Homecoming

Upon returning to the base, I requested a transfer back home, citing poor health, homesickness, and maladjustment. Maladjustment in the eighth month of deployment? It was a laughable excuse. But I didn't have a single shred of desire to stay in the Congo any longer.

I felt empty. Now that my revenge was complete, a profound sense of futility washed over me. Was that really it? Did my team really get wiped out because of a pathetic bastard like him? That thought kept echoing in my mind. It was also the reason why I hadn't looted the rebel stronghold and had simply blown the entire place to pieces.

I couldn't bear to imagine myself looting and stealing things at the rebel base when I had gone there to avenge my fallen comrades. So, I had simply planted as many explosives as possible to reduce it to absolute rubble. In any case, now that Derrick Meyer was gone, I had no reason, no desire, and no heart to remain in the Congo. I only wanted to leave as soon as possible.

The Congolese authorities wanted me to stay a bit longer, but my resolve was so firm that they couldn't hold me back. I had already done more than enough for them, and the tactical manual I had written was sufficient to pay my dues. They acknowledged this as well, expressing immense satisfaction with the manual, saying it contained exactly what the Congo needed.

Another factor was that the M23 and the ADF had practically destroyed each other in their clash. While they weren't completely dismantled, it would take a long time for either group to regain their strength, given the heavy casualties on both sides. Curiosity grew over who had killed the M23 leader, Bakambu, and who had infiltrated their stronghold. But nothing was known. There were only endless rumors and speculation.

Approval for my return came from both the Congolese government and the South Korean military. I immediately began preparing to head back. There wasn't much to pack—just the military gear I had brought with me. The only problem was Poapy.

"Is there really no way?"

"We are looking into every possible avenue, but it doesn't look promising."

I had asked Seong Jun-hui, the Embassy Secretary, to find a way to bring ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Poapy to Korea. He was the only person I knew who could offer advice on such matters. I had no choice but to ask him for another favor. I told him that money was no object and begged him to find any way to bring the boy over, but the answer remained the same: it was highly unlikely.

Both the Congolese adoption procedures and South Korean legal issues stood in the way. First of all, adoption was legally impossible for an unmarried twenty-three-year-old man like me. On top of that, my current status was an active-duty soldier, with a year left of mandatory service before my discharge. I even considered bringing him over under refugee status, but the process was incredibly complex, and I was told there was a hundred percent chance of rejection along the way.

I briefly wished I could just put Poapy into my Inventory. But that was a foolish thought. It would be no different from smuggling a human being. Even if I somehow managed to bring him over, he wouldn't be able to survive. It might be different here in the Congo, but in South Korea, living without proper identification was virtually impossible. Normal social integration would be out of the question. He wouldn't be able to go to school, nor would he have access to healthcare and other basic services. And what about when he grew up? Finding a job, getting a credit card, or even opening a phone line would be impossible.

"Poapy, I'm sorry. I really wanted to take you with me, but I couldn't find a way."

"In-bae, it's okay. I don't know what you think of me, but I am Congolese."

"Yeah. You are Congolese."

"I can get by just fine here. Don't worry."

"Then how about this? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠If you want, I can take you back to Uvira."

"I don't want that. Kinshasa is much better than Uvira. There are far fewer rebels here."

"Then..."

"Don't worry, In-bae. There are plenty of kids like me here. Kids living without parents. You don't have to worry about me."

"Then I'll send you money every month. Use it to go to school, study hard, and keep training."

"In-bae, you don't have to do that. You've already done more than enough for me. Thank you."

"No. I brought you here from Uvira. I should have taken responsibility for you until the very end, and I'm sorry I can't. I'll come back for you when you turn twenty."

"..."

"So go to school. It might seem like a fortune to you, but it's not that much money to me. Just watch out for people who might try to target you for your money."

"Okay."

I wasn't actually that worried. Poapy was incredibly bright. He was like a capybara—he got along with everyone and was an excellent listener. Thanks to that trait, he had often picked up highly valuable information. On top of that, his athletic reflexes were outstanding. He absorbed the combat and shooting techniques I taught him like a sponge. Before I knew it, his height was pushing nearly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠180 centimeters. Perhaps because he was eating well now, he had filled out with solid muscle. A twelve-year-old standing at 180 centimeters. He was fourteen by Korean age reckoning, but either way, his physical development was beyond anything I could have imagined. He could fight, adapt to any environment, and was smart enough to excel in his studies. Even if I left him alone, I knew he would survive.

Even so, there were things I had to prepare. Instead of our old place, I bought a house for Poapy. It wasn't massive, but it was far safer than where we were currently living. I also stocked up on everything he would need beforehand.

"I'll send money to this account every month. If you ever need anything else, let me know."

"You really don't have to do this."

