“I have a child of my own, so I understand how you feel. You’ll do anything not to let him go.”
“…Who are you?”
There was no time to be shocked at how this stranger saw right through his circumstances—a proposition came swiftly. It was an offer to trade his son’s life for the lives of others.
It was absurd. Ridiculous. Murder—something so horrific, he’d never even imagined such a thing in his entire life. Besides, how could he possibly trust someone he’d never even seen…?
As if reading his thoughts, Min Sanghan introduced himself. The man searched the Watch’s transmission code and realized the other’s words were true. The fact that Min Sanghan had contacted him directly, rather than through some indirect, roundabout method, showed just how urgent and desperate he was—perhaps as much as he himself was.
A part of him, twisted and selfish, began to waver. He found himself wondering just who it was that Min Sanghan was so desperate to eliminate. And once he verified the man’s identity, absurdly, trust began to bloom.
“Can you really save my kid?”
“When I pleaded for the continuation of life-support for a poor child who had been in the hospital for so long, the Captain wasn’t likely to refuse. She lives by the rules, yes, but she’s also a compassionate woman—at least toward those who are innocent.”
Hearing Min Sanghan claim he had direct access to the Captain—a privilege very few could claim—the man crossed a line he’d thought he’d never breach.
His heart thundered in his chest when he received information about the targets to be killed, but he didn’t turn back. His resolve remained.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
The man who had sent a kind couple from peaceful slumber into eternal rest now turned his steps toward the next target. Seo Suho wasn’t in the bedroom or the bathroom. Panic prickled—had he noticed something and escaped?
But then he recalled Seo Suho’s words about spending every day with the beast underground. He headed down to the basement lab.
Thud. Thud. Loud, thunderous noises echoed. He remembered the times when a hungry beast had gone berserk, and, oddly calm about the creature, he approached the barrier.
“Mister?”
Seo Suho stood there, facing him with the monster behind him, its glowing eyes locked on him. Suho was still in his school uniform.
Shamelessly, his hands hadn’t trembled at all when killing the couple. But now, facing Seo Suho, they began to shake violently.
Ji Chanwoo realized, to his own shock, that he cared for this boy more than he’d allowed himself to admit.
“…Suho.”
His voice, heavy with guilt, squeezed out of his throat. The desperate cry in his chest—that he couldn’t harm Seo Suho—was crushed beneath the overwhelming scream that his son lying in the hospital mattered more.
His hands trembled visibly as he aimed the gun. The distance between them was too far. Focused entirely on Suho, he didn’t notice the cracks forming in the wall.
Bang! The moment the shot rang out, the beast shattered the barrier and burst through. Ji Chanwoo had no time to react. The creature tackled him instantly, and he screamed at a level of pain his brain could not endure before losing consciousness.
When he opened his eyes, he was lying in a pool of his own blood. Far in the distance, the beast was clinging to Seo Suho, nuzzling affectionately.
That bizarre sight didn’t matter. Survival instinct kicked in first.
Even though the injury should have been fatal, the will to live pushed his body to move. He removed the Watch, knowing it had a location tracker, and tossed it to the floor. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself upright.
Seo Suho didn’t notice Ji Chanwoo’s presence—whether it was due to his injury or the beast blocking his view. But the beast was different. Its ears twitched, eyes swiveling toward him.
Ji Chanwoo froze.
If it attacked again, he was dead. Facing it even in full health had been impossible.
But, miraculously, the beast didn’t pounce. It turned its gaze away and rubbed its mane against Seo Suho instead.
As he lay there, he recalled Seo Suho’s voice from earlier, when he’d tried to stop the creature. Maybe, Ji Chanwoo thought, the beast didn’t want to be hated by Seo Suho. Or maybe it had simply lost interest in something already half-dead.
Hastily, he stripped off his military uniform and tied it around his wound. His hands and feet, cold as ice, trembled uncontrollably. The pain from the tightly bound area was sharp enough to kill, but the fear of the beast and the need to escape drove him on.
Crawling through the emergency corridor, he spotted fellow soldiers patrolling nervously nearby. Quickly ducking behind a wall, he slipped between structures, avoiding detection, and eventually managed to escape.
His destination was Min Sanghan’s lab.
Soldiers were stationed there too, but they were distracted, handling the ongoing emergency. Ji Chanwoo crept past them and slipped into the building, heading straight for the lab.
Inside, Min Sanghan flinched at the sudden door slam. Clearly, he hadn’t stayed home with his family after ordering a murder—he’d chosen the lab as his hiding place.
“Are you insane? Do you know where you are right now?”
Min Sanghan hissed under his breath. Ji Chanwoo unwrapped the makeshift bandage from his wound and threw the blood-soaked uniform to the floor. It landed with a wet splat.
Min Sanghan recoiled in horror at the sight of the through-and-through wound.
“What the hell happened to you? And why did I get an emergency alert… Don’t tell me this has something to do with what I asked you to do?”
“I held up my end. Now treat this, now.”
Ji Chanwoo’s tone was razor-sharp as he pointed at his wound.
