It was a clean Cutback. On the foam of the wave breaking white, Morae popped to her feet in an instant, then immediately turned the board’s nose and zigzagged across the arc of the oncoming swell. A few people watching the beach cheered at her flawless flow, never once missing the wave’s natural momentum.
Thanks to the steady offshore breeze blowing in from the distant eastern sea, the quality of the waves was excellent. Even to someone like me—who’d never actually strapped in, but had spent years watching and listening—I could tell these were perfect conditions for leisurely surfing.
The sky and sea looked like a diptych of watercolor paper folded in half and pressed together—blue and white pigments blending in accidental marbling. White clouds against a blue sky. White waves against a blue ocean.
A dozen or so people were waiting in the lineup to catch a wave, but only one surfer—Morae—actually rode all the way to shore. Her balance atop that six-foot-seven board was so perfect it was hard to believe she was even standing on it. There was no hint of danger, no edge of risk. She looked more at ease and free than someone riding a bicycle on land, and the wave beneath her carried her like a magic carpet out of some distant fairy tale.
“Wow... I wonder what it feels like to ride like that.”
“No joke. If I could surf like that even once, I’d die happy.”
Even the students receiving instruction just ten meters from where I sat stopped paddling and stared in awe at Morae’s surfing. Their admiration quickly turned into impatience for their own instructor.
“Instructor, when can we surf like that?”
Han I—standing with his back to the sea—glanced over his shoulder, realized they were talking about Morae, and sighed. His sunglasses might as well have been frowning.
“That surfer you’re all admiring has seven years of surfing experience. As for ocean swimming... you could say she’s been drifting in the sea since she learned to walk. And you guys are...?”
They were total beginners, each with a foam board flipped upside-down on the sand, practicing Paddling for the first time today. Han I’s blunt truth weighed on their shoulders like staring up at a summit before the climb.
April. The air was still too chilly for swimming, but as soon as it warmed enough to suit wetsuits, both beginners and seasoned surfers flocked to the beach. The recent surf boom had even changed the local scenery and tourism.
When Morae finally emerged from the sea, board tucked under her arm, she deftly unzipped her wetsuit, shrugged it off, and flopped beside me.
“Man, it’s no joke after such a long break. I’m stiff everywhere.”
I pulled a water bottle from my bag and handed it to her. It was our first surf of the year on the East Sea. She’d gone on one surf trip to some Southeast Asian island a few months back, but that was already three months ago. Despite complaining that it was tough, her face—still wet—was alight with excitement: the energy only someone doing what they love can radiate. A cool, salty tingle lingered where she sat.
The first time I met Morae at this beach—riding Han I’s bike out here—she was surfing too, then walked ashore, extended her hand, and smiled. Even then she carried this same warmth and sea-salt scent.
No wonder: her name is Morae, but to me she’s always evoked the sea’s life-filled moisture. Not the coarse, dry sand piled on a playground or construction site, but the sand that’s part of the moving waves, shifting shape with every swell.
Whether she’s an Alpha or not doesn’t matter. It wasn’t pheromones but the presence of Im Morae that left an impression. As a Beta, I couldn’t possibly detect Alpha pheromones anyway.
“How was it?”
“Clean as if you surfed yesterday.”
“Do you think she surfs better than Han I?”
I looked over at Han I, who was demonstrating on his foam board, then whispered, “She’s always surfed better than you.”
Morae glanced at him, then smiled at me so subtly he didn’t notice.
“I guess you did some special training while we were in the service. It feels great after so long, but these waves are too tame. Man, I want to ride a big one!”
Lately Morae had been obsessed with big waves—the kind that curl into a tunnel as they break, so thrilling it feels like you’re being sucked into another dimension of nature. Those waves are rare on the East Sea. Even Han I—who’d never surfed abroad—had only seen them in videos.
No matter how long they stayed on the board, skilled surfers here never felt satisfied. Seven years ago, when there were almost no rental shops or instructors—only seafood restaurants and cafes along this beach—Morae was the first to put a board on these waves. On a family trip to Hawaii, she tested surfing on a guide’s recommendation, bought her own board, and brought it home. Buying a big board overseas and shipping it back was no problem for her.
Morae’s father was one of the area’s most influential figures, owning half a dozen large fishing vessels and several restaurants. As his youngest, only daughter—and a female Alpha—he spared no expense for her.
Thanks to Morae, Han I naturally picked up surfing and became hooked. Whenever the sea warmed enough for a wetsuit, they’d motor forty minutes from base camp to this beach, and I’d sit on the sand watching them paddle out and drift back again countless times. Those three years of high school passed in that blur.
“Want me to teach you? You interested?”
I’d heard that offer a thousand times over five years. My answer was always the same—manipulating the water bottle she returned without looking up.
“Don’t you get bored?”
Again, I shook my head. Although they asked that while in service, neither Han I nor Morae ever pushed me or forced me into the water. Morae just tapped my shoulder with her wet fist and laughed—though the smile betrayed disappointment and worry that I was still the same after the army.
She stood to head back into the sea. I brushed off my shorts and zipped up her wetsuit—my role whenever one of them was gone.
“Lift your hips! Look far ahead! Tighten your triceps!”
“Instructor, can you stop talking and let me go?”
“With the strength in those arms, you wouldn’t paddle ten meters. Lift your hips. If you can’t see ahead, you—and other surfers—are in danger!”
