when the phone rings novel

"Quick, hide..." Hee-joo gestured in sign language, urging the children to hide in the bushes. The headlights of a military jeep swept over their position. Wiping cold sweat from her brow, she exhaled deeply.

It had been two months since she arrived in Argan. Though her sister had helped her secure a safe entry through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the challenges didn't stop there. She wondered where he might be. Acting on a mere possibility made everything seem uncertain and aimless.

Initially, she sought news of an Asian man through foreign journalists but found nothing. He had been a war correspondent, later worked in political journalism, and even became a broadcaster. Perhaps he was at the epicenter of the conflict? But after moving to the most dangerous areas, witnessing children fall amidst gunfire, Hee-joo could no longer bear to step foot there.

Especially the hearing-impaired children. Unable to communicate, they were the most vulnerable. Their inability to speak meant they couldn't protest, making them the first to be forced into submission. Hee-joo understood this all too well.

So she began teaching international sign language. As a teacher, her days were busy and fulfilling, though searching for Baek Sa-eon felt increasingly distant. She occasionally asked the director to inform her if he ever heard news of a handsome Asian journalist. But each time the director returned from the city, he only shook his head apologetically.

At first, Hee-joo was disappointed, even cried. But now, she had grown used to the setbacks. What kept her going was the hope that one day she might see him again.

"Damn it, we've been spotted..." The director, walking ahead, cursed under his breath.

Suddenly, rebel soldiers emerged from hiding, half-concealed, their guns trained on the group.

"Hands up! Place them behind your heads!" they barked, their guns aimed.

Terrified, the children immediately knelt. Hee-joo followed suit, her hands behind her head, bowing low. She noticed the soldiers' boots, riddled with bullet holes, and felt a chill of fear.

"I heard there's an international sign language translator at Biben Education Facility."

"..." Hee-joo bit her lip as she listened to the slow, deliberate English.

"These little ones look like they're from Biben."

A long barrel grazed the ears of the huddled children. Seeing their terror-stricken faces, Hee-joo raised her trembling hands.

"I—I'm the sign language translator."

"No, Hee-joo!" The director tried to pull down her arm, but it was too late.

A dark-skinned man with thick eyebrows scrutinized her.

"Are you really a translator?"

"...Yes."

"Then you're coming with us."

"I can't go with you."

"Is that so?"

The man remained unfazed. At his signal, the waiting men abruptly grabbed the children, hoisting them high and shoving them into the truck. The director shouted and tried to stop them, but he was quickly stomped to the ground by a boot.

"What are you doing?!" Hee-joo's face turned pale with anger.

"If you won't come, then they'll all be hostages."

"...!"

"If you don't cooperate, these kids will all suffer."

Weighing her options quickly, Hee-joo glared at the man in front of her.

"At least tell me why you're taking me."

"We need a translator."

"A translator?"

"We've captured the leader of the government forces, but he's deaf. His brother was our translator, but I accidentally shot him."

"...!"

"So now the negotiations are stalled." He lit a cigarette leisurely, his movements oddly calm despite the urgent situation.

Suddenly, he stared directly at her face.

"You're from Korea, too—"

"Release the children," Hee-joo interrupted him sharply. He frowned.

"I'll go with you."

The bumpy dirt road jostled the seats endlessly. Blindfolded, Hee-joo was being taken somewhere. The stench of exhaust fumes was overpowering, and an old radio crackled with static. She let the wind from the open window whip against her face as she assessed her situation.

If they had captured someone from the government forces, then these people were definitely rebels.

Finally, the car screeched to a halt. She felt a hand seize her neck, dragging her out. Her ankle slammed into the car door, sending a sharp pain shooting through her leg.

"Time is short."

"...!"

"Can you translate right away?"

"Water... please, give me a glass of water." Her cracked lips barely moved as she spoke. The man nodded and motioned for her to walk ahead. Still blindfolded, Hee-joo groped her way forward. Any hesitation was met with the cold press of a gun muzzle against her back.

A strange smell wafted through the air. As soon as she entered a building, the blindfold was suddenly removed.

"...!"

