The Grim Lover

I adjusted my tinted sunglasses for the third time, peering through the car window. I could see some doctors and nurses emerging from the building. I glanced at my wristwatch again to remind myself how long I'd been waiting. If my calculations were correct, it had been about half an hour since I parked discreetly in the medical school parking lot.

 

The person sitting in the passenger seat didn't say a word. He sat with his arms crossed, staring out the window, pretending to be interested in something. But I knew he wasn't interested in anything in particular; he was just bored with waiting because he couldn't let me leave the condo alone. In other words, even though he was annoyed, he didn't dare complain, because if he uttered even one word, I would retort, "I didn't ask you to come along. Go back."

 

This morning, Fourteen was dressed exactly like P'Fah again in a black short-sleeved t-shirt, matching straight-leg pants, and sneakers. Everything from head to toe belonged to P'Fah, making the Grim Reaper look much younger. I think the owner wouldn't mind sharing these things with others; it's better than letting them gather dust. Honestly, I wouldn't dare give away any of P'Fah's clothes or other belongings, not even donate them. So, letting Fourteen borrow them for now wouldn't hurt.

 

Actually, it's better this way. It's like I get to see P'Fah every day.

 

"Stop looking at me like that," Fourteen said softly, his gaze still fixed on the car window, not even glancing at me, sitting beside him. Yet, he seemed to know I was secretly watching him, as if he had eyes in the back of his head. Hmm, maybe he actually did. 

 

"Put yourself in the open. I'm not your boyfriend."

 

"At first I was almost charmed," I replied, "but once you opened his mouth, it wasn't the same anymore."

 

"Then it's good that I spoke up."

 

"Could you try smiling?"

 

"No," he refused without hesitation. "I know what you're thinking. Don't try to fool me."

 

I sighed. To be honest, I wasn't trying to "trick" him. It was just a shameless request. Many times, I just thought of P' Fah. Even though Fourteen resembles P'Fah so much, the feeling I get when I look at him is still different. P'Fah isn't like that; even when he's not smiling, his normal face still has a friendly demeanour. 

 

There's just a certain warmth that radiates when he smiles. Fourteen, on the other hand, only displays two expressions: one is the standard coldness, and the other is irritation, which is only slightly different from the standard expression.

 

"You know how stressed I am. Would it kill you to just smile once?" I grumbled, knowing I was acting stupid. I knew it wasn't Fourteen's job to please me, but since we're stuck together twenty-four hours a day anyway, wouldn't it be a kind gesture to ask for something? Besides, I just asked for a smile; it's not a big deal.

 

"Not dead," he replied, "but not smiling."

 

That's him, that's the Grim Reaper named Fourteen. He's unsympathetic, uncooperative, and completely incomprehensible. For him, there's only 'what needs to be done.' Anything beyond that is rejected outright, as if he's been programmed to do so.

 

"Fine, if you don't want to smile, then don't," I said, giving up on his plea for sympathy. "Just let me wither away like this. That's better. On the way back, I can just swerve the car off the bridge and be done with it."

 

"Stop threatening me like a child."

 

"We'll soon find out whether it was a threat or not."

 

It was Fourteen's turn to sigh. He still wouldn't look me in the eye, but I knew he was getting annoyed at my constant pestering, telling him to do pointless things that, to be honest, weren't pointless at all. They were the way to cheer me up and get me through each day. But this Grim Reaper just didn't have a heart to understand any of that.

 

"Even if you drive off a bridge, you won't die," Fourteen said nonchalantly. "Haven't you tried it before? Did anyone die?"

 

He was right. Over the past few days, thoughts of suicide have flashed through my mind periodically, mostly at night when everything is silent. I lie still on the bed. Fourteen sleeps on the sofa at the foot of the bed. P'Fah comes alive in my head. He brings me so much happiness, so much happiness that even breathing feels agonising. That agonising pain makes me jump out of bed and try to die in various ways, but as you can see, I'm still sitting here because Fourteen won't let me.

