BTT 2

The reason for revealing the secret Park Hae-jun had intended to take to his grave to Senior Yang was firstly because they were drunk, and secondly because the senior had confessed first.

The whole thing had happened on a bitterly cold day last winter. After watching an art film by a director of Eastern European immigrant descent, the two piled crates of alcohol in Senior Yang’s rented room and rambled on about art.

The senior’s room had a truly old yellow vinyl floor, which made drinking there perfectly conducive to pessimism. Though he actually liked money, he pretended to be more drunk than he was and spouted nonsense like “I’m hungry for art, not money.”

They were in a place with yellow vinyl floors with jade-colored doors, a single-unit sink, and it was a half-basement room.

Being there really did make you think only about art. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t think commercially in that place.

They say 2 a.m. was when people become most emotional. 2 a.m. How dangerous. Wasn’t it around the time when you suddenly became desperately curious whether someone you had a fling with six months ago was asleep or not?

At that dangerous hour, Park Hae-jun was drinking with Senior Yang. That night, perhaps the senior was also overcome with emotion and suddenly launched into a confession.

It wasn’t the kind of confession like “I like you.” The senior’s confession was more shocking than that. The senior downed a shot in one gulp and said in a grave voice, “Hae-jun, listen carefully. I’m actually…an assistant.”

It was a sobering confession to hear.

“Senior, why are you telling me this?”

“Having more secrets than others means carrying that much more burden. I’m tired now, Hae-jun. I don’t want to hide from you anymore. Because I think of you like my own brother.”

The senior, having revealed his identity, wore an expression that somehow looked relieved. Poor artist. Working student. Hidden talent. Youth who betrayed the nation. Embracing such self-indulgent settings, the 2 a.m. artist downed another shot.

“Hae-jun, listen carefully. Nobody knows I’m an assistant except for my parents. Among people not related by blood, you’re the only one. That’s how much I trust you. So don’t report me to the military.”

“Senior.”

Park Hae-jun, drinking together with the other man, felt unnecessarily moved. That must have been why. That was the reason why he also made a confession to his senior.

“I only know you, senior.”

“What?”

“I’m also that. An assistant, senior.”

“What?”

“I’m also that thing. An assistant, senior.”

“WHAT?!”

The senior threw the glass, and Park Hae-jun burst out laughing.

Why do people want to reveal secrets when drunk?

Why do people who share secrets feel they’ve become closer?

The sense of liberation the two felt that night didn’t last for long. When they opened their eyes the next morning, all they felt was a terrible hangover along with the thought that they were screwed.

It was all an illusion. The two didn’t become closer, nor were they liberated. By confessing their secrets to each other, Park Hae-jun and his senior had each added a risk factor that might get them dragged into the military.

For a while after that, the two were extremely nice to each other. Both the senior and Park Hae-jun were quite sensitive, worried the other might report them to the authorities.

Times passed like an 80s youth film. “Senior, I just happened to think of you and stopped by. Aren’t you tired from work?” 

“Haha, tired? You must be exhausted juggling studies and part-time jobs.” 

“Kid, I’m really proud of how hard you study. Should this senior buy you a meal…?”

Both their phones had the number 113 saved. 113 for reporting spies. 113 for reporting guides as well.

For a while, Park Hae-jun’s speed dial number 0 was 113. He was determined that if he died, he wouldn’t die alone.

Currently, the whole world was desperately searching for outstanding superhumans. Even if their abilities were trivial and unremarkable, people were still looking forward to the birth of a new human race.

The emergence of a new human race also meant there was room for even more upgrades in the future.

Just because the current abilities were minimal didn’t guarantee that more extraordinary abilities wouldn’t appear later. Other countries were cultivating powered individuals, and our country couldn’t just sit idly as this happened.

For this reason, the state took possession of the sporadically appearing powered individuals, like gold nuggets in sand, and managed them thoroughly.

The problem was that the existence of assistants was always inadequate compared to powered individuals.

It would have been nice if the numbers of powered individuals and assistants were similar, like the natural gender ratio between men and women, but reality wasn’t like that.

The supply of assistants was a global challenge. Powered individuals who absolutely needed assistance gathered at the military on their own to receive state care, but assistants didn’t. The state aggressively recruited assistants, but assistants could thoroughly hide their identity if they wished, making them difficult to find.

Assistants who didn’t want to be dragged into the military chose to live in hiding, which led to the reporting system. Now, 113 was more famous as the number for reporting guides rather than spies.

Of course, there were assistants who were tempted by the promise of becoming civil servants in an era of employment difficulties and came voluntarily, but Park Hae-jun wasn’t one of them. He didn’t want to become a soldier or a civil servant. He had a dream and he was going to strive for it.

Park Hae-jun wanted to make movies.

“You took the assistant test at fifteen. How did you receive a ‘not qualified for assistance’ judgment at that time?”

In just one day, Secretary Yang seemed to have found out a lot about Park Hae-jun. The assistant test results should be military data, so how did he find out about it? Park Hae-jun was secretly surprised as he explained.

“The powered individual who tested me lied.”

“Please explain in detail.”

“Someone reported me. I took the test without knowing anything, and I failed. I thought that was the end of it, but a few days later, the powered individual who tested me came and told me. That he had actually lied.”

It happened when he was fifteen. On his way home, Park Hae-jun was kidnapped by the Army Special Task Force. The soldiers forcibly put him in a car and transported him to a nearby base.

There, a man was waiting for Park Hae-jun. The man, who appeared to be in his late twenties, was skinny with a nervous appearance.

The soldiers told Park Hae-jun to hold the man’s hand. At that time, the machine for identifying assistants had not yet received FDA approval, so to test for assistants, powered individuals had to step in personally.

Park Hae-jun reluctantly held the man’s hand. After a moment, the man looked directly at Park Hae-jun and said, “He is not an assistant.” And Park Hae-jun was returned to the place where he was first kidnapped. Park Hae-jun was relieved to learn that he was not an assistant.

That was until the powered individual appeared on his way home from school three days later.

“The moment he held my hand, he knew I was an assistant, but he told me he lied for my sake. He said I was too pitiful, still a minor, to be subjected to such a thing.”

“Such a thing” meant forced matching. It was the act of forcibly attaching an assistant to a high-tier powered individual and making them assist involuntarily. That’s right. As recently as ten years ago, such things actually happened.

“He said since he had lied for me, I should help him from now on. He said if this fact were revealed, I would go to prison along with him.”

“Did you believe that?”

“I was fifteen. There was no reason not to believe it.”

After that day, the man frequently sought out Park Hae-jun. He bought things Park Hae-jun liked without asking for anything in return, trying to win his favor. He even gave him the latest phone model he had wanted.

When Park Hae-jun felt burdened, the man would say: “”It’s okay. Don’t feel burdened. If you feel burdened, can you just hold my hand for a moment? I’m also having a hard time right now.”

Of course, Park Hae-jun held his hand. Then the man would sigh deeply and his eyelids would tremble. At first, it was one minute, then it became five minutes, and as time passed, no matter how long Park Hae-jun waited, he wouldn’t let go of his hand. Park Hae-jun became increasingly uncomfortable around the other man.

“Later I realized. What he did wasn’t for my sake. He was a D-class powered individual traveling around the country looking for assistants. All the assistants found this way were first distributed to A-class powered individuals. He was anxious about not having an assistant for himself when he discovered a minor assistant unaware of his powers.”