"Well, I do. And like I said, it might seem like a lot to you, but it's pocket change to me. If anything happens, call me immediately. Actually, just send me a message every day."

That day, I pulled out all the miscellaneous items from my Inventory and piled them in a corner of the house. They were things I could easily get again once I returned to Korea, but here, they were rare luxuries. I even emptied out the mountain of chocolate bars and candies I had hoarded back in the day. Poapy would make far better use of them than I ever would. I trusted him. Just in case, I also pulled out a bag containing an assault rifle and a handgun.

"You know how to use these, right? Be cautious when you need to be, but once you make a decision, do not hesitate. That split second of hesitation can cost you your life."

"I understand."

"The sanitation here is poor, so make sure to boil your water before drinking it."

"Take showers regularly. That's why I bought an apartment with running water."

"Eat well, and make sure to eat plenty of vegetables."

"Always dress neatly. It might seem trivial, but how you present yourself matters."

Had I always been this talkative? Was I always the type to nag endlessly? Standing before Poapy, I found myself rambling on, listing one trivial piece of advice after another. Wanting to give him just a little bit more, I kept fidgeting with my Inventory and my military pack. But I had already given him everything I could. I had even stuffed a decent amount of cash into his hands as emergency funds.

"Don't make a mess just because you're living alone. Keep the place clean, and..."

"Do you realize you've been doing this for two hours?"

"..."

"Please stop. You're starting to sound like a nagging mother."

"Sorry. I'm just worried."

After a brief pause, Poapy looked up at me. "By the way, In-bae... is there any way you can get more of the guns you gave me?"

"Why? You should have plenty with what's in there."

I narrowed my eyes at him. I trusted Poapy, but giving him too many weapons would do more harm than good. However, his response caught me completely off guard.

"I heard rumors that people in the Middle East are looking to buy guns."

"Huh? And?"

"I figured you'd be able to deliver them easily, In-bae."

Poapy let out a soft chuckle. My heart skipped a beat. Did he know about my ability? I had never used it in front of him. Panicking internally, I tried my best to maintain a calm exterior as I asked, "De... deliver?"

"Yeah, delivery. You have a special ability, don't you, In-bae?"

How much does this kid know? Should I pull out a gun?

"What do you mean, special ability?"

"It's just... the things you gave me were always a bit strange."

"Strange?"

"Take the chocolate bars you gave me. If you carry chocolate bars around in the Congolese heat, they should be completely melted and stuck to the wrapper. But the ones you gave me were always perfectly clean. Like they were freshly made. Yet, when I looked at the expiration dates, they were manufactured a long time ago. Since they were in such pristine condition despite that, I got to thinking. Maybe In-bae has some kind of special ability?"

I had never imagined he would pay attention to such minute details.

"It's the same with the things you brought to the house. Judging by the expiration dates, the quantity, and the condition of the goods, they had to have been stored in a perfect environment. But there's no way you could have physically brought them here. We don't have a car. Carrying them in bags or trunks? In the Congo? An Asian guy walking around with all that stuff? You would have been held up at gunpoint before taking three steps. So I thought... In-bae must have some kind of special power."

"Please don't misunderstand. I just want to help you. If you really do have that kind of power, that is."

"I need to earn my keep too, after all."

"Hahaha! You've got quite the imagination. You should become a novelist."

I laughed it off with a playful shrug, but Poapy didn't crack a smile.

"Hey, I kept those chocolate bars in a refrigerator before bringing them to you. And as for the stuff at the house, I rented a car and brought it all over while you were at school to surprise you. You know, back in Korea, guys who are good at surprises are really popular."

Poapy still didn't laugh. And here I thought that was a solid joke.

"Anyway, I'm off. Call me if anything happens. You know my number, right? Email, text, whatever—just stay in touch."

"I will. Thank you for everything."

"Don't mention it. See you around."

And with that, I parted ways with Poapy. I felt like I had done everything I possibly could, yet the worry for him lingered in the back of my mind. The Congo was just that kind of country. And I was just that kind of guy.

"How about the supply depot?"

"The supply depot, sir?"

Back at the International Peace Support Group, I was having a consultation with the personnel officer. I was a unique case even within the unit. Out of my four years of mandatory service, I had spent nearly three of them deployed in the Congo. Though I was only a Sergeant First Class, I already held multiple medals and had received commendations from our government, the Congolese government, and the UN. My promotion points were practically overflowing. With my established connections in the Congo, I was a valuable asset who could even be utilized through diplomatic channels.

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was the kind of talent who would be fast-tracked for a career commission the moment I applied for long-term service, but I chose not to apply. I wanted to spend my remaining seven months before discharge in quiet peace. Despite persistent persuasion from the commander, deputy commander, and command sergeant major, my mind was made up. I didn't want to wear the uniform anymore. Wearing it brought back too many thoughts—both good and bad. That was why, upon my return, I had requested to serve in the quietest unit or position possible. The result of that request was the supply depot.

