The red strawberries were a rainbow, vibrant colors streaking across a gray world. They hypnotized passersby, who slowed down or outright lingered in their presence.

  But no one bought them. The sign cheerfully stating 12 strawberries cost five yeopjeon may as well have been a warning. Six strawberries costing three tokens was an insult. People stared and loitered, but eventually walked away.

  Ahrisu went up the stairs. Whether it was luck or a coincidence, she had exactly five yeopjeon left in her pocket, minus the two for the dryer. It had to mean something.

  If it didn't, it didn't matter because she stood before the counter, where strawberries were arranged in large sedge baskets, appropriately dyed red. The shopkeeper, a man in his 50s wearing a pink and green quilted vest, didn’t look up from the cell phone he scrolled on. Behind him was a small display fridge, powered by a portable generator, with more strawberries inside.

  They were the seolhyang variety, medium-sized and round and seemingly cultivated to resemble cartoon hearts.

  Seolhyang ddalgi were also seasonal so they should taste good. Regardless, their price was the gift, and she hoped the clothing stall shopkeeper liked strawberries.

  “Sajang-nim,” Ahrisu addressed the shopkeeper. No response. “Sajang-nim,” she repeated in a louder voice. He looked up, not lowering his phone.

  “What, are you running an errand?”

  She pointed at the baskets. “What’s the difference between the ones here and the ones in the fridge?”

  “Not much of a difference.” The shopkeeper slipped his phone in his pocket and uncrossed his leg. “These out here were picked today. The ones in the fridge are from yesterday. All fresh. Our strawberries never have time to go bad.”

  “Which one is more delicious?”

  “It shouldn’t matter, but since these are seolhyang, they’re a little sour. In that case, they’ll taste better cold. If you’re not running an errand, don’t waste your token coins. Kids get to eat them for free. The elderly get to eat fruits for free, too. I’m assuming you’re not older than 70.” A giddy snort accompanied his tone.

  “Can I have 12 strawberries from the fridge?” Ahrisu asked. The shopkeeper tilted his head, but stood and slipped on work gloves.

  “They’re definitely not giving that many away for free. You must like strawberries.” From a stack of smaller sedge baskets, he took one and lined it with a sheet of wax paper before grabbing tongs with silicone tips. “Don’t worry,” he said in a singsong voice. “I’ll pick out the prettiest and yummiest ones for you.”

  It was kind of him to do so, even if his words were simple politeness. He hummed to himself, propping open the door with his leg before letting it thud shut on its own.

  The shopkeeper set the basket on the counter. Exactly 12. After fitting the basket with a matching lid, he explained they could be eaten immediately because they were washed. Ahrisu offered him five yeopjeon with both hands.

  Nodding at the countertop instead, the shopkeeper pulled off his left glove. Pink and white patches, raised and bumpy, covered the back of his hand and continued down his arm. The burn scars disappeared into his sleeve, folded to the elbow.

  Ahrisu placed the token coins on the counter and pulled the basket closer to her before he caught her staring.

  The shopkeeper opened the ledger. Or she assumed it was one because it was pocket-sized. He flipped to the third page and pressed down on it with his right hand to keep it open. She gave her name before he had to ask.

  “You’re named after the Hangang, huh?” The shopkeeper wrote with a flourish, using a quill-like pen. “Well, if your family’s from the north or someone’s a history nerd, they’d use Goguryeo’s name for the river.”

  Except, Ahrisu didn’t know who named her. “Ahrisu” was just who she was called, for as long as she could remember.

  “I understand,” said the shopkeeper. He smiled while capping his pen and closing the ledger. “My speech doesn’t give away anything, right?”

  Deciding the question was rhetorical, Ahrisu bowed in thanks and took the basket with her. “Come again,” he called out, as she hopped down the stairs.

  She brought the basket close to her nose and inhaled a whiff of their sweet scent, faint, yet unmistakable. Holding it from the bottom in one hand and pressing down the lid with the other, she slipped into the shifting crowd. As with before, retracing her steps was dizzying. She went down the stairs, one step at a time, and didn't look away from her own two feet.

  Voices and laughter overflowed from the food chambers. Yet, the wafting smells didn’t replace the scent of strawberries in her nose.

  When Ahrisu reached the bottom of the staircase, she let out an exhale. She didn't drop the basket.

