Old Ties (2)
Old Ties (2)
The photos Lee Ha-sol had brought were numerous.
"This one... this is the day they handed out bread at the neighborhood bakery."
Tapping the hologram with her finger, Lee Ha-sol broke into a grin.
In the photo, children smiled as they received wrapped bread. The young Lee Ha-sol was among them. Trying to play it cool, the way the corners of her mouth twitched had been caught in the shot.
"Ahem, we were all little, so everyone absolutely loved it."
Her cheeks faintly flushed with embarrassment, Lee Ha-sol moved her finger.
"Here, Ha-yul is next to me."
I was in the photo, too.
Amid the smiling crowd, my face was expressionless, so detached it created a stark contrast.
I stood beside Lee Ha-sol, my left hand holding hers.
Meanwhile, my right arm hung limp at my side, wrapped in bandages all the way up to the forearm.
'Burn scars.'
Curiously, the me of this world also bore those scars.
"It's all healed now, but back then it was so bad that I had to keep it covered with bandages."
Lee Ha-sol, zeroing in on the detail I'd fixated on with uncanny precision, gave a wry smile.
"Medicine that was easy to get didn't work, and for consistent specialist treatment... the Director said the orphanage's finances at the time weren't great."
[I see...]
It was rare for an orphanage to have a comfortable budget.
A special orphanage receiving ample support might be different, but an ordinary one was always strapped for cash.
It was a facility where the average resident was a parentless orphan. No matter how much my body inconvenienced me, it must have been difficult for me alone to receive special treatment.
'And that wasn't the only problem.'
I had a fundamentally frail body.
I couldn't see well and couldn't speak. On top of that, the me of that time had been a hollow shell with no soul, practically a machine, they said.
I was literally a walking general hospital.
No one knew how much money the treatments would devour, and even then a cure wasn't guaranteed.
In reality, that condition stemmed from a curse and the absence of a soul, so any money spent would have been wasted anyway.
'Others probably assumed I'd be dead soon.'
A child with an uncertain future. Put bluntly, a child who would die soon either way.
That was, in fact, a cold but accurate judgment.
"So I looked after you very closely. If you check the photos here, you'll see I always had you by my side."
Apparently, Lee Ha-sol was the one who mainly cared for me back then.
"The Director was busy, so me—I held your hand and took you everywhere, fed you your meals... What? I did all of it, you know."
Shaking her head emphatically, Lee Ha-sol flipped through the photos one after another. In the pictures of me she had deliberately selected, I was almost always right beside her.
"Ha-yul's health was so poor he couldn't even go to school much. So he mostly stayed at the orphanage, and I'd come rushing back the moment school finished..."
As the photos advanced, time passed. The little children began to rapidly shoot up.
"Here."
Tap— Lee Ha-sol's finger stopped. How many years had passed within the photos?
There was Lee Ha-sol, hoisting a boulder the size of her torso over her head, wearing a startled expression.
"I awakened around the second year of elementary school. Among superhumans, they called it awfully late? Of course, not as late as Ha-yul... anyway."
Lee Ha-sol moistened her throat with water and continued.
"Since I'd awakened, I had no choice but to leave."
A newly awakened superhuman can't manage their power without proper training.
Because even a slight misstep could cause casualties, learning how to control that strength was mandatory.
"From then on, we received full-scale support from the Tower Faith. One of the main sponsors of Ilbo Orphanage was the Tower Faith, you see."
[From the Tower Faith?]
"Yeah, yeah. The Tower Faith is famous for its heavy sponsorship, right? Ilbo Orphanage was one of those cases."
As a religious order in name, the Tower Faith has long done much charity and donation work.
The most representative of that was its support for welfare facilities like orphanages.
'I'd heard the Tower Faith provided especially heavy support to orphanages.'
I hadn't realized the orphanage where my body had once lived was one of those facilities.
"So naturally I reached out to the Tower Faith side."
[Ah-ha.]
At Lee Ha-sol's words, I bobbed my head.
So that's how she ended up affiliated with the Tower Faith—her circumstances at the orphanage connected her to them first.
'The Tower Faith... was never a bad faction.'
Setting aside their treatment of Players, the general public's impression of the Tower Faith wasn't bad. If anything, it leaned favorable.
That was because there was nothing unsavory in their track record so far.
And even in the original story, far from causing incidents, they were a reliable ally who actively fought against extinction.
