By Zephyria 
The Intersection of Enlightenment
Humans are alive because their hearts beat.
When oxygen is transported along the flowing blood, the brain finally recognizes, ‘I am alive.’
Therefore, death is a state where physical activity has permanently ceased, and the effort to survive can be described as the consistent maintenance of proper nutrition and stability.
For the past twenty years, Jin Mu-hae had lived thinking this way. However, for some, life seemed to be explained in an entirely different manner.
Mu-hae occasionally met people who cherished things more precious than their own lives.
Usually, it was family, a lover, and sometimes an object that wasn’t human, or even something like a conviction.
If ‘I’ do not exist, then ‘my friend,’ ‘my family,’ or ‘my conviction’ cannot exist either. One may possess something precious, but it cannot be more precious than one’s own life. Thus, to Jin Mu-hae, such a sight was something he could understand, yet simultaneously could not.
At the very least, it was an emotion he himself had never experienced until now.
“Look at this. I haven’t used it once.”
Joo-oh, who had been rummaging through his bag, chuckled as he pulled out a box. Inside the black storage case was a Taser gun without a single scratch.
He had carried it inside his hoodie for a while, but at some point, the equipment had vanished from sight.
The weapon, provided at a considerable cost, shone brightly without any signs of wear. Even back then, Mu-hae had wondered if he’d bought it for nothing since Joo-oh only swung a baton around, but thinking back now, he really had bought it for nothing.
‘Does he even need a self-defense weapon?’
Mu-hae stared blankly at the Taser, wondering how much he could get if he sold it.
He stopped quickly. It wasn’t as if Director Gil would buy it back for the same price, and there was even less chance that Joo-oh would voluntarily give up his own possession.
It sounded ridiculous, but to Joo-oh, objects seemed to be divided into two categories, ignoring social classifications.
Just objects. And things Joo-oh owned that Jin Mu-hae had bought for him.
“You don’t need it anyway.”
“No, I do.”
“You’re not taking it, so stop hugging a charged gun.”
“I need it.”
Joo-oh collected everything that bore Mu-hae’s trace, whether it was clothing or miscellaneous junk.
Especially if Mu-hae’s hard work was imbued in it, he cherished even a pair of boots that would soon get dirty.
If he had known this sooner, would it have been easier to handle him? He quickly erased the thought.
What he cherished more than Mu-hae’s belongings was the time spent with Jin Mu-hae. Just as he often threatened, he would have followed him to the end, even if it meant breaking through walls and drooling.
“The baton.”
“Huh?”
“Where did you find it? It wasn’t there.”
“…I took it.”
“You were stark naked in the bushes.”
“…I came back for it later.”
The equipment that had clearly disappeared when he transformed into an Aberrant had, at some point, been stuffed back into Joo-oh’s bag.
It was a complete mystery when and how he had retrieved and stored it, but his elusive nature was now like a basic passive skill.
Even though it was annoyingly bothersome, Mu-hae had no intention of grilling him to the end. Whatever words or actions Joo-oh displayed usually had some absurd reason attached to them.
As much as he acknowledged him as a comrade, he had decided long ago—while trying to make him independent—that he would tacitly ignore certain things.
‘Though I gave up on that pretty quickly.’
Perhaps at that moment, he had unconsciously sensed Joo-oh’s true identity. Assuming so brought a hollow sigh.
How did a mercenary, who had walked the tightrope between life and death pursuing only certain information, end up like this?
“Don’t look.”
“I’m the one who bought it for you.”
“Which is why it’s mine now.”
It was the same even now. Four days had already passed since he discovered the new records of the Return flight.
During that time, Mu-hae had gone to work for the Defense Force once more, and he had reviewed the Company emails—which continued to send schedules—a couple of times, despite his tentative intention to quit.
Despite never having cooked anything grand, he bought real eggs and fish to prepare dinner. He also half-understood things for himself by cross-referencing the records of the Starpath, which he had already read until he was sick of them, several times.
After sending Joo-oh into the bathroom to wash, he looked through the notebook he had secretly taken from the prison. He marveled at the surprisingly well-drawn faces and attempted to sketch again with an old pen whose ink kept skipping.
Even after that, with time to spare, he spent it with Joo-oh in the basement of the Jaegang District, engaging in pointless chatter. The moment he had been waiting for was right before his eyes, yet his behavior was infuriatingly lukewarm.
The moment of approaching the Starpath. This was a future he had imagined with a pounding heart back when he first found the unique pattern in his father’s study and saw the legacy left to him with his own eyes.
Yet, he was ignoring it too naturally. Just as he had avoided the Jaegang District for a while after recovering Joo-oh.
“Oh. Did you find it?”
“What.”
“The Starpath. New records appeared.”
Of course, every time that happened, Joo-oh strangely stepped forward to remind him of the situation. Looking back, it had always been that way.
At every crossroads leading to the Return flight and the grand inner secrets, Joo-oh had always appeared like a guide.
Mu-hae checked his equipment again, pretending not to hear. The phrase, etched clearly in his mind, remained and irritated him.
[SHELL]-G (D2)vSUN
He was someone who couldn’t even properly understand the formula Teacher Jung had kindly provided as a favor. Let alone deciphering a mark he had never seen or heard of.
The only clues he could discern from the newly obtained code were the guess that it was location information based on context, and words from external cities commonly used in Goryeo City, such as SHELL or SUN.
