Mu-ryeong’s Spirit

Once the rain began, it wouldn’t stop until it had emptied itself completely. The dark storm clouds blanketing the sky, the relentless downpour filling puddles on the ground—they would only fade away once they had covered the world as much as they wished.
The student knelt before the flowerbed, staring blankly at the upturned soil. He had dug up everything he could, overturning the dirt again and again, but the object he sought was nowhere to be found. At first, he had been certain it would be an easy search. But as the days passed, he started losing track of what he was even looking for.
"I have to find it quickly..."

Was it something he had lost? Something he needed to pass on? Or was it something he had to reclaim, no matter what?
He brushed the wet dirt from his hands, letting the rain wash it away. Moving his fingers had once felt difficult, but now it was as natural as if they were truly his own. Even the chaotic blur in his vision was gradually sharpening.
"...What was I looking for?"

He tilted his head to the right. As he blinked slowly, his vision cleared even more. Crawling forward, he placed both hands onto the damp soil.
"Ah."
It came back to him.

He had been searching for the time capsule.
"Where... Where did it go?"
A round metal tin, the kind that had once been filled with butter cookies. He had placed a letter inside it, writing down his feelings—the emotions he had held onto for so long. It had been meant for a close friend he had admired for years, a confession of everything he had kept in his heart.

"I have to find it, quickly..."
The moment that had made him fall for them wasn’t anything grand. They had simply been assigned as class monitors together. Then, by chance, they had realized they liked the same books. After exchanging a few poems and discussing them, he had grown closer.
At first, he had only thought they looked nice with long hair. Then, he started noticing how graceful their fingers were when they tucked it behind their ear. Later, he found that they looked beautiful while reading, their face lit up when they talked about their dreams, and their expressions softened when they recited a poem they loved.

The realization that he liked them had crept up on him so naturally, so subtly, that by the time he noticed, it was already too late. If anyone asked why, he wouldn’t have been able to answer. But trying to find a reason only made his feelings feel artificial.
So, instead, he had written them down.
"Once we’ve achieved our dreams, once we get into the schools we want... Let’s open this together on graduation day."

"Why... Why isn’t it here?"
That precious memory—somehow, at some point, he had lost it. It had disappeared into a place where he could no longer reach it.
"Where could it be...?"
Had his first feeling been frustration? Or was it regret? Maybe longing? In the end, they were all the same. He could tie them all together under one word: unfair.

It had been such an innocent, youthful love. On their last day together, they had exchanged poetry books, each picking a favorite passage for the other. He had slipped a small autumn leaf between the pages of his favorite poem, hoping they would love it too. He had even sprayed a bit of his mother’s perfume on it, so it would carry a faint, pleasant scent when they opened it.
"...It’s not here."
His hollow voice fell onto the damp earth, too heavy to be drowned out by the rain. The raindrops sliding down his face—he wasn’t even sure anymore if they were from the sky or from his own eyes.

"Why...?"
His throat felt tight with injustice. It wasn’t just that he couldn’t find it. It was that he had so little time left to even search.
"Why isn’t it here...?"

Curling into himself, he clutched his head in his hands. His skull throbbed as if it might crack open, and a storm of emotions churned inside him. If he let go now, his fragile grip on reason might snap completely.
"...That’s enough."
The soft voice made him lift his head in a daze.

Through his now perfectly clear vision, he saw a boy standing there, wearing a raincoat and holding an umbrella. The boy simply stood still, looking at him—not with judgment, but with quiet understanding.
"You won’t find the time capsule there, no matter how much you dig."
"You...!"

It was him. The boy who kept getting in his way.
He had stopped him from digging, blocked his sight, and even lied about helping him. And now, after all that, he was claiming that what he was searching for didn’t even exist?
"You don’t know anything…! What do you even understand?!"

The student trembled with rage as he staggered to his feet. His vision darkened at the edges, his thoughts consumed by raw emotion. His body moved before his mind could catch up—his hands reached out, grabbing the boy’s collar.
"If it weren’t for you...!"
If he had just been given one more day, wouldn’t he have found it? If he hadn’t been interrupted, wouldn’t he have gotten what he needed to finally confess?

As his teeth clenched, preparing to spit out his next words, the boy’s lips moved first.
"...They got your letter."
The voice was soft—too soft. Yet, somehow, it carried a strange weight, like a ripple that spread through his storming emotions.

