“Can’t tell you.”
“Have you been staying there the whole time?”
“I said I can’t tell you.”
“What can you tell me?”
“Don’t ask. I don’t know much myself.”
“Let me ask just one thing. Is Senior Yang treating you well?”
“What are you talking about? You are Senior Yang.”
Park Hae-jun brought a book to use as a pot holder and placed the ramen on it. The author of the book was Professor Seok.
“No, not me. I mean Senior Yang. My Senior Yang.”
“Senior Yang’s senior? What do you… Are you talking about Secretary Yang? The one whose card you gave me?”
“Yes. Our club’s Senior Yang. Nine years ahead of me.”
Senior Yang scooped up a large portion of ramen and slurped it.
Park Hae-jun was so dumbfounded that he put down his chopsticks. “What? That person was your senior? Not your relative?”
“Why would that person be my relative?”
“Because you both have the surname Yang.”
“Are all Yangs relatives?”
“Your names are similar too. Yang Hyun-tae, Yang Hyun-soo.”
“So what if our names are similar? Does that make me relatives with the baseball player Yang Hyun-jong too?”
That was true. But Park Hae-jun was stunned because he had accepted the offer more easily thinking the person was Senior Yang’s relative of the same generation based on the name.
“Is Yang Senior giving you a hard time?”
“Ah, I don’t know. I told you not to ask.”
“You are doing helper work, right? And you can’t contact anyone because of that ability user.”
“Senior.” put down his chopsticks for the second time. “Do you really need to ask that? You introduced me knowing what it was all about. What else would they secretly take a helper for? And I signed a confidentiality agreement, so I can’t say anything. Don’t try to find out either.”
“I guess you’re right.” Senior Yang made a bitter expression.
Park Hae-jun took instant rice from the microwave and opened the lid.
He knew why Senior Yang had that expression. Senior Yang was worried about him. It was probably a mix of feelings – half guilty for introducing him to something that required revealing his identity, half worried, and a bit of sorry and concerned.
But Park Hae-jun was fine. Or rather, even if he wasn’t fine, he had no intention of letting Senior Yang know. This was something he had to bear entirely alone. So that Senior Yang wouldn’t feel guilty if anything went wrong.
“So don’t ask and let’s talk about something else. I have to leave at five. We don’t have much time, Senior.”
“Okay. Let’s do that.”
Once again, only the sound of slurping ramen could be heard.
Then, as Park Hae-jun was about to mix the instant rice into the ramen, Senior Yang brought up another topic.
“Let me ask just one thing. Is it an A-class?”
“Oh, Senior!”
“No, I’m just curious because they’re specifically looking in secret. Honestly, they even let C-class go from the military now. They’re not as desperate for ability users as before.” Senior Yang grumbled, watching Park Hae-jun’s reaction. “There’s been a fuss in the news about how no new A-class has appeared for three years. You know that, right?”
“Senior, please.”
“Hey, this isn’t about your work. It’s about the social phenomenon that no A-class has emerged for three years. It’s about national defense. Are you saying you can’t talk about this either?”
Senior Yang had a point. Park Hae-jun roughly pushed up his bangs.
“Yes, I know. There was always a fuss about the lack of A-class. Is it still like that?”
“Of course. Did you know? Talking about A-class ability user security gets higher ratings than presidential candidate debates. So whenever you turn on the TV, it’s all about A-class. ‘A-class ability user emergency. Is South Korea’s security safe this way?’ Like that.”
Ability users were, so to speak, a matter of national pride. Entities to boast about, claiming we have more A-class than others. But in reality, even calling them A-class was ridiculous.
When people hear terms like superpowers or special abilities, they develop expectations. This is because they’ve already learned about the greatness of superpowers through various media.
In contrast, the actual abilities that ability users possessed were things like moving half a step forward for half a day, or bending a spoon for two hours. Honestly, if those abilities were to be quantified, they’d only be E-class or F-class.
But they couldn’t admit there were no A-class. How embarrassing would it be if other countries had them but Korea didn’t?
“Fellow citizens, the truth is, South Korea has no A-class.”
People would be disappointed. Party approval ratings would drop. The opposition would win landslides in local elections.
Headlines would appear: “Serious! Only our country has no A-class. Is this even a country?”
“What? Then let’s check Japan. Does Japan also have no A-class?”
“No, they have A-class!”
“What’s going on? Issue A-class certificates immediately and bring three people by tomorrow!”
It was Korea vs. Japan even here.
Does this sound absurd? It was what actually happened when ability users were first discovered. People were that serious about superheroes.
As countries around the world watched each other carefully, global lies became rampant. With no international standard for A-class, it was all about who could be more insistent.
