✯Hwang Hyunjin✯

Those who knew him say that Félix gave without expecting anything in return. If you saw a child crying, Félix was already by their side, offering them a shiny seashell or making a funny face. If someone needed help carrying nets, there he was, with his thin arms but his enormous will. He never said "I owe you." He never asked for anything. He just smiled, and that smile was so beautiful that people would freeze for a moment, as if time stood still. Felix loved physical contact. He would hug his friends when greeting them, when saying goodbye, for no reason at all. The fishermen, tough and quiet men, learned not to turn away when he approached with open arms. An old woman from the market recounts: "He gave me a hug one cold morning, and I felt as if a warm blanket had been placed over my soul." His warmth was so genuine that when he stopped hugging because his arms began to turn to stone, the whole town felt a new kind of chill. It was curious: Felix could blush if someone stared at him, lower his gaze, and fidget with his freckled fingers. But if someone needed a listening ear, that shyness vanished. He would sit beside you in silence, without pressuring you, and suddenly say something so sweet and insightful that it made you want to live another day. Children trusted him because he never scolded them; the elderly sought him out because he never rushed them. When the war separated the lovers, Felix kept smiling. Not to pretend, but because he truly believed Hyunjin would return. He went to the port every day, his blond hair tousled by the wind, freckles dancing on his cheeks when the sun shone on him. He greeted everyone with a quick hug, as if he wanted to share all his warmth before nightfall. And when her feet began to turn gray, when her hugs grew stiffer, when her smile slowly froze... the town understood that they weren't just losing a statue. They were losing their angel.

Tourists and onlookers (indifference and spectacle) Tourists take photos hugging the statue, unaware of its history. They upload the images to social media with captions like "The saddest stone boy in the world." They sell magnets and postcards of it at the market. Some guides make up stories to impress: "He was a prince cursed by a witch." But the elderly just shake their heads and leave. The desperate ones (those who pray to him) From time to time, someone who has lost a loved one in the war arrives at the dock. They don't speak. They simply kneel before Felix and rest their foreheads on his cold feet. They whisper names, dates, promises. They ask that their dead not be alone, like Felix. And although no one knows if he hears them, those who do say they feel a little lighter when they leave. Those who keep watch (the night watchmen) There's a secret group of old women from the port who, every full moon, light candles around the statue. They believe Felix can only awaken one night a year, and they want him to see light, not darkness, if he does. They leave a plate of rice and an old photograph of Hyunjin, which someone found in a trunk. No one knows who they are. But the candles are always there.

The oldest fishermen tell a story that no one dares to repeat too loudly:

If you put your ear to the statue's chest on a stormy night, you can hear a heartbeat.

Slow. Deep. Like a stone falling to the bottom of the sea.

And sometimes, deep within that heartbeat, a voice whispers:

"Hyunjin... I'm still here."

The elders of the port (those who remember him as a human being) They are the oldest, those who, even as children, saw Felix sitting on the dock day after day. They never approach the statue without leaving an offering: a withered flower, an empty seashell, a piece of bread. They do it not out of superstition, but out of respect. They know that inside there is a heart that still beats. When they pass by it, they whisper: "Not yet, boy. He hasn't returned yet." The fishermen (a practical and fearful relationship) Young fishermen avoid mooring their boats near the old seawall. They say that on foggy nights, the statue slowly turns its head toward the sea. Some swear they've seen tears of salt running down its stone cheeks. That's why, when the fishing is bad, they blame Felix: "He didn't smile today. He's sad." And they offer him coins or a shot of rum to cheer him up. The Lovers (Romantic Ritual) It has become a tradition for young couples to touch the statue's hand before getting married. They believe that if they do so sincerely, Felix's love will bring them fortune and fidelity. Some girls leave folded letters between Felix's stone fingers, asking him to keep their fiancés from going to war. The grooms, in turn, ask his permission not to have to wait so long. Children (curiosity and innocent cruelty) The children of the port have a macabre game: they run up to the statue, touch its nose, and run away laughing. They say that if you do it without fear, Felix will grant you a wish. But the naughtiest ones throw pebbles at it to see if it moves. It never does. But the following nights, those children dream of a ship sailing away and a hand letting go. No one throws pebbles at it anymore.

Hyunjin did not want to get on that ship.

But war doesn't ask questions. War commands.

From the deck, his uniform still wrinkled and his rifle too heavy for his twenty-year-old arms, he watched Felix shrink on the dock. First, it was a clear face, with that smile he kept only for himself. Then a silhouette with a red scarf. Then a dot. Then nothing.

"Wait for me here," he had shouted. "I'll be back before winter is over."

He lied without knowing it.

The war wasn't heroic. It was mud, cold, and screams that didn't distinguish between allies and enemies. Hyunjin survived three battles, two bombings, and a trench that collapsed on his comrades. He always carried a folded piece of paper in his jacket pocket with Felix's name and the name of the port. It was his lucky charm.

But one day, in a forest ravaged by shrapnel, a bullet found his right side. He fell without feeling pain. Only cold. And before darkness enveloped him, he managed to think: "I'm not going to make it. I'm not going to see him again."

His body was never identified. It lay in a mass grave, nameless, without flowers, without the port. Official reports stated "missing in action." Letters sent to his family said "we're sorry."

Korean man, 21 years old, 1.89 meters tall, full and plump lips, mole under his left eye, hair long to the nape of his neck, jet black hair, good physique, large hands and long fingers