Ahrisu cleared the stairs quicker than before, as each successive step brought her closer to a bath.

  In an effort to save money after paying the ?500,000 ferry fee, she prioritized water and food and outright neglected personal hygiene, outside of brushing her teeth.

  Sure, those dokkaebi occultists probably smelled her first, and, sure, half the hair on her head was going to clog the drains soon. But those efforts resulted in her losing half of her remaining ?4 million savings because the ferry fee was a scam that lost her quadruple the amount she paid.

  Light footsteps turned heavy, and Ahrisu stomped past passageways. They led to extensive chambers, far larger than those of the previous ant colony. Hair salons, restrooms, a bathhouse for men, then one for women. The bathhouse for families was a few steps above.

  She paused for a shopping cart, carrying baskets of miscellaneous items, to roll by before stepping across the tracks.

  Down the passageway was a waiting area. On either side were pyeongsang accommodating guests. A few women were sprawled on the low-rise tables, towels around their necks, while others sat cross-legged and peeled baked eggs.

  A woman in her 50s manned the front desk. She yawned while watching a TV playing in the far corner. Behind her were a pair of short curtains over a doorway, and another door to the left had to be the entrance to the baths.

  The TV showed one of those 24/7 online news broadcasts, where real-time chats were visible on the side of the screen. The broadcast jockey covered the migration of the local Gwisusan, but the moving mountain's route wasn’t near this area.

  The manager had to have excellent hearing and eyesight to watch the broadcast from that distance, but she didn’t look at Ahrisu, who preferred that.

  Keeping her head lowered, she studied the handwritten sign detailing offers and their prices. A full-body bath required three yeopjeon and an extra token coin for hygiene products, which she didn’t need. Though this was the most expensive offer, it came with a free drink and one extra yeopjeon for three eggs when they normally cost two.

  Hopefully, this was her most costly transaction today if the vice-village chief heard her correctly. Ahrisu stood in the manager’s line of sight. The woman’s expression was so blank that her wrinkles had to be painted on.

  “The full-body bath, please,” said Ahrisu. "With the maekbanseok gyeran, too. Please.”

  Without making eye contact, the manager opened a drawer and dropped a key attached to a wristband keychain made of elastic coils. The number ‘7’ was engraved on the key.

  The chair legs screeched, as the manager stood and whipped the curtains behind her aside to step through. Ahrisu slipped the wristband on before pushing open the door.

  The longest wall of the changing room was lined with two rows of lockers. Opposite it was a kitchen, where another woman, her graying hair pulled back into a tight bun, folded towels on the counter. Pillars of steam rose from the eggs cooking on the stove, and the glass refrigerator holding drinks hummed. The manager strode through the kitchen and exited through another door.

  A group of middle-aged women, freshly bathed and wearing undergarments, sat on a pyeongsang and applied lotion all over.

  And entertained a little girl, about four years old, while her mom dried her hair with a towel. She giggled and wriggled and threw her head back, as her mom kissed her nose and called her “my pretty baby.”

  What that felt like, Ahrisu wondered, but she scanned the lockers to find number 7. Trying to imagine would only leave her disappointed.

  It wasn’t often she was given an odd-numbered locker because young people used the lower, even-numbered ones by default. Well, it looked like she was the only one going in for a bath right now.

  Inside the locker were a pair of shower slippers and two towels, one small and the other bigger.

  Taking off her backpack, she took out her pouch of hygiene products and unzipped an inner pocket. Her last clean underwear. The lackeys left it alone, likely assuming it was already worn. Lucky for her.

  As for undressing, bathing in public spaces for most of her life killed any self-consciousness. It became easier once she realized those who stared at her for a bit soon returned to minding their own business. She figured people didn’t care because she didn’t care either.

  Ahrisu stacked the slippers and towels on top of her backpack before stuffing her hoodie in the locker.

  Dark spots popped into her periphery. They were faint and not yet painful, but her upper arms were bruised. Shaped like fingers. In hindsight, she preferred full-blown panic over people assuming she was beaten or abused. Thus, caring, thus trying to get involved.