 

Whether it's jumping off a condo balcony, running into the street, overdosing, using sharp objects, mixing poison in the bathroom, and countless other things, despair pushes me to try every possible way to escape these feelings. But in the end, he always comes along to thwart me. Now, I'm starting to feel like this is a game. I'm the character whose goal is to die, and Fourteen is the opponent who has to do whatever it takes to keep me alive. The roles seem to be topsy-turvy, unlike typical games, but perhaps this is its strange charm, something you can't find anywhere else.

 

I might be crazy, but sometimes... I think it's fun.

 

I wonder how much longer he can protect me.

 

"Is that him?"

 

Fourteen's voice pulled me out of my own thoughts. I followed his gaze and realised Fourteen was right; the Grim Reaper had better eyesight than I thought.

 

The sound of shoes hitting the parking lot floor in a steady rhythm was getting closer. My heart was pounding three or four times faster than the sound of the footsteps, because I had never imagined myself doing anything so risky in my life (aside from an attempted suicide). In stark contrast to Fourteen, who seemed so calm and relaxed, as if she were on a vacation.

 

But let's forget about that for now. The target has arrived.

 

"Ah-"

 

She almost screamed at the top of her lungs, but luckily, I covered her mouth in time. This behaviour is no different from that of a psychopathic thief, but…Okay, I don't have many options right now.

 

"Calm down," I whispered, holding the woman's slender body close and keeping her mouth tightly shut, afraid she would scream again. "It's me."

 

Wide-eyed as if she'd seen a ghost and struggling, she gradually calmed down when she heard my voice, and I could clearly see the face beneath the brim of the cap. Seeing that she was becoming still, I slowly released her, although I was a little worried she might run away. But there were both me and Fourteen here. I knew that such a thought was disgusting, but a small woman like her couldn't fight off two men alone.

 

"Won..." Gloy called my name in a faint voice, staring at me as if she couldn't believe I was here. I'd been trying to contact her for days, but she was the one avoiding me. "What are you doing here?"

 

"Isn't it obvious?" I replied calmly. "I've called you countless times. If you had answered, I wouldn't have had to come to the hospital."

 

"Sorry, I didn't answer your call. I've been really busy lately-"

 

"What are you meddling in?" I interrupted, my temper starting to simmer. Seeing her terrified expression when she saw me only infuriated me more. Gloy acted like she was afraid of me, like I was a dangerous threat ready to hurt her at any moment, and she was the pathetic victim. "Is going around interviewing people about me such a big deal?"

 

I am the victim.

 

A victim of a deceiver like her.

 

"Won... you shouldn't be here," Gloy whispered, her eyes darting left and right as if afraid I'd get caught. Of course, I'm a suspect. The summons has already arrived. Right now, I'm just buying time to gather evidence to prove the truth. If it weren't for Fourteen using some trick (some kind of method the Grim Reapers use; they said it temporarily blinds me), I'd already been arrested, interrogated, and charged with even more offences. "They're looking for you," she added.

 

"No," I said irritably, "You don't need to tell me about something like this, Gloy. I know what I'm going through. You don't need to help me."

 

"Won... I can explain."

 

"Fine, then explain." The more I saw her face, the more my anger simmered, threatening to erupt. I couldn't believe there was a day I felt this way about my own friend. "Explain clearly why you falsely accused me."

 

"Are you slandering me?" Gloy's voice changed from fear to displeasure in a split second. She acted as if I were the one slandering her. "When did I slander anyone? Everything I said was the truth."

 

"I'm serious, Gloy." it was unbelievable that she could say that with such a straight face. Or perhaps the repeated lies had made her believe it was true, because there's no way a normal person would do this. The guilty party acting like a victim? Where did she get that audacity? "Both you and I are in the OR together. We both know what happened. I can understand you lying in front of others, but why are you putting on a show in front of me?"

