Chapter 103
Chapter 103
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 103
Chapter Title: 20 Hours 30 Minutes (4)
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Even seeing the old man getting lynched by the boys, people just walked past.
I was planning to do the same.
It wasn't a good deal to step in against those fierce young punks just to save some random old geezer who wasn't even a young woman.
But that old man was someone I knew.
He was the very same one who'd been standing in front of Hunter Street, spouting nonsense.
The boys didn't seem intent on killing him.
After kicking the hunched-over old man a few times like he was a shrimp, they vanished down the street.
"I've never lied."
The old man muttered it like he was chanting a sutra.
I checked the time.
I planned to stay here for the day.
Precisely 20 hours and 30 minutes.
Until the ship arrived at Jeju Island.
I wanted to see how it ended.
Right here, where the ship had set sail.
"That ship isn't going to Jeju. It won't make it. It'll sink halfway."
The old man kept muttering, still crouched.
"Why do you think that?"
Just an hour ago, I wouldn't have spoken to him first.
"That fleet. You said it sinks, right?"
The old man, groaning in pain and humiliation, looked straight at me when he heard that.
"I was one of the captains of the First Jeju Evacuation Fleet."
"What?"
He held something out to me.
It was some kind of ID, soaked in water, crumpled, shrunken, dried out again until the surface particles flaked off, making its original shape unrecognizable.
"I was the one who made the First Fleet head to China."
*
"Before the war, I piloted container ships."
His name on the ID was as worn and damaged as the rest, but with a little attention, you could make out that his surname was Kang.
"You were really on the First Evacuation Fleet?"
I asked, figuring it was 100% bullshit, but Captain Kang nodded like it was obvious.
Baek Seung-hyeon would've punched him first.
Or grabbed him by the collar and tossed him into the sea.
"The essential crew, including the captains, all switched to other ships overnight and returned to Incheon."
"Is that even possible?"
"Landlubbers are no different from babies on the water. A little sway, and their faces turn green with seasickness. Tilt the ship a bit, and they wail like the world's ending. We can shake the ship on calm seas or list it at precarious angles."
"Really?"
"They call it zigzagging. Run at high speed like that, and even a big ship rocks like it's hit giant swells. No matter how many people are aboard, we can herd them like sheep. It's not like cars. The inertia doesn't hit instantly; it builds gradually like waves crashing, so passengers hardly notice when we pull it off."
At this point, I sat down next to the old man.
Not because I was convinced.
I expected rote rambling, but he was more coherent than anticipated.
Even if it was nonsense, I figured a bit of chat wouldn't hurt.
I had 20 hours and 30 minutes to kill anyway.
"Our orders were to scuttle. Make it look like the fleet got torpedoed by Chinese subs—that was the mission."
The street we'd hunkered down on was a bad spot, coincidentally.
Women and girls approached me, hinting at prostitution and haggling.
I waved them off and moved spots, only to end up behind the research institute on Hunter Street.
A few hunters I didn't know well and their families eyed the old man with displeasure, but since they recognized my face, no trouble started.
"Got any proof?"
This time, I asked first.
Captain Kang shook his head.
"No contracts or anything. All verbal. They even made us pass through body scanners at the airport—no recordings allowed."
He pointed at the research institute.
"We signed there. Me and the other captains."
"With who?"
"They wouldn't say."
"A woman?"
"Dunno. The boss never showed. But the surname was..."
"Yeah?"
"Yang? I think Yang."
If he'd picked that surname at random, the guy had incredible luck.
"I see. So you made a secret deal with the government, volunteered as captain for the First Fleet, sent the ships to China, and came back here?"
"Yes. That's it."
"No proof?"
"Nope. Nothing worth keeping."
"What about the other captains?"
"They went to Incheon with the navigators. That was part of the deal."
"Why China?"
My voice was sharpening—not just my imagination.
I'd started talking out of curiosity, but his consistent lies and testimony stirred inexplicable irritation.
There are topics for tall tales and ones you don't bullshit about.
The innocent deaths of masses aren't fodder for jokes in normal society.
"Tell me."
I wouldn't go Baek Seung-hyeon-style, but I'd pretty much decided to run this old man off the street.
"There's a story to it."
Captain Kang glanced at Hunter Street with shadowed eyes.
"...Getting beat by those kids was karma."
Captain Kang sighed deeply, as if the ground would cave in, and looked up at the sky.
"I abused my son and wife badly. I didn't think the boy was mine. She said she gave birth at sea, but when we got to the hospital, he didn't look a thing like me. We'd barely slept together back then."
Why do old folks always circle back to family no matter the topic?
"What's that got to do with your son and the China trip?"
"Around when the boy hit college, he started defying me. Shocking, but I felt like it was coming. We divorced. Cut ties with him and his mom. No regrets. I had hidden assets and a new woman. Then cancer hit right on cue."
"..."
"Lost all the money, everything. Couldn't even sail anymore. Funny how life falls apart, and suddenly you miss your ex-wife and kid."
"So you met up again?"
"No. That was it. Never spoke again. Just a wedding photo from his mom. Then the war hit, people died, I came to Incheon. Heard they were recruiting experienced captains."
"For the evacuation fleet."
"Yeah. I figured, who cares if others die. Learned the fleet's real purpose onboard—didn't shock me much. But as we prepped to leave, I saw it on deck."
Tears welled in Captain Kang's wrinkled eyes.
"My son. Under the lights, holding a baby with who looked like his wife, standing at the bow staring at the horizon. Middle of the night, nothing visible. Checked the passenger list right away."
"Was he on it?"
“No. I couldn’t find him. It was written on paper, sloppily done. It looked proper at first, but halfway through it turned into gibberish—just meaningless scribbles. But that was my boy…”
Words reached my throat.
