It might have been an unreasonable request, but in the end, he was allowed access to the underground research facility. His parents had been more easily swayed than he’d expected. Although the cause wasn’t clear, Rai’s lack of aggression toward him had definitely helped sway their decision.
From that day on, his daily life began to change. He started going down to the lab with his mother and father, and spent a lot of time with the creature there.
Rai would quietly watch as he solved the cube or listen intently to his voice. Sometimes, the beast would get distracted grooming his fur with his massive front paws, but his perked ears revealed he was still focused.
“Rai.”
– …….
Rai twitched his ears, his face buried between his forelegs. His stiff, angular tail tapped the floor a couple of times. Sitting on the soft mat his parents had laid out, he opened a sketchbook he’d brought from his room and started drawing Rai’s likeness. The creature, who rarely moved unless disturbed, made for a decent model.
He had tried to draw seriously, but the finished sketch of Rai was made up of uneven, crooked lines. When he spread the paper wide and held it up against the wall like a display, Rai opened his eyes into a lazy squint.
“How is it?”
– …Keereuk-keereuk.
A sound that resembled a faint snicker escaped, just barely revealing his teeth. The beast’s voice was loud enough to carry through the wall, faint but still audible to someone outside. Conversely, with its superior hearing, the creature would hear his voice loud and clear.
As Rai closed his mouth again like nothing had happened, he began to wonder if he’d misheard.
“So that means you liked it, right?”
Since Rai hadn’t gotten angry, he chose to interpret it however he liked. He peeled the page off the sketchbook and flipped to the next one. This one was of Min Yugeon playing with building blocks—a remnant of the times they spent drawing each other for fun. Come to think of it, Min Yugeon had made a similar sound when he’d seen his drawing back then.
“He’s my friend.”
He pointed at the sketch of Min Yugeon.
“He’s the one who gave me this.”
Pulling the cube from his pants pocket, he held it up, and Rai’s shiny eyes immediately focused on it. The colorful toy seemed to grab his attention more than anything else he’d shown him so far.
“It’s hard, so I haven’t solved it all yet. I think I’m close, though.”
He slowly rotated the cube so Rai could see it—he’d solved all but one side.
– Grrr…
Lying down on his stomach across from the curled-up beast, he pressed his belly to the floor as well. Holding Rai’s gaze, he began solving the cube again.
Surprisingly, Rai would sometimes tap the wall with his paw or make a low noise, as if he wanted to give hints. Whenever that happened, he would obediently follow the beast’s suggestions.
This became a routine for a long time—until he had grown enough to be nearly eye-level with the lying-down Rai.
***
The ship’s education and employment systems weren’t particularly complicated. Children received compulsory education in on-board schools until they became adults, at which point they chose a field of interest. Typically, after graduation, they were placed into their chosen profession. However, before entering full-scale work, they had to complete a designated period of job-specific training and probation.
Of course, getting into a desired field wasn’t guaranteed. If too many people applied to the same area or if there were special disqualifying factors, candidates could be rejected. In the latter case, issues might include poor character or failure to maintain academic performance.
“What’s up during lunch?”
Min Yugeon plopped into the empty seat in front of him. He had been reviewing questions from a recent exam and looked up.
The guy who had shown promise even as a kid had, unsurprisingly, grown ridiculously tall. His baby fat was long gone, and his face showed no trace of the cuteness it once had—he was struck by how much time had passed.
It felt like just yesterday they’d met for the first time at the school entrance ceremony, marveling at each other. Now, they were already nearing graduation.
“That was the last exam, right? You submitted your application after that, too. Might as well relax until the results come out.”
Min Yugeon tapped the edge of his test paper while leaning his arm against the backrest, chatting away. His slightly damp bangs hinted that he’d probably been exercising with the others again.
“I can only relax if I stick to my routine.”
He replied shortly, then began tidying up his desk to return to it later. Min Yugeon narrowed his eyes.
“Really? That’s why you’re top of the class—ahmph!”
He shoved a candy into Min Yugeon’s mouth before he could finish. It was a signal to shut up with the nonsense, but Min Yugeon just chuckled like he found it funny.
“That’s what I mean. So stop worrying about ridiculous things.”
Min Yugeon murmured while rolling the candy in his mouth.
