The Touch of an Evil God, Part V

I had watched Yeomyeong for a very long time. Of course, lately, my gaze had drifted less often his way since I met the young girl who could actually perceive my existence. But before that—especially when Haninhae was first established—the focus of my Celestial Observer had been almost entirely fixed on him.

When he cleared out the radical gangs of Seoul.

When he founded Haninhae and confiscated generators and firearms according to the president's demands.

Even when the resisting factions banded together to wage an all-out war against Haninhae.

I had been right there with them, an observer unable to intervene. I witnessed how Yeomyeong grew and how he acted. To me back then, it felt like watching a novel or a movie play out. It was the only form of vicarious satisfaction available on this lunar colony, a place entirely devoid of culture or entertainment. There were more than a few times when Wilson and I had cheered him on as we watched him grow stronger, drifting from one battlefield to the next.

Yet, not every moment of watching him had been pleasant. Even in the drama of Yeomyeong's life, there were those deeply frustrating, stifling stretches.

And most of them were connected to that bastard, Lee Seokin.

Off the top of my head, I could recall three distinct instances.

First, the Triad Sweep. A suppression campaign launched to drive out the remnants of the Triads who had fled from Hong Kong to South Korea after World War III.

Second, the Scavenger Subjugation. An all-out war waged against the Scavenger Guilds to eradicate the culture of looting and ambushes that had spread across Seoul after the fall.

Third, the Axe Gang Trial. The first procedural trial held since the apocalypse, which successfully imprisoned a gang leader who had used his Awakened abilities to oppress others.

All three were critical matters that staked the very survival and legitimacy of Haninhae, yet the president was nowhere to be found during any of them. His absences had created incredibly dangerous situations. Mostly, they led to errors in troop deployment or procedural execution due to the lack of a chief decision-maker. Fortunately, Yeomyeong had managed to resolve the issues every single time, but... as a mere spectator, my frustration had been unbearable. Where on earth was the nominal president, and what was he doing at such critical moments?

Furious at the time, I had used the Celestial Observer to search for the missing president. And that was when I found him. In a subway station converted into a brothel, a middle-aged man was enthusiastically grinding his hips against a young girl who looked decades younger than him.

...I was so angry back then that I almost smashed the Observer.

During the Triad Sweep. During the Scavenger Subjugation. And during the Axe Gang Trial. The president had made excuses—either claiming he was evacuating for his own safety or that he was feeling unwell—and then slipped away to the subway. He acted as the pimp's backer, taking all kinds of women into his arms.

How else could a subway brothel have sustained itself in the first place? In a situation where Haninhae was confiscating every generator they could find, how could they secure a generator massive enough to power a subway station, let alone the fuel to run it? It was all thanks to Lee Seokin's backing. He had kept the brothel's existence shrouded as a mere urban legend and withheld accurate intelligence from Yeomyeong and the suppression team. It was only after Nisyona was rescued and the subway brothel collapsed that he finally passed along some superficial information.

"Watching that made my blood pressure spike so high I thought I'd collapse... but now, I can finally get my revenge."

I stared at the monitor of the Celestial Observer, my lips curling into a wide smirk.

...In reality, the president's sins ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠might not have seemed so grand. In the early days of Haninhae, incidents and operations occurred almost daily. Slipping away only three times out of dozens, perhaps hundreds, of operations might not be considered a fatal flaw. Backing a brothel and indulging in prostitution could simply be dismissed as typical human depravity in this ruined world. After all, they say absolute power corrupts absolutely. Holding the position of Haninhae's president—even if half of it was against his will—and committing only that level of illegality might actually be considered impressive.

But. A certain reader, deeply immersed in the story of the protagonist Yeomyeong, had taken a severe dislike to this frustrating extra. And now that fate had led to Nisyona being rescued by Yeomyeong, sparking an unusual tension between them, this seemingly minor weakness had transformed into an incredibly volatile bomb.

—...

Beyond the monitor of the Celestial Observer, Yeomyeong was shown deep in thought after receiving the note. It was a note Seraphina had painstakingly copied down, character by crooked character, by searching through the Bible in the bunker according to where my gaze fell. Since Seraphina had merely traced the Korean characters as if drawing pictures, she wouldn't have understood a single word of it.

But Yeomyeong certainly would.