 

"Aren't you the one acting more?" Gloy retorted defiantly. "You know exactly what you did. You're angry that he hit and killed P'Fah, but you're the one who injected him with your own hands."

 

"What nonsense are you talking about, Gloy? Has your brain gone back to square one?" I refused to back down either. Hearing P'Fah's name come out of her mouth only made me angrier.

 

Anger and a agonizingly tight heart were evident. "I checked before the surgery. I told you many times that it was 100% trigger-free."

 

"Just because someone says something, can you believe anything? You can say anything. Even if they say it's trigger-free, it might not actually be."

 

"If you thought that, why didn't you ask to inspect the equipment and drugs in the first place?"

 

"Well, I didn't suspect anything about you at first."

 

"Gloy, stop acting like this is your first time in the OR." I started raising my voice until Fourteen, who was standing behind me, nudged me to lower my voice. He was wearing a hat and mask, so Gloy couldn't see his face, but I could feel her glancing at Fourteen periodically with apprehension. 

 

"It's not just you and me in there. There are nurses, assistants, doctors, and medical students. If I were secretly using other drugs on patients, as you say, do you think no one would know?"

 

"Then why hasn't anyone come out to defend you?" Gloy snapped, a small, mocking smile playing on her lips. I think it was a reaction she wasn't even aware of, because since I've known her, I've never seen Gloy like this before. 

 

"I've been saying this for days. Why hasn't anyone come forward to testify and confirm your innocence? If you didn't do it, someone would have spoken up for you by now."

 

That's right. Even those in the operating room didn't say anything. Only Gloy gave an interview about what happened. It's strange, but I think no one wants to risk getting involved in something like this. A patient died, and big politicians are involved. Whether right or wrong, it's dangerous. As long as they're not being targeted as the culprits, keeping quiet and living their lives is probably the best option.

 

As far as I know, everyone in the operating room that day was called in for questioning, but I haven't seen any news of anyone giving testimony that contradicts Gloy's. It seems my turn has finally come.

 

"I don't know how you could do these things or why you did them, but I'm sure you know the truth," I said in a low voice. In my mind, I was strangling her with both hands, but in reality, all I could do was clench my fists and dig my nails into my palms in a pathetic gesture. "You know perfectly well that I didn't do it. I didn't try to kill him, and I didn't accidentally kill him."

 

Gloy looked at me with trembling eyes. Yes, I saw fear in her eyes. To me, it was nothing short of a confession. Unfortunately, I couldn't use her fear as evidence to defend myself.

 

"The one who made the mistake is the one who caused it. You made him bleed more than he should have. He went from being a guaranteed survivor to dying in his bed. You know that well."

 

It's strange to think that one day Gloy and I would find ourselves in this situation. We hardly ever argue. Even though she has some habits that I don't quite understand, and she might not like some of my habits, Gloy is a good friend. A friend I might not see as perfectly compatible with me in every way, but I've never wanted to cut her out of my life.

 

"I know exactly what's what," Gloy continued to stand firm on the same path that I'll never understand. And if she insists on doing this, I think it won't be long before she can't distinguish between reality and what she wants to be true. "You should know that too."

 

"Actually, I intended to talk to you properly today, Gloy, in case there's any misunderstanding, and we could work together to find a solution. But judging from what you've said, it seems you don't want to find a solution anymore," I said, my heart filled with disappointment. Although I was angry at her lies and false accusations, I couldn't take any action without talking to her in person first. Sadly, she had thrown away that last chance with her own hands.

 

“I have my own solution,” Gloy replied. Her voice sounded firm, but unfortunately, it contradicted the trembling in her eyes. “And, it would be much better if you came out and admitted what happened. I know it’s difficult, but running away won’t make anything better; it will only make things worse. It’s better to admit your mistakes now. I believe you’ll get a better chance.”

