“Excuse me.”
“Ah! Y-Yes!”
The startled man flinched as if pricked by his own panic, but Kim Sibaek had something else on his mind.
“Do you know how to take a selfie with a phone?”
“…Uh, what?”
Of course he did. Still dazed, the man tapped the screen, and the camera switched immediately to selfie mode.
Impressed, Kim Sibaek took a selfie. Right then, another message popped up: [Did you get on the subway?] As he fumbled with the keypad, slowly typing [I got on earlier, I’m on the way now], the phone vibrated non-stop with incoming messages.
He finally sent the reply—but didn’t know how to attach the photo. Tae Woon had only shown him how to save selfies, not send them.
“Sorry to bother you again…”
The man, who had been blankly peeking over his shoulder, flinched once more. He quickly explained how to send the photo.
Only after successfully sending it did Kim Sibaek take a breath—then noticed something felt off. He compared the message he had sent to Tae Woon’s and felt a twinge of emptiness.
“How do you send those moving pictures?”
The man’s eye twitched as he saw Tae Woon spamming absurdly cute emoticons—totally out of character for someone who seemed like he’d never even type ‘^^’. Was this for real? Tae Woon, using baby-talk emoticons?
As the man nervously swallowed and tapped into the emoticon store, another message came in:
[But hyung,]
[Judging by the subway window, I think you missed your transfer station (๑ŏ _ ŏ๑)]
Startled, Kim Sibaek checked the subway map. Sure enough, he had missed the stop. He bowed in thanks to the man who had helped him and quickly got off at the next station.
Even after Kim Sibaek vanished from sight, the man stood frozen, clutching his goosebump-covered arms, still in disbelief.
After going back to the transfer station, boarding the wrong train, and missing three more stops before realizing it, Kim Sibaek finally arrived at Daejeon Station.
From there, he bought a ticket to Gwacheon—the northernmost city in Gyeonggi Province near Seoul. Previously, there had been no direct line, but a new one had apparently been added after Daejeon became the temporary capital, to facilitate transit to the northernmost regions.
Naturally, instead of fumbling with apps or kiosks, Kim Sibaek bought his ticket at the counter. Luckily, they still had one.
“Pets must be in a carrier when boarding.”
“It’s a cherished plushie.”
He lied with complete confidence and boarded the train—then looked around in surprise. With physical tickets nearly obsolete, he had expected no one to come around with a hole punch. But there were also no staff selling lunch boxes or snacks.
“You’re supposed to eat boiled eggs on trains…!”
Only then did he realize why Tae Woon had said he would go buy boiled eggs that morning and asked him to wait. He should have waited.
Biendeoé, who had been perfectly still, pretending to be a doll, rolled her eyes.
“I will bring boiled eggs next time.”
Mumbling to a doll like it was a person, Kim Sibaek didn’t notice the pitying looks he was getting from the other passengers.
He arrived at Gwacheon Station two hours later. As he stepped into the busy square outside, Biendeoé fluttered up from his head with a flap of her wings.
[Death and Beauty commands you to hand over the phone so she can navigate.]
“No need. I’ve got this.”
Kim Sibaek glanced around, then casually pulled out his phone and made a call. He had only one contact saved.
– “You’re already in Gwacheon?”
The cheerful voice crackled through, but his reply was firm.
“Tae Woon, come out.”
– “Huh? Where? I can’t—I just got out of the shower and I’m not wearing anything. Unless… you want to see me naked…?”
“I know you’re following me.”
– …
The call cut off abruptly.
A few minutes later, a familiar car silently pulled up to the roadside in front of the station square. The window lowered, and Tae Woon—without his glasses—peeked out sheepishly.
“…How did you know?”
“You said you were working at the office, but the lighting in the selfies didn’t match the time of day.”
“…”
“The moment you started sending photos as proof, I figured you were tailing me.”
“…”
“Was I wrong?”
“…No. You’re right.”
[Death and Beauty puffs up her chest hair, declaring that no one can match her Apostle’s sharp eye.]