  Familiar shoulders stood out from the group in front of the cargo elevator. Potato boy’s back was turned while he held onto a trolley stacked with empty crates.

  She scurried to the right and walked alongside the tactile paving. In the pedestrian walkway, a few shutters were brought halfway down, dimming the lights and obscuring some sections of the vertical farming.

  Footsteps scuttled ahead. Kids ran down the walkway and around the corner, towards a section of the underground she hadn’t seen. Whether they were the dokkaebi occultists or wannabe Viking warriors, they were too far away to confirm. And now gone.

  The final right turn brought Ahrisu to the winding tunnel. Her footsteps thudded and echoed against the walls, despite trying to tread quietly.

  It was fine. She just had to bolt after leaving the strawberries on the counter. It was no different from the time she left tangerines for the convenience store owner while he was preoccupied with restocking items.

  Slowing at the last bend, she looked ahead. A number of people wandered around the area and browsed through the merchandise. Except at the clothing stall.

  Thus, the shopkeeper lounged on a chair beside another woman, who had the same face, but cat-like eyes to the shopkeeper's doe eyes. The shopkeeper crossed her legs and shook her raised foot, dangling a gomusin from her toes, the rubber shoe light pink. Between them was a projector on an upside down box. Its shining light splashed against the wall beside the elevator, playing footage.

  Just give it and go, Ahrisu reminded herself, as she drew closer to them. Just give it and go. That’s it.

  Not wanting to block the projector, she went behind the other woman, who flinched, then gaped at her.

  Ahrisu extended the strawberries with both hands to the shopkeeper. When she turned around, her big eyes widened while her facial muscles were frozen. But not her arms, as she took the strawberries and blinked rapidly. With that done, Ahrisu bowed one last time and backed away.

  “Hey, kiddo. Just a moment.” The shopkeeper shoved the basket into the other woman’s hands and stood, flinging her gomusin away. She took out her earbuds for listening to the projector's audio and asked, “Why are you giving me this? It, it wasn’t m-me.”

  That kind of answer confirmed she was Ahrisu’s benefactor. She made a motion to leave, but the shopkeeper lunged and grabbed her below her elbow. The other woman snapped her legs in and raised the strawberries above her head, evading the commotion.

  “I mean, it just so happened that the shirt was close to your size,” said the shopkeeper. “The sweatpants, too.” The clothes were currently wearing Ahrisu.

  “B-But I don’t want anything from you,” she continued. “Go return them. Or eat them yourself. Why are you wasting yeopjeon on strawberries? When kids eat them for free. Doing something this ridiculous . . .”

  Ahrisu tried to walk away, but the shopkeeper didn’t let go of her arm. “Hey, didn’t you hear me? You really don’t listen to adults. I said, take them back. I, I’m a-allergic to them!”

  “You’re not allergic to anything, Unni.” The other woman, presumably the younger sister, looked away, as the shopkeeper sucked in her teeth and glared at her.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “How about this, then?” she told Ahrisu. “Let’s eat them together. Listen to me, okay?”

  Nothing was going according to plan. And this was a woman who tracked her down to the bathhouse. That kind of tenacity was formidable.

  So Ahrisu allowed the shopkeeper to pull her back. She dragged her feet in a show of reluctance because she definitely didn’t want to eat strawberries and because a hint of warmth definitely didn’t sprout in her chest.

  “Sit, sit.” The shopkeeper tried to seat Ahrisu in her chair, but she refused and made a motion to sit on the floor. “Hey, don’t sit there,” she chided. “You’ll get your clothes dirty. I get it so just sit here. Ehyu, so obstinate.”

  The shopkeeper darted between rowboats and picked up a wooden stool. Dusting it off, she set it beside her chair, and Ahrisu sat on it. She brought her knees close to her chest.

  “Those are her favorite type of people,” the sister whispered to her. The shopkeeper barked a “be quiet” while putting her missing gomusin back on.

  The projector played a broadcast, not the news sort. Commentators brought up a virtual chart with swipes of their hands. A live chat zipped up the side of the screen. Oh, that. The influence of the game of the gods was undeniably stronger the nearer she was to Neo Seoul.

  “At least the shirt matches you well,” said the shopkeeper. Grabbing a tissue box, she sat in her chair and plucked out a sheet. She grabbed a strawberry by its calyx with the tissue and offered it to Ahrisu first. “Here, eat this,” she said.

