The currency that existed under the pretext of encouraging the residents living on the ship to stay productive and to prevent idleness held relatively high value. Residents paid weekly survival fees using the payment function embedded in their watches, working to earn and accumulate money in order to maintain their livelihood—buying daily necessities, dining out, and so on.
—Payment completed. Enjoy your meal!
After work, I came to a restaurant with Sun Woosung. When I held my watch up to the robot’s forehead, a cheerful mechanical voice rang out. The robot, bowing politely, turned around and rolled away smoothly on its wheels.
Sitting across from me, Sun Woosung stared at the table the robot had set. His expression seemed to say he couldn’t understand why I was buying this meal.
“It’s late, but I wanted to say thank you.”
Rather than sitting through an awkward and uncomfortable meal, it seemed better to just tell him the reason. I opened my mouth. Sun Woosung looked up and met my gaze.
“Thanks… You mean to me?”
“Yes.”
I bowed my head respectfully.
“I heard it was you, Colonel Sun Woosung, who found my mother and father five years ago.”
“……!”
“Thanks to you, I was able to be with them. I sincerely appreciate it.”
Sun Woosung froze for a moment, then furrowed his brows slowly, muttering something under his breath. It looked like he mouthed the word sergeant. He must have instantly figured out who had told me that recently.
Before long, his expression softened, and he looked directly into my eyes.
“I was only doing what needed to be done.”
“But that wasn’t supposed to be your responsibility, was it?”
He fell silent, as if confirming my suspicion.
Maybe he had felt sympathy for me after seeing the wreck I had become back then. But what mattered wasn’t the reason—it was the result. Sun Woosung’s help had allowed me to face reality and say goodbye to my parents.
I met his silent gaze squarely.
“……”
“……”
…Was he feeling embarrassed?
His face was gradually turning red. His pale complexion made it easy to see when he got flushed. With his sharp features, it could even be mistaken for high blood pressure from anger.
Because he remained quiet, I felt as though I should be quiet too. As silence settled over the table, my eyes caught the sight of food slowly cooling. I decided to offer him something to do.
“Please eat.”
“…All right.”
It wasn’t easy for either of us, personality-wise, to make small talk over a meal. After eating quietly in the still atmosphere, we left the restaurant together.
Even as we walked toward the train station, Sun Woosung didn’t say a word. Back in the observation room, he’d actually spoken more than this…
“Thank you for the meal.”
Almost as if he had read my thoughts, Sun Woosung suddenly spoke. I adjusted my grip on the bag in my hand and responded with a nod.
“Do you eat out often?”
“Sometimes I go with the team members.”
It sounded like he usually went out for meals in more group-oriented settings than personal ones.
“I’ve been to the place we went today several times. The food suits my taste.”
“Ah.”
I’d initially thought about making a reservation at the restaurant where I’d eaten with Yeo Wonjin, since I had a good memory of that place. But it was closed today, so we had to pick a different spot. It was a relief that the restaurant I had chosen at the last minute was one he already frequented.
When I looked at him with a faint smile, Sun Woosung, who had been meeting my gaze, turned his head slightly.
We were just starting to see the platform in the distance when he suddenly stopped and turned around.
I stopped with him and looked in the same direction he was facing.
“Colonel?”
“……”
His black eyes stayed fixed on something, not moving as though observing something intently. Then, after a moment, he shifted his gaze to me.
“Has anyone ever… followed you before, Mr. Seo Suho?”
The question came out of nowhere.
When I didn’t answer right away, confused, he added:
“Or seemed like they were following you.”
Asking something like that after watching the surroundings carefully—it sounded like he thought someone was tailing us.
…A disturbing memory flickered through my mind.
A small, almost insignificant recollection: the door to my lab had been open.
“No.”
But I hadn’t seen anyone at the time, and it was entirely possible the door had simply been left open from the beginning. I thought I’d seen my team members close it, but maybe I’d been mistaken.
“No one’s ever done that.”
“…I see.”
“Do you think someone’s following us?”
“It might have just been my imagination.”
