Eidolon

Warning (PG16)

This episode contains adult themes. Reader discretion recommended.

Reon led her through a series of stone-pillared hallways that opened onto a surprising wooden beam bridge, arcing over a steep part of the mountain. It connected to a traditional Japanese house, its wood painted a deep, rich color.

“Do you live over there?” Rei asked, her voice full of curiosity, “I assumed you slept in the stone shrine, like an Iron Oni spirit – living and breathing rituals.” A playful smile touched her lips, “Though that was before I discovered your past life as a model. Now you seem almost human.” Reon burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the crisp mountain air, “You’re lucky I find this newfound fearless boldness of yours hilarious. Otherwise, I would have to immediately castigate you for once again daring to venture into conceivably offensive commentary.”

Rei placed a hand over her heart in a gesture of contrition, “My apologies. I thought describing a Ceremonial Master as embodying rituals would be a compliment.” He chuckled, sending a sidelong glance her way as he glided open a sliding door at the end of the bridge, “Almost human, was that a compliment as well?” he inquired and invited her into his home with a sweep of his arm. “Yes, as in superhuman rather than mere mortal”, Rei confirmed eagerly, bolstering her good intentions, as she walked past him, entering the house.

Inside, they left their shoes at the entrance and moved across soft tatami mats. The space was a stunning fusion of old style and new technology. A state-of-the-art kitchen, all sleek beige stone countertops and modern appliances, was nestled within a traditional framework of dark wood and rice-paper dividers. Rei ran a hand over the cool stone counter, impressed. “This is incredible,” she breathed, turning to him, “Do you like—”

“I dabble in cooking,” Reon interjected, anticipating her question. He walked to a minimalist bar and retrieved a fancy bottle of soju and two small glasses, “It’s mostly out of necessity, given the lack of authentic Asian cuisine here. I’m more fond of eating than cooking.” He placed the glasses on the kitchen island and settled onto a high chair.

Rei flashed him a confident, radiant expression, “Then it’s your lucky day. I’m here to save you from cooking and fill your stomach.” She pulled the fluffy troll sweater over her head, revealing her crop top with tigers prowling underneath, and immediately began assessing the ingredients laid out for her: fresh vegetables, gochujang, trays of meat. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency, already julienning carrots and spinach for the bibimbap and japchae. She noted with approval that rice was already steaming in a high-tech cooker.

Reon watched, impressed by her seamless transition into action. He poured two glasses of clear soju. “Drink with me,” he ordered, though his tone was more an invitation. Rei looked up from her swift, precise knife work, her fingers dusted with rice flour from forming slender rice cakes. She wiped her hands on a cloth, picked up her glass, and clinked it against his. “To saving you from your kitchen,” she said, before tossing the liquor back with a practiced ease that surprised him.

He refilled her glass, “Your technique is impressive. Both with the knife and the soju.” Rei winked at him, causing Reon to pause with the glass on his lips, her cheekiness paralyzing him momentarily. “Useful skills in Chochin,” she replied, her focus returning to the sizzling pan where she was now searing the beef for the japchae. The savory aroma began to fill the modern kitchen, a stark, pleasant contrast to the ancient silence of the mountains outside, “The food in Korea… was it that good?”

“For a time, yes,” Reon said, sipping his drink, his gaze distant, “The street food in Seoul had an energy that matched the city – loud, fast, unapologetically flavorful. It suits a certain… intensity of youth. The fashion scene was similar. All angles and audacious statements.” Rei drizzled sesame oil into the bibimbap bowls, the fragrant scent mingling with the gochujang. “It sounds like a world away from this,” she mused, gesturing vaguely to the tranquil, traditional house around them, “From the silence and the stone.”

“Another life,” he conceded, his eyes following her as she arranged the brightly colored vegetables neatly on a large platter, preparing them for the eventual plating, “This shrined peace… is a different kind of intensity. But one still needs good tteokbokki.” He nodded toward the pan where the cylindrical rice cakes were simmering in a deep red, spicy sauce. Rei laughed, the sound earnest and innate. She lifted a spoon, blew on a sample of the sauce, and offered it to him, “Tell me if it’s authentic enough.”

