Chapter 10: Like a bird passing by
Maybe I knew all along.
In this broken world, hoping for even a sliver of light is forbidden.
This cruel, merciless place would shatter and steal any trace of expectation.
I might’ve known its cruelty all along.
“—Cough, kuh!”
A red flower bloomed, eating away at the white canvas.
The child’s white clothes were soaked with blood spilling from her mouth, flowing down to stain the ground. Her torn garments revealed skin scraped raw from sliding across the pavement, and at her chest—where the blow likely struck—white fragments, likely bone, pierced through her flesh.
Her mystic white hair, now dyed red, only amplified her pitiful state.
A candle in the wind. A man on a hundred-foot pole. A step on thin ice.
No metaphor could capture her wretched condition.
Even veteran rescue team members, hardened by countless injuries and deaths, gasped and covered their mouths. The child’s state was critical.
Tap—
“—What are you doing?! She’s still alive!! Stop standing there and move!!”
“Y-Yes?! Uh, should I prepare the blood transfusion pack first?!”
“We need everything! Pull out all of it—non-narcotic, narcotic, maximum doses, everything!!”
Yes, her condition was dire.
But that meant she was still alive.
Her arms bent in unnatural directions, blood bubbles replaced breath from her mouth and nose, yet her small heart still beat.
If not for one veteran paramedic snapping orders, everyone might’ve stood frozen, watching her die.
Initially dispatched for one response team member with a penetrating wound, they were stunned by the child’s near-corpse state. But as professionals, they steeled themselves and carefully moved her to the ambulance’s emergency stretcher.
Everyone there shared a conviction: no one would die on their watch.
“Hey, you idiot! That’s not enough! Hang another one!”
“…Got it!!”
Tap, tap—
Dozens of IV bags, purposes unclear, were hung from the ambulance ceiling, their tubes draping over the child like a spiderweb. A faint protest about overdose risks was silenced by a shout—her condition left no room for hesitation.
Machines were attached to her body, and soon, beeping electronics and shouts filled the ambulance, transforming it into a battlefield.
Not a war to kill, but to save—armed with needles instead of swords, cloth instead of guns, steering wheels and machines instead of cannons.
And amidst it all—
Crack…!
“…Damn it.”
I stood, sucking on my finger, watching helplessly.
I desperately wanted to help, but the chaotic, packed ambulance meant my presence would only hinder them.
My medical knowledge was limited to using the basic first aid kits issued to Awakeners—nothing more.
I couldn’t ease her pain or soothe her wounds.
There was nothing I could do for her.
Not a single thing.
No matter how hard we try, we can’t save everyone from sudden variants.
As response team members, we’re powerless beings forced to face inevitable tragedies.
Injuries are routine; sometimes, people die before our eyes.
This was just another such tragedy.
Yes, that’s how it should be.
“…”
Tremble.
Yet the helplessness I felt—worse than fighting an Invisible—made me crave a cigarette more than ever.
Only the acrid smoke could dull the image of the child seared into my mind, calming this wretched heart.
My trembling hand rummaged through my coat pocket, but of course, no cigarettes were there. I hadn’t carried them in years.
All I grasped was cold emptiness and stiff fabric.
“…Haa.”
Nothing was going right. I let out a small sigh.
The child was rushed to the capital hospital.
The ambulance, blaring its siren, sped out of the alley, leaving Taehoon and me in silence, staring into the void.
Taehoon, my fourth-year junior, stood slack-jawed, eyes vacant.
I didn’t need a mirror to know my face looked worse.
But wallowing wouldn’t do. I had to move.
“…Let’s go. We have to go.”
I still had work to do.
Go to the hospital where the child and Sehee were, monitor their conditions, and contact their guardians.
I, of all people, had to tell those waiting somewhere that their kids had suffered.
My feet wouldn’t move, my vision blurred.
Feeling the weight of my coat, I bit my lip.
The breeze felt suffocating today.
Chapter 1. The Ditch Remains Unfilled.
Closed.
After an 849-minute surgery, the child’s life was extended.
But that news was merely the prelude to another tragedy.
Bang!!
“—Where’s that bastard branch chief?! Upstairs?! Tell me now!”
“T-Team Leader Lee Hana? Please, put the weapon down…!”
Hah.
Can’t you hear me?
“Tell me now.”
“—?!”
Clang—
At the National Security Agency’s Seoul Branch, overseeing all variant response teams, I raised my sword at a person with murderous intent for the first time.
Right after the grueling surgery that barely preserved the child’s fragile lifeline, a summons notice arrived from the Agency.
[“…Per Article 75, Paragraph 1, and Article 92, Paragraph 1 of the Military Service Act Enforcement Decree, you are hereby summoned.”]
A notice that could only be described as malicious.
Shim Cheong
Protagonist. Tried blowing blood bubbles. Surprisingly hard.
Lost consciousness from the crushing chest impact. Said it felt like a hamburger game.
The variant was already near-dead, which is why she survived.
“See those sticking out of my chest? Those are your ribs.”
“What the hell, give me back my ribs!”
Lee Hana
Key character. A fine adult craving a street cigarette.
Quit smoking for many reasons, mainly because a now-deceased colleague nagged her to.
Back then, she’d flip them off, but after their death, she abruptly stopped.
Favorite brand: Esse Bamboo. Refreshing.
“Please, just don’t die.”
Kim Taehoon
Male character. Minimal role. Because he’s male.
“Went to report the subjugation’s end. Came back to find the kid collapsed. I cried instantly.”
*