Chapter Text
Kim Soleum pushed the untouched food around his plate with the chopsticks, the golden lacquered wood catching the warm light of the chandelier above. He hadn’t touched a bite of it. Not the grilled sea bream glazed with citrus, not the hand-rolled rice cakes shaped like stars and not even the seasonal fruit carved into delicate floral arrangements.
The room was too quiet.
It was never this quiet with the cult around. He could see the cult leader quietly observing from the corner of his eye.
“Is something bothering you, Ireum?” a hint of concern flashed through in the cult leader’s amber eyes.
Kim Soleum finally set the chopsticks down with a soft clink and looked up. “I want to go home.”
The words hung in the air like incense smoke. Fragile and lingering. The cult leader, seated just across from him as always, flinched—barely, but enough. Then, with calm, practiced grace, he folded his hands over his lap.
“You are home, Ireum.”
Kim blinked slowly. He wasn’t surprised. He had heard variations of this line before.
“This isn’t home,” he said flatly.
The leader’s expression softened, as if dealing with a child who didn’t yet understand a complicated truth. “This is where you belong. Where you are revered. Safe. Whole.”
“That’s not what home means to me.”
The silence deepened. And then, like clockwork, the door opened. A pair of robed attendants stepped in, holding silver trays. “We brought more of your favorite snacks,” one said gently. “The sweet potato tarts you liked last week. We also added the grape jelly you complimented.”
Behind them, others arrived. One carrying a tablet with a preloaded queue of films and books, another wheeling in a karaoke machine, and another holding a fluffy blanket, warm from the hearth.
“It’s the rainy season playlist,” said one, bowing. “We remembered you liked soft piano music when the weather is gloomy.”
Kim Soleum stared at them. All of them.
Eyes wide, adoring. Desperate to please. Treating his moment of discontent like a crack in the heavens they had to patch with desserts and distractions. He let out a breath, slow and tired. “You’re all missing the point.”
A younger cultist hesitated, then asked, “Is... the music not to your liking?”
“No, it’s not the music,” Kim Soleum said, standing from his seat. “It’s everything.”
They looked at him, confused. Worried. Not understanding.
He rubbed the back of his neck, tension flaring up again. “I’m not a god. I’m not Ireum. I’m Kim Soleum. I lived in a cramped apartment with bad plumbing. I had a job I hated. A bed that creaked. And I still—still—want to go back to that life.”
The leader stood slowly. “But your former world doesn’t deserve you. Daydream Inc used you. Your very body couldn’t survive there. Here, we honor you. Keep you safe. Let you be.”
“I don’t want to be worshipped,” Kim said, voice sharpening. “I want to be me again.”
The cult leader stepped forward, placing a hand over his heart with solemn reverence. “And we will wait for the day you come to see that you are more than Kim Soleum. You are Ireum, and this—” he gestured gently to the ornate hall, the anxious acolytes, the feast untouched “—is your rightful place.”
Kim Soleum stared at them all. They meant well. He knew that. They weren’t cruel. They weren’t like Daydream Inc. They weren’t like the Disaster Management Agency. But this–this wasn't kindness. Not really.
It was a golden cage, soft and suffocating.
Still, he sat back down, slowly, tiredly. He took a bite of the grape jelly, ignoring the relieved smiles it drew.
It was sweet.
Too sweet that it hurted.