“Suho…!”
“…How are you feeling?”
At my question, Lee Minha’s eyes began to well with tears.
She collapsed to her knees as if her legs had given out beneath her. The sound was loud, but she didn’t let out so much as a groan, as if she couldn’t even feel the pain.
“I’m sorry. I’m really, truly sorry, Suho.”
With her head bowed deeply, Lee Minha brought her hands together and began to plead.
“I should never have turned a blind eye like that…”
“…”
“I was selfish. Only I… only my own thoughts mattered to me.”
As she sobbed uncontrollably and her tears fell onto the floor, I simply watched her with a blank expression.
I wasn’t flustered. I didn’t feel pity.
“I’ll pay for my sins however you want. Anything you say—I’ll do it. Just… tell me what I should do.”
Lifting her face, Lee Minha clutched at the hem of my clothes desperately. The tremor in her hands passed through to me without filter.
Truthfully, Lee Minha should’ve been detained long ago for the crime of keeping silent despite knowing what Min Sanghan had done. Her physical condition shouldn’t have mattered.
And yet, the only reason she was here in the hospital right now was because I allowed it.
Yeo Wonjin, who’d relatively easily accepted my requests regarding how to handle Min Yugeon and Lee Shin, didn’t understand why I was extending concern even to Lee Minha. But in the end, he respected my decision and didn’t have her escorted away.
Lee Minha, too, surely knew I was the one who’d kept her from being punished. She seemed to believe I had some ulterior motive for doing so—some price I intended to extract.
But I had nothing I wanted from her.
“Ma’am.”
I just felt like I finally understood the nature of Lee Minha’s selfishness.
I only showed her this final mercy because I knew the reason she had hidden the truth was for Min Yugeon’s sake.
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“…!”
At my words, Lee Minha inhaled sharply.
“Just live your life.”
My voice came out dry, utterly devoid of sympathy.
Bearing the pain and guilt—that was her burden to carry. There was no reason for me to lighten it.
As if she understood what I meant, Lee Minha froze, her face pale and drained. She looked at me blankly, hollowed out by despair.
“Su… Suho.”
She looked like she wanted to say something, but… no, it was more like she believed she had no right to say anything at all. Her eyes brimmed red, and her frail body began to tremble violently.
It was a pitiful sight—more than enough to stir sympathy. But still, I looked down at her with the same detached gaze.
“I’ll be going now.”
I had accomplished today’s goal—pretending to forgive.
Lee Minha had simply realized that it wasn’t real forgiveness.
As I turned and walked away, her stifled sobs echoed behind me.
***
“Have I ever told you that I think you’re really kind, Researcher?”
Yeo Wonjin asked with a gentle curl of his lips.
“If it were me, I would’ve… well, with Lee Minha…”
Watching my impassive expression, Yeo Wonjin quietly set his teacup down.
“In any case, I respect your decision. We’ll drop the charges against Lee Minha for concealing the truth.”
That meant she wouldn’t be punished for it, just as I wanted. I gave a slight nod.
“Thank you, Captain.”
“No need for thanks.”
I felt grateful to Yeo Wonjin for agreeing to what, by all accounts, seemed like a rather unreasonable request. The kind one here wasn’t me—it was him. It was still a bit surprising that someone with such a gentle, almost soft demeanor held a position where cold judgment was essential.
I stared down at the still tea in my cup, then lifted my head.
“Have you had a chance to look over the revised Military Beast Project proposal I submitted?”
It had been several days since I handed it over, so even someone as busy as Yeo Wonjin would likely have had time to review it by now. My assumption was apparently correct—his brow twitched slightly.
“Yes.”
Then after a brief pause, he gave a small nod.
“I’m afraid… it looks too difficult to proceed with.”
The calm tone of his answer was completely at odds with what I had expected. With my lips pressed into a thin line, I looked straight at him.
His well-defined features showed unmistakable resolve.
“It’s too dangerous.”
“…”
“That’s an understatement, even.”
The terse, decisive reasoning left me feeling a deep sense of disappointment. I hadn’t expected this kind of answer from someone I considered an ally.
