By Zephyria 
I left the house before dawn. After counting the money I had left, I boldly hailed a taxi as soon as I entered the Jaegang District.
I went into a pie shop that smelled richly of buttery sweetness and picked out some of the more expensive snacks.
Then, I sharply slapped away a hand that was stealthily creeping toward the packaging. Only after Joo-oh let out a small whine did Mu-hae feel relieved enough to head back the way he came.
He didn’t know how Director Gil had developed a taste for such sweet, nutritionally unbalanced food. It likely happened while he was staying at the hideout in the Jaegang District, but come to think of it, the man wasn’t exactly leading a healthy lifestyle now, either.
Despite having lived in close proximity for a good twenty years, Mu-hae felt as though it had been less than a year since he had truly come to know the man named Gil Seong-jun.
Beeeee—!
At the piercing sound of the doorbell, there was a crashing noise from inside.
It was a very small sound, but he definitely heard it. After a period of silence, the intercom light flickered on.
—Who… is it Mu-hae?
“Who else would it be at this hour?”
—Hold on, yawn… wait a second.
Had he just woken up? A yawn he couldn’t quite suppress came straight through the intercom.
Beside him, Joo-oh let out a wide yawn as well. It was ridiculous, considering the fellow’s face was practically glowing from a deep sleep.
“You seem to be staying up late these days.”
“What’s it to you? I’m closing the shutter again, so get in quickly.”
Before long, a man with a dry, weathered face appeared. Clang. As the metal shutter descended, the electronic store, devoid of lights, became pitch black.
Director Gil, looking exhausted at a glance, gestured toward the entrance. He didn’t seem to be bedridden again, but he didn’t look healthy either.
The shadows under his eyes made him look like someone whose household was plagued by misfortune.
“You weren’t waiting for me to contact you, were you?”
“Waiting? Stop talking nonsense.”
“I bought some of this… but if your stomach is empty, eat it later.”
“Stop acting like Teacher Jung and just sit down.”
His tone was blunt as usual, but for some reason, his eyes looked anxious. Before Mu-hae knew it, the man had lit a cigarette and taken a deep drag.
Phew… The smoke he exhaled like a sigh rose in a hazy cloud toward the ceiling. Mu-hae felt as if the man smoked every time he looked at him.
“The cushion changed.”
“You’ve got a better eye than that guy. I spilled something on the old one, so I replaced it since it was worn out.”
“I knew, I just didn’t bother mentioning it.”
Even after the two of them settled onto the sofa while chatting, Director Gil remained standing, staring off into the distance.
Only after the cigarette in his mouth had burned down to a stub did he slowly approach, struggling to hide his troubled gaze.
“I haven’t even asked anything yet.”
“Shut it. It’s obvious what you’re going to ask.”
“Because there were some misunderstandings last time, we couldn’t talk properly.”
Director Gil’s eyebrows twitched slightly at the word ‘misunderstandings,’ but he didn’t offer any particular objection.
He simply scanned the two of them in turn. It was a somewhat uncomfortable gaze for Mu-hae.
“Fine. What were you so curious about at that late hour?”
Finally, as if he had made up his mind, Director Gil got to the point. Rustle. He placed the pies on the tea table, still in their packaging.
When he handed the included bread knife to Joo-oh, who looked like he was about to drool, the fellow moved with surprising speed and sliced the large pie into six pieces.
“You said you made a contract with West Wind.”
“Yeah.”
“And in exchange, you were promised a chance for a Return flight.”
“….”
“I haven’t thought about it too deeply, but there’s a part I don’t understand.”
Having encountered all sorts of people and learned various ways of communicating recently, Mu-hae didn’t want to beat around the bush with Director Gil.
Glancing at Joo-oh, who was munching on the artificial cherry compote pie, Mu-hae quietly continued.
“I can’t help but wonder. Can that really be called an ‘opportunity’? You don’t know how a child who has no particular feelings toward Blue Energy will grow or react ten years later.”
At the time, the Return flight had already collapsed, and his father, the central figure, was dead.
Forget research; in a slum where even a normal life was a struggle, what hope could one hold for the bloodline of a friend whose education they couldn’t even control as they pleased?
Until he had obtained the records from the belongings, Mu-hae had heard nothing about the Return flight.
Since the two men had helped him survive in silence without ever claiming to be his guardians, he had lived thinking that was simply their nature.
But to think that it was actually because of a deal with West Wind. He had ignored it because the immediate daily struggle was more urgent, but thinking back, it was a deal that made no sense for Director Gil.
Even without West Wind, the two would not have abandoned Jin Mu-hae. If he had struggled with chores and gone hungry, they would have thrown him food, claiming they had leftovers; they would have supported him with tools and medicine needed for mercenary work, pretending to run a business just as they did now.
No, if there had been no promise to West Wind, they might have stopped him from becoming a mercenary in the first place.
Since Director Gil had expressed concern over Mu-hae’s choice back then, perhaps his life would have been more comfortable than it was now.
“There must be more you haven’t told me.”