Their treatment of Players aside.
'I have no reason to refuse.'
Nurturing a superhuman requires all kinds of resources. Of course, the process of entering and graduating from an academy is generally fully subsidized.
But strictly speaking, that was only basic support. Even a relatively cheap elixir sold for enormous sums.
Since proper growth demanded more assistance, there was no reason to refuse the Tower Faith's sponsorship.
"...Yeah. Thanks to the Tower Faith, I could at least set aside a lot of my hesitation."
[Hesitation? What about?]
When I tilted my head and asked, Lee Ha-sol let out a deep sigh and pointed at me.
[?]
[Confused]
"What are you throwing question marks at me for? That hesitation was you, Ha-yul."
Lee Ha-sol shook her head in disbelief.
"I was the one who looked after Ha-yul at your side. If I disappeared, who was going to take care of you?"
[Ah.]
"But once I joined the Tower Faith, the support for Ilbo Orphanage grew significantly, you know. And maybe because they rated my potential highly, they provided treatment and support for Ha-yul too..."
Though, there hadn't been much progress.
Mumbling the last part, Lee Ha-sol poured more water into her already empty glass.
[Uh, um...]
"Still, thanks to that, the orphanage got more staff and a bit of breathing room, so I could enter the training institution with an easier heart."
[Uhhhh...]
"Of course, I knew Ha-yul's condition was far more serious than I'd imagined, but I thought I'd find a way while working as a superhuman... yes, that was my plan. And then..."
[Eep!]
"While communication with you was cut off, a fire broke out at the orphanage, and taking that as an impetus, you supposedly left the orphanage early, and someone supposedly said something..."
My shoulders flinched at her suddenly sulky gaze.
"...And the Ha-yul who cut off contact after leaving early turned out to be the Siyoram Special Admission Cadet from last year, and while your mind has become completely lucid, you've lost all memory of me..."
[......]
"Honestly, the situation is complicated."
Her words spilled out like a grumble. Seeing my shoulders crumple repeatedly, Lee Ha-sol swallowed a sigh and shook her head.
"Right, that's the gist of my circumstances."
Her short and intense explanation ended.
Watching Lee Ha-sol gulp down water as if her throat were parched, I rolled my closed eyes around.
[Umm...]
My own feelings were just as complicated.
A past I didn't know.
'No, is it even right to call that my past?'
What I can define as the current "Lee Ha-yul" is the soul of the Lee Ha-yul who lived in the original world.
The thing that existed here was Lee Ha-yul's body. A mere hollow shell with no soul.
'But...'
Lee Ha-sol had earnestly cared for that hollow shell.
From their time at the orphanage, for whatever reason, she had diligently helped him, and even when she was in the process of receiving sponsorship from the Tower Faith, she'd thought of me.
On top of that, given that she mentioned treatment, it seemed she'd even intended to resolve my injuries and condition through her own efforts.
'Why?'
I hadn't heard the answer to that question yet. But even without hearing the reason, the mere fact that she'd tried to care for my body weighed on my heart.
I do not know Lee Ha-sol.
But the way Lee Ha-sol looks at me is not like that.
That gap instinctively made me watch for her reactions.
"Huh. Even after I devoted myself to looking after Ha-yul like this."
Just then, seeing my crumpled shoulders, Lee Ha-sol spoke in a distinctly playful tone.
"To think you almost tossed me aside like worn-out shoes because of your amnesia... Huh? When we were kids, you even promised to marry me."
[...Please don't tease me.]
At the blatant teasing, my lips pouted faintly. Earlier I'd been startled enough to spit out water, but now that I'd heard it was a joke, I wasn't.
"Hmm... I wonder?"
At my reaction, Lee Ha-sol smirked and shrugged.
"Is it a lie? Or isn't it?"
[?]
Lee Ha-sol's expression was enigmatic. A hint of mischief played across her face.
'What's this?'
Whether it was true or false, I couldn't tell. Even when I used my Observation, it was the same.
My head tilted at the uncertain result.
* * *
From a young age, Lee Ha-sol was told she was mature for her age.
In short, she had realized early that her situation was far from comfortable, and she had grasped that throwing tantrums wouldn't change anything.
As a result, her behavior was precocious.
Unlike the other children, her thoughts were deep and her words and actions upright, so she received plenty of trust.