I wanted to ask if he really believed it was his son.
But was there point dragging that out in front of someone convinced?
"Time was up. Government ordered us to sink the ships. I stepped up as rep and suggested: even with explosives, it might not sink clean, and we risk getting caught in it. Why not send it straight to China instead, guaranteed?"
"So that's how it went to China?"
"Probably."
The old man hesitated unexpectedly.
"...If the currents help."
They hadn't even fueled it properly.
The Jeju Fleet was a one-way ticket to death from the start.
Yang Sang-gil.
I don't know much about him.
Seemed ordinary.
Abilities, looks, everything.
But ordinary folks commit the big sins.
I get why he did it.
Jeju doesn't need people.
But Incheon must hold.
Awakened are vital, and they scale with population.
All postwar policies reflected that.
From lotteries to m9's apartment, evacuation fleets.
Dangle one carrot called "hope," keep ordinary folks in the "human farm."
No need for their labor or taxes anymore, but to pluck the Awakened fruit from population numbers, Incheon—the last refuge—must remain.
Yang Sang-gil probably took the bullet.
With no skills or experience, all he could do was shoulder responsibility.
Like my colleague, Lee Sang-hun.
"...That guy who was here."
This old man was paying for his actions too.
"Looked just like my son. Spitting image. Even holding the baby—made me think maybe he hadn't gone to China, but back to Korea. Saw him by chance at the institute, heard he was on the Second Fleet, tried to stop him."
He stood up.
"But he went too. Now I don't even know where to go."
The old man's eyes lit up.
Like he'd just remembered a destination.
But he didn't say it.
"This ship going to China too?"
"No."
He shook his head.
"Into the sea, as originally planned."
"Everyone dies, you mean?"
"Isn't that what they want?"
Baek Seung-hyeon and Filcrum's faces flashed before me.
Is that how they go?
After scrambling through ugly deeds and taboos just to survive, sink pointlessly in mid-ocean?
Felt wrong.
Well, with billions already dead, their deaths wouldn't stand out.
"Thank you."
The old man bowed to me.
"For hearing this old fool out."
He headed toward the docks.
I said nothing.
Instead, I went to Hunter Street, entered the place Baek Seung-hyeon had lived, and looked around.
Character stickers—god knows where from—dotted the shabby walls.
On the dusty desk, a suspiciously clean spot shaped like a laptop had been.
20 hours and 30 minutes hadn't passed yet.
I'd watch the end here.
Captain Kang's word was just one opinion.
*
"Heard you're living in a bunker."
Bang Jae-hyeok came looking for me.
I stared blankly, and he lounged half-reclined on the bench, eyeing me sharply.
"Mind if I crash there too?"
"What about your mom?"
"What mom? She's dead."
"Aren't you 15th-gen Bang Jae-hyeok?"
"18th-gen Cheon Young-jae."
"..."
One reason this Park Gyu gets grief from juniors:
I suck at remembering names.
Faces stick fine, but matching them glitches sometimes.
Like precision machines prone to errors.
"My bunker's tight even for me solo."
"Not asking to peek inside."
"Then?"
"Feeling like teaming up with a heavy hitter like you?"
"Forming a group?"
"Bingo!"
Bang Jae-hyeok—no, Cheon Young-jae—clapped.
"Pass."
"Why?!"
"I'm picky."
"Whoa... Just for that..."
I looked around.
"Ain't this place good?"
Cheon Young-jae gave a wry smile.
"How long you think it'll last?"
"Thousand years."
"You know too. This barely-holding city ain't got long. Why hasn't the Legion hit? They know it'd collapse if they did."
"Got a K-walkie?"
"Yeah."
"Personal ID code?"
"No fancy stuff. Oh, wait! Got one from Baek!"
Cheon Young-jae's eyes sparkled.
"What was it? DARAM?"
"..."
I couldn't help smirking.
So that's how it circled back.
My junior's radio passed through Baek Seung-hyeon to my junior's junior.
Not superstitious, but felt fateful, so I told him.
"SKELTON."
"Skelping?"
"Skeleton."
Cheon Young-jae flashed a cocky grin, prophesying at me.
"Heard you live at Pyeongtaek's edge. I'll swing by with a bottle sometime."
"Not booze, cola."
"Cola works."
Stuff happened, but nothing noteworthy.
Anyway, amid peace, boredom, unease, 20 hours and 30 minutes passed.
Fireworks announcing The Hope's safe arrival lit the night sky over the gathered square.
Crowds infused their prayers into the scattering sparks.
Amid countless hopes, a corpse floated at the docks—but in a world where corpses outnumbered hopes, no one noticed.
*
When I got home and fired up the internet, I thought the old man's prediction was wrong.
The ship arrived safe. Filcrum too.
Board vibe matched.
Baek Seung-hyeon. Totally hyped.
m9 desperately playing dumb.
Dongtanmom poking m9 to the end.
"Hm?"
Wait a sec.
Didn't The Hope arrive already?
Filcrum's message came exactly 20 hours 30 minutes post-departure.
Dongtanmom proudly posted a pic.
Choppy sea, hazy fog beyond, and faint landmass.
m9, who'd been gritting teeth ignoring Dongtanmom, commented first.
"Huh?"
For real.
Zoomed in: simplified Chinese signs.
And that hazy, overwhelming skyline—Shanghai's, right?
...
...
Brief silence, then Dongtanmom posted.
No way to know if The Hope reached Jeju or China.
Maybe two Hope ships. Or select few switched ships, per Captain Kang.
One sure thing: story ain't over.
Baek Seung-hyeon exposed himself, baby, wife.
Two Hopes: a building, a ship.
Worlds apart, yet both pulse with survival—this era's crux—right now.
This is another Hope's tale.