The rain didn't let up. It hammered Seo-jun's cap, streamed down the back of his neck inside his collar, and turned the world into a grey, roaring smear. The woman – Park Ji-min, according to the fractured radio call – stood frozen for a second longer, knee-deep in sucking mud beside her hopelessly entrenched car, her eyes wide and locked onto him. Then the furious spark reignited. She took another determined, if clumsy, step towards the slope where he stood, her expensive boot disappearing into the mire with a revolting *schlorp*. Her mouth opened again, shaping words instantly devoured by the wind and the river's hungry bellow. He saw the flash of white teeth, the tightening of her jaw. Yelling. Definitely yelling.
Seo-jun didn't wait for the sound to reach him. Instinct and training took over. He started down the slope towards her, moving sideways for better purchase, boots sinking into the sodden earth, fingers instinctively brushing against tree trunks for balance. The mud near the car was a nightmare, churned into a thick, viscous soup by the spinning tires. He raised a hand, palm out, the universal signal to stop. *Stop moving. Stop digging yourself deeper.*
She saw the gesture. Her yelling stopped, replaced by a glare of pure, incandescent frustration. She planted her hands on her hips, a ridiculous gesture of defiance in the middle of a mud bath during a monsoon, her chin jutting out. Even from ten meters away, through the downpour, the sheer, city-bred outrage radiating from her was palpable. It was almost impressive.
He reached the edge of the road proper, the crumbling asphalt slick with runoff. The Kia Soul was worse off than he'd thought from above. The front right wheel wasn't just off the road; it was buried axle-deep in the slope, the car canted at a dangerous angle. The rear wheels were still spinning intermittently, the driver clearly having scrambled out without shifting into park, the engine still running, a high-pitched whine of futile effort against the mountain's indifference. Every spin churned more mud, deepening the trap.
"Turn it off!" Seo-jun shouted, his voice cutting through the rain's drumming with sharp authority. He pointed emphatically at the car. "Engine! Off! Now!"
She blinked, rainwater streaming down her face. For a second, he thought she might argue. Then the absurdity of the situation – or perhaps the sheer volume in his command – seemed to penetrate. She lurched back towards the open driver's door, grabbing the frame to haul herself up. He saw her fumble inside, then the engine's desperate whine cut off abruptly, leaving only the roar of the storm and the river. The sudden silence was almost shocking.
She leaned against the car door, breathing hard, her shoulders slumping for just a moment before she pushed herself upright again, turning back to him. The defiance was back, but tempered now by a dawning awareness of her helplessness. She gestured wildly at the car, then at the mud, then at the sky, her mouth moving again. He caught fragments: "…stupid… road… map said… rain… *mud*!"
Seo-jun ignored the tirade, his focus entirely on the vehicle and the ground. He edged closer, testing the mud near the buried wheel with his boot. It gave way alarmingly. This wasn't just stuck; it was actively sinking. The angle was bad. The slope was unstable. Getting it out with the village's ancient tractor was impossible in this weather and on this terrain. Towing it risked dragging the whole mess, car and all, further down the slope or triggering a bigger slide. Leaving it here was inviting disaster – it could slip off entirely, blocking the road or worse.
He looked back at her. She was shivering visibly now, the thin city jacket plastered to her, offering zero warmth. Her dark hair was a tangled, dripping mess. Mud streaked her face and clothes. She looked miserable, furious, and dangerously cold. Hypothermia was a real risk.
"We need to secure it and get you out of this weather," he stated, his voice calmer now, practical. He had to shout to be heard. "The car's not moving tonight."
Her eyes widened. "Not moving? What do you mean, not moving? I have things! I have a reservation! I have…" She trailed off, looking around at the relentless grey wilderness, the reality of her isolation finally dawning. "Where… where am I supposed to go?"
"Haneul Maeul. The village. It's back that way." He jerked his head up the road. "About a kilometer. You can shelter at the police post until this eases." He didn't offer alternatives. There were none. The Resting Badger was further in, and Soon-ja's porch wasn't shelter enough. The police box was dry, if sparse.
