chapter 52
Smother the embers while they’re still embers; prevention is best.
It sounds exactly like a wildfire-awareness slogan.
But I understood what my senior had been trying to say. It had also been weighing on me recently.
Again — I was a puppy who had won the lottery.
Thanks to a powerful family and a loving household, I had cleared every crisis without much trouble. I thought I could keep living like that forever.
My complacent assumption was shattered by the Sa family incident.
I was quietly shocked when Grandma said she couldn’t guarantee anything.
To me, Grandma had always been a Superman who could handle anything.
A warning bell went off in my head.
Because my family was so strong, it had taken me this long to start thinking about the limits other seniors talked about.
How does one face an enemy stronger than oneself?
How does one gain strength?
“Hmm.”
I was confident I could beat someone up if I had to.
But that couldn’t be the best answer. If you knock down a villain without proof, you might be the one thrown in jail first.
So what I needed was power — influence I could wield in society.
Not some “above all” absolute. I needed the kind of clout that would let me appeal to His Majesty the Emperor like Grandma could, or at least make people listen when I spoke.
That power might take the form of authority, fame, or money — things an eight-year-old like me couldn’t grasp immediately.
Second.
There was another point my senior had raised and the thing that worried me most about the Sa family incident.
“It feels off,” I said.
It was the Haetae’s trait that it grows only by catching villains.
I hadn’t realized it before.
But thinking it through, there were more than a few problems.
First, the existence of a villain means someone has already been harmed. For a Haetae to grow to adulthood it has to capture many villains.
That meant multiple victims had to exist for us to grow.
Is that really right — is that truly the Haetae’s rightful way of growing, the symbol of justice as everyone claimed?
Could that be justified?
Once the question took root, reading the writings Haetae left behind made it sharpen and spin through my mind.
“Whew.”
My head started to ache again.
In the middle of this unexpected self-examination, I turned into a dog and rolled around.
When I became a beast-person it felt like thinking got simpler, so I often used it when my head was tangled.
“Oh my, Miss — there you are.”
“Woof?”
“I came to thank you for the shaved ice. It was delicious. Thank you.”
“Arf!”
Slowly, people began to come.
“Our pretty Hyeon. I’d heard you were studying magic, but I didn’t expect you to make something so tasty and marvelous. You’re clever and talented. You must’ve worked hard making it with those little paws.”
“It was sweet and refreshing. Not even midsummer, but it really energized me.”
From workers to elderly relatives — people who had tasted the ice cream Baek Juseon and I shared were coming to say thanks.
Hearing praise, my drooping ears pricked up and my mouth stretched into a grin.
My tail had been wagging eagerly for a while.
“You’re so good, so good.”
“Grow up strong and healthy.”
The adults pet me in turn; kids my age drifted over and asked if I’d give them some next time.
My cousin uncles tossed me in the air and caught me, rolling me about until my fur was a mess like dandelion fluff.
“Huff, huff.”
But I felt noticeably better.
Maybe I’d obsessed over the one problem too much.
There were so many people around who cared and worried about me; I couldn’t stay like that forever.
So what did I do?
“Help!”
I asked my family for help.
I was an eight-year-old puppy. It wasn’t odd to ask the grown-ups for help.
It was busy season on the farm, yet the adults agreed to help. More precisely, they added my issue to their meeting agenda.
Present were Grandma, Uncle, Father, and me.
Aunt and Mom were out on an inspection. Since the Rose Village incident, direct family often went on rounds, and it worked surprisingly well — suspicious people kept themselves in check, and on-site problems were resolved quickly.
This time they had gone out because it was planting season, checking whether heavy rains had softened the ground.
Normally I’d have tagged along, sniffing for foul smells, but I’d been too busy with the Haetae books to go.
“Was there such a thing in the Dongbaek (Camellia) volume?” Father asked after the adults’ main business was done. I explained what I had read, and Grandma and the others fell into thoughtful silence.
“Something’s odd,” began Uncle.
“It makes sense that Haetae appeared because villains exist. Haetae didn’t create villains. Is there reason to feel guilty?”
