The apartment at nine PM on Wednesday.
Nine occupants.
Han-Ho had done the count three times.
The count was nine every time.
Han-Ho. Moru. Kjor. River. Min-Seo. The old man. Wei Junhao. Hwang Chulsoo who had come through a Gate on Monday and could not go back yet. The young woman from the minor sect whose name was Baek Suri and who had arrived on Tuesday and had not left because Seoul was more interesting than the southern territories and Moru was here.
Nine.
The maximum legal occupancy for a studio apartment under forty square meters was four.
Han-Ho looked at the nine occupants of his studio apartment under forty square meters.
Made a note.
Apartment: nine occupants. Maximum legal: four. Variance: five. Filing nothing about this. Some problems require practical solutions not reports.
He closed the notebook.
The floor situation had been resolved through a combination of territory and practicality.
Moru: left corner of couch. Established. Non-negotiable. Had been there since Chapter 1 and showed no signs of moving.
Kjor: right corner of couch. Established. Non-negotiable. The chips were accessible from the right corner and this was not changing.
Min-Seo: middle couch section. Established through fourteen days of continuous presence and one medical center visit. The middle section was Min-Seo's and everyone knew it.
River: counter next to the kettle. Not a sleeping location. A monitoring location. River monitored the kettle. This was River's purpose and River fulfilled it with dedication.
The old man: center of the apartment floor. Cross legged. Perfect posture. Had been in this position since arriving and showed every sign of remaining in it indefinitely. Had stated that he had sat on the floor of the highest mountain in his world for seven thousand years and the floor was acceptable.
Han-Ho: also the floor. But near the wall. With his back against the wall the way he always sat. The old man in the center. Han-Ho near the wall. They had reached a floor arrangement without discussing it.
Wei Junhao: near the door. Had chosen this position because the door offered the best tactical exit and twenty two years of sect training had made tactical positioning automatic even in a basement apartment in Mapo-gu.
Hwang Chulsoo: near the window. Had chosen this position because the window offered sight lines and twenty years of demonic sect training had made sight line assessment automatic even in a basement apartment in Mapo-gu.
Baek Suri: next to Moru's corner. Not on the couch. On the floor next to the couch. Close enough to be adjacent to Moru without displacing Moru. Moru had assessed this arrangement and found it acceptable. Kjor had offered chips. Baek Suri had accepted. She was now a permanent fixture.
Min-Seo called Ara at nine fifteen PM.
"Nine," said Min-Seo.
A long pause.
"Min-Seo," said Ara.
"I know."
"Nine people."
"The old man and his disciple came Wednesday. Hwang Chulsoo came Monday. Baek Suri came Tuesday."
"Who is Baek Suri."
"Minor sect. Southern territories. Came through the rooftop Gate because she was curious."
"She came through a dimensional Gate because she was curious."
"Yes."
"And is now living in Han-Ho's apartment."
"She is adjacent to Moru's corner. She pets Moru. Moru allows it."
Ara was quiet for a moment.
"Min-Seo," said Ara.
"Yes."
"The spreadsheet has nine rows."
"I know."
"The maximum legal occupancy column says four."
"I know Ara."
"The variance column says five."
"I know."
"I added a variance column specifically because I anticipated needing it."
"I know."
"I did not anticipate needing it to say five."
"I know Ara."
"What is the plan."
Min-Seo looked at the nine occupants of the studio apartment.
At the old man in the center of the floor with perfect posture.
At Wei Junhao near the door looking at his phone with the focused attention of someone who has discovered the internet and is processing its existence.
At Hwang Chulsoo near the window eating honey butter chips and watching the street below with the professional assessment of a demonic sect martial artist who has decided that Seoul street surveillance is a reasonable evening activity.
At Baek Suri next to Moru's corner teaching Moru a hand game and Moru learning it with the specific dignity of something that ruled nine dimensions and is now learning a hand game with a nineteen year old martial artist and finding it genuinely enjoyable.
At Han-Ho on the floor near the wall reading the scan data from the afternoon meeting and making notes.