She stared at him, then at the car, then back at the mudslide she'd created. Her shoulders slumped again, the fight momentarily draining out of her. She gave a short, sharp nod. It wasn't agreement; it was surrender to the inevitable. "Fine. Whatever. Just… how do we *secure* it?" She looked at the sinking car with disgust.
Seo-jun was already scanning the roadside. "Need rocks. Big ones. To chock the wheels still on the road. Stop it sliding further." He pointed towards the bamboo thicket he'd passed earlier. "There. Help me find some."
She blinked, looking at the thicket, then at the mud coating her boots halfway to the knee, then back at him. Her expression clearly said, *You cannot be serious.* But the officer's gaze was steady, expectant. This wasn't a request. It was necessary. With a groan that was part frustration, part despair, she wrenched her right boot free of the mud with a loud sucking sound and took a lurching step towards the bamboo. Seo-jun moved past her, his longer stride eating up the distance, already scanning the ground for suitable stones.
Finding rocks large enough and solid enough wasn't easy. The rain made everything slick. He hefted a rough chunk of granite, testing its weight, and carried it back towards the car, placing it carefully behind the rear left wheel. Ji-min stumbled behind him, wrestling with a smaller, jagged stone. She dropped it near the front left wheel with a grunt, splattering mud up her already ruined jeans.
"Like this?" she asked, her voice tight.
"Further under. Wedge it tight against the tire," he instructed, kneeling in the mud himself, heedless of his uniform trousers. He repositioned the rock she'd brought, shoving it firmly into place with his shoulder. He felt the car shift minutely, settling slightly against the obstruction. "Good. Find another. Same size or bigger."
They worked in a tense, rain-soaked silence broken only by the storm and their labored breathing. Seo-jun moved with efficient strength, finding and placing rocks. Ji-min struggled, her movements hampered by the mud, her unfamiliar boots, and her obvious lack of experience with anything resembling manual labor. She slipped once, landing hard on her backside in the mud with a startled yelp. Seo-jun paused, turning.
"You alright?"
She glared up at him, mud plastering her hair to one side of her face. "Peachy," she spat, scrambling inelegantly to her feet, wiping futilely at the sludge on her backside. "Just perfect. Having the time of my life." She stomped off, muttering under her breath, towards another potential rock, her movements radiating furious embarrassment.
Seo-jun watched her for a second, a flicker of something almost like amusement touching his stern expression before he suppressed it. Stubborn. Reckless. But not a quitter. He turned back to the car, wedging another large stone behind the other rear wheel. The car felt marginally more stable. Not safe, but less likely to immediately plunge down the slope with the next heavy downpour. It would have to do.
He straightened up, wiping muddy hands on his equally muddy trousers. "That's the best we can do for now. Leave it locked. Grab anything essential you need immediately. We need to get moving."
Ji-min was leaning against the relatively clean flank of the car, breathing hard, looking utterly defeated. She nodded mutely, pushing wet hair off her forehead with a trembling hand. She was shivering violently now, her lips taking on a faint bluish tinge. The cold was winning. She fumbled with the back door handle, yanking it open. Seo-jun saw a glimpse of the interior – stylish, clean, completely at odds with the mud-churned chaos outside. She grabbed a large, expensive-looking leather tote bag, slinging it over her shoulder, then leaned in again, emerging with a sleek laptop case.
"That it?" Seo-jun asked. "We'll be walking. Through this." He gestured at the deluge and the muddy track ahead.
She hugged the laptop case to her chest like a shield, looking at the bag, then back into the car. "I… my suitcase is in the trunk."
Seo-jun shook his head firmly. "Too big. Too heavy. Leave it. We'll retrieve it later, when it's safe." He saw the protest forming on her lips. "Unless you packed nothing but feathers, it'll slow us down dangerously. The path is treacherous. Priority is getting you warm and dry." His tone brooked no argument.
She hesitated, conflict warring on her face – the desire for her belongings versus the undeniable truth of his words, and the bone-deep cold seeping into her. Finally, with a sound that was half-sigh, half-sob, she slammed the car door shut and fumbled with the key fob. The lights flashed, and the locks clicked. She shoved the fob deep into the pocket of her muddy jacket, clutching the tote bag strap and the laptop case tightly. She looked at him, waiting, her face pale beneath the dirt and rain.
