The clouds marred the topaz of the sky with ugly gray patches that represented a kind of hesitation I felt nothing of as I turned off the engine and got out of my car. It seemed like an omniscient message from above, trying to convince me to let go to be the bigger person and forgive. A lost cause, really. I never claimed to be an angel, and I never claimed to be Jesus. Forgiveness was something only the Almighty was capable of. If he had wanted to share this ability with me, he would not have taken everything I valued in the cruelest possible way.

This was the first time in a year that I had come to Yanghwa-Dong with the intention of actually stepping out of my car. I walked slowly towards the Crawlers. It had opened its doors an hour ago. I had already parked a safe distance away when my little joker card came to prepare the store for opening. She seemed to be in a gray mood to match the imposing clouds, and I couldn't thank God enough. This was better than I expected for our first meeting. It was a hook. And we would both bite, like the pitiful fish we were. The only difference was that she was a sardine that a shark would feast on. I was the shark to her demise.

The door opened with a shrill ding, jolting me out of my already troubled thoughts. I took off my sunglasses as I approached the counter, and my suspicions were certainly confirmed by the proximity, which erased any doubt I had previously had. Still sitting in my car, watching her as she cleared tables and cleaned counters in her white half-sleeve t-shirt with the café's slogan, I saw purple blotches on her otherwise fair skin. I had dismissed what my eyes saw, reckoning that I was too far away from her to make out such details. Now, I realized that a year of studying her gave me the prowess to recognize every little difference in her figure.

Up close, she looked smaller than I had seen her behind my windshield.  Way underweight for her tall stature. I couldn't see her face up close yet as she stood with her back to me while she cleaned the coffee machine. Her boss was standing behind the counter operating the cash machine. The intention was to order a coffee and sit at a table in the corner, waiting for the right moment to strike up a conversation, but all I could do as I stood a few feet away from the counter was stare at the bruises on her forearms. They were scattered across her limbs like purple petals. I wondered where they had come from and what had caused them. My source didn't report domestic violence, but if it existed, I wouldn't be so averse to it. It would actually ease my infiltration.

"How can I help you, sir?" The loud baritone of her boss interrupted my train of thought. I was thinking of aborting the mission and getting more information about the bruises from my source, who usually observed her up close when she was at home. I couldn't risk being seen around her house, which was why I had assigned another person to this mission. A trustworthy lad in his late twenties eager to earn a few pennies to pay for his father's dialysis. Someone who wouldn't speak about his job description, lest his father's blood rot. But now it was too late. She had turned from the cleaning she was subjecting that old Delonghi to and was ready to prepare my order as soon as I voiced it.

My joker card wasn't the striking beauty that would steal breaths. Wasn't ugly either. Her features had a certain subtlety. But her brown eyes were penetrating. They had a depth in them that would draw a swimmer into the depths of a dark ocean. Tenderness mingled with a sharpness that I assumed she adopted as a means of protection in a jungle-like world. She was by no means esthetically perfect. But she was not esthetically unpleasing to the eye either. She was so simple in a very complicated world. What a pity!

"An iced Americano, please. Double shot."

"You heard that, didn't you?" Her boss's tone as he ordered her to get down to it was something that should have stayed in the Middle Ages, when slavery was still legal.

But she wouldn't have to put up with it any longer. I brought her into the darkness. And now I was here to take her away from it.

I wouldn't say I didn't feel sorry for her. I did sometimes. Absurd and utterly incoherent with everything I did to put her in this predicament. I knew that. But it was always just a brief moment when I allowed my emotions to come knocking at my door. I stopped doing that shit long time ago. Emotions. Completely useless things, if you ask me. But my brief moment of pity was always justified by the fact that this little girl had done nothing wrong but exist, which resulted in her becoming my little joker card who would also be the maid who would serve my revenge on a golden platter. But then I would dismiss the idea again and blame her for her choices.

Choosing a good life partner is the same as respecting the traffic light. If you cross the street when the light is green, you will most likely end up in the morgue or in a state where you would pray for death every day.

My joker card had crossed the road when the light was green. Now she was condemned to sit in a wheelchair for the rest of her life. My joker card had chosen the wrong, the very wrong man. Sadly.

But I would be the therapist who would help her get back on her feet. The price? So cheap, really. All she had to do was exactly what I told her.

Simple as that.

I paid for my coffee and sat down at a table near the glass wall. It was a good vantage point. I could see her clearly when I turned left and kept an eye on the road when I turned right. After a year of observing her, I knew that sometimes unwanted visitors stumbled upon this place to talk to her for brief moments. One visitor in particular I wanted to avoid at all costs —well, at least for the moment. We would meet up at some point. I mean, that was the plan. I just wanted our meeting, or should I say our reunion, to be as bleak and painful as was our parting.

After I'd studied the place from the inside this time, I grabbed my cell phone and texted the person I'd hired to watch her at home.

Had there been a conflict in the last few days that I should know     about?

Nothing that I had seen with my own eyes. But I heard voices. A heated argument, I suppose.

The subject?

