"Humans are truly the most pitiless—and yet the most vile of creatures."
"Wow… that story is different from I imagined. Isn't there any story that's a little… brighter?" Nau Rin asked.
The monk turned his gaze aside and remained silent for a moment, then spoke softly:
"Well..."
Nau Rin rose from her seat.
"My phone's ringing. I'll just step a few paces away and answer," she said, moving a short distance. She pulled out her phone and called Seohun.
After a few rings, Seohun picked up.
"Hello…"
"I'm here, yes, it's me," Nau Rin replied hurriedly.
"Why are you calling so early?" Seohun asked, his voice still thick with sleep.
"Just listen," she said briefly.
Seohun's voice carried a hint of confusion:
"What?"
As Seohun paused, still puzzled, Nau Rin held the phone behind her back and looked toward the monk.
"Have you finished your thoughts?" she asked.
"I am thinking. You speak calmly on the phone," he replied.
Nau Rin brought the phone back to her ear and whispered,
"So… did you hear that? Am I really talking to someone?"
After a brief silence, Seohun replied:
"Yes… I heard. Sounds like you're talking to a woman."
A shiver ran through Nau Rin, her hands trembling almost uncontrollably.
"Don't joke. I'm asking seriously," she said.
"I'm not joking," Seohun answered.
Nau Rin's voice grew firm and deliberate.
"Seohun…" she said, calling his name clearly.
Seohun chuckled softly:
"Alright, alright… I was teasing. Sounds like it's an older man you're talking to."
Nau Rin exhaled slowly, finally releasing the breath she had been holding since before, and murmured,
"I knew it..."
When Seohun teased further,
"Has your ghost disappeared already?"
she replied sharply,
"Wait for me. I'll make sure your spirit moves along," and ended the call.
She returned to her seat, while the monk remained lost in contemplation.
"You've been a monk for quite a while, haven't you?" she asked.
The monk stared into the distance, his voice calm and soft:
"Yes… many years have passed."
"By the way, why are there so many gods? As far as I know, there are at least three."
The monk replied calmly,
"In essence, all these religions are just one thing. Only the ways of worship is different; They all stem from belief."
Nau Rin looked at him thoughtfully and asked,
"Do you ever regret becoming a monk?"
"Not even once," the monk answered. "My life may seem lonely or sorrowful in your eyes, but to me it is peaceful. I have witnessed the deepest darkness of human nature… and also its brightest heights."
After saying this, he fell silent for a moment. His gaze drifted far away, as if memories were emerging from a distant mist.
"There was a time," he began slowly, "when hunger ruled my life. I fought stray dogs over scraps of food in the streets, picked leftovers from the mud, and drank water from puddles just to survive. The cold wind pierced through my bones, my stomach twisted with pain… In those days, even calling myself human felt too heavy a burden."
"But then, one day…"
"On that dusty street, a monk approached me. He gave me half a wooden bowl of millet."
"He did not pity me. He did not look down on me."
"He simply looked straight at me with calm, steady eyes—as if I were a person just like him."
"That millet… was the most delicious food I had ever tasted in my life."
The monk continued,
"At first, I followed that monk simply because I wanted food. But the more I came to understand the world and the nature of people, the more I realized that this was the path I was meant to walk."
"In that case," Nau Rin said, "you truly found the path you were meant to follow."
The monk looked at her thoughtfully.
"And you… have you found yours?"
Nau Rin paused, considering the question.
"I think it's still too early for me to think about that." she replied.
The monk smiled faintly after a moment of reflection.
"Nothing comes too early," he said quietly.
"And nothing comes too late."
She nodded and glanced around her. The breath of spring filled the air; every tree had dressed itself in fresh green leaves, and the earth seemed to awaken once more. A gentle breeze passed through, and the rustling leaves sounded as though they were whispering that life had returned once more.
Yet among all that green, there was one tree beside the temple that remained completely bare. As she stared at it with curiosity, the monk explained.
"This tree has been here for hundreds of years. Unlike the others, it doesn't turn green in spring or yellow in autumn. Instead, it blooms in the harsh cold of winter, and by the time the first sprouts of spring appear, its flowers have already withered. Long ago, because of this, people began calling it the 'Wish Tree.' On those winter nights when hope seemed to have vanished, this tree would bloom alone. The sight of its blossoms opening against the darkness rekindled the belief in people's hearts that spring would eventually come, giving them strength to endure."
