Blue flame of the east, Red flame of the west

I am fully aware there are lots of 5th year fic's. But I'm writing this anyway. This is 10 years of effort in learning the English language and my very first English FanFic. Warning: disturbing and exodic imagery (not sexual for now) may appear. Review (with all the harshness you can muster) at will.

And I will like to thank: Woo-hyuk Lee for writing his excellent book; My introduction to mythology professor for giving me a taste for myth; JK Rowling for having the courage to write Harry Potter when times were bad. TaiJi forever!!!

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Chapter 1: The stranger

Kill the spare.

The words echoed in Harry Potters' head. He was unable to sleep yet another night.

A flash of green light and then blank expressionless grey eyes.

Harry shook his head violently, as if he was trying to shake off the painful memory.

Kill the spare.

Three words that will forever be a reminder of who survived and who … did not.

Your father's coming ... Hold on for your father ... Mother ...

Harry Potter was no stranger to dangerous and death-leading situations. He passed a monstrous three headed dog, survived strangling plants, survived without much of a scratch from 50 feet falls from an airborne broomstick, escaped from a colony of giant carnivorous spiders called acromantulas, killed a basilisk (the king of serpents, big and deadly enough to live up its name), passed one of the most vicious dragons that live in this planet, and, to top it all, survived 4 previous encounters with Lord Voldemort, the greatest dark wizard of this era. He always managed to come back (or restored back) in a reasonably normal (what ever that may be) physical and mental state. Not this time.

None of the previous situations involved someone he knew and liked dying. None of them involved Voldemort achieving his scheme. They were always foiled, in one way or another, and everything went back (more or less) to where it started. There was always some positive note to look back for. Not this time. No.

Lord Voldemort managed to resurrect himself at last. He sent his most faithful servant right into Hogwarts itself, engineered it so that Harry will be forced to participate in a event called the Triwizard tournament and made sure he would win. The final task was designed to be an elaborate scheme to transport Harry to the clutches of Lord Voldemort, so he can start off were he left 14 years ago.

He didn't manage to kill Harry Potter. Instead he killed an innocent third party. Cedric Diggory, another Hogwarts champion, had been transported with him. Harry insisted that they should take the tournament cup together. He didn't know he was asking Cedric to die an untimely death. Together he heard the words, one the last words Cedric would ever hear: Kill the spare.

These three words will haunt me for the rest of my life. Harry thought dully. Then he began to recall the first two weeks of this summer …

For the first week after returning to Privet Drive, Harry had walked around like a ghost. He did the usual chores, got yelled at for the same reason as always, and ate the pitiful food that was given to him. Only he didn't respond to any of them. Everything seemed unreal. The only thing that jerked Harry back to reality was the now-getting-regular beatings from the Dursleys (usually it was Dudley, sometimes Uncle Vernon, and occasionally Aunt Petunia would do her share). After finding that Harry seemed to be utterly disinclined to inform his godfather (the supposed murderer of 13 people and prison escapee) of such mistreatment, they proceed to take as much advantage of it as they could. Harry didn't argue. In fact he stopped talking all together.

After the first week of apathy, Harry seemed to recover some of the emotions he seemed to have lost ever since he arrived at Privet Drive. He still wasn't talking, but it he was better off then before. But, as if to compensate the absent item in the things that must go bad/wrong for Harry Potter list, he started having nightmares. They were all different, but all of them were dreadful. He got the worst beating from Uncle Vernon when he woke up with a particularly horrible scream after dreaming about Ron and Hermione being captured by Death Eaters and got themselves brutally sacrificed for some diabolical ritual. After a few days of such horrible nights, Harry stopped sleeping as well. It was not just the nightmares; it seemed that after sleeping he felt more tired then he was before. Harry never weighed himself, but he swore he lost some weight.

But things weren't totally at lost. Harry recovered some of the spunk he had, and start internal berating to keep in shape. I'm moving on. I will move on was the mantra Harry repeated to himself. He now spent most of his time doing his summer assignments and reviewing the spells he learned for the past 4 years. The few good things the Triwizard tournament did to Harry was it made him to realize the importance and need to study and prepare. Hermione did have a point thought Harry, keeping up is important.