I sorted through my thoughts and spoke.
“I understand that establishing a base on the surface is extremely dangerous. Then what if I were to accompany the construction from the very beginning…”
“Researcher.”
Yeo Wonjin exhaled a long breath. It wasn’t the answer he’d wanted to hear.
“The construction itself isn’t that difficult. We can use drones to transport materials and handle the structural layering, and remote-controlled androids can handle the detailed work. There won’t be any casualties.”
His expression stiffened as he met my gaze.
“The danger I’m talking about… is you, Researcher. You’re planning to live in that base. And your plan only includes one companion.”
It seemed the personnel allocation in my revised proposal was what caused it to be rejected.
I slowly shook my head.
“The more people there are, the more dangerous it gets. No matter how strong the structure is, if the beasts catch the scent of a group of humans and swarm in, the whole thing will collapse.”
My rebuttal made Yeo Wonjin pause.
“I don’t understand why you’re so worried, Captain. Hasn’t my safety on the surface already been proven? The beasts don’t harm me.”
The fact that I’d survived on the surface—infested with monsters—was no coincidence. Yeo Wonjin surely knew that too, which was why he didn’t offer a counterargument.
“Between continuing the project from the lab and proceeding on the surface, I believe you already know which is more efficient.”
Taming one beast at a time and training them to bond with soldiers—that was the original scope of the Military Beast Project. It was an open-ended, long-term initiative, with no telling how much time it would take. I had been considering handing off the project to my team, and to the next generation, once I was gone.
But the surface was different. There was no need to go out and capture beasts—there were already plenty out there. I could train them right where they lived, even raise those like Rai and Cat who would guard the base itself.
The goal was to raise guardian beasts responsible for the base’s safety, and then, depending on their numbers, gradually relocate residents from the ship to the surface and pair them with the beasts as military companions.
It would still take a long time, of course, but it was incomparably faster than the glacial pace of the original plan.
“That…”
Yeo Wonjin fell silent, seemingly at a loss for words. Even if his concern for me had momentarily clouded his judgment, he couldn’t deny that the revised proposal made far more sense in practice.
“…All right.”
I watched silently as he lowered his gaze, lips pressed tightly together. Maybe I’d been too cold toward someone who was genuinely thinking of me.
“When you came back to the ship, Researcher…”
Yeo Wonjin spoke in a quiet, sunken voice.
“I couldn’t believe it, and yet… my heart felt like it might burst. It was like… a miracle.”
The way he had rushed over that day and looked me over was still fresh in my mind. His eyes had been trembling, anxiously scanning me from head to toe for any injury. He had clearly been terrified something might’ve happened to me.
“I always thought I wasn’t the lucky type… but that was the first time I thought maybe I was wrong.”
His voice was earnest. At his words, my fingers twitched slightly.
“But the reason you were able to come back… that wasn’t luck, was it.”
“…”
“You survived on the surface because of your own abilities. Because you were the one down there.”
A deeper sigh escaped him than before.
“Then naturally, proceeding according to your proposal is the right choice.”
He spoke slowly, like someone forced to say something they didn’t want to.
I widened my eyes and looked at him.
“…Captain.”
“I knew it was the right choice, but I still acted stubborn. I’m sorry.”
I stared at Yeo Wonjin as he gave that bitter apology, then shook my head.
“No. I’m just grateful.”
The authority to approve or reject the project lay solely with the captain. Even if he’d turned me down, I wouldn’t have had any recourse. In the end, I was relieved he gave me the answer I hoped for.
As the tension faded from my face, Yeo Wonjin gave a faint smile.
“Ah… Researcher.”
“Yes?”
“As for the person who’ll be living with you on the surface, how should I go about selecting them? Do you have anyone in mind…?”
“No one yet. I’m still considering a number of factors.”
It would probably be better to organize my selection criteria more precisely before submitting them to Yeo Wonjin. After that, he could use his authority as captain to look for suitable candidates.
Of course, I had to be realistic. It was unlikely anyone would perfectly fit the criteria.
After all, hardly anyone wanted to live on the surface. Even if we managed to narrow someone down, it might take a long time to convince them.
