Chapter 210
Chapter 210
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 210
Chapter Title: 93. The Man from Jeju (3)
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My alma mater was different from other schools in that it didn't aim to socialize a single individual.
What they taught there was solely combat techniques for dealing with monsters.
So when thrown into society, graduates from the school couldn't adapt properly.
In societal terms, school alumni were nothing more than overgrown boys.
I was no different.
When I retired from the front lines and returned to civilian life, I knew less than a high school freshman just entering society.
I didn't even know that you had to register your address when moving or visit a carrier store to activate a phone.
In that situation, the only thing that helped was the internet.
From there, I learned the basic social obligations, methods, and even the locations for an adult Korean male.
Even if times change and new schools are built, the students' ignorance won't differ much from the past.
They just learn different ways to hunt monsters than us old-school hunters.
Thud! Thud!
I tapped the pipes, using the sound to locate the blockage.
Thud!
Around here, I think.
I tightened the valve with a monkey wrench to stop the water flow, then disconnected the clogged pipe.
"Hup!"
The moment I separated the pipe, a rotten stench spread out.
Some unidentified black gunk mixed with hair had flowed in and clogged the pipe—that seemed to be the culprit.
The foul smell hit the watching kids full force too.
"Urk!"
"What’s that smell?"
"It’s awful."
Though their eyes glowed faintly, the kids looked much like any ordinary children I knew.
If I had to point out a difference, it was the strong North Korean accent?
But that was just the accent—they weren't using North Korean dialect. Not a single one.
I could sense an effort to force a Seoul accent.
I got it, though.
Who'd want to use the language of a poor, backward, hick failed state?
I shoved the discolored black toilet brush into the pipe to scrape out the gunk, diluted it with water, and scrubbed repeatedly with bleach until the stench was gone.
After cleaning, I reconnected the pipe and told the kids,
"Everyone, step back."
The kids just stared at me without a word.
"If you don't want to get soaked."
Only then did they back away.
Now came the real test.
Whether these rusted pipes, without water for years, could handle the flow depended on the durability of the Chinese-made pipes.
Still, Chinese was better than North Korean-made.
Whoosh—
The dry showerhead blasted out a powerful jet of water.
"Oho."
Whatever else, this water pressure was impressive.
Eastern Bloc folks supposedly preferred high pressure for some reason, and it seemed North Koreans had inherited that, favoring strong shower pressure too.
Watching the cascading water, the kids first stared blankly at the droplets scattering on the floor, then erupted in cheers as one.
"Wow!"
"Water! Water's coming out!"
"No more trips to Moran-dong!"
"I wanna wash up quick! Girls, get out!"
"Girls first!"
Seeing the kids so happy was rewarding, but it left me with a slight doubt.
This was just basic facility maintenance.
Why hadn't they fixed something this simple?
As I left the shower room, an unfamiliar kid stood in the middle of the hallway, as if waiting for me.
Unlike the Revolution-dong kids, a boy and girl in clean uniforms stood side by side, looking neat and tidy.
Spotting me, the girl said curtly,
"Teacher wants to see you."
"Who's the teacher?"
"Teacher Jeong Ho-kyung."
Teacher, huh.
I doubted it was an official title.
I glanced up at the CCTVs lining the hallway and replied to the girl,
"Lead the way."
The boy and girl guided me past concrete walls dividing monsters from farms, open lots from trash-strewn hexagonal hives—to a place I hadn't seen.
It had nearly the same design and structure as Revolution-dong where I'd been, but cleaner and better maintained.
The passing, gawking kids looked much healthier than those in Revolution-dong too.
Objectively, they all still fell into the "ragged" category, though.
The so-called teacher was waiting for me in a cramped room in Moran-dong.
"Park Gyu!"
He didn't call me by callsign or hunter title.
Typical stubborn pride of a "first-generation New School" member.
"I just heard from the kids! You fixed the showers?"
Just hours ago, he'd made it painfully obvious he didn't want me here, but now he beamed a welcome.
"……."
Personally, I think being honest and being transparently obvious are totally different traits.
"I only glanced when you drove the forklift earlier, but you've got skills! The old school teaches those little handyman tricks too, huh?"
His expression and tone didn't seem mocking.
He was just blurting whatever came to mind—praise mixed in, but unwilling to go full praise, so he twisted it with a bit of snark.
"No."
I answered firmly.
And I was certain.
This guy was definitely young.
Objectively young, even.
Younger than Defender.
But in terms of human maturity, putting him on the same level as Defender would insult Defender.
"Sorry if that offended you. Wasn't my intent."
At least he had the bare minimum awareness.
That must be how he climbed to a high National Crisis Committee post.
I scanned his room.
"No one lives here?"
Just a mattress instead of a bed, a tiny desk, clothes on wall hooks—spartan.
He could've claimed a big, fancy room meant for North Korean elites, but chose this, so he didn't seem extravagant or greedy.
"People?"
"Simple fix, but I don't get why it wasn't repaired yet."
"Ah, that."
Jeong Ho-kyung scratched his head vigorously.
As he grimaced at me, I recalled him twisting and yelling beside me while I drove the forklift.
"People have no drive. I don't expect passion, but no sense of duty either! Don't they know how important our work is?"
"You have people?"
"Yes. Brought a few guards and janitors. Even facilities staff, but he said he couldn't do it. Didn't know how. Just keeps asking to go back to Jeju."
Even after a while, Jeong Ho-kyung squirmed like he was dancing, then sighed deeply.
"Don't they know how important our work is?!"
"Why'd you call me here?"
I didn't want a long talk.
