Chapter 144
Chapter 144
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 144
Chapter Title: 73. Armband (2)
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I boiled some ramen for the first time in ages.
Ramen is a food I almost never eat.
It's been at least two years since I last had any.
That's because, contrary to its image as a preserved food, ramen has a short shelf life.
Ramen noodles are fried in oil to extend their shelf life, but even those oil-fried noodles have a limited lifespan—which is what happened here.
The manufacturer sets that lifespan at about a year.
Even after frying in oil, vacuum-sealing, and adding all sorts of preservatives, they can't escape death. It's like the fateful limit of ramen itself.
I used to have a stockpile, but after the war began, I prioritized eating it, so now there's almost none left—just five packs of Wing packets in the freezer.
I pulled one of those freezer-stored packs out and boiled some ramen for the first time in ages.
Bubble bubble—
Ramen definitely looks most delicious when it's boiling.
Why ramen all of a sudden?
Well, it pairs perfectly with a cold, snowy day and the warmth of a moderately spicy meal. Plus, ramen brings to mind John_nenon, the creator of the now-defunct PaleNet.
Our John_nenon wrote about all sorts of topics, and one of them was about ramen.
It was unexpected.
Back then, I thought John_nenon was a European wearing the skin of a Korean living an utterly Western lifestyle.
His mentioned daily life, eating habits, vocabulary, and the environment they implied all seemed closer to America or Europe than Korea.
Just look at the ingredients he referenced.
While other users debated the efficiency of rice, ramen, pork belly, Spam, lettuce farming, or kimchi-making—thoroughly Korean staples—
John_nenon talked about oats, lentils and chickpeas, wine and cheese, bacon and ham, thyme and basil. He didn't even say just "onions"—it was "shallots?" Something ridiculous like that.
At the time, this Park Gyu had little internet experience—I was innocent—and I couldn't imagine our John_nenon plagiarizing survival expert posts from French forums and passing them off as his own. So I figured he must have grown up on Western culture.
Then John_nenon suddenly brought up a Korean topic.
And not just any—it was ramen, a key battleground in the keyboard wars back then.
Of course I was excited.
I clicked on it eagerly, wondering what expert angle our board's sage John_nenon would take on this rare "Korean" subject.
But the content? It was absurd.
That was it.
The post I'd clicked on with bated breath was just one ridiculous line of nonsense.
"Huh?"
It was probably the first time.
The first time my trust in John_nenon wavered.
But our John_nenon was as much a lover of jokes as he was of vast knowledge—a humorous guy—so I brushed it off as a failed gag.
Soon after, I left the board due to end-stage construction and tightening finances. In the meantime, John_nenon was exiled into the darkness.
Now it was time to test one of John_nenon's hypotheses.
Slurp—
"Fuck!"
Rancid noodles taste this bad.
I forced it down, but I had a feeling it'd ruin my mood all day.
Well, I eat and live so well that I can afford to be picky about side dishes like this. But after choking down that spoiled ramen, it made me think of John_nenon and his creation, PaleNet.
PaleNet is like rancid ramen too.
Its "manufacture date" was when John_nenon sealed PaleNet's server room with himself inside.
After that, PaleNet started going rancid, and at some point, it became uneatable—like ramen you couldn't touch.
Still, it was well-made ramen.
Running server facilities that handle massive traffic for months without maintenance isn't easy.
PaleNet's death rendered the board admin election meaningless.
Yet the laziest bot ever, VivaBot, hasn't said a word even three days after PaleNet stopped.
It'll probably fizzle out without any announcement—that's VivaBot's style.
But then, an announcement appeared from the last place I'd expect.
This wasn't our board's announcement.
It was PaleNet's official notice, posted directly on our board because PaleNet itself was down.
Long story short: John_nenon's PaleNet isn't dead yet.
A few servers died, but with fewer users, operations are fine. John_nenon's disciple remotely upgraded and optimized the software.
The problem was outside.
The antenna on the roof of the old mansion where PaleNet is housed got smashed.
Perpetrator unknown—and unknowable.
Seoul, abandoned by humans, is now the domain of non-humans.
Seeing that disciple post the notice gave me a vague glimpse of the future.
And it came true very quickly.
In the end, it came to borrowing hands.
Seoul was full of dangers when John_nenon was alive, but now it's literally unknown what lurks there.
They'd need a highly skilled, experienced warrior.
I ignored it.
PaleNet disappearing is a shame, but not worth risking my life piercing this -30°C cold for.
Moments later, John_nenon's disciple messaged again.
*
It's not for me.
PaleNet is the only sanctuary for Incheon's citizens battling starvation and the brutal cold.
Back in school, we learned hunters fight not for nations, races, or individuals—but for humanity itself.
That's what a hunter is.
As Defender said, this northern hemisphere cold snap is the worst disaster in weather history, claiming countless frozen lives. But on the flip side, it reduces raid risks to near zero.
Even mutations freeze to death in this cold.
Not proven yet, but below -20°C, even those powerful monsters can't endure.
It's plausible: the other side beyond rifts averages 16.2°C.