Her eyes, sensitive to the light, immediately squinted. The damp warehouse was dimly lit, the floor covered in plastic sheeting. Piles of wood scraps, plastic pipes, and sawdust cluttered one corner. It was clearly a makeshift space in an abandoned structure.

At an old table sat a solitary middle-aged man, his disheveled appearance hinting that he was likely a member of the government forces. Hee-joo's heart began to race as the gravity of her situation sank in. Could one wrong move lead to her death? Cold sweat beaded her forehead.

With the gun still prodding her back, she finally pulled out a chair and sat next to the unfamiliar man. He scrutinized her with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

"I'm an international sign language interpreter. Are you all right?" Hee-joo signed quickly. The man's face softened slightly, showing a hint of relief.

"You're a sign language interpreter?"

"Yes."

The man wiped his brow and exhaled heavily.

"I'm the chairman of the government forces. Those bastards finally brought a translator," he signed, his expression laced with sarcasm.

At that moment, heavy footsteps echoed from the iron stairs above, making the table legs tremble.

"...!"

The chairman's face froze. He quickly began signing again.

"It's the rebels' negotiation expert. Not an Argan native, but someone who's been closely connected to the rebel commander for years. They say he's more cunning than a viper—"

Bang!

A glass of water slammed onto the table, spilling droplets onto a man's hand. The chairman abruptly stopped signing.

"I heard you were thirsty," a familiar voice said.

"...!"

At the sound of that voice, a cold shiver raced down Hee-joo's spine. She jerked her head up and locked eyes with the man standing under the dim light.

"..."

"..."

Her breath caught in her throat, her scarf slipping from her head. After months in Argan, her sun-darkened face was slick with sweat, her hair falling naturally to her ears. She wore a simple black short-sleeved shirt, pants, and heavy military boots. Yet, the gun holster strapped from her shoulder to her waist, and the radio clipped at her side, made her look both unfamiliar and commanding.

It was him. Baek Sa-eon. The man she had been searching for.

The man who had once represented the government in a sharp suit was now stripped of that polished image, his rougher, battle-hardened presence reflecting the harshness of their surroundings.

Found you. Hee-joo's thoughts trembled as she gazed at him, her eyes welling with tears. She had searched endlessly, braving everything for just one glimpse of him.

She was about to speak, her emotions threatening to spill over, when Baek Sa-eon casually pulled out a chair and sat across from her. His eyes briefly flicked to hers before he focused on the table, as though nothing had happened.

"..."

That cold indifference was like a slap, stunning her into silence. It was the same familiar, distant demeanor she had seen before—a deliberate disregard that made her feel insignificant. She clenched her fists, trying to steady herself against the sting of rejection.

Baek Sa-eon crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. The veins on his forehead pulsed as he rocked the chair back and forth, the creaking noise unnerving.

"Let's continue the conversation," he finally said, opening his eyes.

His physique had grown even more defined since she had last seen him. Silently, Hee-joo watched him, but Baek Sa-eon tapped the table impatiently, jolting her back to reality.

"Translate," he ordered.

"...Ah!"

Her cheeks flushed as she quickly averted her gaze and began translating, her voice trembling slightly.

"They are willing to cease attacks but demand control of a critical stronghold."

"Reject the impossible demands," Baek Sa-eon replied curtly.

"You're not ready to negotiate yet," Hee-joo translated.

"But that land—"

"It's only a matter of time before the rebels take it."

The dialogue flowed smoothly, though Hee-joo's mind was a storm of conflicting emotions.

"How's it going?" The soldier who had brought her in approached with a smug grin. "Didn't you say you were thirsty? Why aren't you drinking?"

The conversation at the table abruptly halted, the air growing tense. The soldier's eyes roamed over Hee-joo with unsettling amusement. She noticed the change in his demeanor and braced herself.

"Ugh...!"

Suddenly, the soldier grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. He picked up the glass of water, clearly intending to force it down her throat.

Before Hee-joo could react, a heavy walkie-talkie flew through the air like a brick, striking the soldier squarely on the head. It clattered to the ground with a thud.

