Legal Disclaimer
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 97 – Run
97.1 Run before it catches you.
The La Paz sky was beginning to turn a soft, almost golden orange.
Ryu had watched as the last rays of sun caressed the Illimani,
that white mountain that stood like an ancient, silent, and protective presence.
Ryu found it curious to see several young people with signs protesting in Plaza Murillo.
However, he didn't question it. In many of the world's capitals, protests were simply part of the political landscape.
He assumed it was the same here.
His chest tightened slightly at the imposing beauty.
It wasn't an overflow of emotion; it was the strange sensation of standing before something immeasurable.
As he walked along the cobblestone street, Ryu looked at Zayra by his side.
She moved forward with a firm step, though her fingers toyed nervously with the edge of her scarf.
—What did they tell you at the embassy?
He asked, tilting his head slightly and narrowing his eyes, trying to read her expression.
—They say they'll hand over the documents tomorrow.
She said, her tone a mix of resignation and patience.
Ryu gave a lopsided smile, though not entirely convinced.
"Then it's our turn to stay the night."
She returned a sweet, albeit tired, smile.
—Exactly…. Welcome to La Paz. City of dramatic skies... and unexpected marches.
***
In that instant, a series of sharp bangs broke the calm like an urgent signal:
Pop! Pop! Pop!
The metal shutters of the shops were slammed shut in rapid succession, one after another, like an unstoppable chain reaction.
Ryu stopped, his eyes searching the street for any sign of danger.
His shoulders tensed ever so slightly.
His instinct told him something was changing too fast.
A juice vendor hurried to pack her things, casting nervous glances over her shoulder.
—What's happening?
He asked, his voice barely steady as he squeezed Zayra's hand.
She remained calm, her gaze fixed ahead, as if she were talking about the weather and not an approaching storm.
—Nothing new, there must be a march. In this city, marches are like daily bread.
she spoke.
Ryu watched her, noticing how her lips compressed for a moment before relaxing again.
—Then why does it look like everyone is running away?
A chill ran down his spine.
The murmur of the crowd grew in volume, turning into shouts and the sound of running feet.
A young man ran past him, his face flushed and tears streaking his cheeks.
Ryu didn't see violence in him only fear.
—They're launching tear gas!
someone shouted from behind.
Ryu felt his breathing quicken and his heart thumping in his ears.
"Tear gas... so soon?"
He thought, alarmed.
Suddenly, a white cloud began to advance, billowing as if it had a will of its own.
A policeman in a helmet and mask held a launcher from which the dense, oppressive smoke poured.
—Zayra...
He said, his voice raspy and tense.
She gripped his arm tightly, her skin warm beneath his fingers, conveying both urgency and protection.
—Follow me, Ryu!
Adrenaline propelled them to run, zigzagging through side streets and closed stalls.
Ryu felt the sting in his eyes and his throat tightening, as if the air itself were burning him.
The first gust of gas reached them. Ryu coughed violently, trying to see through his tears.
He tried to keep his eyes open, but his body reacted faster than his discipline.
"It burns... I can't see... is this normal?"
He thought in a panic.
Zayra didn't let go, keeping her grip firm as she tried to lead them out.
Suddenly, two women in polleras appeared in front of them.
Their faces, weathered by the high altitude, showed no fear only a powerful calm.
—Child, come this way. Take this!
One of them held out a handkerchief soaked in vinegar.
Zayra took it without hesitation and held it to Ryu's nose.
He breathed it in with difficulty.
The mixture stung, but it brought immediate relief.
—Breathe through your mouth.
She instructed, clenching her teeth, struggling to stay calm.
—Just a little further.
Ryu breathed, feeling a mix of relief and disorientation.
—What is this...? Why...?
—This is also Bolivia, it's not just folklore and landscapes.
There is pain. But there are also good people.
Zayra whispered with tenderness and a hint of sadness.
Zayra looked at the ladies.
—Thank you so much.
Both nodded and went on their way.
As they moved away from the chaos, Ryu stole a glance back, his heart still racing.
Through the smoke, he saw a young man with a flag being forcibly loaded into a patrol car.