"This way," Seo-jun said, turning and starting back up the slope he'd descended, towards the slightly safer, higher ground parallel to the road. "Stay close. Watch your footing. It's slippery."
The walk back towards Haneul Maeul was an ordeal. The rain hadn't lessened. The path Seo-jun chose was marginally less muddy than the road, winding through the dripping pines and undergrowth, but it was still treacherous. Roots snaked underfoot, hidden by slick leaves. Rocks lurked beneath puddles. The incline was steady. Seo-jun moved with the sure-footedness born of thirteen years navigating these slopes, his boots finding purchase where none seemed obvious. Ji-min stumbled behind him. He heard her sharp intakes of breath, muttered curses, the squelch and slide of her unsuitable boots losing traction. She fell twice more, hard, each time scrambling back up without complaint, her face set in a mask of grim determination, though her shivering intensified.
He slowed his pace, glancing back frequently. "Alright?"
"Just dandy," she gasped after the second fall, pushing herself up, mud now coating her jacket sleeves. "Lovely stroll. Really appreciating the… scenery." Her sarcasm was a thin veneer over exhaustion and cold.
They reached the Stone Buddha fork. The path widened slightly, merging back with the upper section of Jeongno, though it was still a river of mud. The rain seemed even heavier here, channeled by the village walls. Seo-jun saw the dim light spilling from Kim Soon-ja's porch shop ahead. As they slogged past, the door creaked open, and Soon-ja's head popped out, her eyes wide with astonishment.
"Seo-jun-ah! Saints preserve us! What in the heavens…" Her gaze swept over him, dripping and mud-spattered, then fixed on the bedraggled, shivering figure struggling behind him. Her eyes widened further, taking in the city clothes, the expensive bag, the sheer, shocking incongruity of Park Ji-min in the heart of the storm. "Who…?"
"Car stuck down near the bend, Halmeoni," Seo-jun called out, not stopping. "This is Park Ji-min. She's staying at the old Yangok. Taking her to the post to get dry." He kept moving, not wanting Ji-min to stop and stiffen up in the cold.
Soon-ja just stared, her mouth slightly open, as the unlikely pair squelched past her shop. "Park Ji-min… the Yangok…" she murmured to herself, the implications clearly setting her formidable gossip circuits alight. She ducked back inside, undoubtedly already composing the news bulletin for anyone who walked through her door next.
Further along, Choi Eun-jung's raucous laugh momentarily cut through the rain's drumming as they passed The Resting Badger. The door was shut against the weather, but voices and the clink of glasses seeped out. Seo-jun kept his head down, urging Ji-min forward. "Not far now."
They passed the cluster of houses. Park Yeong-mi was still huddled under her eaves, but she wasn't looking at her phone now. She was staring, open-mouthed, at the mud-caked apparition trailing Officer Seo-jun. Ji-min didn't even glance her way, head down, focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
Near the dripping bamboo thicket, Kang Byung-ho still stood sentinel. He turned his head slowly as they approached, his weathered face impassive beneath the oilskin hat. His dark eyes, deep-set and unreadable, flickered over Seo-jun, then lingered on Ji-min with an intensity that felt unsettling. He didn't speak, didn't nod. Just watched them pass, his gaze following them until they rounded the next bend. Ji-min seemed to feel it; she hunched her shoulders slightly, pulling her jacket tighter, though it offered no warmth.
Finally, the small, faded blue shape of the police box materialized through the grey downpour, nestled under the protective boughs of the Crooked Pine. Seo-jun felt a surge of relief, immediately followed by a fresh wave of tension. Sanctuary breached. He fished the keys from his pocket, fingers numb with cold.
He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping inside. The familiar scents of damp wool, dust, and old paper greeted him, a stark contrast to the wet, earthy chaos outside. He held the door open. "In. Quickly."
