Disclaimer: None of the characters, except for a few that are invented, are of my own creation. The plot is borrowed as well. This is an adaptation of the tale, Sweeney Todd. Although this story has many elements of the original story incorporated in it, I also have my own additions and ideas as well. As I’ve said before, this is an adaptation so it doesn’t necessarily follow the movie, play, or book. I’ll only be saying this once, so just take note of that. Sweeney Todd is the sole property Stephen Sondheim and Tim Burton. Not mine. I’m just a fanfic writer and another adaptor of this story.

Also, I am fully aware that the poster above does not show the characters as old as they should be. Here, most of the characters, with the exception of Choi Siwon, Han Rineul, and Kim Minjung, are supposed to be perceived as people in their mid-thirties to early forties. Unfortunately, neither the artist nor I was able to figure out how to make do an age progression through Photoshop. Choi Siwon and the other two are supposed to be eighteen to nineteen years old with the former being the oldest.

A young man smiles as he sees the city ahead. At last, he thinks as he heaves a sigh, I am home. I’ve been to many places, he tells himself internally, but indeed, there is no place like my dear Seoul. From its appearance, one may wonder how the young man sees such a filthy place as beautiful, a place so serene when clearly it is not. Perhaps it’s just the effects of being so far away from one’s own homeland for so long? One can only wonder.

“Finally,” the young man says as he continues to gaze up ahead, “finally I’m home.”

“Indeed,” another man, older, says with a scowl apparent on his visage, “home indeed.”

The young man senses the latter is fuming, though he’s said nothing more than the words he has just uttered. “What’s wrong, Mr. Seo,” he asks his companion.

“You are young, boy,” the latter tells him, “naïve, that’s what you are.”

The former continues to look at his companion, who is staring at their destination as they grow closer towards it. “You’ll see how seedy this place is in time, boy. Indeed, there is no place like Seoul.”

The former grows confused at the latter’s remark for he does not know what exactly it is that he is trying to say. Of course, Seoul does not look like the ideal place to live, but he’s practically grown up there. To the young man, Seoul is home. And to him, there is no place like it. No other one – just Seoul.

When the ship finally comes to a stop at the pier, they help the other passengers disembark and unload their belongings. Once they finished, the two men walk out of the pier and enter the city.

“Mr. Seo,” the young man asks as they walk, “what you said earlier, why did you...” his voice trails off and the older one comes to a halt. When the latter stops, the former one stops as well. He listens carefully as the latter tells him a story – one which had happened long ago, fifteen years to be exact, according to him.

“There was a barber, and his wife,” the latter says, “and she was beautiful. This barber was a foolish man, a naïve one. His wife, she was so beautiful and virtuous. She loved him with all her life, accepted him for who he was, what he was. They lived happily together, with their young infant daughter. They lived harmoniously, until one day,” the latter pauses.

“One day what, Mr. Seo,” the young man reiterates.

“Until one day,” he repeats. He once again pauses to sigh and continues with his tale, “they transported him. They banished him for a crime he did not commit. Taken away from his family, he was. For there was this judge, and this judge had been fancying the barber’s wife. He wanted to be with her, and the only way he could think of doing to get closer to her was to get rid of her husband, her naïve husband.”

“And the woman, sir,” the young man asks, “did she succumb?”

The man does not give an answer but looks down at something unseen. He wears an unsure, worried expression but the young mad does not see, for they are not facing each other; the man’s back is turned at the former. “I don’t know,” the man finally answers after a period of silence. “That incident happened many years ago. I’d be surprised if anyone else even remembers it.” He turns around to face the former, his hands clasped together behind him. “I’d like to thank you, Siwon, if it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be stuck in that hellhole still, freezing to my death,” he says, referring to his previous station.

The young man gives him a small smile and acknowledges his thanks. “Will I be able to see you again, Mr. Seo,” he asks.

“Perhaps you can find me at Cheongju Drive above the pie emporium, that is, if it still exists. It suppose it still does; the last time I remember the business was doing quite well,” replies the older man.

The former holds out his hand for the other to shake. “Until then, my friend,” he says.

The latter ignores this gesture and continues to walk to his destination, leaving the young man to go his own way. The young man, though he has only known him for a short time, takes this as an approval. After all, the older one isn’t a man of many words. As the older one walks, he observes his surroundings, thinking badly of it. He thinks that the place is repulsive, that it is nothing but another hole just like Siberia. It’s still Hell, he thinks to himself, but at least I’m on a higher level now¹.

1: A reference to Dante’s Inferno. According to the poem, there are nine levels of Hell. The lower you are, the worse your punishment is. The higher you are, the more you have a chance of redeeming yourself (although I highly doubt that you’ve a chance for salvation even when you’re in the highest level of Hell; only when you’re in Purgatory, the place between Hell and Heaven, may you have a chance for salvation. I’m not exactly sure; I haven’t studied theology in a long while).