 

"Admitting something I didn't do, huh?" I asked her, even though I didn't really expect any answer. "I thought you knew me well, Gloy. I would never admit to something I didn't do. I won't apologise if I'm not guilty. So, if you think manipulating me like this will make me believe I'm wrong, it means you don't really know me at all."

 

"Things have come to this point, Won, you just—"

 

“But from now on, I’ll make you understand me,” I cut her off. There was no point in letting her continue. For me, Gloy had completely lost the ability to tell the truth. 

 

“If you think what you’re doing now is protecting yourself, I’ll show you how to truly protect yourself.”

 

Gloy clenched her jaw tightly. She was holding back her surging emotions as much as possible. There were probably many words she wanted to hurl at me, but it wasn't the time yet. She had to try to make herself the perfect victim until it was all over.

 

It's funny, isn't it? Some people struggle desperately to escape the victim status, while others use everything they have to create a pitiful victim image for themselves.

 

"Won-"

 

But suddenly, Gloy did something I didn't expect. She lunged forward and tried to grab my arm. I thought she probably didn't intend to hurt or threaten me, just wanted to use our familiarity to try to persuade me again.

 

All of a sudden!

 

"fall"

 

But Fourteen didn't think like me. He moved to stand in front of me and ordered in a cold voice. Fourteen was like an iron wall rising up to shield me, and at the same time, he radiated an incredibly unfriendly aura that forced me to take several steps back. Didn't you say you were just going to stand and listen? I thought to myself.

 

"I don't trust this person," Fourteen communicated directly into my head as I continued to stare intently at Gloy. "It's better not to get too close."

 

I think Fourteen was overthinking it. Gloy framed me for the patient's death because that was her best way to survive, but I didn't think someone like Gloy would be bold enough to physically attack me.

 

“You’re too optimistic about other people,” Fourteen retorted immediately. His voice sounded clearly irritated, even in my head. “You should try looking at other people the way they like to look at you.”

 

What does that mean? Is he saying that other people have always had a bad opinion of me? I'm sorry too.

 

"Who are you?" Gloy narrowed her eyes at Fourteen suspiciously. Luckily, he was covering his face, because if Gloy saw him, a new issue would surely arise. "What's it to you?"

 

Fourteen is silent, of course. He doesn't answer anyone's questions except mine. (Even when I ask him, sometimes he still doesn't answer.)

 

"It might be unavoidable," I replied on behalf of my friend, before pulling Fourteen to stand beside me. He resisted a little at first, but eventually complied.

 

"Do you have friends I don't know?"

"You don't need to know everything about my life," I replied. "Even I only found out today that you could do something so messed up to your friend."

 

I felt like I was hearing a whistle in my head. That last sentence must have pleased Fourteen quite a bit, but Gloy probably didn't agree. She looked like she wanted to strangle me. The way she acted, it felt familiar, like when I argued with P'Fah's father. It seems like a lot of people want to cause trouble for me these days.

 

"You'll regret not believing me," Gloy said through gritted teeth.

 

"No," I replied, giving her the most sincere smile I could. "You're the one who'll regret it... for doing this to me."

 

When my first option, negotiation, failed, I had to return to my condo to regroup. I tried to gather my thoughts and process how I could find evidence to prove my innocence. The good news is that a very clear answer emerged from the start; I knew what the evidence was. But the bad news is, I don't know how to obtain it.

 

"It's dinner time," Fourteen said, closing the comic book in her hand and not forgetting to pull the edge of the cover back to mark the page she was reading.

 

He seems to have become more familiar with those manga after spending 24/7 here with me. I suggested he try reading P'Fah's comics, and the reason isn't complicated. It's not because I want to train him to become a second P'Fah to soothe my own broken heart (though that's an interesting option), but because his constant staring at me day and night is too creepy. I needed to find a hobby for this little grim reaper, and reading Japanese comics seems like a good choice. He picks it up whenever he has free time, even when we're out, though I don't even know when he started taking it with him.