More precisely, I wanted info, not his emotional outbursts.
My tone turned curt, even cold to my own ears.
Slowly, Jeong Ho-kyung lifted his head, his gleaming eyes fixing on me.
"Lots of places need fixing."
"I didn't come here to repair things."
"Then why? Just sightseeing at the lighthouse?"
"Something I wanna see."
"What?"
"If monsters really gather here."
"Why's that interest you?"
"Curiosity as a former hunter."
At "hunter," Jeong Ho-kyung flinched with strong aversion, but swallowed it since he needed me.
With a shallow sigh, he said,
"What exactly? Wanna see monsters flock to the lighthouse? Or understand why?"
"Both, but if I pick one, the why."
"Then let's make a deal, Park Gyu."
Jeong Ho-kyung unrolled a massive beehive blueprint on his desk.
Its unique North Korean spelling—using "L" shapes for "O"—caught my eye, and the awkward black-and-white contrasts suggested a copy.
He marked spots with a highlighter and handed it over.
"Kaesong Lighthouse is North Korea's last-ditch effort, like their version of a world starfish."
"Starfish?"
"Problem?"
"No. Bit hot in here, though?"
"Huh? Yeah, that time of year."
Jeong Ho-kyung suddenly undid a few shirt buttons.
The room was hot.
Mid-May, intensifying sun.
No windows, naturally.
Wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, he continued enthusiastically.
"Anyway! Fix the marked spots! Skip what you can't. Just do what you can! The kids are suffering. Can't even meet basic human comfort standards!"
"I'm not apartment maintenance."
"You're the only one who can. You seem passionate, unlike others!"
"Passionate?"
"Yes! You came to learn why monsters gather here, right? That's passion! Other Jeju committee folks won't even look at monsters!"
"……Speaking of, that room you gave me."
"Ah, administrative error!"
Suddenly, Jeong Ho-kyung shot up and bowed 90 degrees before me.
"Truly sorry!"
I lightly bit my lip watching the back of his head.
"……."
I dislike people who don't apologize, but those who apologize too easily are dangerous too.
So I gave no reaction to such apologies.
Let's see how long he holds that pose.
About 10 seconds later, he lifted his head.
I'd deliberately looked away.
"Park Gyu?"
"Yes."
"I mean, I'm apologizing here……."
"I said everything I want already."
I could see him managing his expression.
He was pissed, for sure.
Partly intentional on my part, to mess with him.
But he needed something from me.
"……The reason monsters gather?"
"Yes."
"I'll give you the data."
"Good."
Better than idling 3-4 days in this dump.
Hearing the kids cheer made me feel like the neighborhood boss.
"Ah, I was gonna move you to better quarters."
As I headed out, Jeong Ho-kyung said hurriedly.
"Revolution-dong's too rundown. Got a good room here in Moran-dong."
I stood at the door without turning.
"No. It's fine."
I'd take his data, but no favors.
Nothing good comes from getting tangled with him.
The biggest difference between kids and adults is knowing distance.
I kept a proper distance and handled tools for the first time in ages.
Simple equipment isn't all bad.
Far from new features or convenience, but simple structures mean durability and easy maintenance.
Clang!
I fixed a generator.
Coal-fired, something unobtainable in Korea but common here, apparently.
It reminded me of old arguments for using coal over oil as the main fuel.
Korea produces no oil, but has abundant coal—that was the reasoning.
But mining it by digging up the land? And the black smoke visible miles away? Coal power faded away.
In the North, though, no issue.
Anyway, I got a follower.
"How do you do this?"
A short-haired boy using awkward Seoul dialect.
This kid, who started with cheeky informal speech, now politely added "yo" and peppered me with questions.
I scraped together my limited knowledge to answer each time.
"Generators burn something to make energy that moves a fluid, spins a turbine, and generates electricity. Simply put, the turbine moves magnets and coils. Moving magnets and coils creates electricity."
"Why does moving coils and magnets make electricity?"
"Get a textbook and study it yourself. Some guy named Maxwell or whatever discovered it."
"Maxwell? Isn't that a dirty magazine?"
"……Anyway, if a generator's busted, nine times out of ten it's the coils."
Tall and skinny, unimpressive at first glance, but up close, he had a scholarly face.
If born in Korea without war, maybe a researcher at a good university.
The boy's name was Hong Jong-beom.
Claims Seoul-born, but I doubt even Korean.
His accent still had North traces, and when I asked where in Seoul, the scrawny kid innocently replied,
"Sunlight Floating Island!"
Probably North Korean.
Never even set foot in Seoul proper.
Anyway, he was eager to learn, handed tools well, and made a decent assistant.
Quick on the uptake too—handled jobs smoothly after a few spots.
The encounter felt odd at first, but soon he seemed like a nephew or little brother, and I could hear genuine stories from lighthouse kids, so not bad.
But I strictly maintained distance.
I knew better than anyone I couldn't—shouldn't—save this kid.
After three repairs, the sun was setting.
Dinner time.
But.
"Hm?"
The meal was abysmal.
Just steamed lumps of flour—like the half-cooked dough Chinese ate occasionally—served as dinner.
"Why aren't you eating?"
Hong Jong-beom asked me.
"You eat this as rice?"
"Yes."
"Kids in other buildings too?"
"Yes. They eat the same."
"Jeong Ho-kyung?"
"Yes."
Unbelievable.
My supplies had some processed meat and plenty of snacks.
I stood, leaving the dough lump.
"Where you going?"
Without looking back at Hong Jong-beom, I answered,
"Moran-dong."
To see their dinner.