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This light novel is inspired by the beautiful landscapes and cultures of Bolivia and South Korea. However, the characters, events, and situations portrayed are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental. This content does not intend to represent or reflect the historical, social, or cultural reality of either country. The author disclaims any legal liability arising from the interpretation of these elements.
Chapter 96—Condor's Eye View.96.1 La Paz.
The La Paz sky opened up between soft clouds,
and the Illimani Mountain dominated the view from the hotel terrace.
They shared coffee andMarraqueta under the morning sun until Zayra left to organize transportation,
leaving Ryu alone, gazing at a city so different from his world.
He held the cup between his hands, letting the steam brush his face as he looked at the Illimani.
"Four more days."
He thought.
It wasn't anxiety; it was habit.
His life had always been a sequence of linked goals. In his world, a delay was a variable that had to be corrected.
Schedules didn't move; people moved to fulfill them.
Not here.
Here, time seemed to hold a different authority.
It wasn't disorder.
It was another system.
Bolivia did not obey calendars.
It obeyed the weather, paperwork, silences… and that strange "come back in a few days" which didn't mean disorganization, but custom.
A few years ago, that would have irritated him.
Not today.
Perhaps because he was beginning to understand that not everything delayed is a loss.
He wasn't failing to move forward.
He was moving forward in a different way.
In his country, he would have rescheduled meetings.
Here, he was learning to readjust himself.
And that idea, far from bothering him, challenged him.
It was something new.
But not uncomfortable.
He took a slow sip.
Perhaps adapting wasn't yielding control.
It was expanding one's margin, recognizing that not everything needs to be controlled.
He leaned his elbows on the railing something he would never do in a formal meeting.
And, for the first time since he arrived, the idea of staying a few days longer didn't feel like a setback.
It felt like an opportunity.
***
The city welcomed them as a crossroads between past and present.
In the historic center, colonial and modern buildings rose amidst the voices of vendors singing out their offers.
First stop: the Witches' Market.
Ryu stopped every three steps, curious about the colors, the amulets,
and the llama fetuses hanging as if they were sacred ornaments.
A Cholita in a red skirt offered him a spiritual cleansing with herbs, and he stepped back, confused.
Not out of fear, but out of respect for what he didn't understand.
—Is this normal?
He asked, in an analytical tone.
—Here, you find love, fortune, or protection. And yes, it works… if you believe.
Zayra replied, lowering her voice slightly.
The Moon Valley left him speechless.
He didn't look for a photo.
He sought to understand how the wind had sculpted the stone.
Zayra watched him tenderly as he touched the formations as if they were fragile.
***
In the afternoon, they rode the cable car (Teleférico).
The cabins swayed gently in the air as the city unfolded beneath their feet.
The houses were huddled on the hills like a tapestry woven with effort,
and the streets meandered between earthy and vibrant colors.
—What an interesting view.
Ryu said as he watched the cable car rise over the city.
—It's the best. Like flying over a city unique in the world.
She smiled and mentioned.
—It looks like a condor flying over this city…
Ryu added, fascinated by the sight.
He thought that, from this perspective, everything seemed more comprehensible.
Once in El Alto, the Cholets shined under the sun like glass temples extravagant, colorful, and majestic,
shaped like Transformers, Iron Man, and other movie icons.
Ryu was left wordless in front of a fuchsia construction with golden details and star-shaped windows.
—What is this?
—They are Cholets: houses and party halls. Full of identity.
She replied.
Ryu placed his hand over Zayra's and whispered
—Thank you for bringing me here.
It wasn't politeness; it was recognition.
She smiled and replied,
—Thank you for looking with your heart.
Ryu gave a slight nod.
He didn't need to explain it; he had felt it.
***
96.2 Where the Sun Touches the Soul.
The next day, the bus snaked along the highway connecting La Paz with Copacabana.
At every turn, Lake Titicaca appeared between the mountains like a mirror of the gods.
Zayra rested her head on Ryu's shoulder while the high-Andean wind caressed their faces from the open window.
—I never imagined Bolivia had something like this.
He whispered, watching the water stretch as far as the eye could see.
—No one imagines it… until they see it.
Zayra replied proudly.
***
In Copacabana, they strolled through crafts and zampoñas (panflutes).
Ryu placed a bracelet on her without a word, and she responded by covering him with a poncho amidst laughter.
On the Isla del Sol (Island of the Sun), the silence was deeper.
They ascended holding hands, and at the top, the lake shimmered under a vast sky.
—Do you know what it feels like to be here with you?
Zayra asked, touching her chest.
—Like time stands still.
Ryu caressed her cheek tenderly and then pointed to the horizon.
—I didn't know the sun could be born from the water.
He said it with a half-smile,
aware that he was describing something that didn't fit into figures or reports.
She laughed, stepped closer, and leaned her forehead against his.
—Now you know.
Before returning, they passed through Tiwanaku, that vestige of an ancestral civilization that seemed to speak through its stones.
Ryu walked through the site with genuine wonder, stopping before each carved figure.
—This place… I don't know how to explain it.
In his country, history was preserved with order. Here, it seemed to pulse.
