Korea University (13) - "It Has to Be a Dream"
Major Jeong Jinseong of the special mobile unit thought exactly that right up until thirty minutes before the operation against the bomb terrorists was planned and set into motion.
'It has to be a dream. It must be a dream.'
'Everyone's alive. This is a dream.'
He even nodded along when the mobile unit team leader—a real piece of work—announced they were only hitting the library to rescue the VIPs.
If this wasn't a dream, then neither choosing to abandon the remaining civilians nor approving it just because he couldn't stomach watching people die could possibly exist.
"Everyone, stand by at your positions."
Even over the radio, a horrific silence hung in the air. No jokes from the colleague who'd always ribbed him. No junior chattering about his little brother heading off to university soon.
Jinseong squeezed his eyes shut tight, then snapped them open.
'Come on, wake up already!'
But reality didn't budge.
He heard the whisper of the comrade who'd stepped in as his substitute—because Jinseong's wife had just given birth—and ended up dead.
'Jinseong-ah, did only you survive? What about me...? What about us...?'
If he weren't a soldier, he'd have clutched his head and screamed his lungs out. He'd only endured through the sheer inertia of over a decade of training.
...Until now.
"Huu... Huu..."
"Mom..."
What snapped Jinseong out of his nightmare were the mobile unit members around him. With their helmets off now, their faces came into view.
Ah... They were all so young. So green.
Unlike him—someone who deserved to die—they had no business dying like this.
In these young faces surrounding him, Jinseong saw the ghosts of his fallen comrades.
That's why he'd answered the suspicious radio offer of help. Why he'd blown off the arrogant, results-obsessed asshole of a team leader.
"Ma-Major. Can we... rappel...?"
The young man standing beside him asked. "Major"—the title felt off since they were from different units.
Instead of chewing him out, Jinseong pressed the rope into his hands.
"No need to rush. Just land accurately and safely. Trust only the major."
"Y-Yes, sir!"
"I've got this. Let's do it."
One scared shitless, the other brimming with overconfidence.
But both had white-knuckled grips on their ropes.
Jinseong smiled, lost for a moment in memories of his own youth.
"Trust only the major. Get ready."
The three of them prepped to rappel from the library rooftop.
Three minutes until operation go-time.
"Listen up, kids—you have to shatter those windows."
The team waiting on the first floor responded.
As zero hour approached, Jinseong's heart pounded faster.
'Right, it was supposed to kick off with sniper fire...'
During the briefing, he'd gotten the terrorists' positions—and intel on the mysterious group tangling with them. They were holed up in a place called the Commemoration Hall, apparently.
'What the hell can you even see from here? That gray bit sticking out?'
Jinseong eyed the protruding gray section, but thick green foliage blocked any clear view.
...No need for doubts. If they were offering backup, all he had to do was throw himself into the fray.
And soon...
The time arrived.
Bang!
From afar, the crack of a bullet ripping through the air.
If it was a sniper round—faster than sound—it had already nailed the target.
Jinseong tensed his legs and kicked off the wall.
Crash!
The first-floor team nailed their job. Glass shattered, and he touched down safely inside the library.
The moment he was in, he snapped off pistol shots at the terrorist in plain sight.
Bang! Bang!
"Argh!"
The objective: the library's multimedia room.
On the floor lay the guy Jinseong had dropped—and another body.
'Sniper's handiwork?'
He bolted over and frisked the sniper's kill.
...Jackpot!
The library—packed with bookshelves—was a damn maze. Enemies could pop out anywhere.
Jinseong bellowed orders as he and his team dug in for defense.
But one thing he couldn't do alone: steel their spines for the fight.
"Kill the South Korean scum!"
Bang! Tat-tatang!
Terrorists swarmed in, rifles blazing at the mobile unit.
Their aim sucked worse than expected.
But these greenhorns froze solid on their first real firefight—couldn't even shoot back.
