The sun never really shone in Muraki. It rose somewhere behind the grey clouds and the thick smoke that poured endlessly from the northern factories. Kai Sungho woke before dawn as he always did. The first thing he felt was the biting cold against his face. The small heater in the corner had given up again during the night. He'd fixed it so many times before. Patched it. Coaxed it back to life. But the machine was old and tired. Just like everything else in this house.
He stayed under the thin blanket a little longer. Not because he wanted to sleep. But because the cold made it hard to move. He listened to the familiar sounds of the morning. His mother Su Yoonhee was already awake in the kitchen. She moved quietly. Always quietly. As if the house itself might shatter if she made too much noise. He heard water running. The soft clink of the metal pot. The same sounds every morning for twenty eight years. The rhythm of a life that never changed. That maybe never would.
He finally pushed himself up. The floor was freezing under his bare feet. The cheap wood groaned with every step. He pulled on his worn trousers and the thick sweater his mother had mended so many times the elbows were more patch than fabric. Then he walked into the kitchen.
His mother stood by the stove. Her hair had gone grey at the temples. Her hands were rough and cracked from years of scrubbing floors in other people's homes. When she saw him she smiled. It was a small tired smile but it was real. It was the only warmth in the room.
Good morning Kai.
Good morning mother. Did you sleep well.
The cold woke me a few times. But I'm fine. There's hot water for tea. We don't have bread today. But there's a little rice left from yesterday.
Kai sat down at the small wooden table. The rice was hers. He knew that. She would walk for hours today instead of taking the bus just to save a few coins. She would go hungry so he and his sister could eat. He wanted to refuse it. But he also knew she wouldn't let him.
You should eat the rice mother. I'm not hungry. I'll get something later.
Her eyes met his. She didn't say anything but he saw it there. That quiet knowing look. The look that said she understood what he was trying to do. And that she wouldn't allow it. She pushed the small bowl toward him.
Eat. You have a long day ahead. A man can't work on an empty stomach.
He ate. Slowly. The rice was cold and hard but he didn't complain. His mother turned on the small radio that sat on the counter. It crackled to life. A man's voice filled the kitchen. Loud and falsely cheerful.
Today Prime Minister Choi Sanguk will open the Grand Stadium in the capital city of Kojin. This magnificent project cost millions of gold pieces. It stands as a symbol of the wealth and strength of the Kingdom of Hakoran. Our leaders say this stadium will attract tourists from all over the world.
Kai felt something twist in his chest. Not the warmth of the tea. Something hotter. Sharper. He looked up at the cracked ceiling. Then at his mother's face. The lines around her eyes. The exhaustion that never left her. In the capital they were building monuments of glass and gold. And here in Muraki children went to school in buildings with broken windows. Old people died in the winter because they couldn't afford heat.
The stadium is a waste, he said quietly. They should use that money for the clinics. For the schools.
His mother stopped moving. She didn't turn around. Her shoulders tensed.
Don't talk like that Kai. Words are dangerous. The walls have ears. The government doesn't forgive people who complain. We have to be grateful for what we have.
Grateful? Kai felt the word burn in his throat. We have nothing mother. A roof that leaks. A heater that doesn't work. Father died because the clinic didn't have medicine. What exactly should we be grateful for.
The silence that followed was heavy. Suffocating. His mother's back was still to him but he saw the way her hands gripped the edge of the counter. The mention of his father always did this. It filled the room with a grief so thick you could barely breathe through it. His father had worked in the factories until the dust destroyed his lungs. And when they finally took him to the hospital the doctors turned them away. No beds for poor workers they said. No money for medicine. He died right here in this house. Gasping for air. While the radio played songs for the King's birthday.
Go to work Kai, she said softly. Don't let anger eat your heart. It won't put food on the table. It won't change anything.
He stood and walked over to her. He kissed her forehead. Her skin felt thin. Fragile. Like paper worn too smooth. He grabbed his jacket and left.
Outside the air was thick with coal smoke and damp earth. The streets weren't paved. Just dirt paths that turned into rivers of mud when it rained. He walked down the main road. Around him the town was waking. Men with hollow eyes trudged toward the bus stop. Children walked to school in coats that were too small and shoes with holes in the soles.
He passed the school building. Grey brick walls. Windows covered with cardboard because the glass had broken months ago. The government said there was no money to fix schools in the rural areas. But Kai had seen the newspapers. He'd seen the pictures of politicians in silk suits stepping out of expensive cars. He knew exactly where the money went.
Kai.
The voice was thin and shaky. He turned. It was Mr. Han. An old man who lived next to the pharmacy. When Kai was a boy Mr. Han used to tell him stories about the old days. Now he was frail. His voice barely carried. He was holding a piece of paper in his trembling hand.