“If I die, I’ve made sure everyone on board finds out you were the one behind this. So don’t even think about trying anything stupid.”
“…!”
Min Sanghan’s expression contorted. It was clear he now understood—Ji Chanwoo was threatening him, afraid he wouldn’t hold up his side of the bargain.
Min Sanghan, who had knowledge and skills not only related to monsters but also human medical treatment, had no choice but to secretly perform surgery on Ji Chanwoo. Ji Chanwoo recovered in a hidden shelter provided by Min Sanghan. There, he lived like the dead, quietly gathering bits of information floating around the ship.
After his disappearance, the news was that the monster had escaped and completely destroyed Seo Suho’s house, resulting in the deaths of the researcher couple. The Reconnaissance Unit had managed to rescue Seo Suho, and the monster had been successfully terminated.
Ji Chanwoo dropped to his knees on the floor, covering his face. The couple had apparently been found in such a mutilated state that no one could even determine the cause of death was a gunshot. Officially, he was recorded not as a murderer, but as a soldier who sensed signs of the monster’s escape and died entering the building to investigate.
As a dead man, there was nothing more he could do. All he could manage now was to sneak into the hospital to see his son or occasionally observe Seo Suho from a distance.
Seo Suho would search for his parents sporadically, but whenever he visited on the memorial day, he never failed to stop by the place where Ji Chanwoo’s photo was placed.
“I’ll come again.”
Every time he heard that calm farewell, Ji Chanwoo’s eyes burned red. Even as people gradually forgot about him, Seo Suho alone continued to remember him as if nothing had changed. Ji Chanwoo knew it was only possible because the truth was hidden—but even so, though he had no right to wish for it, he still found comfort in that memory and cried out of gratitude.
And the thought that always filled his head afterward remained the same.
‘What did I do to that boy?’
He believed that one day, he must reveal the truth and atone for his sins.
Ji Chanwoo circled around Seo Suho again and again. And that’s how it had come to this.
“……”
He watched the train Seo Suho was on whiz by before his eyes. One of the soldiers, likely accompanying him, seemed to have sensed something. Which meant Seo Suho, too, would probably be on guard for a while. He had even looked this way briefly after exchanging a few words with that soldier.
Suddenly, a chill crawled down the back of his neck. Ji Chanwoo pressed his cap lower and scanned the surroundings. No one else seemed to be around, but a strange sense of unease crawled up his spine. He swiftly hid behind a pillar on the opposite building.
A soldier appeared—soundless steps, stealth incarnate.
Colonel Sun Woosung.
Ji Chanwoo mouthed the name silently. As the current commander of the Reconnaissance Unit, there was no way he wouldn’t recognize him.
The man had appeared like a ghost, his eyes gleaming as he scanned the area. His face was completely different from the one he wore beside Seo Suho. Ji Chanwoo didn’t doubt for a second that if he was found, Sun Woosung would strike without hesitation. So he held his breath and suppressed every trace of his presence.
Perhaps concluding that the target had already fled, Sun Woosung eventually turned quietly and left. Ji Chanwoo didn’t move for a long time after the man was gone. Only when enough time had passed did he cautiously slip away from the area.
A sigh escaped him—disgusted with his own pitiful state. He had nearly lost his only chance to speak with Seo Suho due to an unexpected complication. With a bitter, self-deprecating look, Ji Chanwoo shuffled off in the direction of the hospital out of habit.
Seizing a brief moment when the area was deserted, Ji Chanwoo snuck into the hospital building through the ventilation ducts to check on his son—only to freeze. The entire floor with the ICU was in a state of chaos.
Medical staff were running frantically down the long corridor, and amidst the shouting, he heard a name far too familiar.
Ji Chanwoo’s heart pounded with dread.
“Still no contact with the guardian?”
“No, nothing.”
Ji Chanwoo clenched his teeth so hard it made a sound.
Min Sanghan had never once visited the hospital to see his son. Ji Chanwoo had never expected him to be a proper guardian—but at this moment, the man’s indifference was infuriating.
He wanted to rush out right now, grab a doctor, and scream that he was the boy’s guardian.
“Why is he just lying there?”
A trembling voice echoed in his ears—young Seo Suho’s voice.
Ji Chanwoo gripped the edge of the vent tightly.
“He’s very sick. They said it’s hard to fix him.”
“Suho! Suho?”
Glancing briefly at his mother calling from afar, Seo Suho returned his gaze to Ji Chanwoo.
“Is it because they can’t fix him that you’re sad?”
“…Yeah.”
“Then, if I were that kid—”
The child spoke calmly.
“I think I’d feel sorry for you, mister.”
“……”
“Because I’d be making my dad sad all the time.”
Maybe—just maybe—it was his desperate grip that had kept the boy from leaving all this time. That thought had always lingered in the back of his mind. He’d just chosen to ignore it, let it rot while he chased selfishness and greed, and committed a sin.
The ICU door opened.
Ji Chanwoo, watching through the gap in the vent, didn’t cry.
Because he knew he had no right to be sad.
It was finally time to pay for his sins.