Harry sat up in his bed. He already given up sleeping, but he always lied down on the bed at nightfall. Tomorrow or today, I'm going to the local library, it'll probably take a lot of time - I need all my wits and concentration to find something, but I'm still muddling about the past.

After recovering some of his emotions, Harry realized that intensively studying about magic wasn't enough to fight Voldemort. Voldemort knows everything I know, and much, much more. No matter how much I try now he's already way ahead of me. He's not called the dark lord for nothing. He's got a lot of experience. He'll probably find a way to get around priori incantatem problem --.

Snap out of it! There's got to be a way. There just has to be a way. I can't let him go on and kill more innocent people. I can't let him harm everyone around me. Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys … no, I won't have it. I won't have it! So Harry brooded. When he was not doing his assignments, studying magic, or simply couldn't concentrate on neither of them he racked his brains to find a way to fight Voldemort with the things he knew (Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia seemed to notice that Harry had got back some of his strength and spunk and didn't force him with the chores. But it didn't stop them from hitting him).

Finally an idea came to him. While pruning the rose bushes (and rubbing the some of the bruises he on his left arm when Aunt Petunia dung on them with her finger nails), he realized that the pruning shears could be an excellent weapon if he used it properly. Then it clicked … think of all those war movies, think of all the battle and defense techniques Muggles have. They aren't utterly hopeless. Besides, all of Voldemort's supporters are pure bloods. Their ignorance about Muggle life is beyond the pale of belief - even Voldemort won't know about them! Yeah, that's it! Find other obscure offense/defense skills Voldemort won't know!

But that was about it. Harry didn't know much about Muggle offense/defense strategies and techniques himself. He first thought about guns, but promptly squashed the idea. He had no idea how he could get a gun illegally. Even if he did manage to get one, how was he going to carry it around without rousing any trouble? Besides, Harry didn't think he could aim properly, let alone have the guts to shoot people. Other martial art forms were definitely out of running. To begin with, he had to train, and he sincerely doubted the Durselys would let him take Kung fu lessons, even if he paid for them (and there was some complications when explaining where he got the money).

After more hours of futile brain racking, he suddenly remembered what Ron once said: "When in doubt, go to the library." Well, he didn't say it for this sort of situation, but it was better then nothing. Harry remembered the local library in Surrey. It wasn't big, but it was worth a try. Maybe he could find some good books on martial arts or military training. You never know. So that evening he decided to visit the library as soon as possible. Now if he could only have a good night's sleep …

There was a sudden whoosh of wings. His snowy owl Hedwig, another tawny owl that bore the Hogwarts crest, and Pigwidgeon came in through his bedroom window, all of them bearing letters. Harry took the letter tied on Hedwig first. Hedwig looked concerned - she gave a very soft and uncertain hoot and kept staring at him. But Harry simply stroked her once and gave her an owl treat (but she's not eating it, that's strange). He then relieved the letters from the Hogwarts’ owl and Pigwidgeon and they all took off (Pig of course left after zooming around the room like a firecracker several times much to Hedwig's disapproval). Harry read the Hogwarts letter first:

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are here to inform you about a new subject now offered for this fall at
Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The new subject is
Foreign magic studies. Taking this new subject is not required, but highly
recommended.

Foreign magic studies will give you a wonderful opportunity to study and
possibly learn various other forms of magic other then our own.
Moreover, the North-East Asian and Indian Confederation of magic, for the
first time in recorded history, consented to provide the European magical
community with teachers and masters of their own crafts for this course.

Please consider this option carefully and send an owl informing whether
or not you will be taking this course this fall no latter then July 31.

Yours Sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

 

Harry contemplated the letter. Foreign magical studies sounded extremely interesting. This is the first time in recorded history cooperation between European magical education and Eastern magical education took place? Did this mean that no one of a non-Asian heritage knew anything about Asian magic? He thought about the possibilities … another Anti-Voldemort stratagem? But he began to read between the lines. It said possibly learn. It either it meant the Asian masters were simply going to tell what existed and make them read about them or you needed special abilities to learn them. Maybe I'll take it …thoughtHarry. Suddenly the face of Hermione Granger came swimming into his head. Oh my god, we're learning about Asian Magic! I can't believe we'll be the first European wizards and witches to learn about them! Asian wizardry is so fascinating!! Yes, that would be Hermione's reaction to this letter: get excited and sign-up for it immediately.

