Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Laptop
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The fall of a major city is often compared to a plane crashing after running out of fuel.
It glides on momentum for quite a while even after losing power, but the moment its speed can no longer sustain lift, it plummets to the ground with a deafening roar, ending in a spectacular explosion.
Seoul would follow in the footsteps of Beijing, Mumbai, Jakarta, and Hong Kong.
The disappearance of a major capital city was a painful blow to my plans, but it wasn't an unforeseen variable.
It had simply arrived much sooner than expected.
The Korean government's resolve to defend the Seoul Republic at all costs had been unwavering.
Now that all those hopes were gone, my task wasn't to save Seoul.
That wasn't my job, and it was impossible for me anyway.
I planned to spend the cigarettes—the currency of the apocalypse—quickly.
Even if Seoul fell, cigarettes would retain their value, but with the market shrinking, the quality and variety of goods I could get would suffer.
What I needed right now was a new laptop.
A black spot had appeared on the screen of my current one, in the worst possible spot.
No issue for gaming or videos, but it was seriously annoying for browsing the community.
I had a spare gaming laptop...
Anyway, I decided to offload the cigarettes and check the vibe in Seoul while preparing my trip.
"This is Skeleton. What's the status on Road 13?"
"Personal ID confirmed. Hello, Skeleton. It's peaceful right now. The entire road is secure. If you're planning to pass through, please do so within 6 hours just to be safe."
I pedaled my bike slowly toward Seoul.
A few electric vehicles zipped along the road, while people lined up along the shoulders, stripping parts from abandoned cars.
The atmosphere in Seoul, once I made it in safely, was surprisingly upbeat.
Reconstruction projects under the banner of national labor were underway everywhere—crowds clearing rubble, swinging pickaxes, sweeping streets.
Posters announced performances by singers and idols who had been closed for business, plastered boldly along the roadsides, while electric buses and other public transport prowled the empty streets.
The community hadn't mentioned it, but elementary and middle schools had reopened after a long hiatus.
High schools and universities planned to follow next year.
Maybe that's why.
Even as food rations shrank, power outages grew more frequent and lasted longer, the citizens saw it all as signs of Seoul's revival.
But up close, Seoul looked very different from the facade it showed the world.
Everyone sang of hope, but a chilling, horrific shadow loomed beneath.
That shadow didn't matter because no one wanted to look too closely.
The International Residence, where I always crashed for a night on Seoul trips, hovered ambiguously on the border between hope and despair.
*
The International Residence was a converted gositel—originally a cheap study dorm—repurposed as a lodging house.
It was rundown and shabby, but having escaped the war's damage, it was decent for a one-night stay.
The owners were a middle-aged couple, each caring for their respective parents, with two middle-school-aged kids.
You could tell their marriage was rocky from the first visit.
"Oppa! Please, just tell your mom to stay inside! What the hell is this? No guests are coming because of her!"
Their fights stemmed from their parents.
The wife's father and the husband's mother—both problems.
The father-in-law had dementia from shock; the mother-in-law had a habit of sitting out front, staring shamelessly at passersby.
The wife did most of the nagging.
But lately, things had changed.
The husband, who used to take her complaints silently, had finally snapped and started fighting back.
"So, we send Mom to an old folks' home in the provinces?"
"Why not? It's government-guaranteed."
"Then send your dad first."
"You know Dad has dementia."
"Exactly why we should send him!"
But the wife won.
"Whose house is this? Not yours, oppa. Dad bought it with his money, right? You didn't bring a dime to the marriage—how can you be so shameless?"
"..."
Fair enough.
To an outsider, the husband was pathetic—nothing going for him except his face.
He always slumped at the counter, blankly sucking on a cigarette butt, or lay around doing nothing.
I'd never seen him work since the war started, and from their talks, he hadn't before either.
But he did pass on one thing to his kids.
His good looks.
If the parents were the cracks splitting the marriage, the kids were the glue barely holding it together.
Especially the eldest son—an outstanding kid worth bragging about.
Like a selectively bred hybrid of Dad's looks and Mom's diligence.
Or a mutation, manifesting deep integrity neither parent had.
"Uncle. You come around a lot lately."
"How many times do I have to say I'm not 'uncle'?"
"If you're over ten years older, you're an uncle."
"I'm still eighteen."
"Then I'll be one. Wah~."
Playful, but way better than his sister, who eyed people like livestock—middle school syndrome or high school?
Fourteen years old, in middle school now.
Good grades, popular, lots of friends—classic "my mom's friend's son" type.
Girlfriend candidates lined up, but he rejected them all.
And this kid had a pretty decent laptop.
*
From 6 PM to 7 PM was internet time.
Like government-sanctioned drugs.
They fired up dormant telecom gear and internet lines for one hour, with plenty of power to boot.
Seoul turned dead silent during internet time, like a ghost city.
Everyone dove into their virtual worlds, catching up on neglected digital lives.
The speed was sluggish, but the Wi-Fi—nearly pre-war quality—was one big reason I used the International Residence, along with intact plumbing.
The gositel diner was packed with residents hogging spots for the Wi-Fi, staring at phones or laptops.
One guy grunted as he hauled in a heavy desktop; the owner's wife nagged him.
"Hey, mister! That thing guzzles electricity!"
"Took out the graphics card."