  Ahrisu crammed everything she didn’t need in the locker, including her sneakers—soles faced up—and put the slippers on.

  With her arms full and her belongings secured with the key, she nudged open the doors to the baths with her elbow. The ceramic tiled floor dipped slightly towards the center, where the largest drains were located.

  Unlike other bathhouses she visited, partitions were installed to create separate stalls with their own shower curtains.

  Maybe it was because of the little girl, but a hazy memory crackled with static. A glowing TV screen, as a drama from decades ago depicted a scene in a bathhouse. The TV was taller than she was, and she watched an adult man holding back tears while scrubbing his elderly father's back. Why she remembered that, of all things . . .

  "More water." The manager held open a shower curtain and drawled, "Or using the showerhead. For three minutes. Costs one more nyang. Knock on the door. If you need it."

  After thanking the manager, Ahrisu waited for her to leave before closing the curtain. In the near corner was a bin, where she left the towels and both the underwear she wore and the new one.

  A full-length mirror steamed up from the portable tub filled to the brim with water, where a gourd-shaped bagaji floated in it. Beside the tub was a small bucket holding cold water, and the showerhead was within arm’s reach next to the mirror. A clean towel was placed over a stool, where she set her pouch.

  Ahrisu scooped up hot water with the bagaji and poured it over her head.

  And regretted it because her nose screamed out in pain. Squeezing her eyes shut, she crouched and pressed her head between her arms. How could she forget?

  She didn't move until the pain abated, and she opened her eyes. Judging by past injuries, it'd heal in about two days, her bruises, too.

  Ignoring her hair for now, she lathered up body wash. Four days' worth of sweat and grime went down the drain in the middle of the stall, and she avoided touching the bruises.

  Ahrisu massaged the shampoo onto her scalp and leaned backwards. She rinsed it out without getting water on her face. After applying conditioner, she dragged the stool closer to the mirror and sat with her pouch on her lap. She brushed her teeth, then inspected her face.

  Her forehead was red, though her nose didn't look bent. If it was broken, she would know by now, right? Sucking in her teeth, she wiped her face, careful to avoid her nose.

  That left the conditioner, and she rinsed it out with cold water. Despite her nose and bruises, she felt human again. She doused herself with the rest of the warm water until the bagaji picked up air instead of water.

  She stood and dumped out the bucket to clean the floor. The water and soap suds drifted towards the drain.

  Ahrisu dried herself with the towel and put on her clean underwear. If only her clothes were clean, too. Putting them back on would ruin her current mood, but she had to endure it, as usual.

  She wrapped the larger towel around her and fixed the small towel around her neck to catch water dripping from her hair. After checking she had everything, she organized the area: moving the stool back to its original spot and wringing water out of the towel she sat on before taking it with her.

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  With her pouch pinned under her arm, she exited the bath. Her slippers squelched with every step.

  The changing room was empty—had she bathed for that long?—and she opened the locker and put her bra on first. Ahrisu wiped her watch’s screen. 5:23 PM.

  “Hey, kid.” Ahrisu glanced at the kitchen. The woman motioned towards her, the stack of folded towels on the counter near her height.

  Ahrisu wrapped the towel around her again before approaching. The woman pushed a small pile towards her. They were clothes with a pair of socks on top. The t-shirt was white, and half a cartoon cat character was visible . . .

  “Someone asked me to give these to you,” the woman explained. “They’re all paid for so you have to take them.”

  The clothing stall. To be gifted so much, from a complete stranger. Why? Never mind how the shopkeeper tracked down Ahrisu all the way here. She stood out more than she liked, which was to be invisible.

  “And you have three extra eggs,” the woman added. “Usually we have a limit of three per person a day, but this was a special favor. Eat a lot, okay?”

  Free clothes, now free food, too. She couldn’t begin to calculate how many yeopjeon the shopkeeper spent on her.

  While the woman took a tray of eggs off the stove, Ahrisu carried her new belongings back to the locker and put on fresh, clean clothes.