He wasn't sure how Ron would react to it though. He'd probably be mildly interested, but not with enough enthusiasm for Hermione to approve. Too bad for Hermione though, thought Harry, her schedules already filled up to the top and I'm not sure she'd want to do the time-turner business again. At least he had one spot in his schedule that he could possibly spare … that is, if he was going to take it.

Harry turned his attention to the letter Pigwidgeon brought which, much to his surprise, was from Mrs. Weasley:

Dear Harry,

I hope you are well. Ron and the others are anxious about you.
If you need any help or food don't hesitate to ask.
Dumbledore says it's too risky for you to come here,
but he's sending someone to your Aunt's and Uncles house
to keep an eye on you. I don't know who this person is, but you'll
meet him/her soon enough.
If Dumbledore changes his mind, I'll let you know as soon as I can.
Keep in touch dear.

Love,
Molly Weasley

 

No going to The Burrow this year, thought Harry, heart sinking down past his stomach and to his toes. He didn't really think much about going to the Burrow the past few weeks, but now that is brought up, he was extremely disappointed. But then again perhaps this is for the better. Now he had a good reason to stay in the Muggle world as much as possible, miserable though it may be. Besides He was a danger to all around him. He couldn't afford to cause any harm to the Weasleys. I WILL protect them. I'll make sure of it. Harry thought fiercely.

Harry began to ponder about the letter. Why did Mrs. Weasley write to him and not Ron? Maybe she thought he'd blubber on and write something better off not written. Quill enters mouth, that sort of thing…or maybe he is in the dark as much as I am Harry thought. Then he was surprised of himself. Since when did I started pondering about human behavior? I never was this good at trying to understand people; Hermione was better at that …a close second to Dumbledore …

Maybe it's the sign I'm finally growing up thought Harry. I am turning 15 …

I wonder who's going to come over to Privet Drive to keep an eye on me. Harry mused. He made an internal chuckle as an image of an old wizard from a old wizarding family coming to Privet Drive dressed in a flowery nightgown, trying to look inconspicuous came into his mind. He then turned his attention to the last letter - the one Hedwig delivered. It was from Sirius (On the first day back at Privet Drive, Harry sent Hedwig to ex-Professor Lupin's residence to stay there for a while and hear something from Sirius):

Harry ---

I've safely arrived at you-know-where.
I'm going to remind you that YOU should be worrying about ME,
because I'M worried about YOU.
None of the deaths of last year are your fault, and you should know
better then to berate yourself about it. (I'm trying not to)
To the point - by the time you'll get this letter you'd probably got a
letter from Hogwarts about a new course. SIGN UP FOR IT. If
your schedule is full, then drop a course and sign up. You'll need it.
Asian magic is incredibly powerful, reliable and useful for battles.
It also predates all the magic we know. I can't tell you the real
reasons, but for now just take my word for it.

Your lovable mutt,
Snuffles.

P.S. I hope the those Muggles are treating you well. Because if they don't,
Moony and I will personally make them to mince meat in the height of the
full moon.

 

Harry smiled at the letter. Or at least tried to, somehow he felt he lost his control over his facial muscles to make any kind of face. Still, he felt like a great weight he was carrying leave his chest. Sirius was fine (more or less) and he was with Professor Lupin, not in a wild cave living off rats. He felt much better then he ever was for the past few weeks.

It looked like it was going to be very, very long and busy year: transfiguration, charms, History of magic, potions (Augh), Astronomy, Defense against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical creatures, Divination (Augh again) … now Foreign magic studies. That was 10 subjects in total. It wasn't going to be pretty. I HOPE the professor is no Snape or Lockhart. Well, since Sirius said it was good for battles, then it must be worth taking, Snape-like professor or no. I wonder if you can get an O.W.L. for Foreign magic studies ...

He reached out for a piece of parchment and for his quill. He noticed his hand was a bit shaky. With some difficulty he wrote his affirmation, signed it, and gave it to Hedwig. Only Hedwig didn't take it. She kept on staring at Harry making soft concerned hoots. I'm alright Hedwig said Harry, stroking her. I'll be fine, so don't worry. Just take this to Hogwarts. Harry began to wonder what was wrong with his ears. He could only hear:

"Umm…. Mmm."

Hedwig finally clamped the letter with her beck and took off, but with reluctance Harry couldn't fathom.