"Still too much! Pay extra! Or give me a lottery ticket!"
I sat next to the owner's son, connecting my phone to the public Wi-Fi.
<CarrotNet>
A neighborhood flea market site still running post-war.
You could feel countless items and people's breaths in it.
Thousands of accounts, posts, dozens of new listings in real-time—it hit me how narrow our community well was.
Yeah, this was the internet.
Found laptops on CarrotNet.
More listings than expected, mostly gaming rigs.
"No gaming laptops."
Sighing at the lack of decent ones, the owner's son peered at my screen.
"Uncle. Looking for a laptop?"
"Yeah."
"Buy mine?"
"What? For real?"
I lit up ear-to-ear but schooled my face.
"What about you?"
"I'm good. Going to school on Jeju Island."
"School on Jeju?"
The boy grinned, showing his laptop screen.
A pristine government recruitment flyer popped up.
<"Won't you become a hero?">
-National Exclusive Hunter Training Institution "Guard" 27th Class Freshman Recruitment Guidelines
"This?"
Colorful design, aimed at kids.
But legit recruitment guidelines.
From the "school" I attended.
"You graduated middle school?"
"No, just finishing second year."
"They're taking kids without even middle school now?"
"What era are you from? They take elementary kids these days."
"No way!"
I read the guidelines closely.
It was true.
Age lowered drastically.
10 and up, no graduation required.
People that scarce?
But the benefits jumped out first—overwhelming ones.
More for the family than the student.
Living stipends, housing support, national jobs for parents and relatives.
Send one kid, the whole family thrives.
But tiny fine print in the corner, a brick wall of text.
I tried reading; the boy snapped the laptop shut.
"Uncle, wanna talk on the roof?"
"Talk?"
"Business talk!"
Up top, laundry fluttered in the wind, a dementia-stricken elder stood like a statue, and beyond them, the low sunset over nuke-leveled ruins evoked a mystical, primal vibe.
As stars dotted the day-night line, the boy asked,
"Always wondered— what do you do, uncle?"
"What do you mean?"
"You always show up loaded with gear. Had a gun from the start. Thought gangster at first, but nah. With the times, good looks, still hauling stuff—curious."
"What do you think?"
"Gang? Raider?"
"After seeing my innocent eyes?"
"Doomsayer?"
The boy smiled faintly at a star.
"Spot on."
"Wanted to be one too."
"Oh?"
"Why not? Sounds fun. Your own hideout, gear your way. Fun for you, right?"
"Hard work, but fun. Tough when money ran out."
He offered the laptop.
"Trade for smokes. You got plenty."
"Sell to kids, I go to jail."
"Times like these? Give some to my pitiful dad who chain-smokes butts, sell the rest for a mom gift. Before school!"
I sold him cigarettes.
Way over market price, but a feel-good deal all around.
As we sealed it, the statue-like elder turned, mumbling—inaudible.
"Get into that school, no more hearing parents fight. Could send grandma and grandpa to nice places too."
Even if heard, he'd forget quick.
The boy's joyful words on the way down stuck stronger.
Deep kid.
How does one turn out like that in a dump like this?
Next day, leaving the International Residence, the diner was festive.
Not guests or residents—owner mom's friends filled it.
She sat proudly at the center table amid the other ladies.
"Jealous. My kids hang with thugs."
"That exam? Tough pass—how'd you pull it off?"
"Hunter school families get The Hope apartments—true?"
Bathed in praise, envy, jealousy, owner mom beamed innocently.
"Sigh, Youngmin's dad. Enemy-like, but thanks a bit. Gave me a great kid. Lazy as he is, he's got a good heart."
Watching the near-broken family bond tighter than any thanks to the boy's choice, I left.
The laptop was fantastic.
SKELTON: (Skeleton Newbie) New laptop lol
No comments, but high views for my post.
Jealousy from community folks, maybe.
Owner mom's triumphant smile mirrored on my face.
Two months later, rereading the Hunter school guidelines saved on it.
Stumbled on the boy's hidden personal folder.
Mixed with schedules, elementary pics with friends, family vacation shots—tons of an unnamed girl his age.
With faint unease, I read the unread back half.
A corner warning seized my vision like fate.
-Final selectees will undergo three high-level mental resonance tests, with potential exposure to minor accidents.
"...Minor accidents."
Bullshit.
Those tests link to death.
I know, as the most experienced.
Trials of death.
To cull the unchosen by gods.
Back in Seoul, I hit International Residence first.
Off from the start.
No old lady guarding the front.
Unease growing, I entered.
New owner.
"Something wrong? Curious about something?"
"Uh, the previous owners..."
Then an elder shuffled past outside.
Ragged clothes, unwashed, dog-like death rattle—in the dark, resembled the old man from here.
"Don't go. Don't go. Don't gooo..."
Mumbling, staggering like on alien streets.
Beyond, in the shadows, a skinny girl smoked with a rough crew.
Looked like the boy's sister.
Our eyes met briefly; she scowled openly, looked away.
I stopped my question cold.
"No, nothing."
On the lit street, a hawker swapped lottery tickets for goods amid the crowd.
I joined, asked prices, traded two cigarettes for one Hope Lottery ticket.
Never returned to International Residence after.
No word on that family.
So their fate stays hopeful.
Like my drawn ticket—unscratched.