Ji-min stumbled across the threshold, her legs buckling slightly as the relative stillness and dryness of the small space hit her. She stood just inside the door, dripping muddy water onto the concrete floor, shivering violently, her arms wrapped tightly around herself and the laptop case. Her gaze swept the tiny room – the worn desk, the hard chair, the filing cabinet, the narrow cot, the crackling radio, the maps on the wall. It took in the stark functionality, the absence of anything personal, the overwhelming sense of isolation even within these four walls. Her expression, beneath the mud and exhaustion, was a mixture of disbelief and profound dismay. This was shelter? This tiny, cold, Spartan box?
Seo-jun closed the door firmly, shutting out the roar of the storm, though the drumming on the roof was still loud. The sudden confinement amplified the sound of her rapid, shallow breathing. He moved past her, ignoring the mud he was tracking further inside. His priority was heat.
He knelt by the small, pot-bellied wood stove in the corner. Thankfully, he kept a small store of dry kindling and a few split logs inside. He worked quickly, efficiently: crumpled paper, dry twigs, a match struck against the rough stovepipe. A small, fragile flame caught, licking hungrily at the kindling. He added larger twigs, then a small log, leaving the stove door slightly ajar. The fire caught, growing, casting flickering orange light and the first tentative waves of heat into the damp chill of the room.
Only then did he straighten up and turn to face her. She hadn't moved. She stood rooted just inside the door, water pooling around her ruined boots, mud dripping from her clothes, her hair plastered to her skull, her face pale and pinched with cold. She hugged the laptop case like a life raft, her knuckles white. Her eyes, wide and still holding that storm of emotion, met his. They weren't defiant now. They were simply exhausted, overwhelmed, and utterly lost.
The silence stretched, thick and awkward, broken only by the crackle of the growing fire, the drumming rain on the roof, and the faint static hiss from the radio. The small, crowded space felt charged with the strangeness of her presence. Seo-jun cleared his throat, the sound loud in the quiet. He gestured towards the single hard chair by the desk. "Sit. Try to get warm. I'll find a blanket."
He moved to the narrow cot, pulling a rough, grey woolen blanket from the foot of it. It wasn't much, but it was dry. He held it out to her.
She stared at the blanket, then at the mud coating her hands and arms, then back at him. A fresh wave of shivering wracked her frame. Her teeth were starting to chatter. "I… I'm filthy," she managed, her voice raspy, unused. "I'll ruin it."
"It's wool. It'll wash," Seo-jun said simply. He kept holding it out. Practicality overruled propriety. Hypothermia wasn't fussy about mud.
Hesitantly, she released her death grip on the laptop case, letting it and the tote bag slump to the wet floor. She reached out with trembling, mud-caked hands and took the blanket. The rough texture seemed to surprise her. She unfolded it clumsily and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling it tight. She sank onto the hard chair with a groan that seemed to come from her bones, hunching forward, trying to absorb the meager heat radiating from the stove and the scratchy wool. She closed her eyes for a moment, a portrait of abject misery.
Seo-jun watched her for a moment, the city girl shipwrecked in his Spartan outpost. He turned to the small metal kettle sitting on a shelf near the stove. He filled it from a large, covered water container in the corner, then placed it directly on the flat top of the stove near the firebox door. The metal hissed faintly where water droplets hit the hot surface. He needed hot water. Tea. Something to push back the cold inside her.
He leaned against the edge of the desk, facing her but keeping a careful distance. The mud was drying on his own trousers, stiffening the fabric. The silence stretched again, heavy with unspoken questions and the sheer strangeness of the situation. The crackle of the fire, the drumming rain, the hiss of the kettle beginning to warm, the faint radio static – these were the familiar sounds of his sanctuary. The ragged breathing of the shivering woman wrapped in his blanket was the jarring, undeniable note of intrusion. He looked at her, hunched and small in the chair, steam beginning to rise faintly from her wet clothes in the stove's heat. Park Ji-min. The renter of the haunted Yangok. The woman who'd driven her expensive car into a mudslide during a mountain monsoon. The spark that had just irrevocably cracked the fragile peace of his thirteen years of solitude. The kettle began to emit a thin, high whistle, a sound that felt like an alarm in the charged silence of the tiny police box.