  The graphic t-shirt and gray pants were meant for adults, possibly men’s or unisex, so they were baggy on her. But it was better than being too small, and she tightened the drawstrings of her pants. The sleeves also dipped past her elbows and hid the bruises.

  She wiggled about for a moment, to relish the feeling of clean fabric on clean skin. And she wiggled her toes while sitting on the pyeongsang to dry her feet and put on new socks, then her sneakers.

  Ahrisu could hum through her nose from how lightweight her feet were, as she dropped the slippers in a bucket and the towels in a large basket.

  And her lightweight feet took her to the counter, where a whopping five maekbanseok gyeran waited for her. The woman wrapped the sixth in aluminum foil and placed the eggs on a wooden tray.

  Ahrisu only had eyes for one drink since her arrival and requested sikhye. The refrigerator door shut, rattling the glass bottles, and she thanked the woman and took the tray to the pyeongsang.

  Slipping off her shoes, she sat cross-legged and slurped on the ice-cold sikhye through the glass straw. She also chewed on the rice grains, which amounted to about half a bowl. And the sikhye was this cold without ice. That meant more to drink without diluting it.

  Ahrisu unwrapped one of the eggs and cracked it against the side of the tray.

  The egg white turned into an egg “brown” after being slowly cooked at a high temperature. It popped right out without having to peel the entire shell.

  She bit into it. The egg was baked perfectly with a chewy, moist texture, and it had a richer, deeper flavor than regular boiled eggs.

  While still chewing with a full mouth, she peeled her second egg. Thanks to the shopkeeper, tomorrow’s meal was covered. The fact it was baked eggs made it even better. No refrigeration necessary, just room temperature, and it stayed fresh longer than expected. Not that it was going to last very long.

  Ahrisu glanced at the door. It was too late, anyways, but no one charged in to accuse her of stealing. This wasn’t a trap. The shopkeeper didn’t seem to be that kind of person. Frankly, the many people who helped her over the years were never malicious or had ulterior motives. She was oddly lucky in that regard.

  She ate her second egg slowly to savor the taste and alternated between chewing and drinking the sikhye.

  The kindness of strangers was how a loner like her survived for this long. It wasn’t through her own wits or resilience, not entirely.

  The elderly man in Daegu peeling roasted chestnuts with his calloused hands for her to eat before giving her an allowance, too. The office worker in Ulsan missing her commute to buy Ahrisu an elastomeric respirator and filters so she didn’t breathe in microplastics. The convenience store owner in Changwon gifting her his own windbreaker jacket because she walked in wearing a t-shirt while it snowed.

  She never meant to take from any of these people, but they still gave and shared. The more these moments occurred, the more her resolve weakened, and she tried to keep her distance. But she couldn’t escape people, the good and the bad.

  Ahrisu slurped up the remaining puddle of sikhye and stopped before she became too noisy. Thanks to this drink, she was full without eating a third egg.

  Now she had the energy to get her laundry running and buy supplies. As for job searching, she wasn’t going to find any opportunities here, not in this particular community. Figuring out where she had to go next, securing shelter for the night . . .

  Ahrisu traveled by ship precisely to give herself time to breathe so she would. Judging by past behavior, they wouldn't catch up to her until tomorrow night. So let's breathe and move one step at a time, she thought. She put on her sneakers to return the tray and bottle.

  “You’ll get a stomachache drinking something so cold that quickly,” the woman chided, and Ahrisu quietly thanked her again.

  Grabbing the eggs, she pulled everything out of the locker to organize her backpack.

  The money envelope went into the empty inner pocket first, and she searched through her jeans. The string of yeopjeon went into her sweatpants’ right pocket and the multi-colored, braided string for siltteugi into the left one. She hadn’t played it in a while, but carrying it around was habit.

  Ahrisu stuffed her clothes and the maekbanseok gyeran inside. Not wearing her hoodie meant her backpack turned into a turtle’s shell.

  Clutching Dalnim, she picked out four token coins and put her backpack on. She bowed at the woman, who waved, before exiting the changing room. With the manager at the front desk, it was a straightforward, silent exchange of name and yeopjeon and returning the wristband keychain.

