644.The rumor that he stood on water,
At first, we did not understand what we were seeing.
The boat shattered.
Water exploded upward.
We assumed he had fallen with us.
That was the natural conclusion.
So when we lifted our heads, we saw it.
He was on the surface.
Not standing, exactly—
more like he had always belonged there.
Ripples spread in a clean circle,
but only beneath his feet.
The water did not push him away.
The waves did not sink him.
In that instant, the common sense that the sea does not hold a man
simply disappeared.
The surface did not calculate his weight.
The water did not refuse him.
He remained.
"Shoot!"
Someone shouted.
Bows snapped.
Spears flew.
Then sound cut off.
The sword moved.
It was hard to claim we saw it.
An arm rose—
and it had already been cut.
A single line carved through the surface.
An arm dropped.
A hand was gone.
Pain arrived a beat later.
Blood touched the water.
The sea darkened.
He was occupying the water.
Where we had to swim, he walked.
Where we lost balance, he held his center.
The difference was unmistakable.
One man tried to flee, rowing.
From behind him came the sensation of something severing.
He folded forward without a sound.
Another dove under the surface.
But below was not refuge.
A downward stroke split the water.
Shadows underwater tore apart.
Men who had been holding their breath to escape
rose up coughing blood.
The sea did not hide them.
It opened a path for him instead.
Only beneath his feet did the surface keep order.
His face held neither rage nor excitement.
It was the expression of someone
sorting out what had already ended.
No emotion entered.
We understood.
Victory and defeat were not part of this fight.
He was cutting us—
but he was not fighting us.
The last thing I saw was not the blade coming down.
It was the place where silver had passed.
A body slid beneath the surface.
The sea returned to stillness.
And above it, in the same posture as before,
he stood alone.
---*
The sensation of being no match
was not a matter of understanding.
Between thinking you know
and knowing in your body,
there is a deep gap.
He ate as we ate.
He drank tea.
He sat in a chair and accepted sunlight.
We could speak to him.
Laughter even mixed into the air.
So we classified him as human.
We placed him inside our category.
The rumor that he stood on water,
the stories that he disabled dozens with a single stroke—
we processed them as hearsay.
When something lies outside comprehension,
people reduce it to their own scale
so they can file it away.
That is why we approached.
And died without meaning.
Regret comes after the choice is finished.
We should have run.
We should have knelt early.
Not long after, word spread that he had been found
inside the main hall of Hirado Castle.
There were no traces of battle.
No fire.
No smoke.
No smell.
He stood as if he had always belonged there.
As if the castle had been waiting for him.
He had not removed his arms.
He showed not the slightest tension.
People gathered.
Footsteps faded.
Only the sound of swallowed breath remained.
Only then did everyone understand.
We had mistaken him for a man.
He was not a man.
He was a godlike human—
a being beyond what we could bear.
---*
A Double Agent
Like daily routine, he came down to the relay station.
The sun brushed the roof tiles at the same angle.
The sound of water ran at the same rhythm.
That day looked no different.
And yet one man caught the eye.
He was neither merchant nor traveler.
He carried no baggage.
His purpose was hidden.
He tried to blend naturally into the crowd.
He laughed often.
He spoke too much.
He smelled of intent.
Park Seong-jin watched closely.
First: he asked too many questions—
beyond the range of what was needed.
Second: he tried too hard to form ties—
scattering kindness past the price of assistance.
Third: he showed favor even to those who were useless—
and used those connections to scrape up news.
Before long, his need became clear.
He needed information.
Like the typical talkative man, he looked scattered.
Restless.
His movements erratic.
But the disorder led into calculation.
It had not been that way at first.
After he sensed Park Seong-jin, the air around him changed.
He asked about him—
but avoided direct contact.
Even in situations disguised as coincidence,
he slipped away.
Smiling, bowing, turning his steps,
melting behind the crowd.
Park Seong-jin's sense did not lose the flow.
Who spoke with whom,
who did what—
it all read clearly.
A spy.
And he was not alone.
There was someone else receiving what he gathered.
The meetings were regular.
The routes consistent.
Park Seong-jin decided.
It would be more efficient
to use him as a double agent.
He said to Song I-sul,
"Catch him. Make him cooperate.
Whatever he gives them,
make him bring us more."
Song I-sul seized him and worked him over.
That afternoon, he escaped.
They caught him again.
The next day, he fled again.
This time farther.
They caught him again.
He ran again.
This time it was almost impressive.
Three or four times was enough.
Give him hope first—
then shut it with emptiness.
In the end, they did not bind him.
They loosened the watch.
He came back on his own.
"I can't escape."
His eyes said it before his mouth did.
Park Seong-jin smiled.
It was an ordinary face.
"Now choose."
There were only two paths.
Live, and work.
Or end here.
He nodded.
From that day, he moved with discipline.
He reported to them—
and delivered more to this side.
Nothing was missed.
No exaggeration.
A good spy.
A highly efficient double agent.
Park Seong-jin released him back into the relay station.
People still thought of him
as a talkative, clumsy man.
That face was the safest.
From that day on,
the movements of the Seven Provinces
began to arrive like a current.