The three incidents where the president's sudden absence had caused critical issues. Add to that Nisyona's testimony of being rescued from the underground brothel. Wasn't that more than enough to piece together the truth? The young man might be stubborn and blindly devoted, but he was far from foolish. He must have already sensed the incongruity of the subway's sudden exposure and the president's suspicious absences. Until now, he had likely buried those doubts deep within his subconscious under the conviction that he had to establish order. But with such a direct clue handed to him, he would no longer be able to ignore it.

"Now... Yeomyeong. Go head-to-head with him. Take this chance to sweep Lee Seokin away entirely."

I muttered as I stared at the Observer. I knew that young man. Perhaps even better than Yeomyeong knew himself. I knew that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠while he claimed to value reason and rationality above all else, he was actually highly susceptible to his emotions.

—...First, I must verify the facts.

Beyond the Observer, Yeomyeong muttered to himself as he stood up. I clapped my hands in satisfaction at the sight. Indeed. It had been well worth the risk of sneaking the girl into the Haninhae headquarters. It had taken some time to wait for a moment when the guards' eyes were averted, but if the result was a crack in Haninhae's pillar, it was more than enough. It didn't matter how small the fracture was. As long as I was watching over everything, a tiny crack would soon widen into a gaping chasm.

Having received the note, Yeomyeong immediately left his quarters. It was dawn, the sky just beginning to brighten. He made his way to the main Haninhae building and visited the president's office. Even though the secretary had already gone home, the lights inside the office were still on. Yeomyeong opened the door without hesitation. Stepping past the rustling piles of documents, he addressed the president, who was lying on a cot.

"Mr. President. Do you have a moment?"

"...Hey, does it look like I'm in any state to have 'a moment' right now?"

A sharp, irritable response came back. But Yeomyeong paid it no mind. He already knew the president's daily routine was a complete mess. He cut straight to the chase.

"Mr. President. Do you happen to recall the Triad Sweep?"

"What... What kind of bullshit is this all of a sudden?"

"Do you also recall the Scavenger Subjugation, and the trial of the former Axe Gang boss?"

Sensing something unusual in Yeomyeong's tone, the president pushed himself up from the cot.

"...Yeah, I remember. I remember, so what? Are you here to give me shit about it now? Damn it, I told you I was evacuating back then! If the president gets captured, the whole operation goes down the drain. Shouldn't I keep myself alive first? I didn't say anything because there were circumstances back then—"

As if his conscience was pricked, the president raised his voice. Yeomyeong quietly cut him off.

"—By any chance, were you visiting a brothel named 'Under the Sea' at the time, which was operated out of a converted subway station?"

Yeomyeong's question struck the president dumb. In that instant, Lee Seokin realized it. I've been caught. A flimsy denial would be pointless. With Yeomyeong taking this stance, a simple verbal denial wouldn't satisfy him. He would undoubtedly try to dig up the records from back then. If so, exposure was only a matter of time. Lee Seokin's mind raced, desperately searching for a way out. What should he say? What answer would allow him to survive this monster of a man, Yeomyeong? His hesitation didn't last long. Fortunately, he had already prepared materials in advance for just such an occasion.

"Yeah, I went. So what? Fuck, is a man not even allowed to have sex anymore?"

At the president's admission, Yeomyeong's expression hardened. Even after reading the note, he had kept open the possibility that it was a malicious slander. Yet the response he received was laughably brazen.

"...Mr. President, were you aware that the workers employed at that establishment were all kidnap victims?"

Yeomyeong clenched his fists as he asked. Nisyona's story echoed in his mind. Kidnapping. Confinement. Assault. The vivid, firsthand account he had heard directly from her. Yet the president merely answered as if he had been waiting for this exact question.

"Hey, what kind of nonsense are you spouting? Let's see... Ah, here. Look at this, you brat. Every single person working there signed a contract with their own hands. They were legitimate employees, got it?"

Reaching out, the president pulled out a file folder and waved a few worn sheets of paper in front of Yeomyeong's eyes.

The paper was titled "Employment Contract." Inside, it stated that the signer agreed to sell their body in exchange for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fair compensation. At the bottom of the page, in the signature line, a red thumbprint sat in place of a signature. The distinct mark of a small, young girl's thumb, violently pressed down, was clearly visible.

Yeomyeong spoke immediately.

"Mr. President. A contract forced upon kidnap victims has absolutely no legal validity."

"And how do you know it was forced? Bring me evidence if you have it. We'll let a 'proper trial' decide. Though, with the massive backlog of cases we have right now, it'll probably take a few years to get to it."

No matter what Yeomyeong said, the president merely shot back with shameless arrogance.

