By Zephyria 
“Ten… fifteen. One.”
It was merely a guess. He wasn’t even sure if these were actually numbers, and even if they were, guessing the correct order would be nearly impossible without divine inspiration.
Still, the sensation approaching him was vivid enough to make his heart tremble. Jin Mu-hae hurriedly opened the map of Goryeo City.
‘I might actually find it this time.’
Unless one’s identity was guaranteed to a certain extent, it was difficult to obtain a detailed map of the city.
Even then, some sectors of the central area were vaguely marked with only the neighborhood names.
In Mu-hae’s case, after becoming an instructor for the Defense Force and receiving a medal, he had gained access to the geography of almost everything except for a few major facilities.
If he could just find and apply a rough rule, he would be able to locate an address containing similar characters.
“How am I supposed to read this?”
“I’m looking into it now. Wait. I’m running a search.”
“Too many results are popping up.”
“Move, you’re blocking the screen. I need to check how many cases there are.”
From records that gathered only the flaws of Starpath or negative views regarding its target, Mu-hae searched for characters scattered here and there, so numerous they were overwhelming to count.
As expected, characters like ‘gil’ or ‘neul’ hardly appeared. His plan to determine the order simply by frequency of appearance became ambiguous.
If this truly was an address, those two characters had to come before other characters presumed to be numbers, but the character ‘gil’ had to be positioned last among them.
‘This is getting tedious.’
He felt sorry for the ‘big shot’ who had provided a bridge just as the work of the Return flight had hit a plateau, but it was a bit annoying.
It might have been the first code thrown from that side, but from the moment he received the belongings of the deceased, Mu-hae had been relentlessly forced to pass these kinds of tests.
They say the brain improves the more you use it, but this kind of problem-solving was really not his taste. He would have preferred being made to run with his body…
He stopped grumbling internally. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been rolling around in the dirt himself.
New scars had already appeared here and there. He had lost consciousness several times. If that happened again, the intermittent Aberrant currently sitting in the chair and swinging its legs would likely show an unsettling reaction.
“Jin Mu-hae.”
“…!”
Sometimes he wondered if the man could actually read his mind. Joo-oh called his name at an impeccable moment.
Of course, if he really could read minds, he wouldn’t act in ways that drove people crazy, but in moments like this, Mu-hae developed a habit of feeling startled and filling his head with meaningless sounds like ‘aya-eoyeo’ just in case.
Just in case he was listening. Because he wasn’t a normal human. It was the most pathetic thing he had done recently.
“Which one does Jin Mu-hae prefer?”
“There you go again, speaking without context.”
“Becoming a hero who liberated humanity from the Comfort zone? Or achieving what Jin Seong-jo wanted instead?”
“They’re the same thing.”
Asking something futile, he casually spoke the full name of someone else’s father. Mu-hae didn’t know whether to be grateful that he hadn’t become a little Jin Seong-jo or to sigh.
Furthermore, both options Joo-oh asked about were achievements that would naturally follow once Crystal Blue was eliminated. So, picking one was meaningless…
Well. Strangely, the latter didn’t feel much like a reward.
Clearly, when he first learned his father’s identity, that part had felt the most important.
“That damn ‘hero’ talk.”
“Jin Mu-hae will go down in history.”
“I don’t care. I’ve never even taken a history class.”
A race that started in the slums. The pleasure of continuously climbing upward was considerable.
However, even that couldn’t provide the same excitement as the beginning. It wasn’t because he had grown used to it. It was because he had found something he desired and wanted more.
“What about you? What do you like?”
When he shifted the conversation and returned the same question, Joo-oh flinched. Then, without even understanding what was being asked, he answered brightly.
“I like both. Because Jin Mu-hae is amazing.”
“Not me, I mean you. You.”
“Ummm…” Joo-oh made an ambiguous sound and shut his mouth. It seemed he found it difficult to choose just one.
It was funny that a guy who would recklessly jump in and interfere in important matters would agonize so deeply only when checking the quality of tinkle friends or considering meaningless hypotheticals like this.
Mu-hae looked back at him, twisting one corner of his mouth slightly. Just as he was about to sneer maliciously, asking if he still couldn’t speak well, a sight slightly different from what he expected met his eyes.
“…”
It was a considerably mysterious face. In front of options he would normally pick with excitement, he acted like someone who had heard a sentence that couldn’t possibly exist.
Silence began to fall. It was from that moment that the fellow, who had been relentlessly initiating conversation, went quiet.
In that brief silence, Mu-hae found a point that was extremely ominous and irritating.
“I’m asking what you want to become.”
Even with the repeated question, no answer flew back. There was a clear sign that he was pretending not to notice and avoiding the response.
