CHAPTER 23: "PAST MEMORIES"
Flashback: 20 Years Before the Incident
I awoke early on a crisp December morning, the house still cloaked in the gentle hush of dawn. As I padded down the hallway, I was greeted by the warm, comforting aroma of breakfast and the sound of soft laughter from the kitchen. My mother and father, who had adopted me a few years back, were already bustling about, their energy infectious. Adjusting to life here had been a challenge—Korea and the US felt worlds apart—but their unwavering support made it easier.
It was December 31, 2012, a day that mirrored the festive cheer of Christmas back home. Yet, the contrast made me ache with nostalgia. My reverie was broken by Arthur's voice calling from behind, his tone light and inviting. "Han Min, come inside! Mom made your favorite curry."
I stood motionless, transfixed by the serene flow of the river. Arthur's words faded into the background as memories of a darker time resurfaced. Shadows from the past lingered—days when strangers had subjected me to cruel experiments, the hazy recollection of daily injections still vivid.
Arthur's gentle shake snapped me back to the present. "Hey, Han Min, can you hear me?"
"Sorry, Arthur. I was lost in thought," I replied, offering a faint smile.
He settled beside me, tossing stones into the water in rhythmic succession. The ripples they caused matched the unresolved echoes in my mind. Something crucial lay hidden behind my blocked memories, like a door I couldn't open. As snow began to fall gently around us, Arthur reached for my hand. "Han-Min, let's go inside. Mom's waiting."
We returned to the house, leaving the chill and my lingering thoughts behind. That Christmas unfolded like the ones before, familiar and comforting.
12 Years Before the Incident
Fast forward to June 20, 2024. I was now 24, and the world felt complex in ways I couldn't quite define. My parents, seeking to relive cherished memories, had embarked on a honeymoon to their favorite retreat. Meanwhile, Arthur was out with friends, leaving me alone with a novel and the promise of a quiet afternoon.
As I turned each page, a sense of unease crept in. It was the same haunting feeling, a residue of forgotten traumas lurking just out of reach. Ignoring it, I focused on the story, until a call shattered my solitude.
"Is this Han-Min?" a voice buzzed through the static on the line, unfamiliar yet oddly foreboding.
"Yes, this is Han-Min. Who's calling?"
"This is emergency services. We regret to inform you that your parents were involved in an accident with a drunk driver. They… they didn't survive."
Disbelief hit me like a physical blow. "This must be a mistake," I insisted, desperation coloring my words.
"I'm sorry, sir, but it's the truth."
**~~~~~**
I jolted awake, a prisoner in the present, reality snapping sharply into focus. Chains clinked as I shifted in the rigid chair, cold metal biting into my wrists. Outside my isolation cell, guards spoke in Nihongo, their radios crackling between exchanges. A glance from one alerted the others to my consciousness.
Soon, the head of the prison arrived, his expression one of cool detachment. "Who's your affiliation?" he demanded.
"None of your business fucking business" I countered, defiance threading my tone.
"It is my business. You've trespassed, so speak. Where are you from? What's your affiliation?" His voice was edged with authority, a threat implicit in his words.
With silence as my only defiance, he ordered the torture to begin. Pain flared brutally as my fingernails were ripped away, my screams stifled by a makeshift gag. They worked methodically, these men who took pleasure in my torment, until the head returned, seeking answers.
"Chaos Insurgency," I gasped, finally breaking under the weight of agony.
His disdainful glance accompanied a bitter laugh. "GOC or not, you face a grim end. Consider yourself lucky you're...Korean." His words dripped disdain as he left me, broken and spent.
Eventually, they relented, calling for medics to treat my wounds. They were a temporary reprieve from the cycle of pain, a fleeting moment of calm.
Meanwhile, Elsewhere
Kiriyama had reached Formosa Island, her presence commanding respect as she disembarked. The Imperial Nihon Navy, recognizing her authority, granted passage with grudging acquiescence. "Business?" they inquired, wary of her intentions.
"None of your business" she returned, her voice carrying the quiet poise of unchallenged certainty.
Watching her go, they cursed under their breath, knowing any affront against her would provoke the Emperor's ire. Kiriyama walked alone, carrying the weight of her mission with silent determination.