Harry lied down again. The air smelled like morning dew and the sky was brighter then before. Another morning, but for once with an explicit purpose. He mused. This is going to be a long day …

* * * * *

The sun finally came up in a distance. After what felt like eternity, the first sound of morning activity came from down stairs. Harry didn't bother to change his clothing - he was wearing the same clothes he wore the day before, but since his other clothes were no better then the things he was wearing now, he saw no point in changing.

Dudley was already sitting in the kitchen. He was as furious and sulky as last year. His diet was (still) not going well. To give the Dursleys credit, he did lose some weight and that was an incredible achievement. But he was still too huge for the school outfitters clothes. To give Dudley credit, he did grow - vertically and (unfortunately) horizontally.

Harry looked at his plate. Cucumber and asparagus sticks today. But it tastes like wax. Hell, it even looks like wax thought Harry. He didn't finish his breakfast. The thought of eating wax took away his last will to eat. He wasn't hungry anymore … but not full. Harry started dreading being full. If he ate to his full, he got sleepy; sleep brought nightmares; and nightmares … well he was just tired of the cycle. He just wanted to get away from it.

When he left the table, his pitiful breakfast only half finished, he saw in the corner of his eye Dudley grabbing the remaining food from his plate shuffling it down. He was thinking of taking some paper and writing utensils other then parchment and quills (it would draw too much attention to himself), he heard his Uncle bellowing his name.

"Boy, you're helping your aunt re-landscaping the garden! So get your lazy butt at the lawn!!"

He wasn't going to help the Dursleys today, or any day after that. Finding ways to defend his friends were more important. Uncle Vernon can hit him all he wanted, but he wasn't going to change his mind. No way.

No I'm not said Harry, glaring at Uncle Vernon. Their eyes met. Then Uncle Vernon reaction to this was so surprising and unexpected, it completely floored Harry: Uncle Vernon eyes became wide with what looked like an odd mixture of surprise, apprehension, and some other emotion Harry couldn't identify. Recovering himself, and seeing that his Uncle wasn't about to tell him off, he went up stairs, grabbed some ordinary Muggle notebook paper and a pencil, and came back stairs. No one said anything (or yelled) at him as he left the house.

He blinked. He didn't notice it was this sunny outside. It seemed like a very long time since he stood in the sun like this. It wasn't strictly true, since he did a great deal of gardening for the past few weeks, and usually it was sunny. But somehow it felt strange and refreshing.

Harry still remembered where the library was. Before his eleventh birthday, he would go there to avoid Dudley and his gang during the summer holidays. He wasn't a bookworm like Hermione, but the library was a sure place Dudley wouldn't go (for obvious reasons) and he usually found some books that interested him.

The library wasn't open yet. He didn't have a watch, but he could see the clock inside the library. 30 minutes to kill. Harry sat down on a bench and looked around. There were some early birds in front of the library. He saw Mrs. Figg on another bench. He waved at her, but she seemed to be too preoccupied with the book she was reading to wave back. He saw a young woman with two toddler children. The women had red hair and green eyes, very much like his mother. His throat began to constrict at the sight. He looked away and his eyes landed on a rather odd man.

He wasn't wearing odd. He looked like a studious college student and wore like one. He was - he just had to be - a Native American. His black hair was long, and he wore a feather ornament like the ones he saw Native Americans wear in his prep-school texts. His face had the distinctive 'indian' look: hard, unexpressive, with eyes oddly well focused. He looked young - older then Bill, but younger then Sirius or Lupin - and his body seemed to radiate a powerful aura of energy and strength. He was powerfully built too: tall (about 6 feet thought Harry), slim and masculine. The term 'radiating youth' came to his mind. Compared to him, Harry felt positively worn and aged.

The young man seemed to notice he was being watched. He looked back and his eyes landed on Harry. Harry quickly looked down, pretending to contemplate his blank Muggle notebook papers with interest. He could feel the man's stare boring into him. Harry didn't look up until the library was open.

The library smelled musty and moldy. It looked extremely small compared to the Hogwarts library, but oddly welcoming. He looked around, and began to ponder where to start. Then he looked at the librarian. She looked like an irritable vulture, very much like madam Pince at the Hogwarts library in fact. Harry wondered if they were long-lost sisters. Feeling he couldn't bring himself to deal with another Madam Pince, he walked down the bookshelves.

