Beep. Beep. The alarm for work blared. He needed to get up… but his body felt like it weighed a ton. The muscle aches that had started even before visiting his parents yesterday seemed to be giving way now to the full-blown aftereffects of the demonstration.
“Seo Suho. Time to get up.”
When he kept ignoring the alarm, someone stirred by the bed. A familiar hand brushed across his forehead.
He grabbed the wrist and pulled the person into his arms. And just like that, he drifted off to sleep again. A breathy chuckle echoed faintly in the distance.
“You’re hopeless.”
The alarm abruptly stopped. Min Yugeon wrapped him up tightly in the blanket and lifted him like a statue. Still wrapped like that, they left the bedroom and headed to the living room.
“Wake up a bit here.”
Min Yugeon set him down in front of the window where the curtains had been drawn open. Then he disappeared—likely into the kitchen.
Still curled up in the blanket like a ball, he blinked his eyes open. The sudden brightness and the hard floor pressing against the back of his head helped snap him out of his drowsiness. Letting out a faint groan, he lifted his upper body.
The scenery outside filled his vision—well-kept residential areas, people out jogging. Life aboard the ship was always peaceful.
He sluggishly slipped out of the blanket.
“Wow, finally awake.”
At the exaggerated tone, he turned his head. Min Yugeon stood there, wearing an apron far too cute for his broad frame.
“Come on. Let’s eat.”
“…Okay.”
He staggered to his feet and followed Min Yugeon. A simple breakfast had been laid out on the table.
“Thanks for waking me up.”
Sitting down, he expressed his gratitude. Min Yugeon, seated across from him, squared his shoulders.
“Of course. You’d have been late without me.”
“Yeah.”
“But seriously, just like yesterday, you keep thanking me.”
Min Yugeon narrowed his eyes.
“What’s with you lately? Why the sudden sentimentality?”
“Because I’m genuinely thankful.”
He asked such a strange question. Embarrassed, Seo Suho stuffed food into his mouth, silently signaling that the conversation was over.
But Min Yugeon kept chatting away effortlessly.
“Instead of just saying thanks, tell me when you’re sick, when you’re upset—say something. Honestly, it kind of hurts. You’ve always been like that, but after you joined the research lab, it’s like you talk about yourself even less.”
He froze at the muttered complaint. …So he had felt hurt.
“Every time my mom asks how you’re doing and I just say you’re the same as always, she gets this teary look and starts nagging me to take good care of you. You’re exactly the type who looks like someone needs to cling to you and fuss over you a bit.”
Someone like… him?
Grinning, Min Yugeon added that last part playfully.
Letting out a quiet, helpless laugh, Seo Suho fell silent, thinking of Lee Minha.
If what Min Yugeon said was true, Lee Minha worried a lot about him and was curious about how he was doing. But ironically, ever since his parents had passed away, he hadn’t seen Lee Minha even once. Every time he managed to get a grip on himself and visited Min Yugeon’s home, she was conveniently not there. And whenever he tried contacting her directly, she never picked up. From that alone, he became certain—Lee Minha was actively avoiding a situation where she had to see him.
Whatever the reason, if he had done something so wrong that she felt the need to cut off contact, then he couldn’t let himself burden her any further. So he stopped reaching out and stopped visiting Min Yugeon’s place altogether.
Unaware that Lee Minha had been ignoring his calls, Min Yugeon remained completely oblivious. He continued to visit his family regularly and would share little updates about her.
Of course, he never once mentioned Min Sanghan.
“Thanks for the meal.”
“You working this morning too?”
“Yeah. On-call shift is the day after tomorrow.”
After clearing the table, they both finished getting ready for work. Since they had to leave at roughly the same time, they stepped out together and then went their separate ways. Min Yugeon walked to his workplace, but Seo Suho needed to take the train.
Inside the ship, the train that circulated internally was the only form of transportation aside from walking.
From speakers installed along the roadsides, the sound of birds chirping cheerfully played. Most of the busy passersby, like him, came to a stop at the platform.
Once the train arrived—right on time—everyone boarded and settled into their seats in comfort.
The research lab was located in the most secluded part of the ship. Even after getting off the train, it was quite a walk.
“Good morning.”
“Morning.”
As he entered the restricted zone, a thorough identity verification process commenced.
