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Even with the impossible experience of meeting and making deals with a god, Cale still finds it hard to digest seeing his eighteen year old self from a third person point of view.
The man now living in a younger version of his body—Kim Roksoo, his name is—is extremely capable, according to the God of Death. 20 years could be shortened to ten. And if Cale helped out as well, spilling all the information he had—perhaps 3 years!
Whatever. Three years of being ignored by everyone he used to know, only being heard by one man he has yet to meet: it'll worth it in the end.
But for now, he has to focus on actually greeting the man.
Ron, still alive and swift as ever, leaves the room with a harmless smile on his face, leaving Kim Roksoo alone. Cale slowly creeps up behind him—not that he needs to, the floorboards won't creak if he's a ghost—and places a tentative hand on Roksoo's shoulder.
"You stole my body…" whispers Cale, staring blankly at 'himself.'
Roksoo robotically turns his head. No other reaction.
What a disappointment. Not so much of a scream of terror.
It's… his family. They're all alive.
Roksoo doesn't know these people like Cale knows them.
Basen has a habit of swinging his fork when he's unfocused, forgetting about etiquette. Lily rocks her body in place when she's restless and wants to run off but fears getting in trouble. His father, Count of Henituse, hides his expression well, but in moments like these, when the family came together, there was an undeniable affection in his eyes that used to be reserved for Cale and his mother. Violan—well, Cale never thought to get to know her. But he knows she's always loved culture and the arts, has always appreciated free expression.
When they finally sit down and start eating, Cale has to hold himself back from pretending again; no, he's not the one sitting with his family, holding his fork and knife in the wrong hands and carving meat with such inelegance. Kim Roksoo is the one in his place, the one dining with his own family. Who knows what Roksoo knows about them—Cale, selfishly, even as he knows Roksoo was destined to live in his body as part of the deal, wants to be the one to know more about his family than Roksoo does.
Basen didn't live long enough to see the war. And Lily, having died far too young, only made it to see the first and only attack on the Henituse territory.
His father didn't live to see Cale stop acting so worthless. Neither did his step-mother.
And maybe the tears don't leave his eyes. Maybe his face, hardened by long years at war, doesn't betray the heartache he felt looking at the family, how animated they were like he had never received news of their deaths, member by member, all those years ago. He doesn’t want Roksoo to notice.
Never has he ever felt so useless, looking at his own family treat him like a ghost—because he was—when all he wanted to do so desperately was to hug them and tell them he loves them and that he's sorry, that he should've been there. Anywhere but that bar drinking his life away, telling himself he's protecting his family when all he ever needed to do was be there for them. He's never felt so useless, except perhaps when he was staring at their gravestones, all together except for his own.
He hopes Roksoo doesn't see how tenderly he places his hand on Lily's head, only for it to pass through. He hopes Roksoo doesn't recognize the misguided warmth Deruth has when he's staring at him.
"You're 40," Roksoo states flatly.
He takes Cale's silence as an answer.
Roksoo takes one good look, both at the body he currently possesses and Cale's ghostly figure. "You expect me to believe that?"
"Well, yeah," Cale says with a shrug. He expected he would look like 40-year-old-tough-war-veteran-Cale, not 18-year-old-drunken-Cale. He can't exactly look at himself in the mirror, you know.
"Tell me more, then."
Cale sits up from where he was lying down floating. He deliberates between spilling the beans—the existence of the White Star—or taking it slow. He decides on discussing the more immediate future: "There's this guy called Choi Han, yeah? He's pretty strong, but he beat the shit out of me 'cause I provoked him like crazy. Pretty sure he's a decent guy, but I couldn't tell. He hated me after that, haha."
And this, not a literal ghost haunting him, but some guy getting trash talked, makes Roksoo have some sort of visceral reaction. Full on shivers.
"I need to be nice to him," Roksoo proclaims like a profound man.
"No, he's fine. I mean, we'll need him, but just don't treat him like shit…"
Admittedly, Roksoo is a much more charming man than Cale predicts.
Those two orphan kids got buddy-buddy way too quickly with Roksoo.
Raon Miru, that dragon dear, Cale thought would be tough to get through. And yet, he sleeps with Roksoo every night, getting cuddly with him and the Cats.
