“Is that so. There’s no harm in being cautious. Take your time.”
Yeo Wonjin, who had been nodding thoughtfully, suddenly paused. It looked like something had just come to mind.
“But if it’s that person…”
I stared at Yeo Wonjin as he murmured to himself, seemingly puzzled.
“Pardon?”
Could someone specific have come to mind? If it was a recommendation from the Captain—someone known for his discerning eye when it came to talent—it was more than worth taking seriously.
Yeo Wonjin met my gaze, clearly aware that I was waiting for him to speak. But instead, he closed his mouth. His expression was unreadable, his thoughts impossible to discern.
“It’s nothing.”
“……?”
I tilted my head in confusion, and Yeo Wonjin asked me a question instead.
“Is Min Yugeon doing well?”
“Yes. Thanks to your concern, he’s doing just fine.”
I was grateful to Yeo Wonjin for many things, but above all, I was most thankful that he had smoothed over the incident with Min Yugeon hijacking the fighter jet. It was a debt I regretted not being able to repay directly. But what could a mere researcher possibly do for the Captain? All I could do was devote myself to the project he had placed his hopes on.
“It’s belated, but congratulations, Researcher.”
Yeo Wonjin offered a faintly stiff smile as I sipped my tea.
“Had I known the two of you were in that kind of relationship, I would’ve offered my congratulations much sooner.”
Caught off guard, I went silent.
…Did I ever mention anything about my relationship with Min Yugeon?
Maybe my confusion showed on my face, because Yeo Wonjin gave a little shrug.
“You two seemed unusually close. That day you returned to the ship.”
“Ah…”
“Was I mistaken?”
I didn’t think we’d done anything to draw attention, but… Yeo Wonjin had a sharp eye, that much was clear.
Feeling the heat creep into my ears, I shook my head.
“No… you’re right.”
“I thought so.”
Yeo Wonjin quietly covered his mouth with the teacup.
He didn’t ask when it began, or how it came to be. I had been slightly tense, wondering if he’d probe further, but found myself relieved. The last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself even more by blushing or stammering like a fool.
Clink. As the teacup was set down with a soft sound, a familiar smile lingered at the corners of his mouth.
***
Maybe it had been a little awkward.
“…….”
Yeo Wonjin had seen Seo Suho off with his usual serene smile, but then remained standing at the door for a long time. His face had gone blank, almost colorless, devoid of any vitality.
He closed his eyes weakly. He had tried to act as he normally would with Seo Suho, but whether his facial muscles had cooperated was another matter entirely. It wasn’t like he had a mirror in front of him.
It was difficult. His feelings, once solely directed at Seo Suho, had grown far too large within him. That made it even harder to accept that things had to end one-sidedly, without those feelings ever reaching him.
And yet, there was nothing he could do. When Suho and Min Yugeon had stood there, their hands clasped tightly, gazing directly into each other’s eyes… there hadn’t been even the slightest gap between them. No one could wedge themselves into that space.
But in that moment, Yeo Wonjin had the strange, almost delusional feeling that something invisible was calling out to him, tempting him.
If there was no gap, couldn’t one be created?
Nothing remains perfect forever. That applied not just to physical things. The human psyche, in its fragility, was even easier to break than any material. It was the most vulnerable, most easily manipulated.
Even the smallest hint of discord could crack the bonds between people. He had used that method to cut out the rotting parts of the ship’s leadership before—driving a wedge between others was not difficult for Yeo Wonjin.
But it was different when it came to Seo Suho.
Suho was someone who had already endured hardships that would break an ordinary person. He had barely managed to hold together his shattered mind and survive. Yeo Wonjin didn’t want to burden him with more pain.
Rather than stoop to such low tactics, it was far better to simply swallow his feelings and step aside. To silently watch over Seo Suho’s now-stable life.
Even if the one standing beside him wasn’t himself.
Dragging his heavy steps back to his seat, Yeo Wonjin sat down and stared blankly at his empty teacup. Just moments ago, he had seen the usually calm Seo Suho let his guard down and flush with embarrassment—and now, the tea tasted unbearably bitter.
“Captain.”
As Yeo Wonjin was splashing cold water on his face, a polite knock came along with the voice of his aide.
“Colonel Sun Woosung is here.”
Yeo Wonjin glanced listlessly toward the door.
“Let him in.”
When he replied, the door opened shortly after. The aide tried to step inside to tidy up first, but Yeo Wonjin shook his head to stop him.