Locked in eternal twilight, that gray-white world's temperature stays fixed around 16°C.
I saw and felt it myself, abandoned in a rift corner for nearly a month.
Creatures from that mild place have no cold resistance—and indeed, no monster activity reported from polar regions.
Hence the joke: if humanity falls, flee to Antarctica or the Arctic.
Like the Old Ones, the ancient extinct race in Lovecraft's tales.
Anyway, with solid cold measures, heading to Seoul feels safer than usual.
Plus, unlike before, there's reliable communication now.
Personal ID: SPARE2855
"SKELTON, hello?"
John_nenon's subordinate had a personal ID.
Apparently from when John_nenon briefly allied with the government.
Cold as it is, with a clear destination and comms, no reason to hesitate on a visit.
Of course, piercing -30°C requires thorough prep.
I packed high-calorie US military rations from Rebecca, excessive hot packs and portable fuel, and even a bottle of high-proof whiskey I rarely touch.
For water, I prepped two thermoses: lined the seat-bottom wood stove with hot stones, then filled them.
Easy to overlook, but in this cold, hydration matters more.
People think they can just eat snow everywhere, but snow needs melting, and it's not clean.
Eating it raw can kill you.
Most crucial: the motorcycle.
In cold that freezes monsters, it's my legs and lifeline.
I made modifications.
Added heated seats, hand warmers, and a windscreen to my bike.
Salvaged from a delivery scooter abandoned in Rebecca's warehouse.
It's utilitarian design—no compliment intended.
My elegant steed—White Beauty—suddenly turned into a workhorse bike.
But test runs confirmed the performance.
Well, best not to be cold this winter.
I'll revert it when it warms up.
Departure time differed from before.
Past Seoul trips waited for sunset; now, pre-dawn maximizes sunlight.
Probably a day trip.
Before leaving, I radioed John_nenon's subordinate.
"Yes. I'll wait at the rendezvous point I mentioned."
He agreed to meet on Seoul's outskirts.
Vroooom—
Seoul-bound after so long.
With solid cold gear, I barely feel it.
Feels hot enough to strip layers.
How long since...?
This carefree highway cruising.
Air sharp as a blade, countless dying unseen even now—but the world blanketed white in silence felt drowsily peaceful.
*
"SKELTON!"
I met John_nenon's subordinate in a dingy street of ghost-town Seoul.
His glasses were the same, but his complexion had worsened—dark red, like a liver ruined by booze.
In a deserted apartment basement, we checked drone footage of PaleNet's exterior.
Sure enough, one antenna was smashed.
"Of all things, the main transmit antenna. Receive one's fine, but without transmit, PaleNet's dead. Can't respond to inputs."
I dubbed him on the spot.
Before, he felt like John_nenon's side dish—unimportant. Now, this bespectacled, somewhat unhealthy guy runs PaleNet.
Deserves a fitting title.
"I have a complex about my real name. Call me Valentine, please."
Probably from booze.
"What vintage?"
I joked, and
"Over 30 years."
He laughed, confirming it.
Anyway, Valentine briefed me simply.
We exchanged basics online, but people hide downsides consciously or not.
Not malice or cunning.
Hiding flaws is uniquely human, unlike beasts.
And sure enough, a new issue popped up.
"Caught this by chance—what is it?"
Valentine didn't know, but sensed the danger.
Who wouldn't fear a grayish, human-sized, dream-like thing wandering?
Worse: a monster I'd never seen.
Wait, I had.
In Dongtanmom's live stream.
Chasing her relentlessly with the zombies trying to kill her.
That guy's in Seoul.
I sighed calmly.
"...This won't be easy."
Don't engage unknown monsters.
That's not Jang Gi-young—it's Professor's battle philosophy, stubbornly set by me.
I'd sent off too many skilled comrades' corpses, dying without half their potential because they lacked strategies.
New species are top hunters' duty.
Only they find optimal strategies with minimal loss and share them.
Of course, that's from my active days.
Board admin's nice, PaleNet as Incheon's hope is nice—but my life comes first.
That bonfire he's casually lit since I arrived bugs me.
"Hey, even in Seoul, lighting this in broad daylight?"
"See the vent? Don't worry. Burned fires here many times, no issues."
"No, aren't there dangerous people in Seoul? No smoke on the way here. Incheon maybe, but in a ghost town like this, it's risky. People might still live here?"
Raiders might huddle from cold, but few ignore blatant smoke.
Valentine hurriedly doused it.
Too late.
Footsteps from the entrance.
"Who's there?"
Young man's voice.
Sounds mild, but judging by tone is suicide.
Eye signal to Valentine; we took cover, readied for combat.
"You two, lower weapons. We're not enemies. National Crisis Committee search team."
Tempting words, but ignored.
Footsteps approached.
"Huh?"
Woman's voice.
Familiar timbre—then a shriek-like cheer from the stairs.
"Sam!"
This voice, this nickname.
I dropped cover. A woman approached, eyes gleaming softly.
No doubt.
My two-week disciple, Song Yujin.