The Princess in the Sleeping Capsule
“What? You found a Walpurgis survivor?”
Detective Ma Beomil of the Seoul Violent Crimes Unit 2 could hardly believe the sudden outburst from his junior. He was swamped with the current case—did this kid have any idea? He itched to smack him upside the head.
“NIS just picked up a signal from an illegal device. What was it called? MeiMeiToX or something?”
The moment the capsule model name left his junior's mouth, Ma's eyes turned fierce.
“You sure about that?”
“Dead sure, hyung. Riot handed over the official data themselves. Serial number and ICEI incoming soon—tracking the location will be a breeze.”
“Riot? Isn't that the game company? Think, Namseok. Use that brain of yours.”
In the end, Ma rolled up a magazine and thunked his junior on the head.
“Some deadbeat with bad credit probably scavenged an illegal capsule and got caught gaming in it. Lucky if it's even a low-level Walpurgis grunt.”
“So you're not going, hyung? Car's waiting.”
“You guys handle it. I'm buried here.”
“But it could be a real victim! The tipster said the person trapped inside can't even speak—just been sending SOS signals for years...”
“What? And you wait till now to mention that?”
The inability to speak was the clincher. A capsule with its language module deliberately fried. Seven years ago, in the UN-led raid on Walpurgis's Korean branch, Ma hadn't rescued a single survivor intact. It gnawed at him. There must've been hostages. But everyone he found was dead—or still trapped somewhere, rotting to bones.
He suspected Walpurgis was behind the spike in missing persons in Korea, otherwise top-tier for public safety. The year after they were wiped out, child abductions plummeted.
Of course, someone surviving seven years in a capsule sounded far-fetched.
“Hurry up and go, then.”
“Any more pedal-to-the-metal and I'll get blisters. Just let autopilot handle it—always so impatient.”
The ambulance arrived neck-and-neck with them at the scene.
“Real backwoods spot.”
No SWAT this time. No way grunts hid out here. Logical enough. Hell, even Ma thought dumping a capsule in a place like this made it hard to find.
A fringe redevelopment zone, abruptly canceled. No sign of human life now. Just one dilapidated rural house, over a century old, standing lonely.
“This the right place?”
“Weird... Nav says yes.”
The paramedics awaited his orders.
“Quit yapping and move. Let's all go in—might as well, since we're here. Namseok, flashlight.”
“Sigh, can't even use light magic over a little tax, still lugging a flashlight...”
“Lead the way, now.”
“Fine, fine.”
Two detectives up front, six paramedics behind, crammed into the narrow house. 1 a.m.—the cramped space amplified an owl's hoot down the hall.
“Tiny house, but what a maze.”
“Feels like something's gonna jump out.”
“We're past the age for ghost stories.”
“Lately, people scare me more than ghosts.”
They swept the living room, kitchen, master bedroom. In the smallest back room, two massive capsules dominated the space.
“Well, damn... They're real. Someone's inside? Ugh, should've skipped the jjajangmyeon.”
“Cut the crap and help. Can't pry by hand—they smashed it good.”
The giant crowbar, for just this. Three grown men heaved, wedging it between capsules. Creak-crunch—something shattered. Hiss—air rushed through the gap from pressure difference.
“No good. [1st Circle Emergency Draft: Light].”
“Hyung, emergency drafts cost extra.”
“My dime.”
The room blazed bright. Exhausted paramedics, Namseok's dazed face—all crystal clear.
Clunk. The door gave way.
Namseok bolted first. “Ghoooost!”
“Hold still or get hurt.”
Ma yanked him down by the collar. Paramedics, pros, checked the woman inside.
“DOA. Estimated TOD: seven years ago.”
“But hyung, no decay on this corpse?”
“We don't know the details...”
“Aaaaah!”
“What now, Namseok?!”
“Th-this capsule... sound from it!”
Namseok, calming his pounding heart against the other capsule, jumped again.
Veteran instinct? Ma barked orders. “Leave her. Open this one fast.”
No arguments. Paramedics grabbed the crowbar. Difference: Ma took point.
Less force needed this time. Light spell fading, but eyes locked on the girl inside.
“Holy shit.”
Far too small for the capsule's target build—a pale little girl, barely clinging to life.
My eyes open.
Seven years. Exactly seven years to see this damned reincarnated world.
Everyone nags me to hurry. I ignore them. I have to see.
Mom.
I try to sit up—world spins. My head? No, everything.
Two kind uncles grab my armpits, hoist me up. Thanks.
Mom, you alive? Maybe?
Seola's form, hidden by the capsule, comes into view. Utterly serene.
She'd died six years ago, as expected. But that sliver of hope—I'd force-fed her half my mana potions. She looked vibrant, impossible for the long dead.
Her eyes would never open again.
So gaunt. Nothing like my VR avatar. The suffering...
I'm alive. Thanks to you, Mom.
“Any word? They find her?”
“Not your concern anymore. Nothing more to tell.”
“But!”
“And Se-min, your mom says you're hooked on games? Won't meddle once you're grown, but moderation's key.”
“...Yes, sir.”
“Exams soon, right? Unlike the others, you've done service—double the effort to catch up.”
“Yes.”
No wonder asking for help felt off. Se-min stuck his tongue out at his father, Chief Prosecutor Cheon Jeong-ho's back.
Soldiering wasn't a vacation. Country ordered it. He'd know if he served.
Suffocating home. Till independence, just endure.
Se-min's gut screamed something happened. NoName'd gone offline hours ago—proof.
“Sigh, what am I doing? Study time.”
Muttered that, but his mind was on NoName. Last resort:
The guy Dad talked to outside. Se-min'd memorized the number.
Unnatural pause, then voice resumed.