"Enough," Baek Sa-eon said coldly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Quick, hide..." Hee-joo gestured in sign language, urging the children to hide in the bushes. The headlights of a military jeep swept over their position. Wiping cold sweat from her brow, she exhaled deeply.

It had been two months since she arrived in Argan. Though her sister had helped her secure a safe entry through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the challenges didn't stop there. She wondered where he might be. Acting on a mere possibility made everything seem uncertain and aimless.

Initially, she sought news of an Asian man through foreign journalists but found nothing. He had been a war correspondent, later worked in political journalism, and even became a broadcaster. Perhaps he was at the epicenter of the conflict? But after moving to the most dangerous areas, witnessing children fall amidst gunfire, Hee-joo could no longer bear to step foot there.

Especially the hearing-impaired children. Unable to communicate, they were the most vulnerable. Their inability to speak meant they couldn't protest, making them the first to be forced into submission. Hee-joo understood this all too well.

So she began teaching international sign language. As a teacher, her days were busy and fulfilling, though searching for Baek Sa-eon felt increasingly distant. She occasionally asked the director to inform her if he ever heard news of a handsome Asian journalist. But each time the director returned from the city, he only shook his head apologetically.

At first, Hee-joo was disappointed, even cried. But now, she had grown used to the setbacks. What kept her going was the hope that one day she might see him again.

"Damn it, we've been spotted..." The director, walking ahead, cursed under his breath.

Suddenly, rebel soldiers emerged from hiding, half-concealed, their guns trained on the group.

"Hands up! Place them behind your heads!" they barked, their guns aimed.

Terrified, the children immediately knelt. Hee-joo followed suit, her hands behind her head, bowing low. She noticed the soldiers' boots, riddled with bullet holes, and felt a chill of fear.

"I heard there's an international sign language translator at Biben Education Facility."

"..." Hee-joo bit her lip as she listened to the slow, deliberate English.

"These little ones look like they're from Biben."

A long barrel grazed the ears of the huddled children. Seeing their terror-stricken faces, Hee-joo raised her trembling hands.

"I—I'm the sign language translator."

"No, Hee-joo!" The director tried to pull down her arm, but it was too late.

A dark-skinned man with thick eyebrows scrutinized her.

"Are you really a translator?"

"...Yes."

"Then you're coming with us."

"I can't go with you."

"Is that so?"

The man remained unfazed. At his signal, the waiting men abruptly grabbed the children, hoisting them high and shoving them into the truck. The director shouted and tried to stop them, but he was quickly stomped to the ground by a boot.

"What are you doing?!" Hee-joo's face turned pale with anger.

"If you won't come, then they'll all be hostages."

"...!"

"If you don't cooperate, these kids will all suffer."

Weighing her options quickly, Hee-joo glared at the man in front of her.

"At least tell me why you're taking me."

"We need a translator."

"A translator?"

"We've captured the leader of the government forces, but he's deaf. His brother was our translator, but I accidentally shot him."

"...!"

"So now the negotiations are stalled." He lit a cigarette leisurely, his movements oddly calm despite the urgent situation.

Suddenly, he stared directly at her face.

"You're from Korea, too—"

"Release the children," Hee-joo interrupted him sharply. He frowned.

"I'll go with you."

The bumpy dirt road jostled the seats endlessly. Blindfolded, Hee-joo was being taken somewhere. The stench of exhaust fumes was overpowering, and an old radio crackled with static. She let the wind from the open window whip against her face as she assessed her situation.

If they had captured someone from the government forces, then these people were definitely rebels.

Finally, the car screeched to a halt. She felt a hand seize her neck, dragging her out. Her ankle slammed into the car door, sending a sharp pain shooting through her leg.

"Time is short."

"...!"

"Can you translate right away?"

"Water... please, give me a glass of water." Her cracked lips barely moved as she spoke. The man nodded and motioned for her to walk ahead. Still blindfolded, Hee-joo groped her way forward. Any hesitation was met with the cold press of a gun muzzle against her back.

A strange smell wafted through the air. As soon as she entered a building, the blindfold was suddenly removed.

"...!"

