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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 85 — When the World Doesn't Feel Like Home
85.1 When Your Clothes Aren't "Appropriate".
It was June in Seoul. The breeze carried the scent of blooming peaches and a heat that felt like December in Santa Cruz.
Zayra sat on the edge of the bed, enjoying the air conditioning that took the edge off the heat.
Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and she wore cool shorts and a light,
comfortable cotton camisole.
Ryu stepped out of the bathroom with a towel over his shoulder, drying his damp hair.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her.
His gaze lingered a second longer than usual evaluating without judging,
like a general surveying the field before a battle.
Zayra noticed immediately.
"What? Do I look bad?"
She asked, raising an eyebrow, amused.
Ryu swallowed hard.
"Zay…"
He cleared his throat discreetly, searching for words that wouldn't sound like a command.
He started a sentence but didn't finish it. Zayra tilted her head, curious.
"Do you think you could put on a different top?"
He murmured, as if asking for permission.
She looked at him. She didn't raise her voice or frown, but something in her energy shifted.
"Sorry?"
A brief quiver ran through his jaw; he knew that tone marked her territory, and he had to be careful.
He heard that word again, repeated with its original cadence an invisible echo of the past chilled his spine.
He tensed and said.
"Please don't misunderstand me. It's not that you look bad, but people here are more conservative,
and these things can cause us trouble."
She looked down, feeling the uncomfortable truth she didn't want to accept.
She hated having things imposed on her, especially when it came to how she dressed.
For a moment,
she wanted to explain that such a neckline was perfectly normal in Bolivia.
But she nodded, took a deep breath, and swapped her top for a less revealing one.
She kept her shorts.
At least that, a small victory.
When she came back out, Ryu looked at her in silence.
His eyes reflected a mixture of relief and contained admiration for her willingness to yield without losing her dignity.
She responded with her eyes.
"Not happy, but not fighting."
"Thank you."
He said softly.
"Don't worry about it."
She murmured, not entirely convinced.
She stood before the mirror, fixing her hair with slow movements.
But inside, something else was settling wrong.
"I hope this doesn't become a habit."
She thought.
Because every "suggestion" can hide an invisible weight, and Zayra hated the feeling of being watched,
of having to measure her way of being.
Telling a Camba woman how to dress wasn't an innocent suggestion.
It was dangerous territory.
She looked down at herself, evaluating her reflection without mercy.
"I'd understand if I were well-endowed."
She mused.
"I've never had this problem before."
She leaned toward the mirror, inspecting herself closely,
even touching herself to see if they had magically grown.
Suddenly, a giggle escaped Ryu as he watched her from behind, amused by her seriousness.
Zayra looked up and caught Ryu with a gaze that was both playful and dangerous.
"Don't laugh."
She said, embarrassed.
"I'm not laughing."
He said, quickly turning away and putting his hand over his mouth.
She couldn't help but laugh too, and Ryu felt the tension between them relax.
They sat together, and the silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.
It was a silence that spoke of two distant worlds striving to find a common ground.
Ryu glanced at her.
"I thought she'd be furious, but her calm surprises me. I admire her silent strength."
He watched her touch her neck, adjust her ponytail, and smile without realizing it.
Outside, a peach petal detached from a branch and floated through the warm air.
***
85.2 When you are a guest, you respect the host's ways.
Zayra waited in the lobby, sitting with her legs crossed, wearing cool shorts and a different shirt than the first one.
She fanned herself with a hotel folder.
It was hot, but that wasn't what made her restless.
She knew it.
It wasn't the temperature; it was the discomfort of having to doubt herself in a foreign place.
With her eyes fixed on the elevator door where Ryu would soon appear, her thoughts drifted down an invisible hallway.
"Why is something criticized here that is totally normal in Santa Cruz?"
She thought not with rage, but with a tiny sting of annoyance.
And that was when the first memory came to her,
with the clarity of a lightning bolt.
***
A vivid memory emerged, transporting her years back to an airport that smelled of humidity and tobacco...
Panama. Zayra was 10 years old.
Her grandmother, firm and brave, was crossing the terminal with her cane and a cigarette, just like at home.
While Zayra held her arm, an arrogant young police officer approached like a hurricane.
"Don't smoke here! It's prohibited, ma'am!"
Zayra clenched her teeth. Her blood boiled.
"Don't yell at her, she's a grandmother!"
She shot back bravely, her eyes flashing.
But her grandmother squeezed her hand tenderly.
"Hush, child... this is not the time."
She whispered.
And with a dignity that chilled the room, the woman looked up.
"I apologize; I don't see well. It won't happen again."
The officer lowered his voice.
"It's alright, ma'am, but in Panama, it's forbidden. Please ask first; this is just a warning."
"Yes, yes... thank you."
And the cigarette was extinguished without drama.