“You were getting all anxious, weren’t you? Thinking the lab might not accept you, just maybe…”
“…….”
He thought he’d hidden it well. But his true feelings had been seen through so easily.
That vague childhood dream of becoming a researcher like his mother and father, who both walked the path they’d chosen with joy, had solidified the moment he met Rai. Now that the long-held dream was finally within reach, it was true that all sorts of anxieties had started to surface.
He stayed silent and crinkled the candy wrapper in his hand.
“You think way too much.”
Min Yugeon poked his cheek with the tip of his finger. There was a time when he used to comfort the boy whenever he got down about the constant conflict between Min Sanghan and Lee Minha. But somewhere along the line, Min Yugeon had become the one reading his moods with uncanny precision.
Feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude, he gave him a light push.
“……You.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he finally spoke.
“Did you tell your parents you applied for engineering?”
Min Sanghan had always wanted his son Min Yugeon to become a researcher like himself. But Min Yugeon knew exactly what suited him, what kind of work he wanted to do. If he had already told his father about applying for engineering, they might’ve had a major fight.
“Mm… I only told Mom.”
Min Yugeon shrugged his broad shoulders.
“Not Dad yet. He’ll find out eventually, but if he knows too soon, he’ll just get mad earlier.”
The way he shook his head reeked of fatigue. It was like he was already sick of the confrontation that hadn’t even happened yet.
His resentment toward Min Sanghan had built up layer upon layer. Min Sanghan was still busy, and his relationship with Lee Minha was still strained. It was said that the only conversations that ever occurred between the two were arguments. Not that those really qualified as conversations.
And the same pattern played out between father and son.
Min Yugeon, who had once earnestly listened to childish advice from a younger version of him, had grown to respond to Min Sanghan with calm, logical rebuttals that could shut him down entirely. Min Sanghan, infuriated by this, always initiated the arguments. It was mostly about pushing his son to submit an application to the research lab—his wish for his child to follow in his footsteps clearly overstepped its bounds.
With all that compounding over the years, it was no surprise that Min Yugeon had come to harbor such negative emotions.
Crack—the sound of candy breaking in his mouth. He patted Min Yugeon’s shoulder, sensing the stress as he thought of his father.
“You’re gonna break it.”
“……Seo Suho.”
“Yeah?”
“If you hang out with me today, I think I’ll feel a bit better.”
Min Yugeon clung to his wrist like a whining kid, brows drooping. There was a hint of playfulness, but he meant it. As their eyes met—those deep, dark brown eyes—he nodded without protest.
Just then, the lunch break seemed to be ending. The auditorium doors swung open, and a group of students burst in. A few of them, ones who usually hung out with Min Yugeon, spotted the two of them and immediately lit up, rushing over.
“Yoo-hoo, Min Yugeon! Left us right after the match just to see Seo Suho again?”
“What were you two doing all alone in this big-ass space?”
“Spill it. Tell the truth.”
They didn’t even wait for a reply before spouting nonsense. He stared at them with a lifeless gaze.
Meanwhile, Min Yugeon—who’d just been sulking—curved his lips into a grin and gently tugged the arm he was still holding, leaning in.
Their upper bodies pressed close in an instant.
“Curious? Want me to show you?”
“Ooooooh…!”
“Woooo!”
“Show us!”
A mix of cheers and whistles rang in his ears. Their energy wasn’t just full—it was overflowing.
So noisy. A wave of exhaustion suddenly swept over him. He turned to Min Yugeon with a sigh. Their faces were close enough to almost touch. For the briefest moment, Min Yugeon flinched—as if startled by his own actions.
Even though he had pulled him in.
“Let go?”
“Yes, sir.”
Min Yugeon let go without protest.
Because of stunts like this, rumors that they were dating had been circulating at the school for a long time. Everyone had realized they weren’t true as time went on, but Min Yugeon still took every opportunity to play into the joke, just like today.
The noisy group finally scattered to their seats, and afternoon classes began.
Graduating seniors had already checked out. It was as if everyone had been hit with tranquilizer darts—the only one still alert was him, and the teacher’s eager eyes and voice aimed squarely at him were starting to feel like too much. Eventually, he got used to it, and before he knew it, the school day was over.
After that, just as promised, he took the train with Min Yugeon and headed to his place.