  It was rude not to accept so Ahrisu took the strawberry with both hands, the tissue wetting her fingertips, and waited.

  The shopkeeper bit into hers and exclaimed, “Mmm,” through her nose. “As expected. Seolhyang is the juiciest. And ddalgi should be soft.”

  While the sister murmured in agreement, Ahrisu stared at the strawberry. The last time she held one, it had been a bit larger and her own hands smaller. ‘Eat a lot.’ It was her voice, but not her words because she couldn’t remember the voice of the person who spoke them.

  Ahrisu took her first bite of the strawberry. And slurped most of it because juice gushed out. She dabbed at her chin with the tissue and ate more. The tinge of sourness, compared to the sugar bomb her first strawberry was, made the sweetness more refreshing.

  “Mr. Hyeon really does pick out the best strawberries.” The sister ate around the green calyx. “The person managing the stall,” she added for Ahrisu.

  The shopkeeper popped the stem and leaves in her mouth, leaving no evidence behind. “If they all taste good, is that so hard to do?” she scoffed. “I could pick them out with a blindfold on.”

  “So prickly,” her sister retorted. “All because he flirted with you. What can you do? You’re just his type.” The shopkeeper groaned, as the sister laid out a tissue across her palm and motioned for Ahrisu to leave her leftover calyx on it.

  “He looks like he’s in his 50s, right?” the shopkeeper said to Ahrisu. “Not at all. He’s 42. I mean, if he was going to look old when he was young, he should be baby-faced by now.”

  “Look young for his age,” her sister corrected, “not baby-faced.”

  The shopkeeper insisted they were the same and gave Ahrisu a second strawberry, pinching the leaves. “Eat more. We can’t eat all this.”

  “Be honest, Unni,” said the sister. “It’s not because he looks old. It’s because he’s not your type. At all.”

  “I don’t have a type.”

  “Then, why are you watching that with so much devotion?” The sister jutted her chin at the wall. “Someone would think you still haven’t moved on.”

  “Shut up,” said the shopkeeper. “I’m allowed to have a hobby. And you know how long ago that was?” She munched on her second strawberry, jaw moving furiously. Her eyes flitted towards the broadcast.

  “My older sister used to date one of the top players,” the sister told Ahrisu. “Her first ever relationship. It ruined her for life. He did. She’s never content because there’s no one else like him.”

  “Hey, calling it a ‘relationship’ is a bit much,” the shopkeeper replied. “It was completely one-sided. He only dated me for a little bit because I confessed to him first. Besides, we were both 17. Relationships at that age don’t matter,” she said to Ahrisu. “You flirt, you date, then you break up. That’s all there is. There’s so much more to life than the first boy you think is cute when you’re 17.”

  Ahrisu swallowed the last bit of strawberry with a difficulty she balked at and wiped her mouth. She already knew that.

  “Listen to your own advice,” snorted the sister. “Is it because you imagine yourself living the good life right now if you just clung to him? It is a shame, isn’t it? We all knew he’d succeed. You accepted the break-up too easily.”

  “We were 17,” the shopkeeper repeated. “Just bean-sized kids. Well, I was. He was a beanstalk. Besides, what was I supposed to do? Stalk him or something? Don’t be ridiculous. We’re just hometown friends.”

  Her sister clapped. “Maybe he hasn’t moved on from you either. He’s still not married.”

  While the shopkeeper snapped at her sister to be quiet, again, Ahrisu checked her watch. The wash cycle should’ve ended about five minutes ago. She crumpled up her tissue, which fell apart from strawberry juice, and stood.

  “Leaving already?” said the shopkeeper. “You should eat more.”

  “My laundry. I have to put it in the dryer now.”

  The sisters said, “Oh,” at the same time, in the same drawn-out way, before they stood, too. “Take the strawberries, then,” said the shopkeeper. “Or a few, at least. Take the basket.”

  “N-No, no.” Ahrisu hooked her thumbs under the straps of her backpack. “It’s hard to carry around. Also . . . it’s a gift. To thank you.” She bowed. “Thank you.”

  “Like I did anything special,” the shopkeeper muttered. “Stop speaking nonsense.” Clapping, she gasped and darted towards the stall next-door. "You're not wearing rain boots, though," she said. "You don't have a pair? But they’re a must-have here. What size do you wear? 235, 240?” She rummaged through the boots, stepping around the pool floats.