 

But there's no denying that during the time he was with fourteen, fourteen was engrossed in reading comic books, and I saw the image of P'Fah superimposed on him.

 

"I'm not hungry," I replied indifferently, my eyes still glued to my phone screen as they had for hours. "You go ahead and eat."

 

"Why would I eat?" Fourteen got up from the corner table and walked over to stare at me as I sat on the sofa in the middle of the living room. "You must be so malnourished that your memory is all muddled up."

I only just remembered it when he mentioned it. I was so engrossed in the unfamiliar subject matter of forensic science that I completely forgot about the fact that Grim Reapers eat certain foods.

"Sorry," I apologised casually, "I forgot you didn't need to eat."

 

"And have you forgotten that you need to eat too?"

 

"I'm not hungry yet."

 

"You have to eat."

 

"Fourteen..."

 

"You're doing well," Fourteen said calmly. "Your weight is steadily decreasing. Don't think you're using this to kill yourself, because I'm going to force-feed you anyway."

 

I never planned to commit suicide by starvation because it's too difficult. It would take too long to die, not to mention the agony of hunger and the pain from bodily systems failing. No matter how much I wanted to die, I wouldn't be brave enough to choose such an agonising method. Besides, as fourteen said, I'll never starve to death as long as the Grim Reaper is following me like a shadow.

 

"I don't want to eat," I confessed honestly to Fourteen. For the past few days, I've been forced to eat by him. Every meal felt like I was trying to swallow sharp pebbles. Just a few bites were enough to make me want to vomit. I know all of this is because of the stress that's been exceeding normal levels for quite some time, but I don't know how to deal with it. If I could control my feelings, I would have done so the day P'Fah died, instead of waiting for my body to protest until today. 

 

"Can I not eat? Just one meal?"

 

"Do you think making that sound will soften my heart?" Fourteen's voice was as icy as an iceberg. His eyes showed no sign of flinching at my pleas, which made me feel uneasy. For a moment, it was as if I was being rejected by P'Fah, being looked at with a lifeless gaze, being told that he didn't love me anymore. "I don't care if you want to eat or not. Your duty is to eat so you don't die."

 

"Skipping one meal won't kill me."

 

"When I say 'immortal,' I include not getting sick or ill, because every time a human gets sick, it means the risk of dying increases."

 

"No human being is immune to illness. Some people are sick their entire lives and eventually die of old age."

 

"How do you know how long someone lives?" Fourteen folded his arms and looked at me. His slightly upturned chin indicated he thought he was superior to me. Honestly, what's there to be proud of about being above someone like me, who has nothing? "Healthy people live longer than those who are constantly sick. You don't need to be a doctor to know that."

 

"So what? Lots of healthy people are walking down the street and get hit by cars and die," I replied sarcastically. "People who are healthy and rarely get sick can still die out of nowhere."

 

It's utterly bizarre for a doctor and a grim reaper to be arguing about death. We're both incredibly familiar with it. My job is to bridge the gap between life and death for my patients, while Fourteen's is to clean up my failed missions. I see everything that science and Mother Nature allow, while Fourteen... he sees everything beyond that. Perhaps because he sees more than I do, he understands it better. It would be good if I were as emotionless as him.

 

"Everyone has their own time," Fourteen maintained his heartless demeanour remarkably well. I wondered if he could hear the thoughts in my head right now. 

 

"And now is not your time, so I won't let you break the rules."

 

"If it's not my time yet, no matter how hard I try, I won't die."

 

“Yes,” he replied. “Why do you think I’m here?”

 

It seems impossible to beat him, even though I usually win debates. I think I'm the fastest and most systematic at drawing logical thought patterns. The only person who's ever made debating with me enjoyable is P'Fah. Fourteen is the second person.

