A Country of Common Sense
At the sound of that tremendous wailing, the American soldiers standing guard outside rushed in. Yeonghak and I were already scrambling to calm Mother down, and the moment the Americans took in the scene, they understood the atmosphere well enough to help us without a word.
"Yeongcheol!! My son!! My son!!!!!!!!"
The strength pouring out of Mother's middle-aged body was far beyond anything that should have been possible. Even with four men holding her down, she was nearly impossible to restrain. She sobbed and thrashed. Blood ran from the blows of her flailing hands and feet, but neither Yeonghak nor I said a single word.
After nearly ten minutes of that desperate struggle, Mother finally lost consciousness and collapsed.
"Medic!! Get a medic in here!!!"
A stretcher appeared in an instant, and Mother was carried away.
Even after she was gone, Yeonghak and I couldn't speak. We both lit cigarettes in silence and smoked one after another.
"Seongho."
"Yes, hyung."
"You've got your own plans for revenge, I know. But put them on hold for a bit. When Mother wakes up, let's try to give her whatever she wants, as much as we can. That just feels like the right thing to do."
I nodded without a word.
"Of course."
I started to light another cigarette, then stopped and hung my head.
"Maybe I should've just fucking lied. It would've been false hope, but still... still, maybe lying would've been better. Hyung."
"I don't know. I really don't. But let's just do whatever Mother says. Our plans, everything else — put it all aside. We do what she wants. Got it?"
I nodded silently at his words.
After that, neither of us said another word until we'd burned through an entire pack of cigarettes.
Blood droplets that had beaded on our cheeks fell to the floor and pooled there.
The moment Hunter Seo Yeongcheol's mother woke up, she called for Yeonghak and me.
"Who are the people who did that to my son? Who, exactly?"
The murderous aura she radiated was so terrifying even we froze solid.
"Who are the bastards who did this to him!!"
I told her that Yeongcheol had died while being put through disciplinary drills, and that a female military officer had ordered those drills. At that, Mother seized my hand.
"Help me. Hunter Kim Seongho. You can help me, can't you?"
"Of course, Mother. I'll do anything. What do you want?"
"Have my son's death recognized as a line-of-duty death. Have my son buried at the National Cemetery."
The National Cemetery still stood in Daejeon. But not a single hunter had ever been buried there. When hunters died, nine out of ten cases or more were never recognized as line-of-duty deaths. Mother was asking for something without precedent. But I nodded.
"I will make it happen. I swear."
"And the people who did this to my son!! Punish them!! Make sure they get real punishment!! That's the least they should do!! Don't I have the right to demand at least that much!!"
I nodded at that as well.
"I'll make that happen too. Without fail."
"Gather the reporters. People need to know. How my son died. People need to know!! I can't just let my Yeongcheol go like this!!"
Mother started crying again. I tried to hold her, but she refused.
"I'll take your comfort after my son's death is recognized as line-of-duty and the people responsible are punished! Not now!!"
I nodded, then left the room with Yeonghak. Outside, Association President Volkov was waiting for us with a grim face.
"The press conference is ready."
"Thank you, President Volkov. The United States has no separate objections to this press conference, correct?"
Volkov nodded, but warned me with a very serious expression.
"As I said before — South Korea must not collapse. No matter what comes of this press conference, Stray Dog must protect South Korea. President Komoloff has made it clear that deliberately neglecting rift hunting or intentionally threatening South Korea's security out of personal grievances will never be tolerated."
"You don't need to worry about that. South Korea will be safe."
"And as long as the magic stone supply isn't disrupted... the United States will stand with you, no matter what you say at the press conference."
I nodded.
The silence was over.
It was time for South Korea to learn the truth.
A few days later.
A press conference venue had been set up in the heart of Daejeon.
Countless reporters sat in their chairs, waiting for my statement.
I stepped before them in a suit.
The moment they saw me, camera flashes went off in a frenzy.