Kai wait.
Kai stopped and walked over. Hello Mr. Han. Are you feeling alright.
The old man shook his head slowly. My chest hurts Kai. I went to the pharmacy this morning to get my heart medicine. They told me the price went up. It's three times what it was last month. Three times.
Kai took the paper. It was a prescription. He recognized the name of the medicine. It was a basic drug. It should have been cheap.
Why did the price go up.
Mr. Han's eyes were wet. The pharmacist said the company that makes it raised the price. He said the government approved it. I told him I can't afford that. I only have my pension. You know what he said to me? He said I should go home and pray.
Kai looked into the old man's watery eyes and felt something crack inside him. Shame. Anger. Helplessness. He was young. Strong. And he couldn't do anything. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. It was his lunch money for the next three days. He held it out.
Take this. Please. It's not much but maybe it helps.
Mr. Han pushed his hand away gently. He shook his head.
No Kai. You need that for your mother. For your sister. I'm an old man. My time is almost over. I just wanted to tell someone. It feels a little better when someone knows.
Kai watched him walk away. Each step slow and painful. Like the air around him was too heavy. Like the world itself was pressing down on his shoulders. The anger in Kai's chest grew. It wasn't a spark anymore. It was a fire. A roaring burning thing. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run all the way to the capital and grab the Prime Minister by his silk collar and drag him here. Make him look at Mr. Han. Make him look at his mother's hands.
But he didn't. He turned and kept walking toward the warehouse.
The warehouse sat at the edge of town like a sleeping giant. It belonged to a large company based in the city of Ryokan. Inside were crates full of electronics. Televisions. Computers. Luxury goods. None of it stayed in Muraki. It all went to the rich cities. To other countries. The people here never saw any of it.
Kai spent his day the way he always did. Lifting boxes. Stacking crates. The air was thick with dust. It burned his throat. His boss Mr. Goro sat in his glass office with a fan and a cushioned chair. He watched them through the window. If anyone stopped to rest even for a moment his voice boomed through the speakers.
Move faster. Time is money. If you're too tired there are a hundred men outside who want your job.
Kai kept working. But his mind was elsewhere. He thought about Mr. Han's shaking hands. He thought about the golden stadium. He thought about all the questions he'd carried for years. Why did some people have everything while others had nothing? Why did the laws protect the rich and crush the poor?
At noon they got a short break. The workers sat on the floor and ate their small lunches in silence. Kai sat next to a man named Juro. He was older. Had three children.
Did you hear about the new tax? Juro asked quietly.
No. What tax.
They're raising taxes on small businesses. My brother runs a little grocery shop. He says he'll have to close. He can't pay the tax and feed his kids at the same time.
Why are they doing this.
Juro laughed but there was no humor in it. He glanced around to make sure Mr. Goro wasn't listening.
They need money for the big projects in Kojin. The stadium. The parks. The statues. They don't want to tax the corporations because those companies donate to the politicians. So they squeeze people like my brother instead. People who can't fight back.
It's not fair. Someone needs to do something.
Juro's face went serious. He leaned in close.
Don't say that word Kai. Fair. That's a word for children. In this world there's only power. The people with the guns and the money make the rules. The rest of us just try to survive. If you start talking about change you'll end up in the Black Prison. You know what happens to people there.
Kai knew. The Black Prison was where people disappeared. People who asked too many questions. People who spoke too loud.
But if no one ever speaks up nothing will ever change. We'll die like this. And so will our children.
At least we'll be alive. For most people that's enough.
The break ended. They went back to work. Kai's muscles burned. His back ached. But the pain in his body was nothing compared to the pain in his chest. He felt trapped. Like a bird locked in a cage. He could see the sky through the bars but he couldn't reach it.
When the sun began to set the workday finally ended. Kai received his pay. A thin envelope with a few crumpled bills. Barely enough to buy rice and oil for the week. He walked out into the cold evening air.
On his way home he saw a crowd gathered around a small television in the window of an electronics shop. He stopped to look. On the screen was Prime Minister Choi Sanguk. He stood on a stage surrounded by flowers. He was smiling. Healthy. Well fed. Happy. He held a pair of golden scissors and cut a red ribbon. The crowd around him in the video cheered and clapped. Everyone was dressed in fine clothes.
This stadium is for the people, the Prime Minister said. It shows that Hakoran is a land of opportunity. We are a great nation. We are one family under our King.
Kai looked at the men standing beside him. Their faces were covered in grime from the mines and factories. Their clothes were torn. Their bodies were thin. None of them looked like they belonged to the family the Prime Minister was talking about. They looked like the dirt swept aside after a celebration.
One man spat on the ground and walked away. The others followed without a word. No cheers. No smiles. Just tired men heading back to cold empty houses.
