He chuckled softly and exhaled a puff of smoke.

The bitter and harsh smoke emanating from his mouth stirred up his insides before disappearing into the air.

Eunha couldn’t figure out what to say. So, she just listened quietly to his story.

“Seeing you, it’s like looking at myself back then. But you know, there’s something I want to say.”

After a moment of silence, pressing the remaining cigarette butt into the ground, he opened his mouth with an even lighter tone.

“Living my life, I realized… a person’s life is like a tree. Every time a big wind blows, one by one, leaves fall off. So when an unbearably cold and harsh winter comes, perhaps only the feeble branches will remain. But Eunha.”
I hope this is the only thing you remember. He quietly added.

“───.”

Eunha slowly closed and then opened her eyes.

What did the commander say back then? She couldn’t recall.

He just smiled.

Under the black-and-white sky, it seemed like he just smiled.

A corridor adorned with white mourning flowers.

Eunha, lost in thought, slowly lifted her head.

Eunha stared at the name ‘Gyeon Woncheol’ for a while and then slowly took off her shoes.

Even after entering, there wasn’t a single mourner in sight. It was quite late, so most people might have already left. Perhaps, like Eunha’s mother, they didn’t expect many people to come in the first place.

An empty desk with no one sitting. On top of it lay the condolence register. Upon closer inspection, only two people had visited this place before Eunha.

‘Why?’

The commander was a selfless and considerate person. During their time at the training camp, many colleagues genuinely admired him. Eunha was one of them.

But why were there so few mourners at the commander’s funeral?

Finding it odd, Eunha first picked up a pen to write her name in the condolence register. However…

“…….”

She froze in that state.

Cha Eunha. Those three letters were impossible to write. Her hand couldn’t move.

Only now did Eunha recall the ‘constraint’ she had forgotten. The incident where her name was taken away when making a contract with a cat.

“You…”

Suddenly, a muffled voice came from behind. Holding the pen and frozen like a statue, Eunha turned her head towards the source of the voice.

It was a middle-aged man she had never seen before. His attire didn’t match a mourner’s…

‘A firefighter’s uniform?’

Vivid orange clothes. It was undoubtedly a firefighter’s uniform. However, the black striped badge on his left arm was unmistakably a mourner’s emblem.

So, he was…

“My father liked this appearance the most.”

Reading Eunha’s gaze, he awkwardly smiled and adjusted his clothes.

Eyes similar to the commander’s. The man in front of her was undoubtedly his son.

Having lost his younger sister in the gate incident and his mother, who couldn’t overcome the grief, eventually taking her own life. The young son who had brought a career hope book, saying he wanted to become a firefighter and fulfill his brother’s dream.

“…….”

In such a situation, Eunha hesitated on whether to say something or not. Even the customary expression of condolences didn’t come out of her mouth. Because…

‘Right. I happen to be on my way to meet Instructor Jang. You remember him, don’t you? How about it? If you’re not busy, want to come along?’

If only she hadn’t ignored the commander at that time, if only she hadn’t refused his suggestion.

──He might not have died.
With the pen in hand, he glanced at Eunha, who blinked in silence, and a faint smile crossed his face.

“If I knew someone would come, I would have worn proper mourning attire.”

It sounded as if he had expected no one to come.

“My father used to say this to me and those around him as a habit. He wished that no one would come to his funeral when he died.”

“Why…”

As Eunha murmured quietly, the man’s eyes, recalling his father, sank deep.

“My father suffered for a long time with guilt for pushing innocent and ignorant people into death during his young days.”

“…”

“He said that his former students and colleagues who tragically died inside the gate closed their eyes alone on the cold ground without returning to their family. He spoke of not having the right to leave for the afterlife with everyone’s farewell.”

Listening quietly to the man’s words, Eunha fell into silence. If he was the commander she knew, he would indeed say such things. Thinking about it made this empty funeral hall feel even more desolate.

To lighten the heavy atmosphere, the man turned and smiled.

“Would you come this way? You don’t have to write in the condolence register; it’s okay. As you can see, there’s no one here.”

With that, he turned around with a circular motion, gesturing as if telling her to follow. His tone and attitude seemed to suggest that he knew who Eunha was.

Putting down the pen, Eunha decided to follow him.