  “But.” Ahrisu tried to get her attention. “I don’t have enough yeopjeon right now.”

  “Don’t worry about that, and just tell me your shoe size.”

  If a local said rain boots were necessary around here . . . “I wear 245 mm.”

  The shopkeeper paused before whirling around to a pink flamingo float and checking the boots in the rubber daeya. “Oh, then you should wear 255 mm. Boots need to be a little roomier. Here.” She picked out a pair of lilac-colored rain boots, which were heftier than any sneakers Ahrisu wore.

  “These usually go up to the knees,” said the shopkeeper, “but they’ll reach about your upper calves. You have long legs for your height. Try them on. Are your socks thick enough?”

  Ahrisu twisted her wrist behind the boots to glance at her watch. Dalnim was waiting for her.

  “Unni, stop being so fussy,” said the sister. “She has to go do her laundry. Kid, if the boots aren’t comfortable, bring them back, and I’ll find you a better pair.”

  It was a compromise the shopkeeper accepted with reluctance, and Ahrisu backed away, bowing several times until she was in the winding tunnel. The sisters watched her leave.

  She clutched the boots to her chest, much like how she held Dalnim. Her first ever pair of rain boots. And so pretty, too.

  While sorting through shaman-approved donation bins or scouring secondhand stores, it was rare enough to find clothes that weren’t falling apart, fit her reasonably, and were clean, to an extent. Colors weren’t a factor. But if she had favorites, they were purple and pink.

  With the taste of strawberries in her mouth and pretty lilac rain boots in her arms, the climb up the stairs and the stroll through the marketplace was a breeze. Ahrisu could’ve skipped, and she did so in her imagination.

  At the coin laundry, a placard was placed on the table, the sheet of paper folded to stand on its own. It said the elderly man was on his dinner break. It was her fault for being late so all she could do was wait.

  A person stood at the table in the center. Ahrisu stepped backwards, squeezing the rain boots.

  The young man folded clothes and towels. Shaggy hair and rimmed eyeglasses so thick it appeared a mask. A neoguri. Blackish-brown splotches stained the clothes he wore, and a dirty rag stuck out of the back pockets of his jeans.

  Two dryers were running. She lowered her cap and slunk towards the chairs.

  “Excuse me. I think this is for you.”

  The neoguri guy dug through the front pocket of his pants and handed her five ?500 coins. “I was worried you wouldn’t show up soon,” he said. “For the dryer. The grandpa said to just leave the yeopjeon on the table. He’ll know they’re from you.”

  Ahrisu thanked him, as he went back to folding his laundry and placing them in a large, cotton eco bag. The elderly man’s foresight meant she didn’t have to wait when she deserved to.

  Pursing her lips, she left her belongings on a chair in the corner and opened the washing machine. She first peeled away Dalnim from the clump of drenched clothes and opened the pillowcase.

  The stains on its head and torso were washed away, and her rabbit doll was whiter than she had ever seen it. Her reflection was mirrored in its eyes, also glossier. Smiling, Ahrisu checked none of the stitching was loose or any of its limbs and ears were about to fall off. Dalnim was also probably feeling refreshed from its first bath.

  She rubbed her thumbs over its tummy. They were gone, too. Those white ashes that had smeared into light gray when she tried to dust them off her rabbit doll.

  Inhaling deeply, Ahrisu tucked Dalnim back inside the pillowcase to protect it in the dryer. Her hand inched towards the pocket of her sweatpants, where she kept the braided string for siltteugi. But the embers in her mind were cold.

  She tossed in the rest of her clothes and checked the washing machine for any missing socks before closing its door. While she inserted the ?500 coins, neoguri guy left. She had to time this cycle because Dalnim shouldn’t be tossed around in high heat for the full 30 minutes. 15 minutes, then she’d have her rabbit doll air dry the rest of the way.

  When the dryer started, Ahrisu checked her watch. 6:16 PM. Drying her hands on her clothes, she placed her last yeopjeon beside the ledger.

  The elderly man’s manhwa volume was one of many. More than 20 comic books were organized neatly in a bin underneath the table. Waterproof, she noted. A shadow fell across the entrance.

  “In such a short amount of time, you stole more money?”