The streets of Seoul were unusually quiet that evening, shrouded in an eerie stillness following President Yoon Suk Yeol’s shocking announcement of martial law. The government had called on citizens to remain indoors, but not everyone heeded the decree. Tucked away in a narrow alley, a modest restaurant with a hand-painted sign reading Makgeolli Heaven remained open, the warm light spilling out onto the pavement.
Inside, the proprietress, Ms. Kang, bustled between tables. The air was thick with the savory aroma of bubbling tteokbokki and the faint tang of fermented rice wine. At the corner table sat Mr. Park, a regular customer well into his sixties, nursing his second—or perhaps third—bottle of makgeolli. His face was flushed, but his eyes held the weariness of years gone by.
“Proprietress, listen to me,” he said, his voice gravelly but animated. “My daughter… she hasn’t spoken to me properly in years. Every time I try to reach out, she just pushes me away.”
Ms. Kang, a woman who had seen her share of life’s troubles, chuckled as she poured him another glass. “That’s just how kids are these days, Mr. Park. But give her time. She’ll come around. Have another drink, it’s on the house.”
He raised his glass in a toast. “You’re too kind, as always.” Taking a sip, he leaned back in his chair. “You know, I’m glad I joined the army when I was young. Met a lot of good people there. Learned discipline, respect… things these youngsters could use more of.”
Before Ms. Kang could respond, a voice called out from the restaurant next door. It was Mr. Lee, the boisterous owner of a yakitori joint. “Hey, Kang! Looks like martial law’s been lifted!”
The room fell silent for a moment.
“Martial law?” Mr. Park asked, his brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? Is North Korea attacking? I’m not running away. Not this old soldier.”
Ms. Kang laughed, shaking her head. “Relax, Mr. Park. It’s not that kind of situation. Just politics. Anyway, tonight’s a celebration—your next drink is on me.”
She poured another round, her movements steady and practiced. The tension of the night outside felt distant within the cozy walls of the restaurant. The clinking of glasses and soft murmur of conversation carried on as if nothing unusual had happened.
“To old soldiers and stubborn daughters,” Mr. Park said, raising his glass again.
“And to making it through one crazy night,” Ms. Kang replied, a knowing smile on her lips.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms.
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