In Italy, it’s said that there are more A-class than D-class, and in India, an S-class beyond A-class has appeared. These were all nonsensical stories, but news programs used these standards to criticize the Korean government. With slogans like “Korea in crisis, is there no way to overcome?”
“Well, I heard that lower-class abilities end assistance faster. That’s why I asked.” Senior Yang hurriedly explained.
Park Hae-jun let out a light sigh and spoke quickly, “Senior, I plan to finish this job within two months. And I will definitely return. To the place Professor Seok tried to drive me out from and bury me forever.”
“Yes, I believe you.”
“It’s not as easy as I thought, but I’ll make it happen. Please believe me and wait.”
Haejun’s eyes showed determination like a fighter in the ring. Senior Yang silently patted Park Hae-jun’s shoulder. That was the extent of his comfort. They didn’t need to elaborate on how unfair it was or how Park Hae-jun felt.
The drinking session with his senior was so enjoyable that Park Hae-jun, who had planned to leave at four, could only break away at five.
“Senior, please clean up what we ate and drank. You know how to just lock the door when you leave, right?”
“Yeah, go ahead. See you next time.”
Park Hae-jun hurriedly left home, stuffing his laptop and notebooks into one corner of his bag. It was only five o’clock, but the streets were already getting dark.
It had taken three hours to come from the safe house to his apartment. It would probably take about the same time to go back. That would mean arriving at exactly eight o’clock. With a slightly anxious feeling, Park Hae-jun took the village bus and got off at the subway station.
As he left the subway station and waited for a bus in Gangnam, a sign across the street caught his eye. It was the Helper Welfare Center.
Despite its name, it had nothing to do with welfare. They were located throughout the country, and anyone could take a helper test, but once identified as a helper, they were immediately registered in the national helper system regardless of their personal wishes.
Looking up, he saw a current affairs program on the building’s electronic display. Just as his senior had said, they were seriously discussing the situation of no new A-class appearing, followed by a public service announcement.
[Helper Self-Report Month. Your call becomes a message of hope that saves South Korea. Just dial 113. Call now.]
This helper self-report month existed every month from January to December. Each month offered different benefits for self-reporters. May offered income tax reduction benefits, and June offered young adult savings account benefits. —In December, they held a singles party as a Christmas event. They said it was crawling with men.—
After 20 minutes, the bus finally arrived. Park Hae-jun, waiting to board, was flustered when the line broke in front of him. The bus departed just like that.
The information board clock pointed to 6:35 PM. It’s okay. There’s still time. Park Hae-jun paced around the bus stop checking the schedule.
He was barely able to board the second bus. It was getting tight, but it was a 40-minute journey. That would mean arriving almost exactly on time.
What Park Hae-jun overlooked was that it was rush hour. Cars moved at a sluggish pace. Vehicles that had poured into Seoul and were returning to Gyeonggi Province lined up endlessly with their taillights on.
His anxiety grew. At eight o’clock, Secretary Yang would call. Maybe even earlier. Secretary Yang had repeatedly urged him not to leave the house. If he was caught having gone to Seoul leaving someone as unstable as Lee A-gon alone, he might lose this job.
The bus, which had been slowly advancing to Yangjae, seemed to pick up speed after passing the Uiwang tollgate, but then resumed its stop-and-go pattern. It felt like a bus stop appeared almost every 5 minutes, and at each stop, someone always got on or off. He hadn’t realized there were so many stops when coming up to Seoul. At this point, it was no different from a village bus.
By 7:10 PM, Park Hae-jun became quite anxious. Judging that it might be faster to get off and take a taxi, he pressed the bell without thinking.
Park Hae-jun got off at an unknown stop. He knew it was Uiwang City, but couldn’t determine the exact location. Only after getting off in his hurry did he realize he didn’t have his phone. He waited at the bus stop for a taxi to pass by. It wouldn’t take long if he could catch a taxi since the distance wasn’t that far.
Park Hae-jun waited for quite a while. No taxi came.
‘Is this a bad spot?’ Park Hae-jun crossed the road toward an intersection. There were no taxis there either. Park Hae-jun circled the intersection and returned to the bus stop. Without a phone, he couldn’t call for a taxi.
“Which bus should I take to go toward Gicheon Reservoir?”
After waiting, a bus came. Park Hae-jun asked this question as he boarded.
The bus driver waved his hand dismissively. “Why are you asking about going to the reservoir here? It’s a completely different route.”
“I’m not familiar with the area. And no taxis are coming.”
As he bowed his head and added an apology, the bus driver closed the door and replied, “Then get on and go to the shopping mall, and transfer there. There are many taxis there too.”
“Thank you.”