Episode 0. Playa – The Memory of the Vanished WaterPart I: Fire Ashes (火熾) – The Confession of Pyo Se-han“Cigarette Smoke”(October 22, 2025)

Nampo-dong, Busan, South Korea

The afternoons in Nampo-dong are always damp.

Moisture clings to the walls,
and the gray sky—uncertain, undecided about rain—
sinks low over the narrow alleys.

Old signs creak in the wind.

The wooden one that reads “Real Estate”—
its paint half peeled away—
sways like a scar of time.

Beneath it lies my office.

When I push the door,
the hinge groans low and tired.

Dust-covered ledgers.
The smell of damp paper.
A mechanical clock ticking.

And cigarette smoke.

---

I, Pyo Se-han, draw out a cigarette.

Carefully, so my fingers won’t tremble,
I light it.
The flame flickers once,
briefly illuminating my face.

Smoke rises—
slowly, yet certainly.

Fifty-five.
Licensed realtor.

That’s what the card says,
though in truth, I’m just
a back-alley broker in Busan.

---

On my desk:
yesterday’s unfinished ledger,
a crumpled contract,
a coffee-stained mug,
an old calculator.

All of them resemble me—
half-used, half-forgotten.

---

But these hands were once different.

Hands that worked with metal.
Hands that read the grain of gemstones.
Hands that measured the refraction of light.

GIA Senior Gemologist.
University professor.
Metal craftsman.

Once… I was many things.

---

Now, I only see the cracks in the wall.

“This house doesn’t get much sunlight.”
“When will the tenant move out?”

I repeat those words day after day.
And another day begins.

---

I inhale deeply.

Smoke seeps into my lungs,
stirring old memories awake.

Fire Ashes (火熾).

A small flame glows at the cigarette’s tip.
It burns—hot,
but the heat feels human.

It’s my only warmth.

---

This fire has burned for fifty years.

Since I was four.
Since the day my mother left.

A small ember still burns inside me.

---

I tap the ash.
It falls to the floor.

I look outside.

---

The Namhang Bridge is faint in the sea mist.
Seagulls cry.
A ship’s horn echoes from afar.

The air smells of the sea—
salt and iron.

---

Playa.

In Spanish, it means “beach,”
but to me,
it means a place where water once was—
and only salt remains.

---

Once, there was water.

Love. Dreams. Passion.
It flowed freely, endlessly.

Now, it’s all dried up.

What remains is salt—
bitter,
yet strangely beautiful.

---

I stub out the cigarette.

Then take another.

Not habit—ritual.

A punishment
to keep from forgetting.

---

I light it.

Smoke curls upward again,
and in it,
I see myself at four.

A small room.
A worn blanket.
My mother’s back.

---

“Se-han… I’ll come back for you.”

I believed her.
Fifty years ago.

That was my first lie.

---

Smoke fills my lungs,
mixing with the scent of the sea.

Salt.

---

Every time I see the ocean,
I remember her.

She was from Yonezawa, Japan—
a quiet woman,
few words, many smiles,
tears she rarely showed.

Her silence was warm,
but the world never accepted it.

---

I still remember the voices
from the old Daegu marketplace.

“Jap.”
“That Japanese woman.”

Those words rusted into the alleys.

---

She held her two sons—six and four—
and faced the sea toward Japan.

She wept.
Then she left.

Leaving behind a single letter.
Alone.

---

My father said quietly,
“Do what you must.
But my sons—
I’ll never give them up.”

From that moment,
the ember began to burn.

---

The office door opens.

“Mr. Pyo, you have a visitor.”

My clerk’s voice pulls me back to now.

I crush the cigarette.

“Alright. Just a minute.”

The ember sinks into the ash—
but never dies.

Even with my eyes closed,
I can still feel it glowing inside.

---

I breathe in.

The air of Nampo-dong.
Thick with salt.

---

I whisper quietly,
“Yes… this smell.”

---

Playa.
Vanished water.
Remaining salt.

---

I open the door.
The hinge groans again.

I smile—
the practiced smile of a man wearing his mask.

Pyo Se-han.
Realtor of Nampo-dong.

---

But no one knows
the weight of fifty years of embers
he carries within.

---

Cigarette smoke slowly disperses.

But the ember remains.

Always.

---

To be continued…

---

✍️ Author’s Note

Hello, I’m GoodDaddy SG, a writer from Busan, South Korea.

Today, I begin the serialization of
“Playa – The Memory of the Vanished Water.”

This is the story of Pyo Se-han,
a 55-year-old real estate broker in Busan, South Korea—
a man bound by fifty years of memory and flame.

Two to three episodes will be released each week.
Walk with me through this journey.

— GoodDaddy SG

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