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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 84 – Journey to a New World
84.1 A Generous Bolivian.
An open suitcase. A knee pressing down with determination.
And a case wrapped in hand-painted floral fabric sliding in just before the final zip.
Click.
Zayra smiled.
She had won.
Again.
"Is that entire suitcase just for gifts?"
Ryu asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched Zayra struggle to close the luggage.
A slight twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed his usual seriousness;
he couldn't help but think that for Zayra, every object was an extension of her soul.
She let out a little giggle,
while delicately adjusting one last case wrapped in that painted cloth.
"Yes."
She said in a calm voice, without even looking at him.
Ryu blinked.
She stood up, brushed off her hands, and added.
"Whenever we travel, we Bolivians carry more gifts than thoughts."
Ryu smiled with that gesture only she knew,
a mixture of wonder and tenderness.
"You are always thinking of everyone."
She winked at him.
"That's called emotional strategy."
Ryu laughed, shaking his head.
He was already used to Zayra's magical balance:
planned yet spontaneous, affectionate yet strong, symbolic even in the simplest things.
On the bed, Zayra displayed a case filled with bolivianita necklaces, Toborochi flower brooches,
aquamarine earrings, and embroidered mini-flags,
alongside a small box of sweets from Cotoca everything prepared with painstaking care.
"Each one has a story."
She said.
"And if I don't give them away, I keep them. They are part of me."
Ryu looked at her with quiet admiration.
She doesn't just carry memories; she carries part of her identity.
Wherever she is, she always takes her roots with her.
***
At the airport, the family farewell was emotional and colorful.
Camila hugged Zayra first and wouldn't let go until she promised to write as soon as she landed.
"And send me photos, okay?"
She said with a trembling voice.
"Don't leave me on 'read' like last time."
"Only if you send me memes every day."
Zayra replied, laughing while hugging her tightly.
Then came Bruno, serious as always.
"Be careful, sister.
You're not in familiar territory anymore."
Zayra touched his chest with two fingers.
"Ñande Yara (Our Lord) is with me; you all look after me from a distance."
Mariano joked, but his hug lasted longer than usual.
"Come back soon; Santa Cruz isn't the same without you fighting over the car music."
Finally, Zayra's mother approached.
Her eyes were a mirror full of pride and nostalgia.
She hugged her tightly and, with her other hand, made the sign of the cross on Zayra's forehead.
Then, she whispered in her ear.
"May God protect you and Ñande Yara guide you."
Zayra nodded in silence.
She took a deep breath and pulled a reliquary from her bag containing a dried pink Toborochi flower wrapped in indigo blue cloth.
Ryu observed everything from the side.
He didn't interrupt, but the gesture did not go unnoticed.
For an instant, his expression softened, and a thought resonated in his mind:
"She doesn't just carry memories, but part of her identity;
wherever she is, she always carries her roots with her."
Lastly, her father gave her a strong hug and patted her shoulders affectionately.
"Now you are going to see my homeland, daughter."
Zayra laughed softly at the final boarding call, took a deep breath,
looked at them, and boarded the plane with the reliquary clutched in her hand.
84.2 Spring in My Eyes
The sky over Nami Island was tinted a soft blue, almost like a watercolor.
Cherry blossom petals fell as if someone were releasing them from heaven, one by one, with an artist's precision.
Ryu adjusted his scarf, took a deep breath,
and held out his hand to her a key to his world.
For a brief moment, his fingers tightened against the fabric of his scarf,
almost without noticing.
"Let this moment not break. Today could be the beginning of everything,"
He thought, as she gently took his hand.
Zayra squinted as she stepped off the ferry,
enveloped by the cool, floral air like a caress.
"I can't believe you're doing this for me."
She said, her voice still trembling with emotion.
He looked down, slightly blushing.
He said with sincerity:
"I want you to see my world and feel part of it."
They walked along a flower-lined path;
the pink leaves crunched under their feet and Zayra avoided stepping on them as if they were sacred.
"This is so different… but I like it."
She thought.
She stopped to look at the trees as if in a dream:
a silent, delicate spring, an unspoken promise.
Ryu watched as the breeze lifted a lock of her hair, and in that instant, he felt something settle inside him.
No rush, no words... just peace.
He inhaled deeply as if savoring the very air
and then opened his backpack.
"Try this."
He said, pulling out a small, carefully wrapped box.
"It's a traditional sweet my grandmother used to make for us."
Zayra took one delicately.
It was round, shiny, and had a floral aroma that was completely new to her.
She looked at it, smelled it, and finally tasted it.
She made a face and added.
