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"The Okapi Sting... they've met with an accident."

Huh? What?

My mind went completely blank. The words refused to compute. "Okapi Sting" and "accident" were two terms that simply did not belong in the same sentence.

An accident?

This was a scenario I had never been trained for, one I had never even conceptualized. I didn't know what to do. My brain simply short-circuited.

As I stood there frozen for what felt like an eternity, Secretary Seong Jun-hui, sensing something was deeply wrong, shook my shoulder and called my name.

"Sergeant Gong In-bae? Sergeant Gong?"

"Yes... Yes?"

"You looked completely out of it..."

"Ah... First, I need to return to the base."

"Right. I'll check the flight schedules immediately."

"Please, make it as fast as possible."

"Fuck. What is this?"

The moment I stepped onto the base, eleven South Korean flags welcomed me. My team lay there, wrapped in the Taegeukgi.

"What the fuck is this? Get up! Why are you lying down?!"

"Captain! Get up! Why are you lying down?!"

"We have to go home—get up!"

"We don't have much time left before we head back."

"We promised to go fishing together. You said you'd teach me!"

"How can you just lie here like this? Get up, open your eyes!"

"Open your eyes, you son of a bitch! Open your fucking eyes!"

No matter how much I shook them, no matter how hard I tried to pull them up, my team didn't budge. Not a single one of the eleven moved.

So, I lay down beside them.

Since they wouldn't get up no matter what, I just lay down next to them. Since they couldn't rise, I joined them on the cold floor.

It was the only way I could still be with my team.

I quietly pulled the Taegeukgi over my head.

"While you were in Kinshasa, the patrol operations resumed. The rebels' movements had been highly suspicious."

"We kept receiving intelligence that a massive smuggling operation was about to take place."

"I told them to stick to the safest routes possible, but..."

"We received a radio transmission saying they found traces of the rebels and were changing their route. A moment later, they radioed that it was a trap—a booby trap—and that they were retreating. That was the last we heard. We dispatched a support unit immediately, but by the time they arrived at the scene, it was already over."

"I'm sorry. I should have stopped them."

The commander apologized to me. But I did not accept his apology.

Just like when he had ordered me to go to Kinshasa, I walked out of the commander's office without saying a single word.

Back then, the Captain would have scolded me for such behavior. But now, there was no one left to scold me.

No one to tell me, "This is the right way to act," or "That's wrong, you shouldn't do that."

There was no one beside me.

The plane touched down at Seoul Air Base.

A repatriation ceremony was held, attended by the military honor guard and the grieving families. The coffins, draped in the Taegeukgi, were slowly carried out, escorted by the honor guard.

Beside them, the families wailed in agony.

They were all familiar faces. The very people I had shared meals with, laughed with, and talked with were now weeping.

I was too ashamed. Ashamed of being the sole survivor, I couldn't even bring myself to step off the plane. I could only steal glances at their grief from inside the cabin.

Shortly after, the funeral service was held, and they were laid to rest at the National Cemetery.

I returned with my team.

The others went to the National Cemetery. I went back to the International Peace Support Group.

I was assigned the exact same quarters I had used before. I returned to the place where I had sparred with Sergeant First Class Lee Won-jun, the place where they had celebrated my arrival.

I requested an early discharge.

I had to go back and slaughter every single one of those Congolese bastards. I couldn't let them die at someone else's hands before I got to them. I had to hurry. First come, first served.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"No."

"Why not, sir?"

"You still have mandatory service time left. If you discharge now, you won't have fulfilled your military duty."

"I don't care. I'll re-enlist as an active-duty private later to finish my service."

"Don't do that. You'll completely mess up your record. I'll send you somewhere comfortable. Just rest. Just breathe. You aren't planning to sign on for long-term service anyway, right? Just go there, keep your head down, and breathe. No one will touch you."

"No, sir. Please discharge me."

"I said no. Besides, there's no regulation that allows for this. Just stay put. I'll transfer you to an easy post."

"Then I will simply desert."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Don't talk like that. If you desert, you'll make things difficult for a lot of people. Just wait. Let me see if I can find a way."

"Understood, sir."

They told me I had to undergo psychiatric evaluation. They said it was mandatory for anyone who had suffered a severe psychological trauma.

"Why don't you tell me what happened? Just speak comfortably."

"..."

I didn't say a word. I was too dumbfounded.

How the fuck am I supposed to talk about this "comfortably"? How the fuck do I handle this? Should I kill this guy?

Should I smash his head with that flowerpot on the desk, then drive a combat knife deep into his throat? Should I strangle him with an electrical cord? Or should I pull a pistol out of my Inventory and put a few rounds through his skull?

In an instant, twenty-eight different ways to murder the man in the white coat flashed through my mind.

But I didn't act on any of them. I knew I shouldn't.

Instead, I remained utterly silent.

I looked at the mirror in the consultation room.

Poapy's eyes were staring back at me. The same rage-filled eyes Poapy had when he lost his brother. The eyes of the boy who had begged me to teach him how to kill were now burning in the reflection.

I was wrong.

I shouldn't have stopped Poapy. I shouldn't have told him to wait until his anger subsided.

I should have gone with him and slaughtered those rebel bastards. I should have handed him a pistol, handed him grenades.

I shouldn't have been a "Candy Boy." I should have been a "Gun Boy."

It was entirely my fault. I admit it.

I will never make the same mistake again.

A single mistake had cost me far too much. I had lost everything.