At the assertive tone, Director Gil pulled out another cigarette. Without touching the pie that had been bought since dawn and sliced before his eyes, he inhaled the bitter smoke for a long time.
“Well. I intended to tell you if you asked… but do you really have to hear it?”
A complicated light flickered in his calm, sunken eyes. It was a subtle emotion, resembling both worry and regret.
Mu-hae unconsciously took a slightly deep breath. Having lived a turbulent life, he could guess in advance that an unpleasant story was about to emerge.
They say knowledge is power, but some knowledge is poison. If it was something Director Gil was conflicted about, it would surely leave Mu-hae with complex worries as well.
However, he had come too far to avoid a tedious and sensitive topic. Mu-hae nodded without a word.
Crunch. The sound of someone biting into a pie broke the silence. He wanted to scold Joo-oh for being oblivious to the atmosphere, but thanks to that, he felt he could breathe a little easier.
“After Seong-jo… died.”
Director Gil spoke as he crushed the cigarette out.
“As I said, West Wind—your biological mother—came to see me. Rather than anger or resentment toward that woman, I felt that what was bound to happen had finally happened.”
At some point, the pot that had been bubbling in the back made a click sound as the power turned off. However, no one moved to get the tea.
“She asked if the revenge was sufficient.”
“…Revenge.”
“Honestly, I had nothing to say. When I first saw you, you were just a child who suddenly appeared, and you were Seong-jo’s child as well as the bloodline that woman had hidden and raised.”
Director Gil’s gaze became weary, as if he were undergoing some form of penance. If someone’s story of the past sounded like a confession, was that a problem with the listener or the speaker?
“So, I let you be placed on the Jin family registry. Even though I knew West Wind was alive and well.”
What was the problem with that? He was his father’s bloodline regardless. Mu-hae, who had thought of it lightly, suddenly stiffened.
A clear emotion flashed through Director Gil’s unfocused eyes. It was a gaze that had occasionally appeared faintly after Mu-hae took over the Return flight.
Self-loathing, as if digging deep into his own inner self. And likely, guilt.
“Because Jin Seong-jo was a convict.”
Joo-oh, who had polished off two pieces of pie in one go, cut in, casually bringing up an uncomfortable topic.
Jin Mu-hae sat in silence, unable to even think of stopping him.
It was strange. He was clearly sitting on the sofa listening, but he felt as if his mind was floating alone, drifting beneath the ceiling.
A calm voice still flowed into his distant ears.
“…Because then I knew that woman wouldn’t be able to take you.”
Revenge… yes, that was definitely revenge directed at West Wind.
The most passive and lukewarm revenge he could take against the child of an enemy who had suddenly appeared.
The tacit consent of that day was the best choice for his friend, but it was not a consideration for Mu-hae.
“Of course, I realized not long after. That you weren’t just that woman’s child. But it was already quite too late to turn back…”
Director Gil finally spat out a past that he could have hidden until the end if he had intended to.
“It might sound like an excuse, but I didn’t care about that woman’s proposal. I can’t say I had absolutely no personal interest in the Return flight, but at least at that time, that wasn’t the important part.”
His gaze was now directed toward the dark kitchen. As if avoiding eye contact.
“She asked if I had the right to interfere with your future. So I told her. That I didn’t.”
To West Wind’s question, to the interrogation of a mother digging up past faults, Director Gil had weakly consented. It was likely a phrase she threw out, knowing exactly how he would react.
An unknown sensation tightened and released Mu-hae’s chest. Like a daydream, he saw a vision of his younger self, folding the clothes he had worn while waiting a long time for a father who would not emerge from the study in an empty living room.
Tap. Then, something warm grabbed a few of his fingers. As he instinctively shifted his gaze, red eyes were blinking.
“The water’s boiled. Want some tea?”
As expected, it was a comment completely out of place with the atmosphere, but he felt his mind, which had been drifting into the void, return a little.
Mu-hae gave a half-hearted jerk of his chin, sending Joo-oh toward the kitchen. For a while, the sound of cups and tea leaves clinking echoed through the quiet house.
Director Gil did not speak further. His chapped lips, looking as if he hadn’t slept properly since the day he left the message, were prominent.
“…Teacher Jung… what about him?”
Staring at Joo-oh, who was pouring water without even straining the tea leaves, he barely managed to squeeze out a word.
Only then did the man’s eyes meet his, like someone whose sunken spirit had finally returned.
“I don’t know. What that guy was thinking when he agreed to it. I’ve never properly talked to him about that matter. I didn’t want to.”
As the confession—which would have caused no great disruption to his life even if he hadn’t known—came to an end, the space suddenly brightened as if by magic.
Joo-oh, who had placed the teacup on a coaster, had turned on all the ceiling lights with a determined expression.
Mugs with floating tea leaves were placed before the tight-lipped Director Gil and Mu-hae.
“The more, the better.”
He explained brightly as he flopped down into the seat beside them. In his hand was a giant mug, almost the size of a bowl, from where he had found such a thing.