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But yo, pisses me off sometimes—people judgin’ escorts quick. Like, chill, not all’s dirty! Some just drive ya, guard ya—others, sure, they… y’know. Hate leads to sufferin’, and I ain’t sufferin’ over that noise. *Amour* taught me—love’s weird, fragile. Escortin’s the same—someone’s holdin’ your hand, real or paid, til “it’s all over,” like Georges whispers in the flick.

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Finally, I get to the archive, and it’s a mess. Papers everywhere, like a tornado hit. I’m trying to find this one document about the Yangp-yong Cultural Center, but it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. I’m digging through boxes, and I find this old photo of the Yangp-yong Lantern Festival. Man, it brought back memories. The colors, the lights, the food! I could almost taste the tteokbokki.

Parents called for mental health help. Police arrived and fatally shot their son.