When the boy gently placed a hand over his, the touch was warm. A calming sensation spread from the point of contact, easing the chaos that had overtaken him. His turbulent emotions quieted, his lost sense of reason slowly returning.
"The time capsule you buried that day."
"……."

"The person who buried it with you still has it."
The student's eyes widened, shaking with disbelief.
Mu-ryeong carefully pried his fingers loose and tilted the umbrella toward him. The student was already soaked, but at the very least, he didn’t want him to be drenched any further.

"They opened it together, just like they promised, on graduation day."
"...You want to hear the story about my first love again?"
The object the student had been desperately searching for.

The person he had longed to confess to.
And the story of their homeroom teacher, who had once buried a time capsule with their own first love.
"Yes. Could you tell it just one more time?"

"He sleeps through class, but now he's all ears..."
Mu-ryeong had come here with the desperation of someone grasping at straws. After hearing what Seung-joo had said, he thought there might be a connection—just maybe. Even if it turned out to be a coincidence, he had hoped for at least a hint, however small.
"Back when I was in my senior year of high school..."

Fortunately, their homeroom teacher was kind-hearted enough to spare him some time during lunch. Not only that, but they also handed him a couple of snacks and even a vitamin drink. By the time a few students from other classes had gathered in the staff room, the conversation had turned into a proper storytelling session—just like it had during lessons.
"At first, we were just friends who read books together. Back then, we didn’t have smartphones or anything, so we'd stay up all night reading a book, come to school the next day and talk about it, then go home and read another one."
Their expression softened into something dreamlike, almost nostalgic. Mu-ryeong had never known their teacher could be so sentimental.

"At some point, I started liking them, but I just couldn’t bring myself to confess."
They had been certain it wasn’t a one-sided crush. It had been obvious that the other person liked them back. But they had ignored it, pretending not to notice, because they didn’t want it to interfere with their studies.
"You know butter cookie tins? After we finished eating them, we put two letters inside—one from them, one from me—and buried it."

A time capsule to be opened on graduation day. It held not just one heart, but two. Their teacher let out a brief, wry chuckle before covering it up with a bright, unaffected smile.
"But something happened, and they couldn’t make it to graduation."
Among all the students listening, Mu-ryeong was the only one who knew what that "something" was.

Or perhaps, Hwan-young—standing awkwardly beside him after being dragged here—knew as well.
"I dug it up alone, crying the whole time. And inside… their letter said they liked me, too."
A collective sigh of disappointment escaped from the students. Mu-ryeong let out a quiet breath of his own.

So that’s where the other letter had gone.
At least one of them had reached its intended recipient.
"I never got to return the book they lent me."

"And this."
Mu-ryeong reached inside his raincoat and pulled out a small, worn poetry book from his bag.
The edges were frayed, the pages slightly yellowed with age.

"Our teacher wanted me to give this to you."
"Could I borrow that book for just one day?"
Their teacher no longer had the book. They had lost it over time, or perhaps let it go.

When they said they could bring it after the weekend, Mu-ryeong shook his head. Instead, he asked for the title. Then, he had scoured every library in town until he found the most battered, well-loved copy he could.
Now, standing before the student, he held it out.
"They said they’re sorry for returning it so late."

"……."
The student didn't say anything.
They didn’t take the book. They didn’t ask what had happened.

They simply looked at the title and murmured softly:
"...So they really became a teacher."
There was no surprise in their tone. It was calm, detached—like someone reading the words off a page.

"They really became a teacher..."
Mu-ryeong felt it immediately.
The moment a spirit was about to move on.

Their gaze became distant, unfocused. The fingers gripping his collar slowly lost their strength.
What was left to say?
Mu-ryeong already knew.

"They said... thank you for liking them."
"……."
"They said going to school was fun because of you."

The rain began to slow.
The hand gripping Mu-ryeong’s collar slipped away.
The student’s eyes fluttered shut, then slowly reopened.

And for just a moment—just barely—a faint smile seemed to form on their lips.
"……."
Their body collapsed into Mu-ryeong’s arms.

Mu-ryeong caught them, holding them steadily as he lifted his gaze toward the sky.
The rain, which had poured endlessly through the night, had finally come to a stop.