Working at the supply depot suited me perfectly. My only job was to receive the incoming supplies at the International Peace Support Group and distribute them on time. The green recruits coming to train, the Special Forces soldiers undergoing their final checks before deployment—I just had to hand out the gear according to their needs, log it in the ledger, and keep track of the inventory. In truth, the enlisted soldiers did most of the heavy lifting, while the logistics officer and I merely verified their work. Since the depot stored a vast amount of equipment and gear packages specifically for overseas deployment, I paid extra attention to those.

Whenever I saw the fresh-faced recruits about to head out on deployment—though most of them were actually older than me—I felt compelled to offer them a word of advice. While the military provided almost everything they needed, standard-issue gear often fell short in the field.

"Make sure to pack a few high-quality flashlights. There are plenty of cheap, good ones on the market these days. Once the sun goes down over there, it's pitch black almost everywhere."

"Bring goggles and sunglasses that actually fit your face. If they keep slipping off during an operation, you're going to have a miserable time."

"Get yourself some sturdy gloves, and bring a few extra pairs. Things that are common as dirt here are impossible to find over there."

"Bring a multi-tool. You'll end up using it at least once. If you're going to buy one, get a high-quality one. Don't buy a cheap piece of junk that chips its teeth when you're trying to cut through rebar."

"Don't worry about the food; it's actually better than you'd think. If you're really worried, just pack some tube gochujang."

"Exercise? There's plenty of workout equipment left behind by guys just like you. You don't need to pack any of that."

"Towels? A quick-dry sports towel is nice to have, but regular ones dry fast enough anyway. Don't sweat it too much."

I shared these practical tips with the soldiers who came to collect their gear. I had spent nearly three years in a deployment zone. Few people knew the realities of deployment as well as I did, since most only went for eight-month rotations. The guys who grew a bit close to me would ask what I did during my deployment, but I never gave them a straight answer. The military offered the perfect excuse for that: "That's classified."

Checking incoming shipments, distributing gear, verifying inventory. It was simple work, but I found it enjoyable. Seeing those green-as-grass recruits heading out made my heart ache a little, so I wanted to look out for them as much as possible. While I was kept busy with these daily routines, my discharge date crept up on me. I had only two months left.

I had a lot on my mind. I had declared my intention to discharge, but I had no concrete plans. To make a living, I needed to find a job, which boiled down to three main paths. First, becoming a civil servant. I could apply for special recruitment in the police SWAT, fire department, or coast guard. My military experience would give me extra points. However, I had absolutely no desire to subject myself to structured, collective life again. Second, entering the security and protection sector. Working for a private security firm, guarding celebrities or corporate executives, or handling event and facility security. Special Forces veterans were highly sought after in this field, so finding a job wouldn't be hard, but I wasn't entirely sold on it. Third, transitioning completely to the civilian sector. Becoming a personal trainer or getting certified in extreme sports to teach students—like scuba diving or skydiving. Since these were fields I knew nothing about, I would have to look into them further.

PMCs were an option, but I wanted to be done with uniforms, so I passed. Defense contractors were another route, but would they even hire a high school graduate like me? I wasn't confident in paperwork either. Once I discharged, I would have to move out of the officers' quarters and find a place to live, but I had no idea where to start looking. If I got a place in Seoul but ended up finding a job elsewhere, what then? Logically, it made sense to secure a job first and then find a house near it. But where on earth was I going to find a job? Should I just apply for long-term service now? The dilemma weighed heavily on me.

I had enlisted immediately after graduating from high school. Aside from my school years and a few months of working delivery jobs before my enlistment, the military had been my entire life. Though it had only been four years, I had learned, felt, and experienced far more during this time than in the nineteen years prior. Every shred of knowledge I possessed had been taught to me by the military, and all the warmth and care I had ever received had come from the military. Perhaps staying in the service was the most logical choice. But I couldn't do it. I just couldn't.

There was always the option of utilizing my Inventory. But I wasn't sure about that either. Could I actually make a living with it? Finding a practical way to use the Inventory in the real world was surprisingly difficult. The only obvious way to make money with it was smuggling—bringing in decent goods from overseas and selling them for a profit. Sure, I understood the advantage: without customs duties and shipping costs, I could sell them at a lower price. But who would buy them? Importing cheap goods from China wouldn't make any real money. And if I tried to sell luxury goods, I would constantly be plagued by accusations of selling counterfeits, even if I included the original certificates of authenticity. In the end, I would have to sell high-value contraband, but even that seemed daunting. I didn't even know what was profitable. On top of that, laundering the cash I received would be an even bigger headache. It was far from easy.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz. My phone vibrated.