“Still, if it’s a living creature capable of emotions, I think it’d be impossible not to follow you, Researcher Seo. You’re kind.”
Yeo Wonjin spoke with a seriousness that erased any trace of jest.
“Honestly, it already seems like you’ve grown attached to that survivor.”
…It wasn’t really like that. He just seemed younger than me and clearly needed a lot of care, which made it hard not to pay attention.
I’ve never been called kind in my entire life.
As I stood there with a strange expression, Yeo Wonjin watched me closely, then leaned forward slightly. Interlocking his fingers on the table, he began to speak again.
“To be honest, I was a little worried at first when Min Sanghan refused to take in the survivor. If even the Director exercised veto power and all the researchers declined to take responsibility, I would’ve had no choice either. And honestly… I don’t want to assign tasks forcibly to any of the researchers.”
“…”
“But in the end, it worked out well, thanks to you. Everything turned out fine because of you.”
I hesitated, looking at the face that softened as his eyes crinkled gently.
It was the first time I’d heard that Min Sanghan had refused to take in Lee Shin. He must have had his reasons. But at the same time, he must’ve fully understood why the survivor had to be sent to the lab. The fact that he still objected was a bit puzzling.
“Did the Director really say that?”
“Yes. I assume it was personal. Min Sanghan’s never exactly been friendly toward me. And I’m sure you’re aware of that too.”
His expression seemed to say You know it too, don’t you?, and I pressed my lips together.
Yeah. I know it well.
Even when they passed each other, the two rarely exchanged a proper greeting. And Min Sanghan still insisted on referring to Yeo Wonjin as Vice Captain, refusing to acknowledge his current rank. It had always been obvious that Min Sanghan held a grudge against Yeo Wonjin.
“Researcher Seo.”
As I silently acknowledged it, Yeo Wonjin let out a bitter smile.
“Min Sanghan never liked me from the start. I don’t fit into the type of person he favors.”
“…The type he favors?”
I murmured lowly, and he raised his eyebrows briefly before lowering them.
“Someone he can get something out of.”
Then, in a voice cooled by a touch of ice, he added,
“I pick up on things too quickly. I’m not someone he can easily manipulate.”
***
Just once—only once—Min Yugeon had felt a rage that resembled violence. That was when someone had tormented Seo Suho.
Other than that, the thought of harming someone had never crossed his mind.
And yet, considering everything, wasn’t he doing surprisingly well at this?
With a blank expression, Min Yugeon calmly wiped the blood off his hands with a towel.
“Ptoo! You… kuh!”
Ji Chanwoo spat blood-mixed saliva onto the floor. With both eyes swollen nearly shut, he managed to glare up at Min Yugeon. His lips were torn to shreds, making it nearly impossible to speak.
“You’re making a mistake right now…”
“…”
“Does Suho even know… kuh, that you’re this kind of bastard?”
Min Yugeon’s gaze froze over like ice.
He stretched his long legs, then slammed his foot into Ji Chanwoo’s stomach. Watching the man crumple and roll across the floor in agony, Min Yugeon looked down without a shred of pity.
“I told you not to let Suho’s name come out of that mouth.”
“Guh… ugh…!”
“Even if no one else cares, you don’t get to casually speak Suho’s name.”
Ah… Min Sanghan too.
Min Yugeon blinked slowly, his father’s name flashing briefly in his mind.
He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and silently observed Ji Chanwoo.
No matter how badly it hurt, the man couldn’t even clutch at the wounds—his hands were bound, and that only made the pain worse. Watching someone squirm like that was hard to stomach for most people.
But even so, he still refused to give the answer Min Yugeon wanted.
‘A soldier really is a soldier,’ he thought. His mental endurance wasn’t ordinary.
“Kegh, keck!”
Not knowing how to properly conduct torture, Min Yugeon simply beat Ji Chanwoo down with plain, brute violence. And beating someone took far more stamina and mental energy than he expected.
Pretending like everything was fine while doing center duty, then coming here at night to crush someone—it was taking a toll. The longer Ji Chanwoo held out, the more Min Yugeon felt something inside himself breaking apart in a miserable, irreversible way.
But that didn’t matter.
Not more than making this bastard pay for what he did to Seo Suho.
‘…Does Suho know I’m even capable of something like this?’
Min Yugeon let out a breath of laughter, then aimed a kick at Ji Chanwoo’s body, avoiding vital spots but striking hard nonetheless.
Even I didn’t know I’d become someone like this. Would Seo Suho, who thinks I’m just a nice, soft-hearted guy, ever imagine it?
