Heavenly Army, Doraon dorai_ By Ooahan JS

Riiiiing. Riiiiiing.

The sound—like some magical regression spell—was just my ringtone. Specifically set to make me feel like something extraordinary was happening. It was also the sound I had assigned to my mom’s number.

Maybe I’d been thinking about her too much?
We hadn’t spoken in a month after that fight, so why was she suddenly calling me now?

I answered.
“What?”

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“If you hadn’t, I was going to ask if you wanted to go eat together.”

“I just ate. I’m full.”

Click. Call ended.

Mom had swallowed her pride and extended an olive branch, but I snubbed it by claiming I’d already eaten. Reconciliation failed.

I wasn’t an easy child.
In fact, I was the kind of child who made life hard for her. A terrible daughter, no doubt about it.

Having firmly established yet again that I wasn’t one to make things easy for my mom, I threw on something vaguely presentable and got ready to head to the supermarket.

Chances were, Mom had been planning to treat me to grilled blowfish—at 20,000 won per person.
The thought made me feel a twinge of regret, but what’s done is done.

“Steamed rice and fermented seafood—simple and perfect! Who needs blowfish?”
Muttering with misplaced bravado, I marched out the door and headed to the big supermarket five minutes away.

The warm exertion of walking evaporated the moment I stepped into the store, where the icy air blasted me. Cooling down, I elegantly slung a shopping basket over my arm and set off.

The first stop? The tteokbokki section.
My eyes were instantly glued to the shelves.
The endless variety of my favorite street food left me dazed. Why does the world force us to make so many choices? It’s enough to break your heart.

If I were rich, I would’ve tossed them all into the basket without a second thought. But in my situation, I could only pick one. That one choice had to balance flavor, cost, and even my very soul.

In the end, I bypassed the instant tteokbokki entirely and picked up some rice noodles instead.
I’d been hoping for something infused with the rich aroma of Southeast Asia, but this was clearly tailored to Korean tastes.
Still, beggars can’t be choosers. With a “better-than-nothing” attitude, I tossed it into the basket.

Why is it that every time I come to the supermarket, I end up buying things I didn’t plan on?
I came here for fermented seafood, but here I was buying rice noodles.
The magic of supermarkets never ceases to amaze me.

But I wasn’t about to let it win. Not again.
…Though, let’s be honest, I couldn’t give up the noodles either.
So, this time, I let the store win.

As I headed toward the fermented seafood section, I remembered that the bathroom lightbulb had burned out.
I gracefully stepped onto the escalator to head up to the household goods section.
Even if I’m broke, I still have my pride.

From the escalator, I glanced outside.
Instead of bright sunlight, I was greeted by a gray, stormy sky—the kind that comes right before the rain.

Ugh, it’s the rainy season. No wonder everything feels even more depressing.
If only I were bursting with adrenaline, I’d laugh in the face of this gloomy weather.

The escalator delivered me to the second floor. I started walking toward the lightbulbs, but something stopped me in my tracks.

A color.
A beautiful shade of mint.

From a distance, its refreshing brightness seemed to wash over my weary heart. Mint. Pure truth in a color.

Mint chocolate latte!
For me, it was a luxury.
Why did it have to be attached to a coffee bundle as a promotional item?
If only it were just the latte on its own… But no.

Still, there’s no way I could give it up now.

But wait… What’s that over there?

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There it was, tucked away in the corner—the mint chocolate latte I’d been yearning for, shining like a treasure waiting just for me.

Without hesitation, I snatched it up and tossed it into my basket.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a light green box—green tea latte. My heart skipped a beat.
Was this a sign? A message from the universe?

Still, something about green tea latte made me pause. It seemed like the kind of taste an alien might enjoy. Was this impulsive shopping? My rational mind tried to save me.

Then, a voice in my head—the bold, reckless version of me—chimed in:
“Seriously, you boring woman. What happened to you? The same girl who gunned a scooter at full throttle her first time? The one who sat in the scariest seat on her first Viking ride? And now, you’re hesitating over a green drink? Pathetic.”

Right. My motto has always been, “You only die once.”
Why fear a second death when I’ve faced worse?
I wouldn’t let a green box defeat me!

With newfound resolve, I threw the green tea latte into my basket.
I felt like a medieval knight who’d just slain a dragon.

Pleased with myself, I looked down at my basket: rice noodles, mint chocolate latte, green tea latte. Pure satisfaction.

…Oh, right. The lightbulb.

Again, I’d let my adventurous spirit lure me into impulsive purchases while forgetting what I’d actually come for.
But no regrets—I’m the kind of person who forges ahead without looking back.

Oh, and wasn’t I out of fabric softener too?

Chiding myself for my chaotic spending habits, I strolled past the detergent aisle, deciding against buying anything heavy. Lugging it home sounded exhausting.

I finally reached the section with lightbulbs… and walked right past it.
Did I really need to buy a lightbulb at the big supermarket?
I could just grab one at the corner store. It wasn’t worth the hassle for a few hundred won in savings. Supporting the local shop owner seemed like the better choice.

So, I came back downstairs with nothing but my lattes and headed toward the fermented seafood aisle.

But then, I saw it.

My jaw dropped in shock, a reaction so instinctive that my muscles simply gave way.

“Is… is someone dead? No…”

I blinked, heart racing.

It wasn’t a corpse. It was a child.