  Beyond the mixed bathhouse for families were the coin laundry services.

  In the absence of doors, the whirring of washing machines and thumping noises from dryers leaked onto the staircase. The passageways were also short, about three or four strides long.

  At the entrances, people sat at tables, flipping over tabletop scoreboards repurposed for showing available spaces.

  Ahrisu stopped at one with only three machines in use, and this coin laundry was overseen by an elderly man, likely in his 80s or so. He opened the tin box with shaky hands.

  “Washing laundry will be two nyang,” he said with a heavy northern dialect. Considering his age and where he lived, that wasn’t surprising.

  Ahrisu prepared two tokens, squeezing Dalnim around its neck to use both her hands, as the elderly man counted out ?500 coins. “Using the dryer is another two nyang,” he added. “I’ll give you those coins later. So you don’t misplace them.”

  She thanked him and exchanged her yeopjeon for five ?500 coins for a total of ?2,500. After giving him her name to jot down, she stepped inside.

  Rows of washing machines and dryers were arranged against two of the walls, across from the entrance and to the left. To the right, behind the elderly man and his table, were shelves holding supplies. Chairs were placed along the last wall.

  Two washing machines and a dryer worked diligently. Ahrisu set Dalnim on the large table in the center and shrugged off her backpack, placing it on top of her feet.

  None of the owners stuck around to wait for their laundry to finish. She wasn’t going to either, depending on how long a wash cycle was.

  The elderly man flipped through a paperback book, so bent at the spine the pages laid flat on their own.

  Though the washing machines here were older than the models she used in big cities, those had touchscreens so buttons and dials weren’t too difficult to figure out. The inside of the washing machine closest to her was clean. Didn’t smell either.

  “Aegoo, you poor thing.”

  Ahrisu whirled around. The elderly man clicked his tongue at Dalnim, whose stains were particularly noticeable and widespread under the merciless luminescent lights. Old people groaned and complained about their bad knees and backs, but prowled about like cats on the hunt when they wanted to.

  “Wash it with your laundry,” he said, hobbling towards a shelf. “The stains will come right out. Cold water, not warm.” Next to extra supplies, he dug through a basket of possibly lost and found items and aired out a pillowcase. She took it with both hands.

  “Put the rabbit in there. It doesn’t have fur or hair so you can put it in the dryer, too.”

  Ahrisu fidgeted. “Th-Thank you.”

  Whether or not he heard, the elderly man returned to his seat without acknowledging her and exhaled loudly upon sitting.

  She loaded her laundry into the washing machine and checked off every item in her head. Nothing was missing, aside from the bra she wore and her windbreaker. As for Dalnim, she put it in the pillowcase and folded it closed, like a sandwich wrapping. But she couldn’t place it inside the washing machine and grasped her rabbit doll.

  This was her first time washing Dalnim. Well, if washing machines didn’t rip her old clothes into shreds. Her rabbit doll should come out in one piece.

  Pursing her lips, Ahrisu wished Dalnim luck and set it on top of her laundry. She added detergent before closing the door and powering on the machine.

  Once she selected the settings—particularly cold water—she inserted the ?500 coins into the slot, where they clattered inside. When the fifth dropped in the pile, the option to start the wash cycle appeared.

  She pressed the button and bent down to look through the glass door. Water poured out as streams, soaking her clothes and splattering the lump that was Dalnim.

  According to the timer, it’d take about 30 minutes to finish. Might as well buy supplies instead of waiting and doing nothing.

  Or making sure Dalnim didn’t drown or lose its limbs and eyes. Ahrisu turned her back on the washing machine and busied her hands by patting her money envelope. It was going to be okay.

  Dalnim was safe so she had to use her time wisely. After buying food, she'll come back to put her rabbit doll and laundry in the dryer. Then, she could buy a new filter for her elastomeric respirator and anything else she missed. Patting her pockets to feel the yeopjeon, Ahrisu zipped up her backpack—

  A bright yellow sleeve drifted past the entrance.