Morae chuckled at Han I’s drill-sergeant tone as he corrected his students’ posture and drilled home safety. I smiled in agreement, and she lightly tapped my cheek with her cold, wet hand.
“You’re so dry, Ihyeon. Who’d guess you’re a freshly discharged soldier?”
“Discharged soldier.” Before enlistment, the army had seemed like a completely separate world—full adulthood achieved. Now, nearly two years later, I wasn’t even sure what it had left me with.
“Don’t follow strangers or wander off. Stay right here, okay?”
I nodded, and she smiled, water droplets on her face, tucked her board under her arm, and strode into the sea. Without hesitation she crossed the boundary between sand and surf, held her head high amid the unpredictable ocean as Han I instructed, paddled against the wave’s pull toward the lineup—and, atop the fragile white foam that looked like it might vanish at any moment, miraculously rose to her feet.
No matter how many times I saw it, no matter how many years passed, it was astonishing.
■ ■ ■
The Fish Market was in bustle, preparing to welcome the evening boats soon to arrive. Around some early-returning trawlers, bidding had already begun. Perhaps because the weather had warmed, tourists were noticeably out and about, and ice-box and ice vendors were busy.
I sat on one of the low concrete pillars at the end of the pier—raised so boats could tie up—and looked out to sea. Boats returning from dawn’s haul were appearing one by one on the horizon. A sea breeze carried the fishy smell in its wake. As darkness fell and the air chilled, I hunched my shoulders and slid my hands into my jacket pockets.
Han I had gone out with our Grandfather and Uncle. It was rare for me to wait ashore for their return unless Han I wasn’t on the boat. Since middle school, Grandfather and Uncle had insisted Han I come aboard, even before I’d arrived here. I’d been exempt, but Han I hadn’t. He’d started running errands on the boat in late elementary school and was fully capable of contributing by the time I joined, yet he’d always treated it as temporary help, never intending to become a fisherman.
But Grandfather and Uncle—now even more insistent—kept pushing him, saying that having served in the military meant it was time to settle into a stable role. Han I was only twenty-three. He resisted by refusing to board, fearing it would confirm their expectations. Yet today he’d gone out to sea.
All day, Morae’s phone had been off.
Then Grandfather’s boat came into view—a modest second-hand trawler purchased on borrowed money. Grandfather, Uncle, and Han I—three able men—were enough to fish that boat.
As I sat at our assigned berth, I caught Han I’s eye from the bow as he prepared to moor. He tossed me a rope, and I clumsily looped it around the pillar. Han I chuckled—just seeing him smile eased the knot in my chest that had tightened all day.
In no time, the catch was carried to the Fish Market beside the pier. A Fisheries Cooperative official in a red hat blew a whistle, and the auctioneers gathered. From mooring to the highest bid taking the lot, barely ten minutes passed—it was all professionals here.
Without instruction, Han I loaded the fish onto a cart with oxygen tanks and began delivering to the winning buyer’s sashimi center. As I watched his broad back, the air around me subtly shifted, and I turned toward the sound.
“Mr Im, come see me for a moment.”
It was Morae’s father, Im Seonsaeng. He didn’t pause to greet Grandfather, but simply ordered him—wearing a scowl and years of debts—down the pier past the Fisheries Cooperative building before Grandfather could respond.
Aside from outsiders, no one in this Fish Market bought, sold, or handled fish without borrowing from this man. Everyone said as much. Our family was in his debt too.
Grandfather and Mr Im slipped away between the curious gazes of market regulars, circling behind the Fisheries Cooperative building. Once they’d vanished, the market’s chatter returned to its normal pitch—everyone but Uncle remained transfixed by the significance of their departure.
Even buried beneath the brim of his cap, all creased with age and sea air, Uncle’s eyes tracked the spot they’d disappeared into before his hands resumed their machine-like work, thrusting fish onto the auction pile without a flicker of emotion.
My own uncalloused hands—never used to fillet fish—felt suddenly like guilty hands stained with blood. I hid them in my jacket pockets.
■ ■ ■
Grandfather swore he would kill Han I. He pounded the ground with his crutch, bellowing that any insolent coward who smeared his family’s honor deserved to be beaten to death.
“Who does he think he is... getting above himself!”
Grandfather’s fury sounded less like my own grandfather and more like the grandfather of Im Morae.
“Dragging Mr. Im’s daughter around—where the hell do you think you’re skulking off to? Did you want to see this old fool grovel in front of Mr. Im like a criminal, you little bastard?”
The wooden staff slammed down again.
“Who dragged her anywhere? What kind of idiot talks like that? I’ll tear your mouth apart!”
Han I wouldn’t be placated, either. Even though he wasn’t here, I could hear his bloodied face yelling in the room.
“Can’t you shut your mouth? You dragged that precious girl of Mr. Im’s into a motel—your mouth’s gonna get ripped to shreds, you punk!”
Morae and Han I had been dating since middle school, and rumors of them began to trouble Morae’s family around high school. What had been occasional, half-hearted objections turned into concrete, menacing threats once Han I was discharged.
A few days ago, after surfing, I returned home first; Han I didn’t come back until late at dawn. Someone must have seen the two of them enter a motel and told Morae’s father. In a small fishing village, such gossip remained endlessly entertaining: who was having an affair, who ran off and abandoned their own ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) child—scandals abounded.