“I agree on that point. But, brother — what if there were no villains?”
“Do we wait until they appear because Haetae won’t grow without them?”
“That seems to be the implication.”
“Then, if there are none nearby, we’ll go where villains are.”
“Look at our daughter. She’s too young. If she can’t catch villains, how could she go off and find them as a child?”
Uncle and Father volleyed opinions quickly.
“Besides, Haetae are supposed to be righteous and good. It pains Hyeon that she can only grow in situations where someone suffers.”
“That’s it!” I cried.
Father put my fuzzy cheek between his hands and pressed, making my lips pout like a fish.
“That’s exactly what I mean,” I said, relieved as Father put into words the emotion I couldn’t explain clearly. “If I can only grow by catching villains, that means victims must exist. That terrifies me. I don’t want anyone to be hurt. I wouldn’t mind not growing if it meant no one would suffer.”
Father looked like he wanted to hug me, but Uncle’s hand beat him to it — a large hand settled over my crown.
“Soft and gentle, aren’t you.”
Warmth and a chuckle spread.
“But villains will exist even without Haetae.”
Uncle’s words hit the core as he tried to comfort me.
Right, Uncle. In previous lives there were no Haetae, yet villains were so many prisons overflowed.
Father squeezed my cheeks once more and said, “Remember, villains don’t come because of Haetae. You’re saving people who were harmed, too.”
I understood that Father was praising my kind heart, but he kept emphasizing to not invert cause and effect. I stuck out my lip and answered.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Proud, Father hugged me tightly.
“So,” Grandma finally spoke, having listened quietly.
“What does our granddaughter want to do?”
I swallowed dryly.
From here I had to speak well. I climbed down from Father’s arms and straightened my posture.
“In the Haetae records it said: ‘Put out the ember while it’s still an ember; prevention is the best.’”
It wasn’t a note left merely to prick consciences.
I thought and thought.
“This means not waiting for a villain to appear, but preventing someone from becoming a villain in the first place, doesn’t it?”
Then this idea came to me.
“The nastier the villain, the more I grow. Petty criminals make me grow only a bit or hardly at all. If we cut off the villain’s sprout early, or stop it before it can grow, I’ll gain very little strength.”
I wondered if my senior had been giving me a hint.
“But what if I could prevent even more wrongdoing?”
We wouldn’t have to wait for victims to exist. Even if it took longer, I could grow in ways that didn’t make anyone cry or get hurt.
Of course, that would require money and power.
Only a trust-fund pup could attempt it.
And that trust-fund pup was me.
“Please help me.”
I had a good family and adults who could help. It felt odd to wield power that wasn’t truly mine, but if it stopped people from getting hurt—
“I want to create crime-prevention policies that nip villainy in the bud!”
I would not hesitate to use that power.
Having made up my mind, I looked at Grandma.
“Huh.”
She wore an enigmatic expression, like the black dog painted on a folding screen — a crooked smile and keen eyes.
“Look at you.”
Yet the feeling within it was clearly favorable.
“Only eight and you talk about policies? You’ve braver spirit than this old woman.”
I couldn’t hide my nervousness and gazed up at her earnestly.
“It must be well-made. If not, this old woman won’t lift a finger.”
“Grandma…!”
It was essentially permission. I immediately turned into a dog and leapt into Grandma’s lap.
“Oh, my granddaughter.”
“Arf arf! Woof woof!”
Grandma rolled me on her lap, delighted. Father looked embarrassed and asked, “Isn’t this too much pressure?”
“We’ll listen and then decide,” she replied.
“And if it seems acceptable?”
“Such a ridiculous question.”
Grandma’s gentle hand tickled my soft belly. I twisted about in ticklish delight, and her cool, silken laugh settled over us.
“If it’s a policy that saves people, and by extension the country, then as a subject of this realm we should certainly support it.”
Rightness.
It had been the topic that had troubled me the most.
But after a life of building values, Grandma seemed able to see the essence and shape of rightness clearly.
And, strangely, it began to become clear to me too.
Following Grandma’s conviction as a guide, what unfolded before me was clearly visible — the straight path.
The righteous way.