He nodded slightly forward, as if suggesting we continue walking. As I started walking again, I glanced over my shoulder. The area that had caught Sun Woosung’s attention earlier was now completely empty.
On a ship where most spaces were well-lit, it wasn’t easy to tail someone without being noticed. The risk of being discovered was simply too high. Even if one acted like a casual passerby, it was possible to draw suspicion.
If someone was taking that kind of risk to follow me… it likely meant they harbored strong ill will and had some harmful intention. Even though Sun Woosung had brushed it off as a potential misperception, I couldn’t help but consider the possibility. If I was right, anyone near me could be put in danger.
The ship’s security was near perfect. Criminals, depending on the severity of their crimes, faced harsh punishment. There were even cases where the ultimate penalty—exile beyond the outer walls—had been enforced. Because of that, residents made strong efforts to live ethically. But not everyone could be the same. There were always going to be criminals.
I made up my mind: if I ever spotted someone suspicious, I would subdue them immediately and report them to the Security Force without hesitation.
I turned my gaze to Sun Woosung, who was walking silently by my side.
He was walking just a little closer than before.
***
The man stood hidden behind a building with its door shut, eyes fixed on Seo Suho’s back. To say he’d grown up didn’t quite fit—it was a child he had watched over until adulthood. Now already in his mid-twenties, dressed neatly, the sight made the man’s eyes burn with tears.
‘Wow. Even without his parents, Suho’s turned out well.’
“I can stay alone.”
“Huh? Then should I not come inside?”
“…You said you’d take care of me. Please come in.”
It felt like just yesterday that those tiny hands had opened the front door for him.
That oddly mature, seemingly indifferent yet always attentive nature Suho had shown even as a child—it hadn’t changed. Watching him care for his team members at the lab brought a proud smile to the man’s face, even as he observed from afar. That warm feeling was enough to make him believe he might finally be able to stand in front of Suho again.
But when he gripped the lab’s doorknob to meet the now-grown Seo Suho, who was finally alone… all that courage withered to nothing. There was something he had to say—something he absolutely needed to tell him. But could he? How much hatred would crash down on him? And more than anything… how deeply would Suho, who had only just begun to escape the despair of losing his family, be wounded all over again?
He was simply afraid. Of everything.
So when he heard Suho’s voice while he was on a call with someone, he’d embarrassingly run away once more.
But then, as if fate was testing whether he would keep running forever, the moment arrived.
“You’re like a son to me, Suho.”
“…Director.”
“So if there’s anything troubling you, or anything you need, don’t hesitate to say so.”
How?
How could that man say something like that to Suho…?
When he saw Min Sanghan in front of Suho, cloaked in the guise of a kind man, the observer felt like he’d been struck in the head. Dizzy. Overwhelmed. All he could do was stumble back to his hideout and throw up.
He already knew Min Sanghan had been putting on an act to hide his own crimes, pretending to be a good person to Suho. And he also knew, more than anyone, that he himself was the worse criminal—far worse than Min Sanghan.
Still, there was one thing that Min Sanghan should never have done: he should never have called Suho his son. Not to the boy who had lost his parents because of him. That word should have never crossed his lips.
Consumed by mental ruin, the man whispered apologies into the air as if Suho were standing before him, tears spilling down his face. And then he returned to the one place that had once been his only solace—and the very reason his life had become a living hell.
Using weak points in the security system, he slipped into the hospital and stared through the glass of the intensive care unit at his son.
His son, lying unconscious with a respirator, was nothing but skin and bones. Every time he saw him, he couldn’t believe he was still alive. Even as his own blood, it astonished him every time.
The ship had a system in place for providing final rest to patients deemed incapable of regaining consciousness even with long-term treatment. The guardian’s consent wasn’t required. Once the notice was issued, it was carried out within days.
The day that notice came, the man felt as if the world had ended. He hadn’t been ready to say goodbye. Even if the deadline were extended, it wouldn’t have changed anything.
That was the very day someone he’d never met—Min Sanghan—contacted him.