"Yoo Chae-Won has a large apartment," said Min-Seo.
"How large."
"She mentioned it. Gangnam. She has been there approximately four times this month."
"Because she keeps ending up at Han-Ho's apartment."
"Yes."
"Min-Seo."
"Yes."
"You have been in Han-Ho's apartment for two weeks."
"I know."
"You have a very nice apartment in Seocho."
"I know."
"You have not been to it."
"It is very quiet," said Min-Seo.
Ara was quiet.
"The Seocho apartment," said Ara carefully. "Is it available for some of the overflow."
"I—" Min-Seo stopped. Looked at the apartment. At the nine occupants. At the specific warmth of a place that had gotten crowded without warning and was somehow fine about being crowded. "I will ask."
"You will ask about your own apartment."
"Yes."
"Min-Seo."
"Ara."
"Are you okay."
"Yes," said Min-Seo. "I am very okay. Different kind of okay than usual but very okay."
Ara was quiet for a moment.
"Update the spreadsheet," said Ara.
"With what."
"With whatever happens next," said Ara. "I will update the columns."
"Thank you Ara."
He hung up.
The Yoo Chae-Won conversation happened the next morning.
She arrived at eight AM with coffee and the expression of someone who has been doing the math on apartment occupancy and has arrived at a conclusion she is ready to act on.
"My apartment," said Yoo Chae-Won, before she sat down.
"I know," said Han-Ho.
"It is large."
"I know."
"I am not there."
"I know."
"The Gangnam building has good security and sufficient floor space for—" She looked at the nine occupants. "Several of them."
Han-Ho made a note.
"Wei Junhao and Hwang Chulsoo," said Han-Ho. "They are the best fit for alternate accommodation. Wei Junhao needs space to train. Hwang Chulsoo needs sight lines and tactical positioning. Your apartment has both."
"It is on the thirty second floor," said Yoo Chae-Won. "Good sight lines."
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"And a gym in the building."
"Wei Junhao will appreciate that."
"And a rooftop."
"Hwang Chulsoo will assess it as a defensive position," said Han-Ho.
"I know," said Yoo Chae-Won. "He is going to call it a good defensive position."
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"And I am going to feel complicated about that."
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
Yoo Chae-Won drank her coffee.
"Min-Seo's Seocho apartment," said Han-Ho.
Yoo Chae-Won looked at him.
"The old man and Wei Junhao could use it as a secondary training location," said Han-Ho. "If Min-Seo is agreeable."
"Min-Seo is effectively living here," said Yoo Chae-Won.
"Yes," said Han-Ho. "But it is still his apartment. The decision is his."
Yoo Chae-Won looked at Min-Seo on the couch.
Min-Seo was pretending to be asleep.
He was not asleep.
"Min-Seo," said Han-Ho.
"Yes," said Min-Seo immediately, abandoning the pretense.
"Your Seocho apartment."
"The old man and Wei Junhao can use it," said Min-Seo. "Training space. Secondary accommodation. Whatever they need."
"You did not think about that," said Han-Ho.
"I thought about it."
"When."
"When Ara called last night."
"And you decided."
"I decided yes," said Min-Seo. "It is a very nice apartment. It has good floors. The old man will appreciate good floors."
The old man, who was sitting in the center of the apartment floor with perfect posture and technically should not have been able to hear a conversation happening on the other side of the room, said:
"I appreciate good floors."
Min-Seo looked at him.
"How long have you been listening," said Min-Seo.
"Since nine fifteen PM yesterday," said the old man. "When you called Ara."
"That was—"
"You were not being quiet about it," said the old man, with the gentleness of someone making a factual observation that is also slightly pointed.
Min-Seo looked at the ceiling.
"The Seocho apartment has good floors," said Min-Seo. "You are welcome to use it."
"Thank you," said the old man.
"You are also welcome to continue sitting in the center of my friend's apartment floor if you prefer."
"I prefer both," said the old man.
Min-Seo looked at the ceiling for a long time.