He finally found the self-help manual section. There was a great deal of books on body building and dieting methods (Aunt Petunia should read these), but very little on martial arts. The few that he found were about defending oneself from random attackers and rapists. Finally he found a crumpled copy of "The complete idiot's guide to Tae Kwon do" (exactly what Tae Kwon do was Harry didn't know), and "The complete idiot's guide to Karate" (he knew what Karate was, thank god) on the bottom most row, pulled them out, and went to an empty table.

He was skimming through the book about Karate, when the young man he saw in front of the library came to his table.

"Do you mind if I sit here? This happens to be my favorite table."

Harry looked up. He thought he said: no, I don't mind, but he couldn't hear himself say it. So he shook his head.

"Thanks."

Harry looked at the titles of the books the young man was carrying. They seemed to be books about biology. The two of them read their books in silence for a while.

The book about Karate didn't seem very helpful. It went over punching and kicking stances but not about how they could be used. I guess I have to figure that out on my own thought Harry. The illustration weren't the best, and it seemed to Harry the book required prior knowledge with other martial art forms to understand it, even though the book claimed it didn't. He did his best to copy the illustrations, but they looked like an unidentifiable mingles of scribbled lines. The explanations the book gave simply refused to sink into his head. He felt extremely disheartened.

"Martial art manuals are rarely useful, that book in particular." said a voice.

Harry looked up. The young man was looking at him. He wanted to ask him if he knew any useful books but "Mmmm …" was all he managed to say.

The young man's countenance darkened.

"Can you speak?"

Harry tried, but his jaw seemed to be most reluctant to open up and his tongue seemed to be glued to its spot. Not wanting to further worry or tell about the situation to a man he didn't even know, he scribbled on his paper:

I have a very bad neck cold.

Harry couldn't tell whether or not the man was convinced with this explanation. But nonetheless he said:

"Oh. Sorry about that. Do you mind if I study your pulse? You do seem a bit flushed."

Before he could answer, the man took Harry's right hand and placed his forefinger and middle finger on his wrist. Strangely enough, he didn't feel uncomfortable with this. In fact he felt a warm wave of energy coming from the other man's fingers and entering his own body. It made him comfortable and relaxed.

The man, however, didn't seem to like what he felt from his pulse (Harry briefly wondered how the pulse showed people their physical states). The man began to mutter. "sue-myun-boo-jok … yung-yang-shiljo … shig-gyoung-yul … noo-ga …" Harry had no clue what language he was speaking - Cherokee or Apache for all he knew. Finally he let go.

"You're not in a good shape," was the only comment he gave to Harry in English. Harry began to feel awkward at the man's gaze. It was piercing, like knives. Then something made him look straight back at him. He didn't want to feel like a midget or something like that.

The man's gaze faltered for a brief moment. He looked amazed for a millisecond, but soon recovered. He let out a whisper that sounded like "Shi (something) noon." Harry wasn't sure, but he thought the whisper had nothing to do with his scar. The thought brought him relief and dread at the same time.

The man suddenly broke into a smile.

"I'm sorry. I must have surprised you for the very least. I'm a Doctor-in-training, so I get these Diagnostic attacks with every sick person I meet. Even people I don't even know."

Harry managed a smile. He began to wonder how his facial muscles worked now and not earlier this morning. At any rate the man's smile was highly infectious.

"So are you trying to find something about martial arts? Why?"

Harry, feeling oddly strengthened after the man read his pulse, tried to talk. But all he could do was admit a hoarse sigh. He did open his mouth, and that was something.

"Just write it down here," said the man, pulling out a notepad and a pen. Harry did some quick thinking.

This is for a school project. I'm doing something about Military tactics and training.

"Considering you're looking at martial art texts, about the special units."

Yes. (I didn't think about that …)

"I don't think there is going to be any reference book that will help you on that, unless you find a SWAT or FBI manual. Pardon my American references," he added.

Uh-oh.

"You might want to try a round-about route for this. See those war and spy fictions? Those might help. Some are written by real experts, so their pretty realistic … I've got a manga that's littered with weapon and marital art references, but I don't know if you can read Japanese."

War and spy fictions? I never thought of that … Er, what's manga? (am I spelling this right?)

