Heirs
Saemangeum, the world's longest seawall certified by the Guinness Book of Records—we followed it all the way to Gunsan in North Jeolla Province. We parked in front of a bizarrely shaped building that evoked the image of the Titanic's sinking bow. While Professor Cheon headed off briefly to the Saemangeum Development Agency, I lounged in the car with its blasting AC, gazing at the horizon where tidal flats met the sea.
The Saemangeum reclamation project had begun sixty years ago for eco-friendly farmland creation, but it hit rough waters in modern times as primary industries lost importance. I figured the reclaimed land would end up like an unwanted sack of barley, but lo and behold, a mana field was discovered by chance—like stepping backward and catching a rat. Mana stream might be more accurate than mana field, but the term's already stuck, so what can you do? Unlike oil, mana doesn't sit still; it flows endlessly. This world was nothing like my previous one, packed dense with mana. Here, a massive mana trunk pierced through Earth's Pacific like a vein, with primary scaffolds branching off it, and secondary scaffold branches extending further—only those could host mana power plants. Not official terms, but people call them first-order and second-order branches for convenience. The capillary-like offshoots had such low mana pressure they were useless without 'storage' via power plants for casting spells.
"No direct boats to Duri Island. We have to go to Bieando and ask the locals personally."
Professor Cheon started the car.
"Who'd you meet?"
"The development agency head's an old acquaintance. I asked about boat routes."
With his suspiciously vast network, Professor Cheon sipped cheap canned coffee and headed back to the harbor. That sweet aroma... looks tasty.
"Whaaat? Us too? What'd you say?"
"Du! Ri! Do! Take these folks to Duri Island!"
"Duri Island? Why there?"
"Aigoo, sorry, Grandpa's ears are shot."
"No worries. We're grateful just for the help."
Thanks to the elderly couple running a kelp farm on Bieando, we set out to sea again. Salty ocean air mixed with the motorboat's oily engine fumes. The weather was so clear the harbor and flats didn't feel far, yet the opposite shore's port came into view.
"People used to live on Duri Island back in the day, right?"
"Eh?"
"Did people live there?!"
I shouted over the sea wind, but his hearing seemed as bad as ever.
"Who'd live there? Nobody!"
"Ah, got it..."
"Ah, maybe Bong-gon Grandpa's back."
No real leads, so I climbed back on deck, stood by Professor Cheon, and gripped the railing. He pointed to a spot on the mainland we'd just left.
"That's the Gunsan Mana Power Plant. Korea's first built on a primary scaffold."
Just drilling rigs so far on the empty site. Plenty more to build: central storage, relay stations, etc.
"Man, Korea's got rotten luck. Japan next door has five scaffolds."
No oil, scant minerals. Even mana fields were just second-order branches until Gunsan, forcing plants in Ulsan, Gangneung—you name it. One on Bukhansan too.
"If Gunsan finishes, will mana taxes drop?"
"Hmm, hard to say."
"Yeah, no way they'd lower prices."
Once raised, they never come down. Just pads some exec's bonus, fattens wallets.
Chatting idly with Professor Cheon, we blinked and arrived at Duri Island's dock. Human traces lingered, but an eerie silence screamed uninhabited.
"Another boat here?"
"Yeah. Someone definitely lives."
Officially uninhabited per records, yet signs of life. We needed at least three: Baek Arin, her six-years-older adoptive brother Baek Min-woo, and Arin's "scary grandpa."
"Just leave 'em here? Weirdos comin' to this godforsaken rock for an abandoned island."
"Fine by us. Thanks."
Grumbling but helpful, the old man's aid got us there in a day. White foam from our path sparkled in the sunset.
"Find 'em before dark."
"Yeah. Follow the path."
Island looked small—half Korea University's size. An hour's stroll would circle it. We followed the trail from the dock. Gentle uphill suddenly ended; grass fields beyond. Scanning dense weeds, I spotted bent stalks—recent footprints.
I glanced at Professor Cheon.
[Shall we go?]
He shrugged.
[Do as you like.]
Feeling like a thief, I strode on. Soft earth sank underfoot—scary, might trip.
"...!"
"You okay? Careful."
"Something snagged my foot."
Speak of the devil—a tough vine nearly sent me sprawling. Professor Cheon steadied me; I eyed the vine's end.
"A watermelon?"
"Watermelon."
We said it together. Ripe and tempting.
"Whoa, first time seeing one grown."
Rare fruit; nostalgic from past life—no watermelons, missed watermelon salad.
Crouching, I thumped and rolled it. Curious, I rummaged for more.
"...?"
Another "watermelon" shadow? No—human heads. Boy and girl prone, holding breath. Monster-like, they screamed, mouths agape with red juice.
"Gaaahhh!"
"Eeeeek!"
"Whoa!"
"What're you screaming for?!"
I bonked the girl's head. I was more startled! Normal kids, not monsters—red was watermelon juice, not blood. Watermelon's calories are a third of blood's, but anyway... Arin devoured it ravenously.
