As True as a Dream Chapter 147

“The director of Song Yue Pavilion, I presume?”

“Not anymore.”

 

The silver-haired man chuckled at Yi-Ho’s flat response.

“Ah yes. The pavilion no longer exists—my oversight.”

 

Yi-Ho shrugged and nudged Hae-Joo forward. The man—Kim Cheong-ho—raised an eyebrow, shifting his piercing gaze to her.

 

“A comrade mentioned you, young lady. What if we accept your donation but decline your request?”

 

Hae-Joo studied him, frowning.

“…Are you the ‘Blue Fox,’ Kim Cheong-ho?”

 

“Correct.”

 

She swallowed hard. She’d expected a reaction when Yi-Ho, a former powerhouse, got involved—but not the legendary leader himself.

 

“Well?” Kim pressed.

 

“…I’d storm them alone if I had to.”

 

Kim laughed, a hollow sound. Twenty years fighting Japan in the shadows had cost him countless comrades. He was among the last of his generation.

 

“Is Governor Saito and that monster truly worth dying for?”

 

“They’re my enemies. But I won’t die pointlessly. I’ll survive.”

 

Kim turned to Yi-Ho, his tone oddly familiar.

“And you, Director Ban? Thoughts?”

 

Hae-Joo blinked. Kim had been watching Yi-Ho since they arrived—like he knows him.

 

“She’ll survive. I’ll ensure it.”

 

Kim’s eyes glazed over, mesmerized.

 

“You haven’t changed in the last 38 years ago… or 22.”

 

“…You’ve aged,” Yi-Ho remarked.

 

“You remember me?” Kim’s lips quirked.

 

Yi-Ho’s next words stunned Hae-Joo:

“Which version? The shoe-shine brat with bowl-cut hair? Or the punk who grabbed my pants begging for help when Japanese soldiers chased him?”

 

Kim burst into laughter, his stern demeanor cracking.

“Both were me. But you… you’re not human, are you?” The question hung heavy.

 

Silence.

 

“Not entirely,” Yi-Ho finally said.

 

Kim’s mind flashed back:

 

 

* * *

 

38 Years Ago

 

A 14-year-old Kim, polishing shoes on the street, gaped at a scholar in indigo robes—cold, regal, trailed by a red-faced man. Women blushed under the scholar’s passing glance.

 

16 Years Later

Kim, now a fugitive independence fighter, crashed into the same man in an alley. Impossible. Sixteen years, yet the scholar hadn’t aged a day.

 

Terrified, Kim clutched his pants.

“Help me! We’re fellow Koreans!”

 

The man sneered.

“Koreans?” He walked away—only for Japanese shouts to cut off abruptly. Kim peeked out to see four soldiers unconscious at the man’s feet. Under the full moon, a fox shadow stretched from his heels.

 

The red-faced man from his childhood appeared, scoffing:

“They annoyed me. That’s all.”

 

 

* * *

 

22 Years Ago

 

Rumors of a “cursed” restaurant reached Kim. Investigating Song Yue Pavilion, he saw Yi-Ho again—masked, but unmistakable. The fox shadow was gone, yet Kim knew.

 

 

* * *

 

Now, facing Yi-Ho after 22 years, Kim burned with one question:

‘What are you?’