"Then what was the meaning of the mission you gave me? Did you not order me to investigate the reports of a cult and rescue the women who had gone missing due to internal strife within the organization?"

"Internal strife my ass! The point is, a perfectly legal private business was raided and destroyed by a bunch of cultists. I ordered you to go save them!"

"Are you aware that Nisyona... no, that the workers, including her, have received no basic education whatsoever? There is no way people who barely even know the Korean alphabet could have properly understood and signed that contract."

"Is that my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠problem? Take it up with the law. Go prove their grievances through the legally established appeal process."

"..."

"And fuck, the only break I get while running this godforsaken place is getting laid a few times! And now you're trying to find fault with even that? Shit, if you're going to be like this, why don't you be the president instead! How can you be so untrusting!"

Lee Seokin shouted in frustration. Hearing those words, Yeomyeong squeezed his fists even tighter. It was because, legally speaking, the president's words were correct.

Yes. The presumption of innocence. The president had not been convicted of any crime yet. He claimed that this entire process was legal. Until a verdict was reached, his words had to be accepted. Yet those 'legally correct words' sounded incredibly bizarre to Yeomyeong's ears. The president had raped a young girl at that establishment. And yet, there was supposedly no issue with that.

It was wrong. A wrong had to be corrected.

But how? Legally, and through orderly means.

Yeomyeong recalled the steps required to initiate a criminal trial. Investigation by prosecutors. Indictment. Public trial. Verdict. Appeal. The courts, the prosecutors, the judges—all of them were systems Haninhae had only recently resurrected. They were doing their best, but manpower was still severely lacking. With such limited resources, how long would it take to prove the girl's grievances? Years, at the very least. It was far too long a time for a young girl to endure in this harsh, unforgiving world. Behind Yeomyeong's closed eyelids, the image of Nisyona burying her face between her knees flashed by. If things went this way, she wouldn't be able to lift her head for years to come.

"..."

Of course, there was an easier way. Using the fists he was currently clenching so tightly. A single, light swing would be enough to end the president's life. The man's physical body was incredibly weak. Look at him. Even now, with only a sliver of Yeomyeong's killing intent leaking out, he was trembling like a leaf. A wait of several years could be ended in a mere ten seconds.

And in that moment, I would feel an immense sense of relief.

But the order they had barely managed to rebuild would crumble. If he murdered a democratically elected president simply because he possessed superior strength, it would violate everything he believed in. Why had he established Haninhae in the first place? Why had he created the office of the president, refused to run for it himself, and remained as nothing more than the captain of the Special Suppression Team?

Because the law had to be upheld.

Yeomyeong recalled the gang that had slaughtered his family. He recalled the civilian who had once screamed at him. If he refused to abide by the law simply because he possessed great power, how would he be any different from the outlaws he so deeply despised?

Thus, Yeomyeong slowly relaxed his clenched fists. He spoke in a low, quiet voice to the president, who was shouting with exaggerated, trembling bravado.

"...Understood. In that case, I will gather the evidence to prove your illegal acts and request a trial through the proper legal channels. I suggest you wait for it."

Yeomyeong turned on his heel and walked out of the president's office. He walked through the Haninhae compound as the morning sun finally rose over the buildings.

"...This is right. This is the correct way."

Walking alone, Yeomyeong whispered to himself. Yes. Now he just had to tell Nisyona. That the president of this place had raped her. That if she wanted an apology, she would have to prepare for legal proceedings. That was all. He didn't know how many years it would take, but he could comfort her and promise to help her through it.

"That's all it takes. Legally. In accordance with order..."

Yeomyeong repeated the conviction he had recited countless times before. Yet, why? The belief that had always felt so natural and absolute now felt incredibly hollow. He had acted to restore a shattered order. He had confronted a cult that possessed illegal firearms under the guise of serving a nonexistent god. He had rescued a girl who was undoubtedly being oppressed among people whose language she couldn't even speak. And now, he was on his way to tell her that she could resolve her grievances through legal channels.

So why did he feel this strange, unsettling sensation?

Yeomyeong couldn't understand it. Or perhaps, he knew the truth but simply couldn't bring himself to admit it. A world without divine retribution. A world where the wicked thrived and the good suffered. The realization that the culmination of his lifelong struggle to establish even a shred of order in such a place... was this profound emptiness. He could not accept it. He did not want to accept it.

Without realizing it, a thought slipped into his mind.

If only there were someone else who could establish order in my stead.

A tiny crack began to form within the warrior's heart. And from 380,000 kilometers away, the gaze watching his conflicted expression began to rejoice.