voice like gravel.
"She was expecting you."
"My grandmother?"
"Sun-ja."
He finally looks.
"You have her eyes.
And the same hesitation before entering."
"Are you Old Han?"
"I am." He points to the other side of the board.
"Sit down. If you want answers… play."
I was never good at baduk. My grandmother tried to teach me. I always lost. She used to say:
"Don't think about pieces. Think about space. About who controls the void."
Now, sitting before Old Han, I feel I'm playing for more than just pride.
I place the first white stone.
He responds quickly.
Precise.
Like a blow.
Move by move, the game closes in.
He presses on my territory.
My moves become defensive.
Wrong.
"You play like someone who's afraid of losing," he says.
"I am."
"Then stop protecting.
Start claiming."
I think of the coffee. The broken window. Jinyang's letter. Dokkaebi's coin. I place a stone in the center. Risky. Unprotected. He smiles.
"Now that's more like it. She played like that. Audacious. As if she already knew the end."
—
After twenty minutes, I lose.
But he doesn't celebrate.
"You learn quickly," he says, gathering the stones.
"And you asked for the right answers."
— "My grandmother used to come here?"
— "Every Thursday.
For twenty years.
She played with a man in a hat.
One who didn't age."
Dok-hee.
— "They never spoke loudly.
But the game… it was a battle.
For territory.
For power.
For futures."
— "And why did she come?"
— "Because, 42 years ago, she challenged the gatekeeper."
He looks at me.
"And won this place in a game."
I'm breathless.
— "The coffee… wasn't left for her. Did she conquer it?"
— "Yes.
With a single stone.
In the center.
Exactly as you placed it today."
He smiles.
"And the guardian accepted.
'This place will have a rightful owner,' he said.
And he disappeared."
— "And the guardian… was…"
— "You already know who it is."
He pushes a white stone toward me.
"But the agreement has rules. The café only remains open if the winner's blood continues to play for the right to exist."
He looks into my eyes.
"Will you play, Ji-eun?"
—
Before I can answer…
The door opens.
Dok-hee enters.
But not as a customer.
Not as an observer.
As someone who belongs here.
He looks at Old Han.
Nods.
And then, at me.
— "You found the origin," he says, his voice low.
— "Did you know?" I ask.
"That she won the café from you?"
— "I knew."
He walks to the board.
Picks up a black stone.
Place it in the center.
"But the game never ends. It only pauses."
I stand up.
"So the deal… is with you?"
"It's with the portal. I'm just the guardian."
He looks at me.
"But if you lose… it closes. And everyone who enters… disappears."
Silence.
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because you needed to find out for yourself."
He takes a step back.
"And because… I didn't know if you were like her."
—
I return to the café at midnight.
It's dark.
Silent.
But not lonely.
I open my grandmother's diary.
I write:
"Today I discovered I inherited nothing. I conquered it.
The café isn't just a home.
It's a prize.
A pact.
A promise.
And I will defend it—not just with tea…
but with every stone I place on the board."
—
The next morning, I put a new notice on the door:
"Under Renovation. Returning soon."
But it's not a lie.
It's preparation.
And when I leave, I leave something new on the counter:
A white baduk stone, in the exact center of the table.
Like a challenge.
—
Later, the building security guard swears he saw two men standing in front of the covered window:
One in a gray suit, talking on his cell phone.
And another, in a dark coat, looking inside with an expression he couldn't decipher.
The second man left something on the floor.
A black stone.
Next to the white one.
—
The game has begun.