Legal Disclaimer
This light novel is inspired by the beautiful landscapes and cultures of Bolivia and South Korea. However, the characters, events, and situations portrayed are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental. This content does not intend to represent or reflect the historical, social, or cultural reality of either country. The author disclaims any legal liability arising from the interpretation of these elements.
Chapter 95 — A New Life
95.1 The city inside a Bowl.
They landed in El Alto at four in the morning.
The air, dry and freezing, burned Ryu's lungs.
He made no comment.
Adjusted his breathing with discipline, as if his body were just another matter to be mastered.
At that altitude, La Paz wasn't a city.
It was another world.
The driver watched them through the rearview mirror.
He said nothing.
This wasn't Santa Cruz.
Here, the silence was sharp.
—Is it always like this?
Ryu asked in a low voice as the car began to move.
Zayra didn't answer.
She simply adjusted her coat, looking at her phone.
They descended the spiral highway.
La Paz unfolded before Ryu like a luminous abyss: houses on slopes, colorful roofs, and streets snaking downward.
"The city didn't rise. It sank. As if someone had lit lights inside an immenseBowl,"
Ryu thought in silence.
—Zay...
He murmured, never taking his eyes off the window.
—This is different.
Zayra nodded.
—Is that a cable car?
Ryu pointed to the cables suspended over the city.
—Yes. People use it to get to work.
Zayra said.
Ryu remained silent for a few seconds.
—They travel through the air… every day?
He calculated distances.
Heights, access routes.
This wasn't just picturesque; it was strategic.
She replied.
—La Paz is vertical. Without the cable car, getting around takes much longer.
Ryu observed the landscape.
Cable cars like fireflies over the city.
Colorful houses, endless stairways, and dry trees.
A distant contrast to the green he knew in Santa Cruz.
—This city... It's different.
He whispered.
Zayra let out a brief, small laugh joyless, but honest.
—La Paz is unique.
Raw. Beautiful.
And not always kind.
While Ryu watched it all, she picked up her phone.
Headlines.
< "Roadblocks announced."
"Protests called from El Alto.">
She took a breath,
closed her eyes for a moment, and spoke calmly.
—Ryu, later they will cut off the routes in the highlands.
When everything comes to a standstill… the tension explodes.
He turned slowly toward her.
Zayra swallowed hard.
—Bolivia is beautiful.
But what you are about to see now is not its best face.
She fell silent.
Outside, the cable car crossed the abyss.
A suspended city.
"Now he understood why she said that Bolivia wasn't explained… it was survived."
95.2 An encouraging call.
The elevator ascended in silence.
Zayra walked with her locket clutched tight.
Ryu followed behind.
The suitcase wasn't heavy.
His silence was.
The Paceño air, dry and cold, felt like a held sigh.
As if the city itself were waiting for something.
As soon as she crossed the door,
without even taking off her coat, she called.
One attempt.
Two.
Three.
On the fourth, finally, a raspy voice answered from the other side.
—Zayra?
A tear fell down her cheek.
—Dad… why didn't you call me sooner?
She replied, her voice a broken thread.
From the other side,
Mr. Choi Dae-Hyun's soft laughter brought unexpected warmth.
—Child, did you think we were going to ruin your honeymoon?
Zayra closed her eyes, relieved.
Her father's voice calmed her instantly.
—But I was so worried…
She reproached.
—We didn't want to worry you.
Her father said.
—The situation is delicate. But we remain firm.
Ryu watched from the large window.
The scattered lights of La Paz flickered like stars trapped between mountains.
Her voice was low, but her fingers wouldn't stay still.
He understood that sign.
In others, restless fingers betrayed insecurity.
In her… fear.
She inhaled deeply and spoke.
—I'm glad you're okay.
—Daughter, I need you to go to the Korean embassy.
Zayra blinked in silence.
—Your mother doesn't have nationality. We might have to leave. Pick up her passport with the visa.
—And if they don't give it to me?
—You'll have to stay for a few days. There's no other way.
You know how they are.
Zayra sat on the edge of the bed, phone still in hand, her feet barely touching the rug.
—I understand. I'll take care of it.
—Child, look after Ryu. Don't scare him with a strong Fricasé.
Her dad let out a light chuckle, wanting to take the weight off the night.
She laughed softly.
Ryu didn't understand, but seeing her smile, he breathed easier.
—I promise I'll look after him.
She whispered.
—That's enough for me. See you soon.
Her father replied.
Zayra hung up and stayed still, as if the voice were still vibrating.
Then she turned to Ryu.
—We're going to have to stay a few more days.
He sat beside her.
—I'm with you.
Said quietly.
It wasn't just comfort,
it was a commitment.
95.3 The Sorojchi shows no mercy.
Minutes later, Ryu felt strange and mentioned:
—Zay… something's not right. My head hurts… I'm getting dizzy.
She looked at him with concern.
Took him by the arm and straightened him up on the bed.
Then evaluated him at a glance.
Pale, parched… and clearly affected.
—Oh, no… It's got you.
She sighed.
—What has?
Ryu sat up a bit, as if the mattress were lava.
—My head is throbbing… hard. I feel nauseous. This isn't normal.
She picked up the phone.
—Reception. A Sorojchipill and mate de coca, please.
Thank you.