“S-Stop! Guhh!”
A sharp kick knocked loose one of Ji Chanwoo’s teeth, sending it skittering across the floor. Saliva mixed with blood dripped from his mouth, and the blood and cold sweat soaking through torn skin left his clothes drenched and clinging to his body.
Min Yugeon didn’t care in the slightest how filthy the floor became beneath the battered man’s body. This was a space he’d discovered during a solo exploration of the ship’s interior—a place only he knew about. Its location made it virtually impossible for anyone to stumble in by accident.
“It’s not even something worth dying over. Is surrendering really worse than staying locked up and being tortured like this?”
Min Yugeon stopped kicking and crouched down.
“You’ve already lived enough of your life pretending to be dead.”
“……!”
“Isn’t it time you let go of that greedy streak?”
He only wanted one thing.
Ji Chanwoo’s confession.
Even if he dragged him by force to the Security Force, if Ji Chanwoo stayed silent, nothing about his and Min Sanghan’s crimes would ever come to light. At most, the fact that Ji Chanwoo had faked his death and been hiding, with help from Min Sanghan, might raise some suspicions—but even that could be explained away. If Ji Chanwoo claimed he suffered psychological trauma from the incident, they’d likely escape with no real punishment. As for his ties to Min Sanghan, they could find some convenient excuse to patch it all up.
Without concrete evidence from the past, everything tilted in Ji Chanwoo and Min Sanghan’s favor.
That’s why Min Yugeon had resorted to coercion. He had to force an answer out of him before it was too late.
“Huff… huff…”
Ji Chanwoo gasped painfully and met Min Yugeon’s eyes, now lowered to his level.
The eyes were undeniably brown, and yet they looked so dark, it was as if a shadow had been painted over them. That easygoing man who once smiled warmly at Seo Suho didn’t seem to exist anymore. This version of Min Yugeon—expressionless, merciless—felt like someone else entirely.
As he forced his trembling, battered body to hold itself together, a single thought swirled in his head.
‘Why is he doing this?’
He had no right to think that, not after what he’d done. But even so, a normal person couldn’t possibly endure hurting someone else this long. Even if it was for a friend, this level of self-destruction…
“……!”
Wham! His vision went white for a second. When it cleared, his head had been flung to one side, and a ringing echoed deep in his ears.
“Quit wasting my time. Give me a straight answer.”
“Ugh… you fuck—!”
The searing sting on his cheek grounded him in reality. Ji Chanwoo spat curses through his teeth, but Min Yugeon’s gaze remained unfazed.
“…Fine. Fine, you win.”
Ji Chanwoo finally surrendered.
Up to now, he’d been banking on outsmarting Min Yugeon, refusing to break. He believed in himself—believed that the same man who once escaped a monster-infested building with severe injuries could get out of here too.
But the young engineer before him was terrifyingly thorough. His limbs had been bound so precisely that escape was impossible. Even when beating him, Min Yugeon avoided his vitals with chilling precision.
Worst of all, he never once gave the slightest clue as to where they were.
The space felt like a narrow, dark corridor, and the distant hums and echoes suggested a dead-end nearby. That was all Ji Chanwoo had managed to figure out. If he wanted to escape, he needed to understand the layout first—but there was no way to gather that kind of intel now.
He swallowed hard, the back of his throat thick with the taste of blood, and finally opened his mouth.
“I’ll go… I’ll tell them everything myself. With my own mouth.”
“……”
“But before that, just… let me see Suho. Just once.”
He knew it was a request that would never be granted, which was why he’d held out this long. But in the end, he said it anyway.
Ji Chanwoo looked up at Min Yugeon with a face swollen and mottled with bruises.
“Before I was caught, I was trying to find a moment to talk to him. I wanted to tell him everything. Ask for his forgiveness…”
His words cut off abruptly as Min Yugeon grabbed him by the collar. With a twisted smile, Min Yugeon hissed through clenched teeth.
“Incredible. You do all that and think asking for forgiveness makes it okay?”
“……”
“All that just so you can feel better.”
Of course. That level of selfishness was exactly why he could be Min Sanghan’s accomplice.
Min Yugeon gave a short nod, as if it made perfect sense. If you added up all the years Ji Chanwoo had spent hiding, there’d been more than enough time to apologize. And now, suddenly, he was pulling this crap?
Ji Chanwoo misunderstood the nod and let his expression brighten slightly.
Min Yugeon, still smiling, raised his fist.
Looked like there was still a long way to go.
…Wait.
A thought crossed his mind and froze him in place.
His face began to slowly harden.