He didn't look older than twenty.
The weight of that image hit him in the chest.
"What if we had been delayed? Would they have taken us too?"
It wasn't fear for himself. It was the first time he understood how fragile freedom could be in an unfamiliar place.
He remained silent, but that question echoed in his mind louder than any noise.
He wouldn't forget that scene.
The sting of the gas, the steadiness of the women, and the rage simmering in the silent streets of La Paz.
97.2 Sad, but true.
Night had fallen over La Paz, but it was no ordinary night.
Outside, sirens wailed in the distance echoes of a country that wouldn't quite go to sleep.
From the hotel window, the city lights flickered like tiny stars stirred by the cold wind.
The Illimani, majestic and distant, seemed like a silent guardian watching everything from above.
Zayra took off her boots slowly, her fingers unfastening them carefully while her eyes remained fixed on the floor,
as if searching for invisible answers.
Ryu, his eyes still bloodshot and his expression weary, brought her a steaming cup of chamomile tea.
His movements were calm, almost methodical.
It was his way of regaining control.
She took it with both hands, holding onto the heat as if it were an anchor.
—Has this happened to you before?
Ryu asked softly, concerned.
Zayra took a second to respond.
In her mind, the university courtyard in Cochabamba appeared: flags, posters, students gathering before heading out to the streets.
Some took it as routine.
For her, it never was.
Back then, she believed with the fierce conviction of a twenty-year-old that marching could change the world.
Over time, she had learned that the streets could also carry other things...
Interests, rage, people who weren't always there for the same reasons.
Even so, she didn't regret it.
A small laugh escaped her.
Then, she suddenly reflected:
"Better not tell him about that just yet."
Zayra looked up for a moment, showing a faint, almost melancholy smile.
She answered softly,
—No, in La Paz.
Then she sighed and added.
—But in Cochabamba, yes.
Her lips tightened slightly before continuing.
—There, the marches also get like that... intense, painful.
Ryu remained silent for a few seconds, looking at the city through the hotel window.
The lights of La Paz twinkled among the mountains as if nothing had happened.
He exhaled slowly.
—At least... we live in Santa Cruz.
He murmured.
Zayra looked at him from the corner of her eye.
She noticed the slight relief in his voice.
"Yes... knowing my people there, it's less likely."
She thought.
Ryu frowned, still pensive.
—When there are conflicts... it's not like that over there, right?
Zayra shook her head gently.
—It's not usually like that. In Santa Cruz, protests rarely end like the ones in La Paz.
Ryu let out an almost imperceptible sigh.
—That's... good.
Zayra observed him in silence for a few seconds.
Then she leaned her back against the chair.
—Though... if one day my people had to take to the streets... I would too.
She said calmly.
Zayra didn't say it as a threat or a challenge.
She said it as something inevitable.
Ryu looked up.
There was something different in her voice something firm he hadn't noticed before.
—Really?
He asked quietly.
Zayra held his gaze.
—Of course.
Her lips curled slightly as she added.
—You can't look the other way when your people's future is at stake.
Silence settled between them again.
Ryu looked down, thoughtful. A memory crossed his mind: the day he met Zayra on the plane.
He had heard stereotypes about Latin women: passion, strong character, intense emotions.
In his country, being strong meant holding back not raising your voice or showing too much.
But now, after having run through gas and sirens, he was beginning to understand something different.
They weren't just "feisty."
They were people who kept standing.
He looked up at her.
Zayra was resting her head against his shoulder, exhausted.
—Sometimes I feel like this country repeats the same conflicts over and over.
They ignore us, we protest... and everything starts all over again.
She said in a melancholy tone.
Ryu put an arm around her shoulders.
—But you don't stay silent.
She smiled and added.
—I can't. If I stay silent... who speaks for those who can't?
Ryu didn't answer.
He just pulled her a little closer.
He didn't say anything else.
Some things are not debated; they are respected.
In that moment, he understood something he hadn't seen clearly before.
He didn't just admire Zayra.
He respected her.
And so, they both stayed in silence, oblivious to what was happening on the other side of the city.
But that night, the streets of La Paz still held movements they could not yet see.