Faced with the difficult problem, Mu-hae unconsciously turned his head toward Starlight Road.
It wasn’t because he had any particular theory; it was just instinct and feeling leading the way.
‘Damn it. What on earth does this mean?’
Among the papers Joo-oh had memorized by heart before, there had been a similar symbol. At the time, Teacher Jung had skipped the detailed explanation and instructed Joo-oh to memorize the shape as it was.
He must have thought Joo-oh wouldn’t understand it anyway, which was a very cold and accurate judgment. Mu-hae cursed his own brain, which had learned some cryptography and external languages without realizing it, but had never learned mathematics beyond calculating money.
“Is Director Gil still sick?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t contacted him again.”
Joo-oh’s question interrupted his thoughts once more. His already complicated mind became troubled by another problem.
Two days ago, Jin Mu-hae had contacted Director Gil. After leaving that day, a persistent discomfort remained, so he wanted to check on him and, while he was at it, ask about things like mathematical symbols.
His voice had been completely dry and cracked. He said it was nothing and that he just had a slight fever, but it wasn’t hard to guess his health status.
Director Gil wasn’t particularly energetic to begin with, but he wasn’t a half-dead man who fell ill this often. He had gradually weakened over the last few years and had looked noticeably sick recently.
In the end, Mu-hae just told him to get some rest and hung up. Only the completely unsolved code remained lonely in Mu-hae’s hand.
“I think Teacher Jung would be good at solving problems too.”
“Probably.”
“I don’t think Teacher Jung is sick.”
“So what?”
Even while seeing the face that was becoming increasingly displeased, Joo-oh stubbornly brought up that name.
He wasn’t wrong. He was as wise a man as Director Gil. Nevertheless, the reason Mu-hae was reluctant to contact him first was because of a lingering unpleasant feeling.
Just as he had no particular resentment toward Director Gil, Mu-hae had no old grudges or complaints toward Teacher Jung. He must have been in a similar position to Director Gil, and thanks to that, he had survived without issue, unlike the mercenaries who disappeared due to all sorts of illnesses and injuries.
Despite understanding everything, a bitter aftertaste lingered on the tip of his tongue. It was especially so when he thought about bringing Joo-oh along. This, too, was an instinctive sense that could not be explained by reason.
“I know you don’t have any tinkle friends to give me. Because every morning you blamed Gam for only getting defective figures.”
“I understand that they were misprinted, but the one without an arm was too much.”
“Where did you put all the ones you’ve collected so far?”
“In a place only I know. Jin Mu-hae doesn’t need to know.”
As he answered, Joo-oh glanced at his bag. He looked ready to block Mu-hae instantly if he so much as reached out.
Whenever Mu-hae nudged it with his foot, it felt almost empty; he was curious how Joo-oh managed to stuff only the necessary items in there and move them around.
“Sigh… do you know this?”
After hesitating, he showed the code to Joo-oh. They had looked at it together on the first day, but this was the first time he had asked so pointedly.
Joo-oh tilted his head left and right in thought, then cleanly shook his head.
“I don’t think Teacher Jung is sick, and I think he’d be good at solving problems.”
Back to square one. In the end, he was saying they should go see Teacher Jung. Mu-hae sighed and even clicked his tongue, wondering what he had expected from the guy.
Teacher Jung was the most composed and stable person Mu-hae had ever seen.
Even when returning from a request bleeding from injuries, he never made a fuss, and no matter what problem he faced, instead of getting swept up in it, he knew how to observe the situation from a step back.
Yet, he wasn’t cold. He maintained a good balance between reason and emotion. This might be why Mu-hae couldn’t treat him as comfortably as he did Director Gil.
The way to Teacher Jung’s place, visiting suddenly without notice, felt somewhat anxious.
Tinkle.
As he entered the building called a hospital in the western slums, a cheap chime hurriedly announced the visit.
Mu-hae gestured for the guy following him to come inside and scanned the treatment room.
There was the sound of someone, so it seemed there was a patient. Joo-oh quickly took a seat on a chair near the entrance.
“Are you coming tomorrow too?”
“I taught you how to wrap the bandage, so disinfect it yourself every day. If you still have a fever in three days, come visit.”
A man leaning on crutches limped through the door curtain. Then, Teacher Jung’s gaze met Mu-hae’s.
Seeing him pay for the other person’s treatment before acknowledging Mu-hae, it seemed they were the type who didn’t have much to gain from meeting.
It didn’t seem like they had visited often, but Joo-oh, having learned the unspoken rule, commendably kept his mouth shut.
“How is the work at the Defense Force?”
“It’s easier on the body than being a mercenary. How have you been?”
“So-so. Always the same.”
“I’m doing well too.”
Only after the two of them and Teacher Jung were left alone in the room did they exchange belated greetings. Joo-oh jumped up as if he had been waiting and joined the line of checking in.
As they approached the treatment room, various medical supplies were visible in a half-open cabinet.
“It seems like trauma patients have been coming in often lately.”
“It seems things are unsettling around Sakdal. I heard it’s been quite ominous for a while.”
Conveying news Mu-hae hadn’t yet encountered in a flat tone, he tidied the bed and the dressing cart.
The long scar crossing one side of his gentle impression fit strangely well with the old hospital building.
227 – I Became an Aberration in a Dead Game