Zayra, small and frustrated, looked at her.
"Grandma, why didn't you tell him off?"
The grandmother stroked her hair.
"My love, in someone else's house, you don't do as you please without permission."
***
Then, another warm image appeared, like a hug in the midst of uncertainty.
Santa Cruz de la Sierra. Zayra was 20 years old.
The night before she left for Washington, her mother was stroking her head with her long nails.
Zayra was nervous, fearful of the change.
"Mom... what if they don't understand me there?"
"They will understand you."
She whispered.
"You are respectful, and remember: if you can, never fight; he who gets angry, loses.
Wherever you go, even if you don't understand, respect first.
The key is to always respect others and yourself."
Zayra took a deep breath within that memory.
She could almost feel her mother's nails stroking her head again.
They gave her peace.
***
She returned to the present.
Ryu was coming down.
She smiled, and as if making a decree, she said:
"I'm a Camba, and we say:
'The one who gets angry, loses.' I'm not going to lose."
With that, the discomfort dissipated.
Her dignity remained intact.
It wasn't about surrendering or wearing a disguise;
it was about being strong inside and out, with a silent smile and without raising her voice.
That was her power.
Ryu saw her and noticed a more serene look.
The same clothes, a woman who was annoyed but firm.
Seeing her so steady and secure, he paused for a second, admiring the blend of resistance and adaptation in her.
He smiled and asked.
"Shall we go?"
The smile was brief, almost imperceptible, but in his eyes was a spark only Zayra could recognize: pride and relief.
Zayra nodded, and in silence, with the city pulsing beyond the revolving doors, they walked out holding hands.
Nothing more needed to be said.
85.3 Between Lights and Cotton Candy.
The Seoul sky looked hand-painted, with orange clouds and a sun sinking slowly through the trees.
The heat hadn't let up, but an occasional breeze lightened the air.
Zayra walked alongside Ryu on one of the paths of Haneul Park.
Wearing her favorite shorts and a simple top without a neckline, she had yielded in the cultural battle.
Though it wasn't her usual style, she felt light and free.
"What a beautiful place."
She said, smiling as she saw a cotton candy cart and a small pop-up fair.
"Yes. I thought you'd like it."
Ryu replied, without looking at her directly. "
Is this a date?"
She asked with feigned innocence.
"Doesn't it look like one?"
They laughed briefly.
Families, children with bubbles, couples with flowers.
A place of sincerity and freedom.
The murmur of families, the bursts of children's laughter,
and the sweet aroma of cotton candy created a fleeting refuge a space where their worlds met, if only for a moment.
They sat under an umbrella on a painted wooden bench.
Ryu ordered two cotton candies and handed her one.
His hand reached out calmly,
his movement measured and careful, as if that small gesture was a bridge between their worlds.
"Thank you."
She said, tasting a bit.
Ryu looked at her, quiet.
In the silence,
he allowed himself to contemplate how much he admired that mix of firmness and softness Zayra possessed.
"What's wrong?"
She asked, without looking away from the park.
"I was thinking about this morning and how well you handled it."
Zayra raised her eyebrows.
"Handled what?"
The question hung in the air for a few seconds.
Her eyes lit up as she realized what he meant.
She looked down, blowing softly on the cotton candy.
"It's not easy, but my grandmother used to say:
' When you are a guest, you respect the host's ways.'
She almost got arrested for smoking in Panama, but she apologized and put out the cigarette."
Ryu nodded, listening intently.
"It strikes me that you neither impose yourself nor erase yourself; you simply respect.
Some tourists act as if the country belongs to them and everything should revolve around them."
Zayra laughed, knowing exactly what he meant.
"Of course, and that happens everywhere.
In Bolivia, there are also tourists who think everything should accommodate them, when in reality,
they are visiting someone else's home."
Ryu let out a slight smile.
It was fleeting but sincere, because he understood that not all treasures are shiny;
some just know where they stand and how to be.
He looked her in the eyes and whispered.
"Now I understand why my father was so sure about you."
She looked at him tenderly.
"It's not that it doesn't bother me.
But I repeat to myself what we say in Santa Cruz: The one who gets angry, loses."
Ryu looked at her playfully and asked.
"And you aren't going to lose?"
She crossed her arms proudly and said.
"Never."
Both laughed softly.
She contemplated the park with enthusiasm.
Meanwhile, he looked at her, and for a moment,
his expression turned grave, as if something invisible and threatening were approaching.
"Soon, everything will change."
He murmured to himself.
The sun began to hide behind the hill, tinting the sky with intense tones and long shadows.
Ryu looked at her with a mix of respect and a gaze that seemed to anticipate what was to come.
A sigh escaped between them just as the door of a nearby building opened slowly,
revealing unknown figures who would soon put Zayra to the test in a brand new world.