I looked at the reporters in silence for a moment, then slowly opened my mouth.
"Today, I want to tell you our story. I'm sure many of you have been wondering. Why we went to America. Why we abandoned the defense of our bases. I intend to tell you the truth about that."
I wasn't afraid. After experiencing Choi Boksun's rage, there was nothing left to fear. I carefully refined the words I'd prepared and began to deliver them.
"First, I want to talk about two deaths. The deaths of hunters that South Korea has ignored, that it has refused to speak of."
I told the reporters the exact same story I'd told the hunters' parents a few days earlier. Sangmin's death. The discovery of Elixir's uses. And Seo Yeongcheol's death, and how the enraged hunters had decided to abandon base defense and cross over to America. Every part of it, delivered the same way to the press.
The moment the story ended, a barrage of questions poured from the reporters.
"Isn't that an extreme choice? Why didn't you inform the public of these facts?"
"Surely more moderate solutions existed as well?"
At the flood of questions, I smiled.
Whether it was a mocking smile or a bitter one, even I couldn't tell.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the press. Let me ask you a question. Do you know how many soldiers die every year? And do you remember how much those deaths are covered, how much they are mourned?"
At my words, the reporters' clamor subsided.
"If we hadn't gone to America. If we hadn't abandoned the bases. If we had given our lives to hold those bases and hunt the mutant wyverns. And if hunters had died one by one in the process — would South Korea have remembered them? Would it have mourned them? I genuinely want to know."
As I spoke, rage began welling up from deep in my chest.
My voice grew rougher.
"If a moderate solution had existed, we would have taken it. But no matter how I looked at it, South Korea was never going to give us the ending we wanted. We knew that in our bones — and that is why we had no choice but to run."
"Then why did you come back?"
Through the clicking of cameras, one reporter raised a hand and asked. I answered.
"Because America does not want South Korea to collapse. Whatever the outcome of this press conference, we will protect South Korea. But we will protect it for a fair price. We wanted respect. We wanted the kind of respect where our sacrifices aren't mocked and belittled."
But there had been no respect.
Those responsible never took responsibility. The public never recognized how much sacred sacrifice underpinned their ordinary, uninterrupted daily lives. And those being protected casually tossed around words about their protectors that were too vile to even utter — things like Korean male vermin, re-enlist.
"There is no respect left in South Korea. No respect for those who devoted themselves, and no mourning for those who sacrificed. Ah — they do mourn, actually. Deaths that are politically useful get mourned. They're dug up endlessly and used for vote-farming disguised as memorial. But the deaths of soldiers and hunters, it seems, don't offer much political profit."
My words were calm, but even I could feel how rough my voice had become.
"We want to make two demands of South Korea. Of course, even if South Korea refuses our demands, rift clearing will continue. Everything began with two deaths, so the resolution should also concern those two deaths."
I spoke the names that still made my tongue go cold just to recall them.
The two names that had faded amid shards of magic and aura, and cigarette smoke.
"Recognize Hunter Lee Sangmin and Hunter Seo Yeongcheol as having died in the line of duty. Bury those two men at the National Cemetery. And find those responsible for their deaths and deliver appropriate punishment."
After finishing that long speech, I took a brief breath, trying to settle my emotions.
But the feelings still surged and churned inside me.
Revenge?
Yes.
I wanted revenge.
I wanted revenge against South Korea.
But beneath that, there was a slightly different thought.
"I want South Korea to become a country of common sense."
I hadn't wanted to bite my own homeland.
But starved beyond endurance, pushed past the limit, I bit.
And so we became stray dogs.
Somewhere in the back of my mind was the thought that, having watched the house dogs turn into strays, maybe the homeowner would react a little differently this time.
"Treat the sacrifices of those who were forcibly conscripted for the nation, worked to the bone, and lost their lives with the reverence they deserve."
But even as I said it, I thought it wouldn't land.