“Just tell him to come in.”
“…Pardon?”
Yeo Wonjin didn’t want to clear away the spot where Seo Suho had just been. He had no intention of admitting aloud such a clingy, obsessive reason, so he fell silent and stared across the room as if still seeing traces of Suho lingering in the air.
“Understood.”
The aide, puzzled by the cryptic order, gave a respectful nod and left the office.
Soon, a soldier with sharp features and pale skin walked in with heavy steps. Yeo Wonjin looked up to watch him. A long scar ran across one cheek. It looked fresh—likely a recent injury.
He’d heard Sun Woosung was working with S8A152. Every time they met, he seemed to have picked up a new wound.
“What brings you here?”
The two of them shared a cold relationship—not quite enemies, but certainly not warm. Yeo Wonjin, still drained, demanded the purpose of the visit with frosty indifference. He didn’t even have the strength to put on his usual mask. No matter who stood before him, it would have been the same. In that sense, Sun Woosung, ever stoic and tight-lipped, was the ideal visitor at the moment.
Sun Woosung silently lowered his gaze to the desk. He must have noticed signs that someone had just been there, but his face remained completely unreadable. That blank reaction somehow grated on Yeo Wonjin.
Sun Woosung surely knew. He had likely sensed it from the start. There was no way someone so attuned to every flicker of Seo Suho’s expressions, gestures, and gaze would have missed it.
Then why was he so unfazed?
“This is the training report for S8A152.”
Sun Woosung held out the documents he’d brought. As a participant in the project, this was a formal report submitted directly to the Captain.
Yeo Wonjin took the file, glancing up at the man before him. That Sun Woosung remained standing, showing no intention of sitting or exchanging small talk, made his disinterest plain.
“Colonel Sun.”
Yeo Wonjin’s voice was flat, devoid of tone. Sun Woosung’s dark eyes shifted to meet his.
“An expedition will be scheduled soon.”
“……”
“We need to secure a zone where the monsters can’t easily move.”
A slight furrow formed around Sun Woosung’s eyes.
This wasn’t about recon or resource gathering. Securing a zone—that was new terminology.
“May I ask the purpose?”
The tension deepened as Sun Woosung posed the question. Yeo Wonjin leaned back in his chair, nodding slightly.
“We’re going to construct a building.”
“……!”
Sun Woosung froze.
“Did you say… a building?”
“Yes. For the researcher to live in.”
Silence fell, so thick it drowned out even the sound of breath.
Sun Woosung was not so dense that he wouldn’t know who the researcher meant. His face turned rigid the moment he understood.
His eyes were sharp, frigid—like he was staring at someone who’d just spat out something vile.
“What are you talking about?”
“I suppose you haven’t heard yet.”
Yeo Wonjin remained calm, completely unaffected by the intensity of Sun Woosung’s glare.
“The researcher submitted a revision to the Military Beast Project. He proposed living directly on the surface and taming the monsters there. Naturally, it would be far more effective than studying them from here.”
Sun Woosung’s jaw clenched.
This was nonsense. No one could survive on the surface.
…Or could they?
The day they’d gone to rescue Seo Suho from the surface replayed vividly in Sun Woosung’s mind.
Riding on S8A152’s back, they had charged through ruins and overgrown terrain, tracking only the scent of Seo Suho. The number of monsters they encountered was endless. They had broken through a grotesque barrier teeming with far more monsters than he’d imagined.
And there—at the very center—they’d found Seo Suho.
Monsters were stationed around him like guardians. Most weren’t even in an aggressive stance. Even those that glared daggers at Lee Shin and Min Yugeon, drooling or growling in irritation, didn’t dare to approach.
Even more shocking was that one of the beasts near Suho had clearly been a lion-type monster that Sun Woosung remembered killing long ago. He didn’t understand how it was alive, but that wasn’t the point.
The monsters weren’t wary of that beast.
They were wary of Seo Suho.
In that moment, Sun Woosung had felt something indescribable.
He had seen Seo Suho handle S8A152 with ease countless times, but witnessing him pacify an uncountable horde of monsters—it felt surreal, like something out of a dream.
A ridiculous thought flitted across his mind: if a god had accidentally unleashed monsters upon the world, maybe they had sent Seo Suho as a counterbalance. As a way to restrain them.
And so, he couldn’t outright deny it.
If it was Seo Suho, then perhaps… surviving among monsters wasn’t entirely impossible.