He exchanged familiar greetings with the well-known soldiers and passed through the lab entrance.
A clean, spacious shared lobby stretched out before him. The research lab was divided into Building A, where the main studies were conducted, and Building B, which handled special projects. He was heading toward Building B when he ran into two people in lab coats.
It was his team members, Lee Seo-rim and Seol Young-jun.
“Team Leader! You’re here!”
“Ah, yawn… Good morning.”
Unlike the cheerful greeting from Lee Seo-rim, Seol Young-jun looked absolutely exhausted. Seo Suho glanced at him and nodded a silent greeting. Why was he so sluggish? Did something happen?
“Looks like everyone’s in early today.”
“Well, we’re still newbies. Gotta show up fast, right?”
Lee Seo-rim replied with energetic enthusiasm. Seol Young-jun nodded along weakly.
Just as she said, it hadn’t been long since they’d joined the team. Up until that point, Seo Suho hadn’t really been “Team Leader” material.
The project he was in charge of had been entirely under his sole jurisdiction.
Several years ago, he had revived his parents’ Military Beast Project and designated S8A152—an entity given the highest classification in the lab—as the subject of application. Since no other researchers besides himself could approach the creature without triggering aggression, there was little need for additional personnel. Collaborating with others who had more general responsibilities, like the facilities team lead, was enough to keep research moving smoothly.
But once Lee Seo-rim and Seol Young-jun had arrived—sent to him via the lab director not long after they joined—he ended up forming a team. The two wide-eyed newcomers had declared from the start that they’d chosen to become researchers specifically because they’d heard of the Military Beast Project. There was no way he could turn them down.
There had been other applicants before, of course, but most were experienced researchers whose intentions were obviously different from Seo-rim and Young-jun’s. He had politely rejected those, as their motives were transparent. They weren’t interested in the project so much as they were hoping to transfer out of the grueling work in Building A for something that looked relatively lax in Building B.
…Some even outright said they were hoping to slack off a little.
To be fair, the workload in Building A was intense. That part of the lab was upholding the research center’s original mission—studying monsters to develop better methods of confrontation.
One of their most significant achievements was the development of tranquilizers. These tranquilizers weren’t just a breakthrough in the research field; they were also vital to the Reconnaissance Unit. That unit, tasked with leaving the ship for set periods to explore and evaluate reclaimable areas on land, often encountered monsters in the line of duty. The strike team that killed Rai had also belonged to the Recon Unit. Their standard operation involved using tranquilizer darts to buy time before attacking or capturing monsters.
However, the ingredients for the tranquilizer were notoriously difficult to cultivate onboard. And the stronger the monster’s classification, the greater the amount of tranquilizer needed—meaning it couldn’t be mass-produced without limits.
In addition to that, Building A’s researchers were responsible for developing chemically-based attack methods, effectively playing a key role in enhancing not just the military’s, but the entire ship’s, chances of survival.
Even though it was still morning, the researchers from Building A already looked like zombies as they wandered around. Seo Suho turned his attention back to his own team.
“You don’t have to come in this early.”
He spoke briefly while glancing at Seol Young-jun. Just how early did he arrive to look that worn out? Lee Seo-rim seemed fine, though.
Sensing his gaze, Seol Young-jun blinked.
“Did you want to talk to me about something?”
“You look really tired.”
“…Ah.”
Seol Young-jun fell silent and watched him warily. He seemed unsure how to respond, as if the question had caught him off guard.
“It’s just… I couldn’t sleep well.”
After a moment of hesitation, Seol Young-jun finally replied. Lee Seo-rim nodded beside him and added,
“He says he’s been having nightmares about getting eaten alive by S8A152. Two nights in a row, since the demonstration.”
“Hey! You—”
Seol Young-jun shot her a resentful look, as if to say, Why the hell would you tell him that? Lee Seo-rim silently mouthed “What?” in exaggerated innocence. The two had been friends even before joining the lab, so they were unusually comfortable with each other.
“Still, it’s kind of hilarious. The one who went into the cage was the Team Leader, so why are you the one having those dreams?”
Lee Seo-rim clicked her tongue, and Seol Young-jun glared at her with tired eyes.
“I can’t help it if it keeps popping into my head.”
“Then just don’t think about S8A152 when you’re at home.”
“Trying not to think about something is still thinking about it.”
“…”
He wasn’t wrong.