Just because the house dogs had become strays didn't mean the homeowner would suddenly come to his senses.
And if that happened, I would have no choice but to take revenge.
I would bite, savagely.
I would force through the results I wanted by any means necessary — so long as I didn't cross America's temper.
"That is what I want. What we want. What the Stray Dog Guild wants."
The stray dogs who had left home shouted their demands at the homeowner.
All that remained now was the homeowner's response.
An upscale traditional Korean restaurant somewhere in Seoul.
National Assembly members from the yellow Progressive Party were having a meal.
It was called a meal, but it was closer to a strategy meeting dressed up as dinner.
"I assume no one here missed Hunter Kim Seongho's press conference?"
Party leader Choi Jeongju drained a cup of liquor as he said it.
"We've all seen it, sir."
At that answer, the party leader's face twisted.
"The conservatives are going to collapse on their own thanks to President Yu Myeonghak. Security issues, economic issues — conservative support is freefalling by the day. And with Hunter Kim Seongho blowing open the detention of hunters' families on top of everything else, President Yu Myeonghak is going to be a lame duck for the rest of his term. He'll be lucky if he doesn't get impeached."
That was good news.
But the reason the party leader's face was still twisted was something else entirely.
"When the gates first opened ten years ago, the people who wrote the Gate Special Act were our side. I contributed to drafting that gate legislation myself. The president who created the hunter system was one of ours. The laws were written by our side."
And Hunter Kim Seongho's press conference was a blow that redirected public opinion — which until now had been aimed exclusively at the conservatives — toward the progressives as well.
"People are saying we caused the Suwon Rift incident. This is not good. Public opinion is fracturing, and there's a chance Yu Myeonghak and the conservatives could recover."
"What should we do?"
"Minimize the damage falling on our side and concentrate the firepower on the conservatives. Our approval ratings must not drop."
The moment the words left his mouth, the assembly members scrambled to draft action plans.
"We'll manage the media coverage. Make sure Yu Myeonghak and the conservatives take the beating, not us."
"A both-sides argument could work. What about using Base Leader Cho Geunseong's death?"
"That bastard embezzled so much that if we elevate him, our side — the ones who first built that system — will catch the blame. Bury it. And for now, overstimulating the Stray Dog Guild is not a good idea."
"Understood. So even if we're angry, we frame it as: we cannot tolerate acts that shake national security. Treat it as a problem of individual hunters, not of the laws and the system."
In an instant, countless methods poured out for ensuring that Kim Seongho's press conference hit the conservatives as hard as possible while leaving the progressives unscathed.
"Party Leader. Then what about Guild Leader Kim Seongho's demands — recognizing Hunter Lee Sangmin and Hunter Seo Yeongcheol as line-of-duty deaths and burying them at the National Cemetery?"
At that, Party Leader Choi Jeongju smiled thinly.
"Just leave that to the Ministry of National Defense. Those people are obviously going to protect their own. If we get a setup where Kim Seongho is beating up the Ministry of Defense, that's perfect for us. Fewer arrows coming our way."
"Understood."
The conclusion came that quickly. Party Leader Choi Jeongju refilled his glass and downed the harsh liquor in one go.
"I hate the Americans. And I hate those bastards with American citizenship holding our security hostage and blackmailing South Korea. Right now we have no other way to handle the rifts, so we have to pay them a fortune and use them. But the moment we take power, I will slowly push those stray dogs out. So nothing that could hurt our side can be allowed to happen."
Choi Jeongju's eyes were burning.
"Our activist comrades must protect South Korea. We cannot allow a return to the days when the military regimes and the Americans played us like toys. For now, we stay quiet. When we take power again — that's when we slowly push the stray dogs out."
"To the change of government!!"
One sharp-eyed assembly member quickly refilled Choi Jeongju's glass as he said it.
Everyone raised their glasses and drank.
It was an ordinary evening in Yeouido.