“Aigoo- Aigoo-”

I stood expressionless in a corner of the funeral hall.

My maternal grandfather, who had been battling illness for a long time, had passed away. My grieving parents, along with others, were having drinks and sharing stories about what kind of person the deceased had been in life.

Since his illness had dragged on for so long, I thought it might be fortunate that he had left peacefully.

Looking around, I saw that everyone was getting quite drunk, and the atmosphere was heating up.

On one side, people were playing Go-Stop, while on the other, they were deep in political discussions, just moments away from raising their voices.

I had never been particularly interested in alcohol, and more than anything, I wasn’t feeling any particular emotions, so I walked out into my maternal grandparents’ yard.

Their house was a traditional hanok that had preserved its old-fashioned charm.

Even when I was a child, it was the biggest house in the neighborhood, and if you went back a little further in time, our family had once lived in grandeur, befitting the descendants of a powerful household.

Of course, as time passed and generations came and went, much had been lost and forgotten, but my late grandfather would always hold my hand tightly and tell me that at least this house still carried the glory of the past.

And he would habitually say, “You must be the one to continue the honor of our family…”

That’s why, when I was accepted into one of Seoul’s top universities, he was genuinely happy as if it were his own achievement.

However, the moment he found out what department I had entered, his expression darkened.

“Min-jae, help me sort through Grandfather’s belongings.”

Just as I was catching my breath in the yard, I heard my father’s voice.

I nodded and stepped into the room my grandfather had used in life, as well as the storage room filled with old belongings.

As I was sorting through his keepsakes, something caught my eye. A black and red uniform with a feathered hat—it looked just like the military uniforms from the late Joseon era that I had seen in books.

“Huh? Why is this here?”

“Oh, that? It must have belonged to your great-grandfather.”

I actually remembered seeing it when I was a child. Though I had been very young, the uniform remained vivid in my memory—the striking red, supported by deep black fabric, and the splendid feathered hat. Though the colors had faded somewhat, it was still in good condition.

“Come to think of it, didn’t you take that out once, saying it was pretty, and get scolded by Grandfather?”

“Oh, right. Min-jae was usually quiet as a kid, but when he caused trouble, even Father was left speechless…”

My uncles chuckled as they spoke to my father.

I had, indeed, been scolded harshly by Grandfather back then—for touching things without permission. But that was the moment when I, as a child, made up my mind.

I wanted to study history.

I wanted to learn what our family—no, our ancestors—had worn and what they had experienced.

Of course, the moment I entered university, that naive expectation was completely shattered, as I found myself suffering through dreadful assignments like copying the annotations of Samguk Sagi three times over.

After enduring that hell, I graduated, was commissioned as an officer, and served in the military, eventually being discharged as a reserve first lieutenant.

And then, I made a decision I would deeply regret: I went to graduate school.

Originally, I had planned to travel the world for a year before entering graduate school, but thanks to that damn COVID pandemic, everything fell apart.

In the end, the savings I had painstakingly put aside from my military salary for traveling all went into my graduate school tuition.

I had only seen news reports about how expensive tuition was at Seoul’s prestigious private universities, but actually receiving the bill made me feel like crying blood.

It’s not that I hadn’t learned anything in graduate school, but as I approached the end of my fourth semester and faced the daunting task of writing my master’s thesis, the pressure was suffocating.

My research proposal on Joseon’s modern military history had been firmly rejected, to the point where I had to practically start from scratch with a new topic.

— “Write your proposal so it at least resembles half your face. You know, ‘proposal’ doesn’t just mean a research suggestion—it also means a marriage proposal, right? This is like proposing to your professor with your research. You need to put real effort into it, but this is just…”

Ugh, I should stop talking. If I had known it would be like this, I should have chosen the other graduate school I was accepted into. My fellow officer from my commissioning class went there and seems to have found a decent advisor, finishing his thesis quickly. I got blinded by a fancy university name and now I was suffering for it.

While lost in thought, I suddenly realized my uncles were already holding the uniform.

They were examining it curiously, paying close attention to the epaulets.

“This is a rank insignia, right?”

“Probably? But I don’t know which one.”

“Oh, that? It’s Buryeong, which would be equivalent to a lieutenant colonel in our current military. He must have held a pretty high position.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. And this must have belonged to my great-great-grandfather.”

“Huh?”

“This was worn during the Korean Empire… so about 120 years ago. Which means it belonged to my great-great-grandfather.”

“Wow, sending you to study history was worth it.”

As my uncles ruffled my hair with their dust-covered gloves, I couldn’t help but scream.

Hearing my sudden outburst, they found it amusing and tried to tease me even more, but my father shot them a sharp glare, making them stop.

“Grandfather wasn’t happy about you majoring in history. He thought you’d starve if you went into that field.”

My father spoke quietly as he continued sorting through belongings.

“But still, I like seeing you pursue the dream you’ve had since childhood. Hand me that uniform. We need to burn it along with the rest of his keepsakes.”

“Wait, this…”

Before I could say that it shouldn’t be burned, my uncles had already picked it up.

“If you burn that—”

“Grandfather probably forgot to burn it earlier.”

In the yard, Grandfather’s favorite dress shirts and wool coats were already being burned. Those must have been quite old, too.

“That’s practically a national treasure…”

At that moment, a thought struck me.

Not long ago, an imperial Korean Army dress uniform and mourning attire had been donated to the museum. And that was directly related to my research topic.