"Yes, your spelling's right. 'Japanese comic books' is the definition often used here … but I prefer the definition: 'Asian comic books' Japan's not the only country drawing them."

Oh.

"Anyway, you might want to start with weapons. I think I know where to find that …"

The man dung into his bag and pulled out a stack of PC game manuals. Harry recognized a few of them: "Rainbow six," and "Counter strike" to name a few.

"The weapons are based on the real stuff, you know."

Harry spent the rest of the morning happily discussing about the various weapons presented in the game manuals with the American Indian whose name he didn't bother to ask. He seemed to know a great deal about martial arts as well. He went through various martial art types he knew, comparing the pro's and con's of each form, and told Harry how to attack or defend himself in specific situations. He even drew some very good illustrations for Harry, telling that he could keep them.

They stopped talking (in Harry's case writing) at about 1:40 PM.

"Are you going to stay here any longer?"

Harry didn't thought about that. He thought about going back to Privet Drive. Whatever state Uncle Vernon was in the morning, he would be in the 'Horribly angry' state now, and he was not looking forward meeting Uncle Vernon in that state sooner then necessary. But Harry came to the conclusion that his uncle will get angrier in each passing time, so shook his head.

"Can you help me eat my lunch before you go? My Aunt fixed it up for me and she made enough to feed a small army. She swears I'm starving myself, and threatened me with more food if I didn't finish it."

He showed Harry his lunchbox. 'Lunchbox' wasn't the right name for it; 'lunch chest' seemed to be more appropriate. Anyway, it was huge.

The two of them went outside and sat on a bench. He opened his 'lunch chest': It was filled to the brim with food Harry didn't know. Looking at the blank look on Harry's face, the Indian (he still didn't ask his name) started to explain.

"The rice balls wrapped in the light brown stuff is cho-bab. The brown stuff is grounded fish. It's really good …. The rice balls covered with small orange e - uh, ball like stuff are California rolls. It really good, one of my favorites … the white stuff wrapped in leaves is Kishiwa candy. The rice balls with black strips are kim-bab - the Korean version of sushi. The rest are rice cakes … have a mochi. As you might guess, I'm a vegetarian, but I don't mind fish," he added.

Harry tried a mochi. He couldn't tell how it tasted, but he liked it. Better then the rice cake Aunt Petunia gets. Embolden by the taste of mochi and suddenly feeling his appetite returning, Harry tried the other stuff. They were - for the lack of better words - exotic, exotic in a good way. He began to share the Indian's opinion about the California rolls, they were great. The Indian gave him a cup of miso soup, which he enjoyed as well. In no time at all the 'chest' was empty.

"Good stuff, huh?"

Harry nodded. It was the best lunch he had for weeks. He wanted to say thank you, but all he managed was a " ---- an ---- hew (sigh)."

"No problem. You were helping me, right?"

Harry smiled. It was getting easier to do it.

"Are you coming here tomorrow? I'm planning to."

Harry thought about it. He liked the Indian; a lot actually. He still didn't know his name, or his background; in fact he knew nothing about him other then the fact he was knew a lot about PC games and martial arts. Harry couldn't describe it in words, but he just knew he could trust this man. He nodded.

"Cool. I'm new here, see? I was getting really bored at my Aunt's house so I figured I'd study for the time being. I couldn't find people who were interested in Manga so ... Oh yeah … I spent a whole morning with you and I still don't know your name. What is it?"

Harry Potter.

"Harry, huh?" (Harry concluded he wasn't a wizard because he didn't seem to notice the name) "I'm (he suddenly looked mischievous) Kuzeyamashiro kan-no-shin Nubutaka."

He looked at Harry's face and double up with laughter. When he finally managed to control himself, he said (still sniggering) "Only my father and his relatives call me blah-blah-blah-blah-blah Nubutaka. My mother calls me Dio-na-do-dua-nan." He started laughing again. What about A-man-whose-name-is-too-long? thought Harry, chuckling with him.

"Anyway, my friends usually call me Ji-ho. To some it's Ziggy, but I don't like that."

Harry nodded. He waved good-bye to Ji-ho and started walking back to Privet Drive. Before he left, however, he thought he heard Ji-ho sigh:

"Shim-yun-ui-noon in a boy. Namu …."

(to be continued ...)