Choi Han—Cale has already let go of the grudge from getting beaten up, but it's still strange seeing a ruthless smartass acting so innocent in front of Roksoo.
"Wow… How cruel," Cale says as a one-off comment. The sight of Choi Han slicing through enemy soldiers is almost sickening; Cale turns to find Roksoo, expecting him to agree or something, but only sees his back is turned—of course his back is turned.
With a tsk, Cale looks back at Choi Han, watching his rough swordsmanship overturn numbers of swordsman trained in refined arts. Unexpectedly, Choi Han smiles in his direction.
"Woah, ya see that? Can he see me or something?" Cale says. This time Roksoo does.
"He should focus more… Maybe I've been sending him to fight too often." Roksoo waves back at Choi Han, beckoning him to continue onward.
"Roksoo, no offense, but are you stupid?"
"Huh?"
Anyone could see Choi Han was right in his element—a rather violent man, he was. Anyone except Roksoo.
The first time Roksoo coughs up blood, Cale expects it to be a one-time thing.
Then it happens again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And… well, you get the point.
At one of these points in time, where Roksoo coughs up blood and inevitably faints for long enough that the chaos gets so chaotic that everything practically ends up destroyed, they come home with a large pot of gold and a very, very precious plant.
"One of a kind," Roksoo utters, holding the plant up in the air like a proud father showing off his pudgy baby.
The three kids he happened to pick up along their journey circle around him, joy radiating off their faces.
"We can sell its seeds!"
"Sell its seeds!"
"Money!"
And as for Roksoo, he has more light in his eyes than he has ever had in his life back in Korea.
But stopping the plant from drying up… proves to be a bit of a challenge than previously thought.
Water it too little, and the day after the plant resembles Roksoo after an encounter with an enemy. Water it too much, and it starts taking up too much space. Cutting off a branch won't do either; it starts to shrivel up on the side you cut.
Precious, but very annoying.
Roksoo persists. It's a miracle plant, and he expects to make some money after all that effort wasted on keeping that thing alive.
"This plant reminds me of you," Cale says one day, poking a finger at the dry leaves. His ghostly constitution makes it so his hand passes straight through.
Roksoo waits for Ron to refill his tea and dismisses him, tracing his movement out of the room. Finally, he sets his book down. "How so?"
Cale sniffs. "Difficult. To keep alive."
Roksoo picks his book back up, opting out of responding. It doesn't cover the wrinkling in his nose.
It's one of those nights where sleep doesn't show mercy to the restless. Cale sees Roksoo, haggard looking and just begging to be knocked out, walk in a daze outside the villa.
They don't say much. Roksoo knows Cale is right behind him.
Barefoot in the grass, Roksoo walks in a random direction, not caring about the dirt caking his feet. The wind comes on strongly, blowing Roksoo's hair out of his face. He barely lets out a shiver.
Cale worries—it's a chilly night. He grabs Roksoo's shoulder, stopping Roksoo in his steps. Roksoo can walk through his hand, but it's a nice thing that he doesn't.
"We should go back," Cale muttered. "They'll be waiting."
Roksoo doesn't turn. He simply stands, staring into the sea of trees and darkness outlined by the light of the moon.
"They'll be waiting," Cale repeats, like reassurance. There's no response. Roksoo doesn't need to respond; Cale sits next to Roksoo's feet, waiting for him to move.
Roksoo lifts his feet more firmly when the sun's rays peek onto the earth. "Let's go," he says, voice hoarse.
The walk back is peaceful. Ron is waiting for him.
"I've prepared a bath, young master-nim." He seems to look kinder than usual.
No complaints—Roksoo accepts it.
Cale has his own complaints. "You should take better care of yourself," he whines. "It's my body."
He doesn’t notice the contemplative look on Roksoo’s face.
It’s not something to foresee, that Roksoo takes his joking comment to heart. He’s generally an immovable person, and Cale hadn’t really meant to make him feel bad about anything. Still, he finds that he doesn’t mind.
Roksoo’s body looks healthier. He eats more, sits outside in the sun rather than staying in bed, and, when it's another restless night, he at least makes the effort to put on slippers and a coat.
That's good. It's a good thing, that Roksoo hasn't forgotten how to take care of himself.
When his business is finished and Cale eventually leaves, he won't have to worry.