Three Days of Rain

The rain had lasted two days when Seo crossed the north gate. On the third, they said, the city collected. Not in coins: in duels that had been postponed with the excuse of the mud.

He bought a bowl of noodles under an awning that leaked in a straight line onto his wrist. The seller did not ask his name. In a city of swords, a name was a way of scheduling someone.

“Board’s empty,” the seller said. “Doesn’t mean the square is.”

Seo looked at the square. People crossed it faster than the weather required. In the center, the rain fell differently, as if it had already agreed to be a witness and was only waiting for the other party to arrive.

He finished the noodles, set the bowl upside down, and walked into the different rain. His sword stayed sheathed. Some debts prefer to see your hands before they see the blade.