He leaned forward, lips closing over the spoon, his eyes holding hers. The spicy, sweet, umami-rich flavor exploded on his tongue. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, the most unguarded expression she had seen on him yet. “It’s perfect,” he said, his voice low, “It tastes like memories.”

For a moment, the only sounds were the gentle simmer of food and the quiet hum of the refrigerator. In that modern kitchen nestled in a wooden house, suspended between a Korean past and a Norwegian present, they found an unexpected, comfortable ground, built on the simple, universal language of good food and a shared, unspoken understanding of living between worlds.

The soju continued to flow, a clear river smoothing the edges of their conversation. Rei moved through the kitchen with a dancer’s grace, her focus shifting between the three dishes coming to life. As she artfully arranged the final toppings for the bibimbap, a vibrant pinwheel of julienned carrots, spinach, shiitake and bean sprouts over the bed of pearly rice. “Cooking… it clears my mind,” she explained, her voice thoughtful, not looking up from her task, “There’s a rhythm to it – a beginning, a middle, an end. And I like knowing that the result is something that will bring someone pleasure. It’s a constructive way to find peace.”

Reon hummed in understanding, watching her hands work, “I feel that way about teaching the Iron Oni Fist,” he stated, “The training clears my mind, and it keeps my body comfortably healthy. But more than that, it’s about sharing an art form. Keeping it alive.” It was a surprising admission from the man who had presided over her ritual with such brutality. She moved to the next station, stirring the rich, spicy sauce for the tteokbokki, the gochujang and gochugaru sizzling in the hot pan. The air filled with a pungent, mouth-watering aroma. 

“Your life in Seoul” she started, her tone carefully casual as she stirred, “What did you like about it?” Reon hesitated, his fingers tracing the rim of his soju glass. He seemed to weigh how much of that life he was willing to exhume. “In the Oni,” he began, his voice taking on a formal, explanatory tone, “once you become a lieutenant, you are sent to another region. You stay there until you qualify as a captain. Until then, you are stuck where you’re sent.” Indirectly, he was telling her he hadn’t chosen Seoul; it had been an assignment, “I initially found it… superficial. The fashion industry added to that feeling.” He took a sip, his gaze distant, “But I learned to appreciate the city. It’s still important to me.” An almost imperceptible smile touched his lips, “Especially the food.”

Rei smiled, meeting his eyes for a brief moment, “Thank you for sharing something personal with me.” He looked at her intensely, his expression enigmatic, a flicker of something that could have been regret or perhaps gratitude for her acknowledgment. He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he leveled the playing field with a command, “Now, tell me something personal about yourself too.”

Rei’s knife, which had been swiftly prepping more vegetables for the japchae, paused for a single heartbeat before resuming its rhythm. Her brows furrowed in thought. Reon, growing impatient, fetched another bottle of soju and pushed a freshly filled glass toward her, just as she looked up. Her dark eyes shimmered with a sudden depth that caught Reon off guard, his own glass stilling halfway to his lips.

“My personal stories aren’t that entertaining or lighthearted,” she warned, her voice soft, “But… I used to like going to work with my mum. I’d help with small tasks in the different Italian or Japanese restaurants where she worked.” Her gaze drifted into the past, “Prepping vegetables and such was cool, but it was less amusing to witness the tone and culture in those kitchens. More often than not, my mother had invented and prepared delicious dishes, but she was never allowed to plate them.”

Rei’s hand shook slightly as she gathered the freshly chopped ingredients and combined them with the glossy, cooked sweet potato noodles. “The positive part of the story,” she continued, her voice gaining strength as she added a bit more sauce as well and began to mix everything together, her hands steadying with the familiar motion, “is that it never stopped her from loving cooking or working hard. My love for it, and maybe a part of my… resilience… is largely thanks to her example. She overrode concepts of pride or acknowledgment for the simple, stubborn pleasure of helping good food find its way to people.” He watched as she deftly transferred the glossy, sweet potato noodles with the beef and vegetables to a ceramic serving bowl.

Reon observed her in silence for a long moment, his sharp eyes missing nothing: the initial tremor in her hands, the reclaimed resolve, the honesty she had chosen to offer him. She had not shared a trivial anecdote, she had given him a key to understanding the very core of her strength. The vulnerability was a greater gift than any flirtation or defiance could ever be, and he received it with a quiet, newfound respect.