Chapter 32
Park Sang-bong let out a hearty laugh and patted Baek Soo-cheol on the back.
“Haha, look at you, all grown up…”
No matter what Park Sang-bong said, tears as fat as chicken droppings fell from Baek Soo-cheol’s eyes, and his pounding heart refused to calm. The trembling pulse warmed Park Sang-bong’s heart even as it pierced it with sorrow.
Like an eight-year-old clinging to a father returned from war.
Like a cicada weeping on an ancient tree.
Like the apparition of departed parents in a dream.
Baek Soo-cheol couldn’t utter a sound through the suffocating grief, tears falling in heavy drops. Then, as if a dam had burst, a choked voice erupted from his throat.
“Unc… Uncle…!”
“Do you recognize me now, Soo-cheol?”
Baek Soo-cheol rubbed his face against Park Sang-bong’s chest and nodded.
A man in his mid-thirties crying like a child might have seemed pitiful to others, but Park Sang-bong saw only tenderness. For someone who had always stood strong and dignified for his siblings, even this vulnerability felt precious.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Uncle…”
“What do you have to apologize for?”
“That day… If I hadn’t made that call… If I’d disciplined the kids properly… put them to bed earlier…”
“…….”
“If I had… you wouldn’t have… wouldn’t have ended up like this…!”
Baek Soo-cheol’s shoulders shook violently.
Park Sang-bong stroked his head with a faint smile until the trembling subsided, then spoke gently.
“Thank you, Soo-cheol.”
“I… don’t deserve that. I… to you, I…”
“Your uncle loves you dearly.”
At these earnest words, Baek Soo-cheol seized Park Sang-bong’s collar and wept. His hands trembled as if seized by convulsions, clinging desperately as though this moment might vanish.
“Soo-cheol.”
“Hic… Uncle…”
“I need to go now.”
“No! No! Just… just a little longer… please…”
Park Sang-bong patted his back.
“Thank you for remembering this flawed uncle.”
Baek Soo-cheol buried his face deeper into the embrace, sobs shaking his frame. But their time was slipping away.
A faint glow began emanating from Park Sang-bong’s body as he gradually turned translucent. Baek Soo-cheol clawed at him like a drowning man, yet the more he struggled, the faster the figure faded—like sinking into dark waters.
“No! No! Uncle!!”
“I’m going somewhere peaceful. Don’t fret.”
“Uncle…!”
“I’ve seen you grow well. That’s enough.”
“It’s not enough! I still visit the orphanage whenever I miss you. Those memories of us playing there… they’re what keep me going!”
“…….”
“Please don’t go. I… I can’t let you go yet!”
Park Sang-bong gazed at him with aching eyes, drew a deep breath, and said:
“A wise young friend once told me—to start anew, you must release your regrets.”
“Uncle…”
Baek Soo-cheol’s silent prayers to freeze time went unanswered. Forcing a smile, Park Sang-bong continued:
“Thank you for remembering.”
“Ahh… Ahh…!”
“Playing catch, basketball, teaching you to ride bikes… Those were my happiest moments. Precious memories.”
“Ah…!”
“I never had such joys as a child. You gave me that childhood, Soo-cheol.”
Baek Soo-cheol’s fists shook before he finally broke into childlike wails.
“Don’t go… please, Uncle…”
“Haha! You never threw tantrums before… Now you finally look your age.”
Collapsing to the floor, Baek Soo-cheol wailed like an infant. Park Sang-bong wiped his own reddened eyes one last time.
“Live well, Soo-cheol.”
“Ahh…!”
“Don’t cling to the past like I did. Be happy. Promise me.”
“Ahh…!”
“I love you.”
As Baek Soo-cheol strained to speak, Park Sang-bong dissolved into blinding light.
In the shadowed bedroom,
Park Sang-bong emerged from the dreamscape to gaze at the soundly sleeping man.
“Chairman, it’s time to depart.”
Cha Seung-pyo’s voice sounded beside him.
Park Sang-bong smiled bitterly.
“Our Soo-cheol… I never heard his final words.”
“You’ve exhausted your allotted time. We must return to the café.”
“What if those unspoken words leave regret in his heart?”
“That burden belongs to Mr. Baek now.”
Settling at the bedside, Park Sang-bong gently brushed Baek Soo-cheol’s bangs—unyielding as the sleeper remained oblivious to touch or voice, now and always.
“Dad…”
The whisper escaped Baek Soo-cheol’s lips.
“Don’t go… Dad.”
Tears spilled from closed eyes as trembling lips formed the words. Park Sang-bong sat motionless, a statue frozen in time.
“Chairman Park Sang-bong.”
“…….”
“Director?”
As Cha Seung-pyo approached and observed his expression, he could see Park Sang-bong’s startled face.
Soon after, transparent tears streamed down Park Sang-bong’s cheeks.