When Kai got home he found his sister Su Minji sitting at the kitchen table. She was studying by the light of a single candle. She was twenty two. She wanted to be a teacher. She was smart. So smart. But her clothes were threadbare and her face was pale with exhaustion.
Hello Kai. You look tired.
I'm fine. How was university today.
Her face fell. She looked down at her book.
The professor told us the government is cutting scholarships again. I don't know if I'll be able to finish the year. The books are so expensive. The bus fare keeps going up.
Kai felt a sharp stab of pain in his chest. Minji was his hope. She was supposed to escape this place. She was supposed to have a real future. A clean office. A warm classroom. A life free from the mud and smoke of Muraki.
Don't worry about the money. I'll figure something out. I can take on extra shifts.
No Kai. You're already working yourself to death. Your hands are always bleeding. I can leave school. I can find work cleaning houses with mother.
No. You're not leaving school. You're going to be a teacher. You're going to help the children here. I won't let you quit.
He walked to his room without eating dinner. He sat on his bed and picked up an old photograph of his father. In the picture his father was smiling. He looked strong. He looked like a man who still believed the future could be good.
I'm sorry father, Kai whispered. I'm sorry I couldn't save you.
And then a different thought came to him. His father's death wasn't an accident. It wasn't bad luck. It was murder. The government had killed him. They'd stolen his life. They were stealing his mother's health. They were stealing his sister's future. They were stealing his soul piece by piece.
He lay down but he couldn't sleep. Images kept flashing through his mind. The golden stadium. Mr. Han's trembling hands. The Prime Minister's smug smile. And somewhere deep inside him something that had been cold and dead for years began to stir. Like a pile of old ash with wind blowing through it. And buried beneath all that ash was a single glowing coal. Still hot. Still alive.
He thought about what Juro said. Power was all that mattered. If you had power you kept everything. If you didn't you kept nothing.
I need to find a way to get power, he said into the darkness.
He didn't know how. He was nobody. Just a worker in a forgotten town. No money. No connections. But he had something the politicians didn't have. He had the truth. He knew what hunger felt like. He knew what it was like to watch someone you love die because they were poor.
The night dragged on. Wind howled outside. His mother coughed in the next room. Each cough was a reminder. A warning. He couldn't stay silent forever.
Just before dawn he finally fell asleep. And in his dreams he saw fire. Not the kind that destroys. The kind that purifies. It burned away the glass towers and golden stadiums. It burned away the silk suits and the lies. And from the ashes people rose. Not broken. Not tired. Standing tall.
He woke to the sound of the pot clattering in the kitchen. He got dressed and walked out. His mother looked at him and stopped. Something in his eyes was different.
Kai are you alright? You look like you've seen something.
I didn't see a ghost mother. I saw the future.
He grabbed his jacket and walked out the door. But he didn't head toward the warehouse. He walked toward the center of town. Toward the square where people gathered.
When he arrived a few workers were sitting on benches waiting for the factory buses. Kai walked up and stood in front of them. His heart pounded. His hands were shaking. He'd never done anything like this before.
What are you doing Kai? one of them called. The bus isn't here yet.
The bus isn't coming to save us. No one is.
Some of them laughed nervously.
Did you hit your head? Sit down.
Mr. Han can't afford his medicine, Kai said. His voice was steady now. Juro's brother is losing his shop. My sister might have to leave school. And while we sit here drowning in mud they're building palaces for a King who doesn't even know we exist. Does that seem right to you?
The laughter stopped. The men looked at each other. Then down at their worn boots. At their calloused hands. The silence that followed was heavy. The kind of silence that comes when people know the truth but are too afraid to speak it.
They want us to be afraid, Kai continued. They want us to think we're powerless. But we're the ones who build their stadiums. We make their electronics. We grow their food. Without us they have nothing.
An old man at the back stood up. A miner with a scarred face.
We know that boy. But what can we do? They have the guns. They have the prisons.
We start by talking. We stop pretending everything is fine. We tell them we're not animals. We're people of Hakoran. And we want our country back.
The bus pulled up. But this time no one rushed toward it. They stood there for a moment. Just looking at Kai. A young man who looked like them. Dressed like them. But standing straight. Unafraid.
Think about it today, Kai said. Ask yourselves if this is the life you want for your children.
He turned and walked away. He didn't go to work. He climbed the hill overlooking the town. He stood there looking down at the smoke and the grey rooftops and felt something he hadn't felt in years. Peace.
He'd spoken. The first layer of ash had been blown away. And underneath the fire was waiting.
He looked at his hands. Stained and scarred. But steady.
The morning was no longer ordinary. And in the smallest poorest corner of Muraki the story of the Kingdom of Hakoran had just begun to change.