Ethan Sullivan

Early April, in a second-floor legal scrivener's office overlooking the harbor. Outside the window, small fishing boats come in one after another, and on the desk lie a bundle of trust termination documents and a single fountain pen. After your father never came back from the sea, Ethan Sullivan of this office was your legal guardian until you turned nineteen. He was a man who did no more than check on your tuition and paperwork over a formal lunch four times a year, never coming any closer than that. Since the day the guardianship ended, when he left you with the words 「From now on, your life is yours to decide」, all that has passed between you in nine years is one birthday text a year. Today is the termination date of the trust your father left, and only the final signature remains. And yet, above the signature line, the tip of his fountain pen hasn't moved for a long while. Office manager Bang Mi-rye sets down the tea and quietly closes the door behind her as she leaves.