So before anyone could stop me, I threw myself into the flames after the uniform.

Not even during that hellish KCTC training had I ever thrown myself like this.

Rolling on the ground, I scraped my knee a little, but at least the uniform remained completely unscathed.

“Hey!”

“I need this for my research! This absolutely cannot be burned!”

“Are you hurt?”

“I-I’m fine.”

And so, after all that trouble, my great-great-grandfather’s uniform barely made it into my hands.

As I stared at it for a long time, I started to feel soreness all over—maybe because I had pushed myself too hard, or maybe because my muscles had tensed when I jumped. My whole body was covered in sweat and dust, but I couldn’t stop my eyelids from growing heavy.

I suddenly recalled when Grandfather had once told me about that uniform.

—The man who wore that uniform once told me, when I was just a child, that all of his sorrow was embedded in that uniform. That’s why it must not be burned, but instead kept safe until it can be given to someone who understands that sorrow.

—Eh… That sounds difficult…

—That’s why I kept it instead of burning it. My father told me to burn it, but those words stuck with me too much. So now, since you went to study history, I want you to research the owner of that uniform. I don’t know much about it myself, only that he was supposedly a uibyung—a righteous army soldier or something.

That was roughly how the conversation had gone. Why did it have to pop into my head now? Thinking about Grandfather made my eyes sting with tears—but no, let’s say it was because of the thick smoke in the air.

Anyway, since I now had the uniform in my possession, I had to think about what to do next.

The funeral procession would take place tomorrow. Should I rest over the weekend and then examine the uniform in detail? Or maybe I should discuss it with my professor and rework my research proposal? Or perhaps I should reach out to the museum curators I knew and ask them about the uniform first?

Lost in thought, I drifted off to sleep in the sarangbang, the small room I had always used whenever I visited my maternal grandparents’ house. It was my personal hideout, filled with memories of Grandfather.

For some reason, it felt as if if I fell asleep like this, I might never wake up again.

But at this moment, I didn’t really care.

In the distance, even in my drowsy state, I felt like someone was motioning to me.

---

“Ugh!”

With a startled gasp, I woke up. Cold sweat dripped down my forehead, and my back was damp as well.

I reached up to wipe the sweat from my mouth, but something felt off. The rough, unpleasant texture of facial hair spread across my upper lip and jaw—just like when I hadn’t shaved for two weeks during KCTC training.

“My beard… was it always this long?”

“Sir, how can you sleep so deeply? If you get caught, you’ll be in serious trouble.”

“The difference between when you drink and when you don’t is becoming harder to tell.”

Sir? Officer?

I had no idea what the person next to me was talking about.

I was sure I had fallen asleep at home, so what on earth was he saying?

And more importantly—he had called me military officer (gun-gwan).

I was a reserve officer, but… wasn’t gun-gwan the term used by those guys north of the DMZ? But even they wouldn’t address an officer as sir (naeu-ri)… would they?

Completely bewildered, I slowly opened my eyes, only to see a man standing there, fidgeting anxiously.

He was wearing a somewhat familiar outfit.

“Huh? Where… am I?”

“Sir?”

The man, who had an utterly dumbfounded expression, was staring at me while carrying what looked like an old-fashioned rifle over his shoulder.

At least it was clear he wasn’t from that North. His outfit and his rifle weren’t anything like theirs. In fact, they looked closer to something from over a century ago.

“Aigoo, seriously. Sir, are you feeling unwell? We’re at Gwanghwamun. Gwanghwamun.”

“Sir, given the current state of affairs, there was an order to refrain from drinking today. You didn’t sneak a drink, did you? Though, I don’t smell any alcohol on you…”

Gwanghwamun?

Were they filming a historical drama or something?

I quickly got up and looked down from the fortress wall.

Normally, this area would be bustling with buses, bright lights, and people enjoying the nightlife, but today, it was as silent as the grave. No—eerie was the right word.

This street was supposed to have the statue of King Sejong, the U.S. embassy, and citizens walking around, chatting and laughing.

Or no, since it was the weekend, maybe there would have been more protesters than regular citizens?

Regardless, this place looked nothing like the modern-day Gwanghwamun I knew from real life and the media.

Instead, it looked exactly like the Yukjo Street from historical dramas.

There wasn’t a single high-rise building in sight—just rows of structures straight out of a folk village.

“Who… who am I?”

“Sir, are you really okay…?”

The man looked at me with genuine concern, shook his head, and then spoke again.

His words were lengthy, but in summary: I was a military officer in the Chingun Jangwi-yeong (Capital Guards Command), I was currently on night duty, and most importantly, an order had come down from the commander instructing all officers to be on high alert because the Japanese army had entered Seoul.

On top of that, there was neither an outgoing nor an incoming Minister of War (byeongjo panseo) in Seoul right now, meaning there was no one to properly command the military. So, I had to be especially careful.

Wait a second—Japanese army? Jangwi-yeong?

Something very familiar was about to happen.

I urgently asked him what day it was today.

Looking at me like I had lost my mind, he replied that today was the Gabo year (Gapo-nyeon), the Byeongin day (Byeongin-il), and that it was currently Jasi (midnight to 2 AM).

The moment I heard that, I slumped back down in shock.

I knew what day this was.

Because I had once written a research paper about it.

Today was that cursed day—July 23, 1894.

The day before the Japanese military stormed Gyeongbokgung Palace.

Just my luck. Of all days, why did it have to be today?

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