Tony pulled into the parking lot of Han's Family Market, a modest but bustling Korean grocery store tucked in a corner of Koreatown. The scent of freshly baked pastries and marinated kimchi wafted through the air as he unloaded the delivery—boxes of specialty rice and seasonal produce. Han's had become one of his regular stops, and over the weeks, he'd developed a friendly rapport with the owners.
As he walked inside, the familiar chime of the doorbell announced his arrival. Behind the counter stood Mr. Han, a wiry man with sharp eyes and a warm smile, who waved as soon as he saw Tony.
"Tony! You're back!" Mr. Han exclaimed, stepping around the counter to greet him.
"Of course," Tony said, returning the smile. "I couldn't keep Mrs. Han waiting, could I?"
From the produce section emerged Mrs. Han, a petite, elderly woman with a spark in her eye and a penchant for chatting. She clapped her hands together when she saw Tony.
"Ah, Tony! Our favorite delivery man!" she said in Korean, her tone teasing. "You are always on time, like a clock."
Tony grinned, replying in Korean, "Shiganeun geumimnida, halmeoni. Tto jega yeogi oneun geol joahajanayo." (Time is gold, Grandma. And you know I like coming here.)
Mrs. Han laughed, patting his arm. "Such a good boy. You should teach my son how to speak like that."
"Mom!" Mr. Han protested, rolling his eyes. "Tony's too busy saving the world, right?"
Tony chuckled, setting down the boxes near the counter. "Hardly. Just trying to keep your shelves stocked."
A Shared Love for Seoul
As Tony helped Mrs. Han sort some produce, she leaned closer. "Tony, have you ever been to Seoul?"
"I have," Tony said, switching back to Korean. "I was stationed there for a few months during my time in the Marines. Beautiful city."
Mrs. Han's eyes lit up. "Oh! Did you visit Namsan Tower?"
Tony nodded. "I did. The view at night—it's unforgettable."
Mrs. Han clasped her hands together. "Yes, yes! The lights of the city, like a million stars. My husband took me there when we were young, before we came to America. It's still one of my favorite places."
"It's amazing how the city feels alive, even in the middle of the night," Tony said. "I'll never forget the food stalls, either. The tteokbokki at Gwangjang Market? The best I've ever had."
Several patrons nearby, overhearing Tony's fluent Korean, paused mid-shopping, their faces a mix of surprise and admiration. One young woman whispered to her friend, "Miguk sarami iruhke Hangukeoreul jalhae?" (An American speaks Korean this well?)
Another older man nodded approvingly. "Aju daedanhane. Bareumdo joa." (Very impressive. His pronunciation is good.)
Mrs. Han, noticing the reactions, grinned proudly. "See? Even they are impressed. You could be Korean, Tony!"
Tony laughed, bowing slightly. "Gamsahamnida, halmeoni. Geugeon keun chingchanieyo." (Thank you, Grandma. That's a big compliment.)
Tony's next stop was the sprawling chaos of the open-air fish market downtown, a hub of activity filled with the smells of saltwater, fresh fish, and bustling humanity. He hefted a large roll of butcher's wrapping paper from the truck, weaving through the crowded stalls. Vendors shouted prices, buyers haggled, and the energy was electric.
The delivery was routine, but as Tony handed off the paper to the vendor, a wave of lightheadedness hit him. His vision swam for a moment, and he grabbed the edge of the stall for support.
"You okay, man?" the vendor asked, eyeing him warily.
"Yeah," Tony said, forcing a smile. "Just need some air."
He stepped back from the stall, taking a deep breath. The sensation passed, but it left a lingering unease. He instinctively reached inward, seeking the steady hum of Roomie's presence—a now-familiar rhythm in his mind.
But there was nothing.
Roomie? Tony thought, his pulse quickening. You there?
No response.
His heart thumped harder as he tried again. Hey, come on. Don't go radio silent on me now.
Still nothing.
The world around him seemed to blur slightly, the sounds of the market growing distant as panic bubbled in his chest. Roomie's silence wasn't just unsettling—it was unprecedented. The entity had always been there, a constant presence offering guidance or commentary. Its absence felt like losing a limb.
Why now? Tony thought, swallowing hard. What's going on?
The lightheadedness returned briefly, but Tony forced himself to focus. He couldn't afford to fall apart in the middle of the market. He needed to get home.
Focus, Tony, he told himself, breathing deeply. Just get home.
Tony managed to load himself back into his truck, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he pulled out of the market. The drive felt longer than usual, each stoplight an eternity as he fought the growing fatigue.
He tried again, reaching out mentally. Roomie. Where the hell are you? Say something.
Only silence answered him, deep and hollow.
Tony's grip on the wheel tightened. His thoughts raced. Is this a malfunction? Did something go wrong with the integration? Am I breaking down?
The truck's engine hummed, a faint grounding sound as Tony pushed those fears down. He needed to get to his apartment. Figure this out.
By the time Tony stumbled through the door, his vision was swimming, and his legs felt like lead. He barely managed to kick off his boots before collapsing onto the bed, his mind spinning. Tony's body gave out the moment he hit the mattress. Sleep claimed him instantly.