Zayra looked at him in silence and nodded.
At the end of the day, as the sunset painted the sky in shades of orange and violet,
Ryu offered her his jacket as he saw her shiver in the wind.
She let herself be wrapped in it, drew close, and hugged him in silence,
letting the warmth of the moment speak for both.
And so, under that immense and sacred sky,
two hearts learned that love like the mountains and the deep waters can also be a homeland.
96.3—Family Dinner.
The sign for "Casa Gourmet," one of the most historic restaurants in Sopocachi,
glowed warmly amidst the evening mist.
The cold air brushed the windows while the city whispered with its slow traffic and starry sky.
Zayra entered the dining room with her arm linked to Ryu's,
wrapped in a beige poncho with indigenous embroidery and a slight flush on her cheeks from the biting wind.
The restaurant, decorated with carved wood and soft yellow lights,
smelled of fricasé, freshly baked bread, and high-altitude wine.
—Aunt! Uncle!
She exclaimed with contagious joy, stopping right by the reserved table.
—I don't know if you remember my husband, Ryu. This time I want to introduce him to you properly.
Aunt Cecilia, with round glasses and a wine-colored scarf,
stood up immediately, her eyes shining with affection.
—My dear child!
She said, squeezing her in her arms.
—Of course we remember. How could we not recognize the bride and groom from such a beautiful wedding!
—And the very formal husband.
Added Uncle Roberto with a wide smile, raising his wine glass.
Ryu studied them for just a few seconds and smiled to himself.
He evaluated dynamics, tones, and silences.
It was instinctive for him.
Aunt Cecilia had the reserved presence of La Paz.
And Uncle Roberto had the frank energy of the East (Oriente) that he already knew well.
—Welcome, guys. That night, we barely exchanged a word.
—Thank you for having us.
Ryu said, giving a slight Korean-style bow with his hands together and a shy smile.
His shoulders remained straight, but his hands were relaxed.
—Oh, don't be so formal, son!
The aunt laughed, patting his arm affectionately.
—Here, you are family.
Zayra looked at him tenderly and nodded.
Ryu allowed himself a broader smile, still a bit nervous, but grateful.
The soup arrived steaming thick, with corn, potatoes, Chuño, and meat.
The aroma filled the air with notes of mint, mild chili, and ancestral memory.
—And how do you like La Paz, Ryu?
Aunt asked while blowing on her spoon.
—Have you gotten used to the altitude yet?
Ryu settled into the carved wooden chair,
trying not to frown.
—To be honest... not entirely.
He confessed.
—Every staircase is still a small hell. But the city seems unique to me.
"And with half the oxygen I need…"
He thought as he took a spoonful of soup.
—Here, even the air is revolutionary. And that's no joke.
Uncle Roberto joked, raising an eyebrow.
—And cold.
Zayra added, covering her neck with her alpaca scarf.
—But the soul of the city warms you more than the sun.
Uncle Roberto added with a smile.
—People here are special proud, strong, and very hardworking,
Aunt Cecilia said with pride.
—Cheers to that!
They all chimed in.
Zayra went to the restroom, and the aunt and uncle continued talking with the same ease.
Ryu listened to them calmly; in this country, words flowed as part of affection.
The background music changed.
From the kitchen, a Zampoña began to play soft and enveloping.
The melody was nostalgic, as if the hills of La Paz were whispering secrets in the breeze.
Ryu tilted his head, curious.
—That song… what is it called?
—Collita.
The aunt replied with a sigh.
—Collita…
He repeated, processing.
After listening to them,
Ryu spoke up calmly.
— I had been told that in Santa Cruz, using the word 'colla' or any diminutive of it could sound offensive.
Yet here, they sing it with such affection?
Uncle Roberto let out a laugh.
—It depends on how you say it and who says it. In Santa Cruz, it can be an insult, yes.
But here, collita is a sweet whisper.
—And who wrote it?
Ryu asked.
—A smitten stranger.
Cecilia said, wiping away an imaginary tear.
—He wrote the song for his beloved Paceña. Pure poetry. It says the Illimani was her cradle… imagine that.
—That sounds very similar to Niña Camba.
Uncle Roberto said.
—Exactly!
Aunt Cecilia nodded.
—Here, love also has geography. And sometimes, songs cross more bridges than politics.
"In Korea, regional rivalries existed too. But here, identity seemed more visible, more declared,"
Ryu reflected.
—A Camba who comes to La Paz sees another country. And vice versa. That's why love between regions is almost... diplomatic.
The aunt said with wisdom.
—The songs understand it before we do.
Roberto added.
At that moment, Zayra returned from the restroom, drying her hands with a napkin.
—Did I miss something?
—We were just talking about music…
Ryu said with a contained half-smile.
She looked at him with surprise and mischief.
—And what did you learn?
—I'm still learning.
He replied, brushing his fingers against hers under the table, just barely, like a shared secret.
And for the first time, he was in no hurry to finish learning.
Under the eternal shadow of the Illimani, La Paz seemed motionless.
But cities, like people, also know how to burn from within.
And Ryu was only just beginning to discover it.