Should've warned them sooner, Jinseong berated himself as he roared,
A few peeled off to return fire, but their response was too damn slow.
Before the lines devolved into a chaotic slaughter, one voice cut through.
"...Support fire? We're inside the library..."
Bang!
Jinseong's question answered itself. A round streaked in—slammed the library wall and ricocheted.
Ricochet. The stuff of pipe dreams in real life, punchlines in movies.
'No friggin' way...'
The deflected bullet nailed the seam on a massive structure looming in the central hall.
Jinseong spotted it and yelled,
A colossal globe—at least a ton—smashed to the floor.
BOOM!
"Argh!"
"Wh-what the hell?!"
The structure hit with earth-shaking force, spraying debris. Like a damn math problem, it cratered right on the terrorists' position—shattering their formation in seconds.
The sniper's voice crackled in Jinseong's earpiece.
"G-get up! Our position's better! Fight back!"
The team member who'd rappelled down with him screamed over the radio.
Was it the familiar voice of a fellow cop? Whatever the spark, the unit finally found their guts and hit back.
Tat-tat-tang! Bang!
"Die... guhk!"
"Hold the line! Protect the people!"
Terrorists dropping. Jinseong shouldered his rifle, poured lead into the enemy.
'We got 'em! We won!'
No chatter about casualties.
Everyone pulling their weight.
Before long, silence blanketed the library.
A hopeful hush, nothing like the nightmare quiet before.
"None...? No terrorists left?"
Uwaaaah!
We did it. We did it!
Jinseong finally lowered the rifle he'd been death-gripping.
...Brothers-in-arms, I pulled it off.
Joy crashed over him—mingled with soul-crushing grief.
The major ground his teeth to dust.
'That sniper... If only they'd been there back then...'
Despair blackened his heart.
Thankfully, his team mobbed him with thanks—the darkness ebbed, just a little.
For this one moment, at least.
"Lieutenant, we really just follow this robot, right?"
Sergeant Kim Minwoo couldn't shake the doubt. Could they really trust this massive dog-looking machine?
"...Sergeant Kim, it's not about trusting just them. The NIS agent asked us personally."
"Still..."
"W-we can do this!"
"Constable Jeong—pipe down. Terrorists'll hear you."
Minwoo just didn't get it. The lieutenant's ice-cool calm. The constable shaking so bad his rifle looked bent.
...How the hell were they even here?
Hadn't they gotten the same lectures about duty and responsibility? The same parental guilt-trips about living right?
The sergeant let out a heavy sigh and shouldered his rifle.
"Let's move. So, how's this dog-bot work...?"
"It talks? A robot that talks."
The constable edged toward it like he'd spotted a unicorn.
Minwoo yanked him back.
"Constable Jeong—that's him. Listen to the voice."
"Understood."
"Leave it to us!"
Watching their instant replies, Minwoo fretted. Really pin our lives on some gadget and a guy who sounds half-asleep?
But no time to argue.
Bang!
Sniper fire from the Commemoration Hall—and the dog-bot...
"It—it flew!"
"Constable Jeong! Eyes front—run!"
The dog-bot launched with insane power, smashed through the second-floor wall, and vanished inside.
Minwoo gawked for a split second, then slapped his own face and bolted.
Future Hall looked like any other college building—nothing futuristic about it.
They stormed the stairs and hit 2F in no time.
Door to the multipurpose hall swung open: bleeding terrorists on the floor, civilians cowering in terror.
"Everyone! Stay calm! Move to the back and sit tight!"
"Police! It's the police—we're saved, saved!"
"Hey, if you all start yelling..."
Cheers erupted from the hall—then a shout from the far side.
"Enemies inside! String 'em up!"
"Make these bastards choke on lead!"
The hall was massive, riddled with passages.
But they were just three guys.
Worst luck: terrorists popping up dead opposite their position.
"D-danger...!"
Minwoo screamed, swinging his muzzle around.
Too late.
People dying. His parents' faces—pointing fingers, drowning in grief.