Gazing at the tree's bare branches, she murmured, "That's really interesting…"
The monk rose from his seat. "Wait here for a moment," he said before walking away.
Soon he returned holding a sheet of paper and a brush. Looking at him, she said with a small smile, "This is it. A Wish Tree… people really like things like this."
He gently placed the paper and brush before her.
"Is that so?" he replied softly.
Nau Rin looked down at the items in front of her and asked, "What is this for?"
The monk answered, "You should try writing your wish as well."
"Does it really come true?"
"I'm not sure…"
Nau Rin stared at the paper in silence for a moment, thinking about what she might wish for. After a long pause, she handed the paper back to the monk.
"I have nothing to write," she said.
"People usually wish for fame, wealth, health, and many other things. And you truly have nothing you want?" the monk asked.
Nau Rin answered quietly, "My life isn't that bad."
When Nau Rin shouldered her bag and said it was time for her to go, the monk walked with her toward the steps to see her off. He raised his hand to give her a blessing, but he couldn't quite reach the top of her head. When she bent slightly to help him, the monk suddenly produced a large wooden striker from behind his back.
"Wait… don't you have a smaller one?" she began, but before she could finish, the monk paid no attention and brought the striker down on her head with a solid thud.
Startled, Nau Rin rubbed her head and looked at him in confusion. The monk, however, acted as though nothing unusual had happened.
"All right, you may go now," he said calmly, then turned around and walked away without another word.
School had become quieter than before, yet the attitudes of the students and teachers had not really changed. Every day she walked the same road, boarded the same bus, and sat silently in the very back seat of the classroom, minding her own work. After school, she would go straight to training.
Outside the classroom window, the fresh green of spring shimmered brightly. Petals drifting in the wind seemed to dance in the sunlight. Before long, raindrops began sliding down the glass, racing each other and blurring the city beyond, until even the laughter inside the classroom felt subdued. Warm air slipped in through the cracked windows, the leaves on the trees thickening into deep shades of green. Later, yellow and red leaves scattered across the schoolyard in the wind, while the notebook on her desk slowly grew thicker and the lines of ink from her pen multiplied. Finally, the sky turned clear and cold, and one morning everything beyond the window lay covered in white. The world had grown still beneath the snow, and only the gazes within the classroom had changed—if only slightly—silently bearing witness to the passing of time.
On graduation day, the gymnasium suddenly became almost unrecognizable. The hall where they had taken physical education classes every day was now draped with red curtains, and at the center of the stage stood a board bearing the school's name. Rows of chairs were arranged with perfect precision. Students in identical uniforms sat shoulder to shoulder, yet the atmosphere was different today—laughter was quiet and restrained, and from time to time a soft sigh could be heard.
Each time a name was called, applause thundered through the hall. One by one, students walked up to the stage; as they climbed the steps, they still looked like the same children they had been yesterday, yet somehow seemed slightly changed when they came back down. Teachers stood along the back rows watching, some adjusting their glasses while discreetly wiping the corners of their eyes. Parents' phone cameras flashed again and again, trying to capture moments that would pass in an instant.
At last, the principal called her name.
"Class 3–1, Go Nau Rin."
When she stepped onto the stage, the principal handed her the graduation diploma and then presented the school's most prestigious honor—the Principal's Award. After that, the certificate of academic excellence was read aloud in a clear voice so that everyone in the hall could hear.
The principal finished reading and congratulated her.
"Go Nau Rin has demonstrated outstanding academic achievement in a total of ten subjects, including Korean, Mathematics, and English. Therefore, these certificates are hereby awarded."
As she received the thick stack of certificates inside the blue velvet folder, only the teachers' applause echoed through the hall. The other students sat in silence, as if displeased. Even the parents exchanged surprised glances with one another, and for a moment an uneasy stillness settled over the room.
Unaware of the silence around them, Nau Rin's parents could be seen in the very back row, quietly applauding with bright smiles on their faces.
When the ceremony ended, her parents congratulated their daughter and handed her a bouquet of flowers. Her father gently kissed her on the forehead.
The gazes of the people passing by seemed to rest only on them. Her father then took out a brand-new camera from inside his coat, as though it had been meant for this very moment. Standing at the entrance of the school, they captured the precious memory in a photograph, preserving the moment forever.