"It tastes sweet… but it looks like a bar of soap!"
she exclaimed, eyes wide, somewhere between confused and amused.
Ryu let out a rare laugh;
he found her surprise adorable.
"My sister used to say the same, but she got used to it."
He admitted, still chuckling.
Zayra wiped her lips, smiled mischievously, and said:
"I don't promise to get used to it, but I love the memories in your flavors."
He looked at her without responding.
In his chest, something ignited like a warm spark.
These moments made her someone he wanted to protect.
Zayra sneezed from a breeze.
Ryu offered her a handkerchief in silence, and she accepted it without looking away.
For a second, there was no Korea,
no Bolivia, no pasts, nor different cultures.
There was only them.
Two souls under the cherry blossoms. And spring in their eyes.
84.3 Spring in My Eyes (II)
The day began with a clear sky over Jeonju,
as if the weather also wanted to accompany them.
The market buzzed with life:
paper lanterns, rice sweets, fabrics like flags, and scents of ginger, lotus, and sesame in the air.
Zayra walked in amazement.
She felt as though she had been transported to the set of a historical drama.
It was very different from Bolivia. However, she loved this place; she felt she had discovered a new universe,
the roots of the man she loves so much.
"Ryu… everything here has a story. Even the air smells like the past."
She said, stroking a fabric embroidered with gold threads.
Ryu watched her out of the corner of his eye,
disarmed by her way of observing her surroundings.
"Like you, every detail matters."
He whispered.
She didn't hear him, hypnotized by a stall of hanboks in sky blue, ivory, and antique rose.
Among them all, a deep pink one with a yellow belt stopped Zayra in her tracks.
Her fingers brushed the fabric, but she didn't pick it up.
A thought crossed her mind:
"Could I try one on, even if I'm not from here… what if it doesn't fit me?"
Ryu watched her in silence, read the doubt in the crease between her eyebrows,
and gently took her arm with a calm, firm touch.
"Try one on… please." He asked.
She smiled, nodded silently, and entered the fitting room.
Her heart beat fast, as if trying on the dress could change something.
Minutes later, the curtain opened.
The light embraced her; the pink and white hanbok fell like silk,
and the yellow ribbon highlighted her delicate silhouette.
Her hair seemed darker and her eyes shone,
reflecting the emotion of the moment.
Zayra admired the outfit,
fascinated by its details and comfort.
"How can something so beautiful and elaborate feel so light?"
She hadn't felt that with her traditional Bolivian outfits;
this one didn't pinch or feel uncomfortable it simply enveloped her.
She stepped out of the dressing room and began to move in front of the mirror,
as if the hanbok were an extension of her body.
Ryu felt his chest tighten.
"She is perfect… even if she doesn't know it sometimes."
That image of her remained engraved in his memory,
intimate and silent, like an unalterable photograph.
Zayra continued adjusting the sleeves,
not quite knowing what to do with so much fabric.
Ryu approached in silence, careful not to break the atmosphere.
He stopped beside her, raised his hand, and gently brushed a lock of hair from her face,
touching her cheek with restrained tenderness.
His thumb lingered for a second longer, caressing her skin,
as if trying to memorize every line of that moment.
"If we had married in Korea in the traditional way… you would have worn one like that."
He said, almost in a whisper.
He paused. His eyes traveled over her without haste.
In his expression, there was a calm that only she understood, but also something else: a nostalgia, perhaps.
In his mind, an unexpected idea resonated.
"Perhaps, in another life, we would have lived this for real."
Zayra remembered the two weeks of depriving herself of treats just so the dress would fit perfectly.
Ryu would never know; those were details women didn't share, as they were more of a personal choice than an imposition.
Even so, she suddenly thought.
"If I had married in this outfit, maybe I wouldn't have done that absurd diet..."
She began to laugh softly.
Ryu raised an eyebrow and looked at her with curiosity.
She noticed and looked down.
"Actually, I think it would have been nice to wear something like this to get married."
She said, walking slowly and shyly, holding the skirt with her hands.
"¿What do you think? Do I look… okay?"
A pause filled the room.
His eyes dropped to her hand, still close to his.
"Seeing you like this... is more than I expected."
He took a breath, barely perceptible.
"Really?"
She laughed, somewhat embarrassed but with tenderness.
"Yes."
He nodded, crossing his arms and holding back a smile.
Then, as if the thought won him over, he whispered almost without realizing it.
"You look... stunning."
Their eyes met, and for a fleeting second, the implacable CEO vanished,
leaving only the man who wished to protect and care for that fragile beauty.
In the background, the bustle of the market continued.
But for them, only that instant existed.
One story.
One garment.
And two cultures embracing in a single heartbeat.