 

"Stop picking a fight and just tell me what you want to eat," Fourteen asked curtly. His question made me realise he was a little contradictory. He always said he didn't care how I felt, but every time it was mealtime, he always got me my favourite dish. Could that count as thoughtfulness? "And don't fantasise that I'm thoughtful enough to get you your favourite food. I just need to make you eat as much as possible. If I bring you something you don't like, you'll just start making a fuss and refuse to eat it."

Well, that's it. He shattered all my hopes.

 

"You already know what I like to eat. Why are you asking again?"

 

Fourteen fell silent. I think he's probably rummaging through the drawers of his brain, searching for his favourite dish that would whet my appetite today. His serious demeanour kept me on edge, because honestly, I didn't feel like eating anything at all, not even thirsty. It was interesting to see how the Grim Reaper could guess my thoughts.

 

"Minced pork with pickled mustard greens," Fourteen finally said after a silence of about ten seconds.

 

"Ha?"

 

"Minced pork stew with pickled mustard greens, your boyfriend's recipe," he replied with the same expressionless face as always. But my heart fluttered just at the name of the dish. "I think I can do it."

 

This could be called a novel (or perhaps bizarre) experience for me as a human being. Of course, living with a grim reaper constantly following me like a shadow is another matter entirely. I'm starting to get used to it, but I still don't want to talk about it with anyone because I don't want to be accused of being so heartbroken that I've lost my mind, developed delusions, and ultimately ended up in a psychiatric hospital. Right now isn't the right time for that.

 

And when I say "novel experience," it's not just about a Grim Reaper showering and smelling good every day or a Grim Reaper addicted to manga anymore. Now, Fourteen has evolved to another level of humanity by putting on an apron and cooking dinner for me. At first, I wanted to stop him, but seeing that confident expression, I couldn't resist wondering what Fourteen's cooking would look like. So, I let him have his way, and I just watched from afar because he insisted he didn't need a helper.

 

His movements were surprisingly skilful. In fact, fourteen had performed many human activities naturally from the start. I didn't need to teach or direct him at all. Perhaps it's because he works with humans every day that he seems familiar with our routines and can easily imitate them from the very beginning. There might be times when he doesn't understand why humans do those things, like watching plays or even reading.

 

The cartoon he likes, when I first introduced it to him, he didn't seem to understand much. He said, "Why would people want to know all sorts of stories they don't even know? Why are humans so obsessed with things they know are made up? I don't understand what's useful or fun about it." But after trying it himself, I think the Grim Reaper finally understands the essence of it.

 

By now, I think Fourteen is practically a human being. He does everything I do, except for eating and sleeping, which aren't necessary for a Grim Reaper. Even so, he seems to be trying harder and harder to blend in. From the first few days when he just sat staring at me all night, Fourteen is now learning to rest. He doesn't actually sleep; he just pretends to sleep like me. As for eating, we haven't found a middle ground yet. Forcing him to eat something unnecessary would be strange, and having him sit and watch me eat is too uncomfortable for me to eat. So, for now, I just let him handle the eating, and Fourteen's job is simply to remind (and force) me to eat on time.

 

Fourteen didn't take long to cook. The longest part was probably waiting for the ingredients to be delivered. My refrigerator was empty except for water, so Fourteen had to order everything online from the supermarket and wait for the delivery rider to bring it to the condo. He handled everything himself, but still asked me questions about the differences between various ingredients. He knew what he wanted, but choosing from so many options wasn't easy for a man who reaps death. So I had to teach him about different grades of ground pork, the difference between fresh and pickled cabbage, the taste of each seasoning, and the differences between brands of the same type of seasoning. It was like a mini Supermarket 101 class.

 

The Grim Reaper took less than an hour to prepare the meal and cook the rice. I sat watching his back as he moved, and before I knew it, dinner was served and ready on the table.

 

I gazed at the large bowl of minced pork and pickled cabbage stew, served with steaming hot rice that wafted across my face, with a feeling difficult to describe. This was the first time since I'd been alone that I'd paid so much attention to my food. In the past, I barely cared what I put in my mouth because every dish was the same—bland, hard to swallow, and made me want to vomit. But this meal was different. I was excited to finally devour it.