                                                       The usual. Money.
Again, after a year of intense observation, I came to the conclusion that my above-average skills had caused a severe inferiority complex. You can't really blame a penniless man for that. But you can blame a spoiled man who was used to wealth and could not look for ways and means to earn a penny now that daddy dearest's well is empty, on the pretext that he has nothing better to do than chase a shallow dream while rotting in frustration and drowning others in his misery. You can blame a man like that, especially when the others he drags down with him include his woman. That's what we call an excuse for a man.

The kind of man I was after. The one who tore my life apart.

The scent of jasmine mingled with the coffee as my joker card served my order. I took a moment to carefully observe the simple act of placing the coffee on the table. Her hands were slender in shape. Long, thin fingers with neat nails free of nail lacquer. She could do with some pampering. A good diet and a scheduled night's sleep would bring the color back to her pale face. A haircut would frame her oval face and accentuate the delicate features. A touch of makeup and this ordinary woman would be transformed into an extraordinary beauty. She just needed to blossom; she needed nurturing like tulips needed March. "Enjoy your drink, sir."

And I was here to tell her that.

She was about to return to the rusty Delonghi when I said, "Excuse me!"

Her head snapped back, ready to jot down another order. I smiled at her. Admittedly, it was forced, because after what had happened ten years ago, I rarely smiled. The movement felt particularly foreign to me. Stiff. But I played the part very well, because she returned my smile. Or maybe that was her nature. She often flashed her smile at customers. "I work for an entertainment company and could clearly see potential in you as a model. Would you perhaps be interested in a career change?"

The smile turned into a snort. She shook her head in disbelief, as if I had just told her the lamest joke of the century. She scrutinized me from head to toe, examining every detail that presented itself. The tailored suit. The Patek Philippe watch. The poise. The calm. When she was finished, she turned her gaze to me. "I can't see exactly what potential you're talking about, but I'm not interested. I'll be behind the counter if you want a refill."

So bitterly expected. I didn't come here expecting us to go straight to the company to sign the contract I'd drafted. That would be futile reverie. I didn't indulge in reverie. I made plans and put them into action. I didn't say a word as I watched her retreat behind the counter. I drank my coffee, which was delicious by the way, and when I chased the bitter taste of the Arabica with the tap water she had served me, I walked to the counter. I was glad that her boss was standing right next to her. I wanted him to hear every word, to partake in my mission without even knowing that he was.

"Here's my business card in case you change your mind. I can assure you that we do better than treating our employees like slaves. I am personally involved in the trade union movement, and so is my company. You can call me if you need help in this area too. We take cases of abuse very seriously." I glanced at her forearms, which for some reason caused her boss's jaw to clench. He went pale and red at the same time, and I knew I had hit a nerve. He would be stupid to keep an employee whose rights had been brought to light with the promise of help. He wasn't stupid. He was an opportunist, profiting from her urgent need for money. He would find another soul to torture, for this was no longer a keeper.

I sauntered towards the door. A grin flitted across my face as I felt eyes boring into my back. I vanished like a sweet midsummer dream, leaving behind the promise of realizing every second of it to taunt her mind and soul alike. After a year of hard work and many sleepless nights, I knew I would go to bed tonight with more peace of mind. Because today I was closing the huge gap that separated me from my endgame, even if that endgame wasn't what Lana would have approved of.

But Lana was dead. She was killed by people she trusted. Lana was dead because she had a forgiving heart - a pure soul. I was not like her. It was my mission to do what she would never have done because of her kind nature. I was not kind. They killed the kindness in me when the noose tightened around her neck and severed her windpipe, leaving a bluish tint on her once golden skin. Lana was dead. A merciless death that she thought was her salvation. Lana was dead, and I was left behind to be punished for a past I had no control over, for an upbringing that wasn't my choice, for a situation I couldn't have changed even if I'd wanted to. Lana was dead, and I was left to chide my existence and every detail of it. I was left to regret the moment I had approached her, knowing full well that I didn't deserve her and that I was lacking and fatherless and motherless and had a whole bunch of disqualifications. I was left to rue the moment I overlooked all this and confessed my feelings. If only I had savored the sweetness of it without sharing it with her, she would be alive and well now. If I had known my limits and tamed my greed, Lana's body would not have been turned to ashes and scattered into the Han River she loved so much.

But Lana was dead now. Dead people never gave an opinion. I would do what she might never have approved of, and I would deal with her disappointment when the time came. I promised to grovel at her feet and beg her forgiveness, unlike her family, who never seemed to feel any real remorse for what they did.

I wouldn't say that my car drove me to this shitty neighborhood without my consent. I also wouldn't say I was lost in thoughts and didn't realize where I was going. I came here with an absolute resolution. I came here by choice for the first time, parked my car just a few feet away from the house I wanted to stay as far away from as possible, even going so far as to recruit another person to stalk my joker card in my place just to say a few words now that the plan was bound to take off. I waited a year for this moment. I waited a year to say my words to deaf walls until the time when I could say them to him face to face came.

"You took my woman from me, Min Yoongi, and you will watch me take yours from you. Slowly, painfully, and humiliatingly. So make sure you tell me what that feels like. Full house here. Let the game begin."