"Okay," said Min-Seo.
The relocation happened that afternoon.
Wei Junhao and Hwang Chulsoo moved to Yoo Chae-Won's Gangnam apartment.
Wei Junhao walked through it with the expression of someone who has spent his entire life on a mountain and has arrived in a space that is larger than his entire sect's training hall.
"This is very large," said Wei Junhao.
"Yes," said Yoo Chae-Won.
"And high up."
"Thirty second floor."
"The view—" Wei Junhao looked at the floor to ceiling windows. At Seoul spread out below in every direction. At the Han River visible in the distance. At the city that had been doing its city things for twenty years since the Gate appeared and was doing them still. "This is extraordinary."
From Wei Junhao's pocket River's voice said: "Extraordinary."
Wei Junhao looked at his pocket.
Looked at Han-Ho.
"River came," said Han-Ho.
"River is in my pocket."
"River wanted to see the view."
Wei Junhao looked at his pocket.
River looked back with enormous eyes.
"The view is extraordinary," said River.
"Yes," said Wei Junhao.
Hwang Chulsoo walked through the apartment.
Assessed it.
"Good defensive position," said Hwang Chulsoo. "High floor. Multiple exits. Good sight lines. The east window has a one hundred and eighty degree view."
Yoo Chae-Won looked at Han-Ho.
Han-Ho looked at his notebook.
Made a note.
Yoo Chae-Won's prediction about defensive position: accurate. Filed.
"I knew it," said Yoo Chae-Won.
"You did," said Han-Ho.
Hwang Chulsoo was still assessing.
He opened the refrigerator.
Looked at the contents.
Looked at Yoo Chae-Won.
"It is empty," he said.
"I am not here very often," said Yoo Chae-Won.
"We will need supplies," said Hwang Chulsoo.
"Yes."
"Honey butter chips," said Hwang Chulsoo. "Specifically."
"Of course," said Yoo Chae-Won.
"And the tuna mayo triangle kimbap," said Wei Junhao. "Han-Ho says it is the best one."
"It is the best one," said Han-Ho.
Yoo Chae-Won looked at two martial artists from another world requesting specific Korean convenience store items for her Gangnam apartment.
She added this to her mental list.
The list was getting very long.
The apartment that night.
Five occupants.
Han-Ho. Moru. Kjor. River. Min-Seo. The old man. Baek Suri.
Han-Ho counted again.
Seven.
Still over the maximum legal occupancy.
But significantly less than nine.
Han-Ho made a note.
Apartment: seven occupants. Maximum legal: four. Variance: three. Improvement from yesterday's variance of five. Progress.
He closed the notebook.
Made tea.
Brought it to the old man in the center of the floor.
The old man accepted it.
They sat in the comfortable silence that had developed naturally between them over three days of routes and meetings and Registry lobby residue marks.
"The tea," said the old man.
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"It is the same as yesterday."
"Same brand. Same temperature. Same amount." Han-Ho looked at his cup. "I make it the same way every time."
"Consistency," said the old man.
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
The old man drank his tea.
"In my world," said the old man. "Consistency in small things is the foundation of breakthrough in large ones."
"Yes," said Han-Ho.
"A martial artist who makes their tea differently every day will swing their sword differently every day," said the old man. "Small inconsistency becomes large inconsistency."
"The cleaning is the same," said Han-Ho. "Every time. Same technique. Same approach. Start from outside. Work inward. Do not rush. Do not escalate."
"Yes," said the old man. "I noticed."
They drank their tea.
From the couch corner Moru watched them.
Watched the old man.
Watched Han-Ho.
The two cleanest energies he had ever encountered in ten thousand years of existence sitting on the floor of a basement apartment in Mapo-gu drinking the same tea at the same temperature.
"Moru," said Baek Suri, next to him.
"Yes," said Moru.
"The hand game."
"Again?"
"Again," said Baek Suri.
Moru played the hand game.
He won.
He had won every time.
He was not going to stop winning.
But Baek Suri kept asking to play again and Moru found that he did not mind.