'Aish, what do I do from now on...'
And because of that, she received relatively less attention.
One night.
Lee Ha-sol stepped out into the dark orphanage yard, slumped down with her back against the wall, and sighed.
Reality was cold.
Having grasped that since she was small, Lee Ha-sol worried about her own future as a penniless orphan.
'......'
She worried. A lot.
She worried about the future, but there was no real solution.
The worry only deepened, and with no way out, the fear only grew.
The Director and the others thought of Lee Ha-sol as simply mature, but inside, the worry was festering.
Either way, mature or not, Lee Ha-sol was still a child in the end.
'...What am I really supposed to do...'
The corners of Lee Ha-sol's eyes grew moist as she imagined, for no good reason, a thicket of ominous futures.
Lately her worries had only increased. Afraid something might happen, they wouldn't let her outside, so she had no way to seek outside help.
It was a vicious cycle.
"Huh...?"
Suddenly, a handkerchief was held out in front of Lee Ha-sol.
"Ah...!"
Startled at the thought that someone had seen her in such a shameful state, she flinched—then her gaze locked onto the hand that had entered her field of vision.
A tiny hand wrapped in bandages. Lee Ha-sol blinked her aching eyes and lifted her head.
A face like a machine, expressionless, came into view.
"...Lee Ha-yul?"
Lee Ha-yul.
The child, sick in body and mind, who had come into the orphanage several months ago.
The kids at the orphanage were afraid of Lee Ha-yul.
A face whose thoughts you could never guess. A face that showed not a flicker of change even when he got hurt. A face so eerily still it felt ominous at times.
On top of that, his right arm bore hideous burn scars, so children who saw them would burst into tears in droves.
Since the busy Director was overburdened caring for Lee Ha-yul, Lee Ha-sol, whose conduct was at least proper, had ended up helping.
But even for Lee Ha-sol, Lee Ha-yul was a little ominous, just the same.
'At least he's quiet, which is a relief...'
It wasn't hard to look after him.
Because Lee Ha-yul normally spent his time as still as a doll. Left alone, he would sit quietly and stare vacantly.
"Why..."
Like this, with eyes that couldn't see, he'd never sought anyone out first before.
And never had he suddenly held out a handkerchief.
Wearing a stunned expression, Lee Ha-sol reflexively accepted the handkerchief.
Then Lee Ha-yul fumbled at his chest, pulled out a scrap of paper, scribbled something with a pencil, and held it out.
[Thank you]
The handwriting was so neat it looked printed by a machine. Lee Ha-sol's eyes flew wide open as she took the note.
"...This is..."
Lee Ha-yul was like a machine.
That was a fact she'd realized while looking after him for months.
He couldn't understand complex lessons. But simple behaviors—if she taught him, he'd memorize and perform them.
How to write letters. Rules at the orphanage. Actions he shouldn't do.
He'd followed them because he'd been taught.
Conversely, if he hadn't been taught, he wouldn't act.
...The action just now had not been taught.
Had someone else taught him?
'Who?'
The Director, too busy to even sleep? The other kids, whose thoughts and actions were as young as their age?
Going through the possibilities one by one, Lee Ha-sol inwardly shook her head. There was no one who could have taught him.
Then that Lee Ha-yul, on his own?
That was... she didn't know.
"...Thank you."
She couldn't resolve the question, but for now it didn't matter.
In the midst of her lonely sniffling, that unexpected expression of gratitude from Lee Ha-yul had clearly been a great comfort.
Lee Ha-sol dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief and hesitantly rose to her feet.
The eye level changed. That was because Lee Ha-yul was at least a full head shorter than her.
She naturally looked down at Lee Ha-yul.
The eyes that looked up at her were darker than even the dim surroundings.
Dull as if clouded by mist, empty and therefore ominous eyes.
'...Empty?'
Right now she wasn't sure. She'd thought they were empty, but that might have been a misperception.
In the first place, the time they'd spent together wasn't even a few months.
And since no one had even looked at Lee Ha-yul properly, deeming him too ominous, it was only natural they wouldn't know.
"Ugh... it's cold. Let's go inside, quickly."
Suddenly the night's chill clung to her skin.
Having gazed intently into Lee Ha-yul's eyes for practically the first time, Lee Ha-sol took his hand.
Inside her clasped hand, the note she'd just received was squeezed tight.