 

"You have to eat it with your mouth," Fourteen said calmly while cleaning up the kitchen. He's more organised than P'Fah. Usually, P'Fah likes to sit around for a while before starting to clean. But maybe it's because Fourteen doesn't have to eat today; he's probably rushing so he has something to do while I'm eating. "Just sitting and watching isn't enough."

 

"I know," I replied softly, having no desire to argue with him. Then, with a mixture of fear and apprehension I'd never felt before, I picked up the spoon. It was just food, yet I felt as if I were preparing to face something, something I couldn't quite describe—whether I felt happy or sad about tasting it.

 

It looked exactly like the one P'Fah used to make, a perfect copy. The minced pork was sized like meatballs, the pickled cabbage was cut into bite-sized pieces, the broth was a golden-orange colour, and the floating chilli peppers were so tempting. Even the smell was unbelievably similar. 

 

Suddenly, it was like I'd travelled back in time to our home. On those exhausting shifts, I'd come home like a battle-hardened zombie, and P'Fah would always make this dish to revive me. I once told him it made me feel so refreshed that I wanted to go back to work (no way!).

 

"It's...so similar." "How did you do that?" I asked Fourteen, still holding the spoon, not daring to disturb the memory lying in the bowl. "It..."

 

"It's all from memory," Fourteen replied in a relaxed tone, arranging the freshly washed utensils on the drying rack.

 

"My memory?" I was surprised. Of course, I've eaten this dish countless times. I know the ingredients, but not the recipe. Only P'Fah knows. So, how is Fourteen going to pull it out of my memory?

 

But soon, his silence became an answer. Fourteen glanced at me for a moment before turning back to the wet sink edge, meticulously wiping it with a rag, while I simply watched his actions, reflecting on the situation. The memories he spoke of are not my memories.

 

Fourteen pulled the recipe from P'Fah's memory; he's the only person in the world who can make this dish to my liking.

 

"How did you do that?" My voice was faint. I was buying time, trying to compose myself. Part of me was excited to taste this familiar flavour, but I was also terrified. Terrified that this taste would remind me of him. "You could see all of P'Fah's memories?"

 

"No," Fourteen replied, "I can only see general memories. Only he can see personal memories."

 

"Sir?"

 

"The person I will take you to meet when you die."

 

I imagined "him" as a well-dressed man in his fifties, dignified and imposing, seated on a towering throne on the other side of the bridge, awaiting the arrival of lost souls and the Grim Reaper for judgment on their afterlife.

 

“The recipe is in my general memory. There are two recipes for this dish,” Fourteen said, draping a wet rag over the edge of the sink and turning on the water, slowly washing his hands, as if he were also stalling for as long as possible, just like me.

 

But how can there be two recipes for this dish? I've always seen P'Fah make it with the same flavour.

 

"The first recipe doesn't include sugar when marinating the minced pork, and uses only half the amount of chilli peppers as the second recipe."

 

"So, which recipe did you choose?"

 

"The second recipe," Fourteen turned to look me in the eye, "because your boyfriend noted down that it's Won's recipe."

 

And this was the first time I realised that the dishes we'd been enjoying together so deliciously weren't actually recipes the cook liked at all. P'Fah likes sweet flavours in desserts, but hardly ever likes savoury dishes sweet. But because I'm a doctor who puts sugar in almost everything I cook, I can't tell the difference between what's considered sweet and what's normally sweet. As for spicy food, P'Fah can't eat it as spicy as I can, but he said this dish tastes best when it's spicy. So I never suspected anything. But now I'm starting to know. I wonder if P'Fah has ever actually made a recipe he really likes.