Ryu blinked.
—Soro… what? What do I have?
Zayra let out a soft, almost maternal laugh.
—Sorojchi. The price of breathing at more than three thousand meters.
Welcome to La Paz.
—What the hell is that!?
—Calm down. I'll explain now.
There was a knock at the door.
Zayra opened it and returned with a tiny pill and a silver thermos.
—Take the pill. And drink this… mate de coca.
She told him, like a professional nurse.
Ryu looked at her as if she had just invited him to a shamanic ritual.
—Are you drugging me?
—Don't be ridiculous!
Zayra laughed.
—It's ancestral, not a drug. And it's going to help you… though it could wake the dead.
Ryu, suspicious, took the pill and took a sip.
He frowned.
—It tastes… weird.
***
Minutes later, Ryu couldn't find a comfortable position.
He would lie down, sit up, and try again.
—I feel like I have too much energy and I don't know what to do with it.
Zayra watched him as if she were seeing a child who had eaten too many sweets for the first time.
—I told you it was the mate… and the altitude.
Your body is in shock. At more than three thousand meters, Mr. CEO.
Ryu began to walk, breathing deeply.
He tried to control his body's rhythm.
But the altitude wouldn't negotiate.
—It's fascinating… and terrible. Is this how you always live?
He said it without judgment.
Just trying to understand how character is built in a place like this.
—That's right. We are already forged for this.
You are breaking in La Paz… from the inside.
Zayra sat with a pillow in her arms, barely smiling.
He stood before her, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.
—Zay, I feel…
He said in a low voice.
—Yes?
She replied.
The city had disarmed him in a few hours.
The air, the chaos, the altitude.
And she… she remained firm.
He leaned in a little.
—...very close to you. Unfairly close.
Zayra blinked.
This wasn't the usual, restrained Ryu.
—Are you getting romantic because of a mate de coca?
Ryu lowered his voice as if they were conspiring.
—It's not the mate. It's this city… It's you.
The cold outside.
Zayra felt her heart race, as if she had also taken mate de coca.
Trapped in La Paz by roadblocks and paperwork.
By everything and nothing.
And yet, that moment felt eternal.
Ryu leaned in, for the first time.
Without thinking.
Without asking permission.
It wasn't recklessness.
It was the first time the environment had imposed the rhythm on him.
And she didn't stop him.
95.4 Pieces on the board.
The office in Sopocachi was in shadows, lit only by a floor lamp that cast long shadows on the walls.
Ivor Amaro held the phone with the same elegance one holds a wine glass.
He listened to his companion complain about the fires he himself had ordered to be set.
His assistant appeared at the door, hesitating.
—Sir, someone is requesting entry…
Ivor turned his head slowly.
His eyes sparkled with an impatient glint, and the mere movement of his lips was enough to freeze the air.
—I'm occupied.
The door closed. Silence again.
Only the voice in the receiver filled the space.
—But, Ivor… they've already offered me tankers, entire brigades.
And I rejected that international aid to please you.
Don't you understand that I'm the one who looks bad?
Ivor tilted his head like a predator playing with its prey.
His fingers drummed softly on the arm of the chair, a slow, calculating beat.
—And yet, you are still there.
He murmured with a poisonous calm.
—Those volunteers are enough.
—No, they aren't!
The voice broke, tense, almost desperate.
—More than 40% of the forest is already lost. It's been 3 weeks since we started.
The videos have gone viral: charred animals and disappearing jungle… I can't sustain this.
They say I'm just standing by with my arms crossed.
Ivor closed his eyes for a second, breathing deeply, as if enjoying the scent of another's desperation.
When he opened them, a frigid spark crossed his gaze.
—Public opinion does not interest me.
You are in your position because of me.
The breathing on the other side became rough, resentful.
—Yes… you like that, Ivor. I please you in everything.
But I don't want to go down in history as the worst president in this country's history either.
A smile barely curved Ivor's lips, without reaching his eyes.
He moved a finger over the surface of the table, as if moving an invisible piece on a board.
—History is written by those who know how to move the pieces.
He whispered.
The voice announced.
—Rain is forecast. If it doesn't rain soon… I'm going to ask for international help.
You won't leave me any other choice.
Ivor's eyes narrowed.
The pad of his finger hit the table sharp, once.
"If the communities vanish from the area voluntarily, the board remains clear.
No one else will dare to challenge me."
The thought crossed his mind without emotion, like a mathematical calculation.
—Besides.
He added, lowering his voice like someone recalling a bothersome detail
—Don't play the fool. You already received the money you asked for.
The silence became thick.
The voice didn't respond immediately, as if swallowing the words it wanted to spit out.
Ivor didn't wait. He hung up with an elegant, almost theatrical gesture.
The dry click resonated like a whip crack.
He stood up slowly, adjusting his jacket with obsessive precision.
Walked toward the fireplace burning at the back of the room.
The fire crackled loudly, and for an instant,
the flames seemed to reflect in his pupils.
He tilted his head like someone contemplating a work of art.
His lips curved slightly.
To others, it was destruction.
To him, beauty.
A reminder that everything forests, animals, entire communities were just pieces on his board.
And he, the only player.
And while Ivor calculated his next move…
A torrential rain fell without warning.
Some flames were extinguished.
Others were just beginning.