CHAPTER 3

1930

Gyeongseong

At eleven years old, Son Seungwan was starting to see the world in a different light: she understood that her mother was killed by Japanese soldiers. Seungwan’s father, Myunghoon, always reminded her that her mother died for her country.

“What country?” Seungwan asked.

“Joseon,” Myunghoon answered.

At school, they were only taught Japanese, and they could only use Japanese. Seungwan went as Watanabe Hana, and that was how all the other kids knew her. She went to a different school, where most of the students were children of the Japanese colonizers, with a few Korean kids, which included her.

But when she went back home, back to their quarters by the outskirts of the central colonial government offices, Myunghoon always called her by her real name.

“Seungwan,” Myunghoon would always greet her with a smile on his face. Seungwan felt relief for finally being able to speak Korean again. While she learned Japanese quickly (she was one of the school’s top students), she could never feel comfortable speaking it. In a language not her own, there were things left unsaid.

When she was younger, she wanted to know more about why her father worked for the Japanese government. Whenever Myunghoon went home from work, he would just sigh, talking about how another soldier shouted at a random Korean on the street. She knew that her father hated the Japanese colonizers – Myunghoon always taught her about Joseon and their nation’s culture, language, and traditions and how the colonization was destroying them when they were alone. Her father dreamt of a free Joseon.

She would constantly ask her father why he kept on going to work, why he was collaborating with those people. Myunghoon never answered her directly.

“All you have to know for now is that everything I do, I do it for you and our country,” Myunghoon would always respond.

Eventually, Seungwan just gave up on asking her father.

It was difficult for her to look for friends. The other Japanese kids hated her for beating them on the school rankings – in subjects taught in a language that wasn’t Korean – and they constantly bullied her for being a “daughter of a hostage.”

“You’re useless! Your father’s just a hostage!” one student would exclaim, and the others would laugh right after. “You have no mother. You’re just a bastard daughter!”

At first, Seungwan would keep to herself in her seat. Her only other Korean classmate, Choi Taehyung, who went as Kazunari Yuuto, approached her.

“They’re just dumb. Your father’s not a hostage, he should be proud to be part of the Japanese empire,” Taehyung said to Seungwan, trying to comfort her. She appreciated the gesture of him trying to talk to her and make her feel better, but it didn’t work. She didn’t likethat her father was serving the Japanese government. That wasn’t something to be proud of.

What hurt Seungwan even more was the reminder that she no longer had her mother. Seungwan was afraid that she was starting to forget how her mother looked like; what she smelled like; how much she cared for her. All these fears, she kept to herself. She knew that her father was also mourning in his own way. Myunghoon was never the same since Jangmi died. He ignored the other Japanese ladies working in the colonial government who were clearly enamored with him, all asking even for just a brief affair. But Myunghoon only had Jangmi in his heart. He was completely immersed in his work, which Seungwan also had no idea about. At night, she knew that her father went out of their small quarters, going out, missing for an hour or two, always tucking her in before leaving. Seungwan always pretended to sleep soundly whenever this happened, and she didn’t bring it up with her father.

At school, she only talked to Taehyung, primarily because he approached her all the time. Taehyung called her by her Japanese name Hana, which she hated. Myunghoon gave her that name, only using it in public.

“You’re still Seungwan, no one can ever take your name away from you,” Myunghoon said to her when they were in their quarters.

“I don’t like Hana,” she answered her father shyly.

“I know, my princess,” Myunghoon said as he approached her daughter, kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry. If it makes you feel better, I chose Hana for you because it’s close to the word ‘Han.’”

“What’s that mean?” Seungwan asked curiously.

“Han defines us as a peopl