Everything was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. It felt as if a thorn he didn’t know about was lodged beneath his windpipe.
“Hey.”
His gaze was calm.
“Joo-oh.”
As if he had already sensed that he wouldn’t be there at the end of that plan.
“…”
The area beneath his sternum felt cold, as if it had been sliced. Jin Mu-hae glared at his companion with a hardened face.
Since when had he realized? Well, since he knew he was an Aberrant and had seen the information regarding Crystal Blue, it was a conclusion that could easily be drawn.
Yet, hadn’t he chased the Return flight all this time without showing any sign? As if he were a person who hadn’t even perceived this situation.
“Why aren’t you answering?”
“I like everything.”
“What do you like?”
“Everything Jin Mu-hae does.”
Joo-oh smiled like a fool. The smile he usually wore when being scolded was now laid bare, as if dissected.
Fuck. He cursed unconsciously. He wasn’t smiling because he didn’t know anything.
“You’re changing the subject, aren’t you?”
Teacher Jung was right. Joo-oh was surprisingly clever in ways Mu-hae didn’t recognize.
His judgment was so good that he had deceived him perfectly until now.
Forgetting the numbers he had been counting, Jin Mu-hae abruptly stood up. The address, the Return flight—suddenly, none of it registered.
Had he known all along, even before his identity was revealed? Or had he simply forgotten until his own form changed, making it okay?
Thinking of the massive, pitch-black Aberrant made his chest tighten. His heart, racing anxiously, was certainly due to fear, but strangely, it wasn’t the threat to life that Mu-hae usually felt.
It was a much more abstract and agonizing dread.
“Hug me.”
Without answering the question, Joo-oh opened his arms. This time, Mu-hae looked down at him in silence.
Blink. The search he had restarted to find a connection sent a completion signal, but his eyes remained nailed to Joo-oh.
* * *
“Why are you leaving already? You just got here.”
“…”
“Since we’re here, we should buy pie and sandwiches too.”
“Buy them on the way.”
Since he was a man with a large stride, his speed was extraordinary, as if he were using a shrinking-step technique.
Joo-oh followed behind the rapidly moving Mu-hae with short, quick steps.
It had been barely an hour since they arrived in the Jaegang District. No sooner had they taken off their outer clothes than they put them back on and left the hideout.
Regardless of whether the one following grumbled and protested, the steps leading the way did not stop.
“Jaegang District is nice too.”
“You said you left your Taser behind.”
“I think I didn’t turn off all the underground systems.”
“What does that have to do with you?”
It was a voice so cold it made one’s knees tremble. It was so stiff and fierce that even the speaker flinched for a moment.
I want to go back. Joo-oh muttered almost inaudibly and slowed his pace. Then, Mu-hae, who had been walking without looking back, gripped his wrist firmly.
“Let’s go.”
“Jin Mu-hae is scary.”
“You just won’t listen, will you.”
The end of his monotone voice cracked slightly. There was a clear sign that he was suppressing rising anger.
Though he could have shaken him off, Joo-oh remained quietly held, walking as if being dragged along. He felt the glances of people around them peeking in their direction.
Even so, Jin Mu-hae was heading toward a crowded shopping street without hesitation.
As if fruit pie were so important that he absolutely had to buy it before returning.
“I haven’t solved it yet. The code.”
It seemed he really intended to just buy the pie and sandwiches and go back. When Joo-oh quickly added the remark, the already stiff expression hardened further.
“I asked what it has to do with you.”
“I’m part of the Return flight too.”
“There’s no such thing.”
Mu-hae retorted coldly. A group where now only the General knew all the information. It was obvious that if he himself were removed, its existence would vanish into obscurity.
Unbearable irritation surged every second. He had long since guessed that if a problem occurred with Crystal Blue, Joo-oh would also be affected.
Despite knowing that, he had followed Project Solar, however passively, yet at this moment, his eyes were particularly crazed.
It felt as if a weakness he had been hiding from Joo-oh had been deeply pierced. A cowardly feeling—of receiving the truth he had avoided until the very last moment from the one person he could least afford to ignore.
‘He knew everything.’
His recent strange behavior flashed before his eyes like a panorama. The question he had asked at the hideout kept echoing in his head.
‘Which one does Jin Mu-hae prefer?’
Either way, it was only a gain for him, but neither was good.
The moment he realized that fact, the long-drawn-out contemplation shattered with a loud crash.
It was difficult to pinpoint and express the infinitely fluctuating emotions. He just didn’t want to sit in a space filled with traces of the Return flight for now.
242 – I Became an Aberration in a Dead Game