Tae Woon let out a long sigh and slumped over the steering wheel.
“…I even edited the photo metadata to fake the timestamps, just in case.”
Tae Woon, eyes shifting with calculated innocence, leaned partway out the car window and gently guided Kim Sibaek’s hand onto his head. Kim Sibaek flinched, his stern expression faltering at the familiar feel of Tae Woon’s smooth, soft hair. Sensing the crack in his resolve, Tae Woon moved in.
His voice rose in a pitiful whimper, fragile and trembling—like a puppy left out in the rain.
“Hyuuung… are you going to scold me?”
Reason told Kim Sibaek he shouldn’t let this go. A lie was a lie, and it deserved consequences. But instinct had already taken over. His fingers were buried in Tae Woon’s hair, absently ruffling it.
“I’ll let it slide today. But don’t do it again. Got it?”
“Yees…”
A faint, sweet smile finally bloomed on Tae Woon’s face, his earlier gloom melting away. That smile—the kind a child gives when they know they’re being doted on—was impossible to resist. Kim Sibaek’s self-justification, under the circumstances, was flawless.
Despite the detour, Tae Woon’s little rebellion at least made the rest of the journey smoother.
After Seoul and the northern regions of Gyeonggi fell to demonic forces, the South Korean government had established a defensive line along the Second Gyeongin Expressway. Kim Sibaek now stood at the farthest point a civilian could reach without a permit, staring north. Nothing was visible beyond the horizon, but somewhere out there—like the old military demarcation line between North and South Korea—was a fortified base guarding Seoul.
Being here didn’t awaken any grand emotion. But still, he had needed to see it for himself. This was the memorial park built to honor those who had fallen during the Cataclysm, especially in Seoul and throughout the country.
Hundreds of monuments stood in place of a single wall—the names were too many to inscribe on just one. Even Biendeoé, who had always opposed his decision to carry out quests on Earth, fell silent, her breath caught as she took in the sea of memorial stones.
Kim Sibaek walked slowly, passing each monument as if trying to commit every name to memory. The scent of chrysanthemums—heavy and solemn—drifted from freshly laid bouquets.
Somewhere in that endless list of victims might be people he once knew. If things had gone differently, names like Tae Woon’s or the other children from the orphanage could have ended up here too.
As he stood amidst the weight of countless extinguished lives, he grounded himself once again. Even if this world had forgotten him—even if it had thrown him away—his decision to carry out these quests had not been wrong.
“Tae Woon.”
He turned back to the younger man walking silently a few steps behind.
“I’m going to do everything I can so no more lives are lost.”
Tae Woon stared at him without a word, then lowered his head. His face remained hidden.
***
Time had buried it beneath silence, but the scent of home, the air of his past, stirred it back to the surface—an old nightmare.
“Hyung.”
It was the voice of a child.
Not the shy, affectionate voice of young Tae Woon, but a slow, clumsy tone—his younger brother’s. The one who had disappeared and died when they were young. The moment Kim Sibaek heard it, he knew he was dreaming. Knew it was that nightmare again.
He’d always rushed home after school. Never stayed to play in the yard, never waited for the shuttle to taekwondo or abacus lessons with the others. His only goal was to get home as fast as he could—where his little brother was waiting.
“Hyung.”
That slow, dragging voice. The one that had never once called out for their father or mother. It clung to him like a curse. His brother, unresponsive to anyone else, would always come to him—and cling to him alone.
Blood soaked his arms. The small body in his embrace began to tear, breaking apart into delicate fragments. As his brother’s flesh scattered into pieces, the boy’s face remained blank—expressionless. And from that expressionless face came a single question:
“Why didn’t you come looking for me?”
Kim Sibaek woke with a sharp gasp, chest heaving. The weight of the dream clung to his brain, thick and suffocating. A blinding headache followed, and he had to bite down on the groans rising from his throat.
“…I’m sorry. I should have come. I’m sorry.”
Curled into himself, he whispered his apology again and again. And just beyond the blur of his vision, a system window flickered briefly—then vanished.