After hanging up, Secretary Seong Jun-hui shuddered.

The voice had been terrifying. It was clearly the same voice from their previous meeting, but the aura it carried was entirely different. It was chilling, sending a cold shiver down his spine.

"Do you really have to go?"

"Yes. I must."

"The deployment is in a month. I'll grant you leave until then, so think it over. You can still cancel even at the last minute."

"I will see you in a month, sir."

Leaving the base, I hailed a taxi.

I had work to do. Something I had been too ashamed to do before.

"Namyangju, please."

"I'm sorry."

The moment the door opened and I saw my sister-in-law's face, those were the only words I could utter.

Despite her petite stature, she wrapped her arms around me, pulling my neck into a tight embrace.

Suddenly, the tears burst forth.

"I'm..."

"I'm so sorry."

"I wasn't good enough. I should have been there with them. It's all my fault. I'm sorry."

She gently patted my back. Although I couldn't see her face, I could feel her weeping as well.

"I will tear those bastards apart, no matter what it takes. I want to die with them, but I can't die like this. I'll rip them to shreds first... and then I'll die. I will get revenge."

Only then did she pull back to look at my face. Her own face was a mess of tears.

"In-bae, please don't. Don't think about revenge. Just live your life. That's what our Won-jun would have wanted."

"No. Sergeant First Class Lee Won-jun taught me to always seek revenge."

"That was just the military manual. The human Lee Won-jun wasn't like that. So please... don't seek revenge. Don't even think about it."

I didn't answer.

I was going to do it. Revenge.

But because I didn't want to lie to her, I chose silence instead.

Before leaving ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the house, I slipped a small shopping bag into a corner. Inside was $200,000.

I had ten more shopping bags, each containing $200,000, left.

And ten more homes to visit.

I had prepared myself to be beaten with clubs, but instead, his mother cooked a meal for me. She insisted that I eat before I leave.

Drip, drip.

My pathetic tears fell onto the delicious food she had prepared with such care. I tried my best to hold them back, terrified of ruining the meal she had worked so hard to make, but I couldn't stop them.

I thought I had cried all my tears, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠yet they kept flowing.

The last time I visited, I had easily devoured over three bowls of rice. Today, I couldn't even finish half a bowl before setting my spoon down.

I felt so guilty for ruining her food with my useless tears. I tried my best to force it down, but I felt like I would throw up if I took another bite.

Ruining her meal made me feel like a criminal.

I practically fled from Sergeant Oh Jae-beom's house, leaving behind only the shopping bag with $200,000.

I realized I needed to make more money.

This was all I had left in my Inventory. The $3 million I had seized from the rebels was running dry, and it felt woefully inadequate.

I wanted to give them everything, but I needed funds too.

Revenge required capital.

I had to make some serious money.

"Are you heading to Kinshasa?"

"I'm going to Uvira first."

"Why Uvira?"

"I have something to pick up."

"Come with me to Kinshasa."

"And if I do?"

"I'll teach you every single way to kill a human being. Martial arts, tactics, witchcraft—whatever it takes."

"Okay."

Poapy agreed instantly, without a second thought.

We headed straight for Kinshasa.

Poapy had no family to ask permission from, nor any belongings to pack. He had absolutely nothing.

But I had Poapy.

We arrived in Kinshasa.

It was Poapy's first time in the capital. In fact, he had never stepped foot outside of Uvira.

As we walked into the hotel I had booked, I could feel him tensing up. It reminded me of how intimidated I used to feel whenever I walked into a department store.

I placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder to ease his nerves.

For a boy who had grown up drinking stream water and living in a shack made of corrugated iron sheets, a hotel must have felt like another world.

Water flowing from a faucet, lights turning on at the flip of a switch—even these basic things seemed to leave him in awe.

A single night's stay here cost more than a Congolese citizen's monthly salary, and this wasn't even a particularly good hotel.

We went out for dinner, then returned to the room to share a beer.

I needed to find a house within the next three days. A place where I could commute from, and where Poapy could live.

As I was pondering over this, Poapy spoke up, his expression turning serious.

"Hyung. I heard a rumor. It's not confirmed, but I think you should know... You know about the M23, right?"

"Of course. They're the largest rebel faction."

"Uvira used to be their primary route for weapons and smuggling. But after the Suho Unit arrived and blocked that route, the M23 found themselves in a tight spot."

"I've heard about that. It was in the UN reports."

"So, the M23 tried to find other ways. They tried to open new smuggling routes, but it wasn't easy. Nowhere else was as perfect as Uvira."

"And?"

"In the end, instead of looking for a new route, the M23 decided to take Uvira back. To do that, they brought in an outside advisor."

"An outside advisor?"

"Yes. A former US special forces operator. There are rumors about Delta Force or Green Berets, but nothing is confirmed."

"So, a former US special forces soldier joined the M23?"

"Yes."

Hearing Poapy's words, the sudden shift in the rebels' tactics finally made sense.

Before, they were completely untrained, merely spraying bullets in our general direction. But at some point, their shooting patterns had changed.

The sudden appearance of booby traps made sense now, too.

A booby trap is a small device, but its psychological impact is massive. Once you encounter one, you are forced to consider the possibility of traps in every single move you make.

Your decision-making slows down, and your movements become hesitant. Hadn't we also halted all operations the moment we discovered a booby trap?

"I think his name is... Derrick Meyer."

Derrick Meyer...

Derrick Meyer.

Nice to meet you, you son of a bitch.

Just wait. I'm coming for you.