 

I dipped the spoon into the bowl of soup, scooped it up, and brought it to my mouth, inhaling its mouthwatering aroma deeply. The more I smelled it, the more I realised it was exactly like the one I used to eat. And the moment the taste touched my tongue, my eyes welled up with tears.

 

I tried to hold back my tears because I thought it would be quite embarrassing to shed tears over spicy pickled cabbage soup. It was utterly ridiculous. But I can't stop it. 

 

The minced pork, pickled cabbage, and broth were smothered over the rice. I crammed everything into one big bite—a huge mouthful that almost overflowed, but I managed to finish it all. I chewed everything together, savouring each component intently, and let the tears flow, not caring about anything else anymore.

 

It was so delicious, always delicious. It was a flavour only P'Fah could make, and I have to confess I'd completely forgotten about it lately. I loved P'Fah's cooking more than any dish at any famous restaurant. But since he passed away, I haven't thought about his food anymore. Perhaps it's because, deep down, I'm afraid that those flavours will only make me miss the person who created them even more.

 

And this was the first meal I ever put in my mouth without being forced. I swallowed every bite willingly, even though tears and sobs made it difficult, but it didn't diminish the deliciousness. My heart felt full, yet at the same time, I felt increasingly lonely because I had just realised there was one more thing to add to 'the part of P'Fah that I will miss.' It's heartbreaking that this list keeps getting longer and longer, and until now, I don't see when it will ever stop.

 

There are probably a million more things about P'Fah that I'll miss.

 

Fourteen sat down opposite me. He didn't say anything, even though he saw me eating and crying at the same time. I thought he probably didn't care about me at all. At most, he was probably relieved to see me finally able to eat. Even so, I thanked him in my heart for sitting here reading comics instead of leaving me to eat alone like every day.

 

"Thank you," my voice trembled, not daring to meet his gaze. I lowered my head, chewing my food, hastily wiping away the tears with the back of my hand in embarrassment, hoping he wouldn't think I'd gone crazy and burst into tears because of the delicious food. "It was so good, thank you so much."

 

Fourteen didn't reply. He scanned each frame in the manga, so engrossed he seemed not to hear me, but I'm sure he did. He knew how much this meal meant to me.

 

The excellent meal was over. I finished every last drop of the soup, and the minced pork, pickled cabbage, and rice were all gone, completely consumed. I was so full I felt bloated, but I didn't think it was painful at all. Even if my stomach were to burst, if I died from this meal, I would still leave feeling satisfied and content.

 

"Well done," was the first thing fourteen said after he lowered his comic book and saw the empty plate on the table. I hoped he was pleased with my meal. "You don't have to worry about starving to death anymore."

 

"Are you going to make me eat this every day?"

 

"I don't know," Fourteen shrugged. "If you refuse to eat what you ordered, then we'll have to dig up the recipe from your girlfriend's head again."

 

"I'll try to eat something else," I said, feeling a little guilty. "It's not your job to constantly cook for me."

 

“I understand"

 

"Suddenly you're feeling indebted to me?"

 

Fourteen's words made me feel ashamed when I thought about how I'd treated him all this time. I argued with him constantly about everything he did. If it wasn't out of his own necessity, it was I who forced him to do it. But after tasting his cooking for the first time, a feeling of gratitude and respect arose in my heart.

 

"Shouldn't I be considerate of you?"

 

"I don't know," Fourteen replied indifferently. "Whatever. I don't care."

 

"So that means if I asked you to do something else for me, you wouldn't mind, would you?"

 

Once again, the young Grim Reaper shifted his gaze from the comic book to my face. He frowned slightly, narrowing his eyes with a hint of distrust, but he didn't immediately protest or refuse.

 

“What are you doing?” he asked.

 

"You can read my mind."

 

"Your thoughts are very scattered right now."

 

So that's it. If I have a lot of complicated thoughts in my head, he won't be able to read properly, huh?

 

"Take me to the hospital," I said.

 

"Ha?"

 

"I need to go to the hospital, and you have to help me."