"Hrrp... Thought you were Gramps... nom nom... hic... Min-woo oppa, see? Told ya Nami'd come... munch..."
"Cry, eat, or talk—one at a time. You'll choke."
Tear-soaked watermelon taster, Baek Arin. Professor Cheon sliced one perfectly; I gave pieces to the starved siblings. Questions piled up, but food first.
"Hair's long. Never cut it?"
Arin nodded vigorously. Min-woo's reached his shoulders too.
"Why so skinny? Starving? How long here?"
"Uh... can't remember well..."
"Eight months, thirteen days."
Min-woo crunched black seeds, eyes vacant with unfathomable emotions. He flung the rind irritably.
"Sigh... Should've just said no..."
"Why say that, oppa! You told me not to give up!"
"Of course not! After all this suffering! Ow!"
Min-woo winced, rubbing his calf—red welts, bruised center.
"Arin, show me your leg."
"Ah!"
Same switch marks on her.
"Who? That grandpa you mentioned?"
"..."
"Tell me."
"Y-yeah... but we deserved it...!"
"Sigh... Arin, no excuse justifies beating."
Absurd; I laughed dryly. Adoptive guy's here too?
"Ho-chan uncle? Yeah, probably prepping dinner at home."
"His name's Ho-chan?"
"Yeah. Uncle Baek Ho-chan."
"Got it..."
Suppressing rage, I tended Arin's calf. Dusk fell; I drew my wand for light.
2nd Circle: Tissue Regeneration
"Eek...! Cold!"
"Cold? Shouldn't be."
"Ah, better now."
"Quit messing."
"Not messing..."
Her pallor hurt my heart. They only adopted Baek-surnamed kids. Whatever scheme on this rock, had to meet him.
"Knew you suffered, should've stopped you... sorry."
"No no! Nami came—that's enough! Heehee! So happy to see you after so long..."
Arin bit her lip, head drooping. Tears streamed down flushed cheeks.
"...Can't tonight. It's late—"
Then—a thunderous roar from below.
"You rotten thief brats! Back to position for punishment—now!"
Sky-shaking voice from a tiny old man. Our eyes met.
"What the—thieves! Catch the watermelon thieves!"
Charging through grass with a cane, wearing a rare gat hat. Chest-length beard, fierce face unmasked by wrinkles.
"You heaven-cursed punks! Back to the woodshed?!"
Cane raised to thrash us.
"Stay right ther—Gaaahhh!"
Tripped on the vine. Pathetic.
"Grandpa! Grandpa!"
Panting youth rushed. Familiar—green tracksuit, top and bottom matching. Ragged now, but rich guy from orphanage visits.
"Grandpa! What're you doi—Gaaahhh!"
Splat—slapstick, face-planted beside old man. Early autumn farce.
Not lavish, but decent spread—we picked at it. Professor Cheon explored the island after a bite. Mackerel aside, protein scarce. Namul, namul everywhere.
No idol survival show, yet endless greens. Kids shoveled rice, starved.
Grandpa usually headed the table for lectures. His absence relaxed them. I blocked Baek Ho-chan from the fish.
"...?"
"Give to kids. Poor things, barely any food."
"Fine. You're that kid from the news, right?"
"Yes."
"I see, I see... Aaaah! Ugh, I'm done. Eat up."
Ho-chan clawed his hair, dropped chopsticks. Owl hoot pierced paper window. I set mine down too.
"Why bring kids here? You're rich, uncle."
"Who said...? I'm broke."
"What broke guy donates two capsules?"
"Wasn't broke then! On the brink..."
Backstory? Not curious.
"Grandpa's got early dementia. Mind wanders, as you saw. Collapsed two-three months ago, touch-and-go."
Baek Bong-gon, his blood grandpa, nearly ninety. Yet spry—questionable.
"Taught here lifelong. Most classes on Bieando school."
Born here, last holdout. Moved under pressure, but dementia brought him back.
"What's that got with Arin and Min-woo? Role-play?"
"Exactly!"
"Pardon?"
Ho-chan clapped.
"Grandpa says he'll only pass wealth to qualified heirs."
Bam!
"For that?!"
I slammed the table, stood. Blind to Arin's leg?
"...!"
"Sorry. Keep eating."
"Y-yeah..."
Ho-chan scratched head, continued.
"Hear me out—you're misunderstanding."
"Not broke, clinging to grandpa for will? Sue for reserved share later—why drag kids?!"
Blind to people? Leave now—
"Not that simple! Would I drag kids through this farce eight months for that?!"
"Then explain."
"Kids agreed too!"
"So spill!"
"Damn... really eight? Drains me..."
Barley tea swig, gritted teeth.
"Can't inherit properly without grandpa."
"Know civil law? Inheritance starts at death, automatic—"
"Not cash, land, buildings."
Eyes brimmed unshed anguish.
"Bitcoin."
"Huh?"
"Grandpa won't give digital wallet password."
"Crypto? How much?"
"18,025. Lunch rate: about 249.8 billion won..."
That headmaster's a bitcoin whale? World gone mad. End times.