Her eyes, sensitive to the light, immediately squinted. The damp warehouse was dimly lit, the floor covered in plastic sheeting. Piles of wood scraps, plastic pipes, and sawdust cluttered one corner. It was clearly a makeshift space in an abandoned structure.

At an old table sat a solitary middle-aged man, his disheveled appearance hinting that he was likely a member of the government forces. Hee-joo's heart began to race as the gravity of her situation sank in. Could one wrong move lead to her death? Cold sweat beaded her forehead.

With the gun still prodding her back, she finally pulled out a chair and sat next to the unfamiliar man. He scrutinized her with a mix of suspicion and curiosity.

"I'm an international sign language interpreter. Are you all right?" Hee-joo signed quickly. The man's face softened slightly, showing a hint of relief.

"You're a sign language interpreter?"

"Yes."

The man wiped his brow and exhaled heavily.

"I'm the chairman of the government forces. Those bastards finally brought a translator," he signed, his expression laced with sarcasm.

At that moment, heavy footsteps echoed from the iron stairs above, making the table legs tremble.

"...!"

The chairman's face froze. He quickly began signing again.

"It's the rebels' negotiation expert. Not an Argan native, but someone who's been closely connected to the rebel commander for years. They say he's more cunning than a viper—"

Bang!

A glass of water slammed onto the table, spilling droplets onto a man's hand. The chairman abruptly stopped signing.

"I heard you were thirsty," a familiar voice said.

"...!"

At the sound of that voice, a cold shiver raced down Hee-joo's spine. She jerked her head up and locked eyes with the man standing under the dim light.

"..."

"..."

Her breath caught in her throat, her scarf slipping from her head. After months in Argan, her sun-darkened face was slick with sweat, her hair falling naturally to her ears. She wore a simple black short-sleeved shirt, pants, and heavy military boots. Yet, the gun holster strapped from her shoulder to her waist, and the radio clipped at her side, made her look both unfamiliar and commanding.

It was him. Baek Sa-eon. The man she had been searching for.

The man who had once represented the government in a sharp suit was now stripped of that polished image, his rougher, battle-hardened presence reflecting the harshness of their surroundings.

Found you. Hee-joo's thoughts trembled as she gazed at him, her eyes welling with tears. She had searched endlessly, braving everything for just one glimpse of him.

She was about to speak, her emotions threatening to spill over, when Baek Sa-eon casually pulled out a chair and sat across from her. His eyes briefly flicked to hers before he focused on the table, as though nothing had happened.

"..."

That cold indifference was like a slap, stunning her into silence. It was the same familiar, distant demeanor she had seen before—a deliberate disregard that made her feel insignificant. She clenched her fists, trying to steady herself against the sting of rejection.

Baek Sa-eon crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. The veins on his forehead pulsed as he rocked the chair back and forth, the creaking noise unnerving.

"Let's continue the conversation," he finally said, opening his eyes.

His physique had grown even more defined since she had last seen him. Silently, Hee-joo watched him, but Baek Sa-eon tapped the table impatiently, jolting her back to reality.

"Translate," he ordered.

"...Ah!"

Her cheeks flushed as she quickly averted her gaze and began translating, her voice trembling slightly.

"They are willing to cease attacks but demand control of a critical stronghold."

"Reject the impossible demands," Baek Sa-eon replied curtly.

"You're not ready to negotiate yet," Hee-joo translated.

"But that land—"

"It's only a matter of time before the rebels take it."

The dialogue flowed smoothly, though Hee-joo's mind was a storm of conflicting emotions.

"How's it going?" The soldier who had brought her in approached with a smug grin. "Didn't you say you were thirsty? Why aren't you drinking?"

The conversation at the table abruptly halted, the air growing tense. The soldier's eyes roamed over Hee-joo with unsettling amusement. She noticed the change in his demeanor and braced herself.

"Ugh...!"

Suddenly, the soldier grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. He picked up the glass of water, clearly intending to force it down her throat.

Before Hee-joo could react, a heavy walkie-talkie flew through the air like a brick, striking the soldier squarely on the head. It clattered to the ground with a thud.

"Enough," Baek Sa-eon said coldly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.