The spring that arrived was unlike any other Min Jae had known. It wasn't marked by the vibrant, shout-green of new leaves, but by a subtle, pervasive softening. The light seemed gentler, the air held a sweet, nostalgic weight, and the ocean's rhythm sounded less like a heartbeat and more like a distant, comforting lullaby. He felt a curious lightness, a sense of being both deeply rooted in the earth of Haeteul and curiously untethered from it.
His daily routines became even simpler, pared down to their essence. A cup of tea in the morning sun. A slow, careful walk to the bluff to sit on the bench, the intertwined carving now worn smooth by his own hands and the sea wind. An afternoon spent watching the shadows move across the garden, remembering the exact shade of Seo-jun's favorite azalea, the sound of Ha-ru's childhood laughter ringing from a particular corner. These memories were no longer painful visitations; they were companions, as real and present as the chair beneath him.