Park Sang-bong clutched his chest with his right hand, wearing an expression that was hard to decipher—whether he was smiling or crying.
“This… is how it feels.”
“……”
“This is how it feels…”
The corners of Park Sang-bong’s lips curved into a gentle arc.
“Truly… a beautiful word.”
Cha Seung-pyo also felt an inexplicable flutter in his heart.
Just looking at him made his chest warm, as if a weight had dissolved.
Cha Seung-pyo swallowed dryly and thought, ‘Mr. Jeong Jik-han… is this what you wished for?’
He hadn’t paid close attention before, but the world was filled with moments as beautiful as this.
Park Sang-bong gently stroked the cheeks of Baek Soo-cheol, who lay fast asleep, and murmured softly,
“Live well, son.”
Around 2 a.m., Cha Seung-pyo and Director Park returned to the café.
“You’re back?”
As Jeong Jik-han greeted them, Director Park sniffled and slumped into a barstool.
He glanced awkwardly at Jeong Jik-han, as if struggling to speak.
When Jeong Jik-han tilted his head in confusion, Director Park cleared his throat.
“Your name is Jeong Jik-han, right?”
“Yes, Director.”
“…Thank you.”
At the heartfelt gratitude, Jeong Jik-han smiled brightly and asked,
“Have you found closure?”
Director Park scratched his eyebrow, then nodded slowly.
“I’m at peace now.”
“I’m glad. It’s a relief to have helped, and thanks to you, Director, I feel lighter too.”
“Ah… I’ve had too much coffee. My stomach’s uneasy. Could I get a cup of warm barley tea?”
A faint glow now shimmered around Park Sang-bong’s entire body.
Jeong Jik-han nodded cheerfully and prepared steaming barley tea.
Handing the cup to Director Park, he said,
“You’ve endured so much.”
“It wasn’t that bad…”
“You have endured so much.”
“…….”
“It was an honor to guide your final moments and help you begin anew.”
“Thank you. Meeting you was my good fortune.”
“I’ll always root for you.”
“Live well. I’ll root for your life too.”
Director Park smiled contentedly as he brought the tea to his lips.
With a soft gulp, warmth flooded his body. His soul, wrapped in gentle light, vanished in a flash.
A message from Nahan appeared before Jeong Jik-han:
[The deceased ‘---’ has ascended.]
[Jeong Jik-han of KarMa Entertainment is rewarded for assisting the ascension.]
[500 Gil has been granted.]
Huh? I uncovered his name—why isn’t it showing up?
He stared at the message and called out,
“Nahan.”
[Yes. How may I assist you?]
“The one who just ascended is Mr. Park Sang-bong.”
[Is the unnamed deceased individual’s name Park Sang-bong?]
“Correct.”
[Initiating personal data retrieval and update.]
What does this mean? Do the underworld records delete people’s information?
Kim Sook-hee, a spirit for 70 years, still had her records. Lee Dong-wook, who died in the war, had his too. Yet Park Sang-bong’s were missing?
Humans err, but the afterlife too?
A drama once mentioned “miscategorized omissions.” Though fictional, it seemed the underworld truly had oversight cases.
Ding!
Another message appeared:
[Personal data for unnamed deceased “Park Sang-bong” has been retrieved.]
[Please briefly describe Park Sang-bong’s achievements.]
Describe his achievements?
Jeong Jik-han relayed what he knew: an orphanage graduate who built a business, volunteered at Hope Orphanage, supported children like a father.
[Damaged records match Jeong Jik-han’s account.]
[Updating deceased Park Sang-bong’s data.]
[Update complete.]
This is acceptable? A whole life nearly erased?
When Jeong Jik-han later confronted Cha Seung-pyo, the latter replied bitterly,
“Such cases are… rare.”
“Isn’t that a critical flaw?”
“…….”
“What if the update failed? Would Mr. Park have been condemned to hell unnoticed?”
“We acknowledge the issue. It stems from automating previously manual processes.”
Jeong Jik-han’s temper flared.
So the overlooked just suffer? This is your error! What about the victims?
Cha Seung-pyo adjusted his collar calmly.
“Omissions aren’t sentenced to hell. The underworld rechecks all such cases.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. With rising populations, rare oversights occur—one in ten million. Please don’t dwell on it.”
Ding!
A new message glowed:
[KarMa Entertainment’s Jeong Jik-han is thanked for restoring the unnamed deceased’s identity.]
[Adjusted reward: 4,000 Gil granted.]
4,000 Gil?! For doing so little?
Cha Seung-pyo spoke as Jeong Jik-han gaped.
“Employees who resolve underworld duties deserve fair compensation.”
“…….”
“You handled tasks meant for us. This is appropriate.”
Jeong Jik-han’s anger dissolved like sugar in tea.
So this is why they say money heals.
