Ten Years Without a Hamburger

Ten in the morning. The sunlight was clear, and the sky looked as if it had never once thought of soiling itself. Inside me, though, everything was still soaked through.

I stepped into a hamburger shop, the sort of franchise you could find on any corner. Fluorescent uniforms. The smell of crackling grease. A place that had once been familiar to me, and that now felt far too strange.

"Welcome."

I headed for the counter through the clerk's greeting.

"One special combo, please. With a cola."

The words had barely left my mouth before a number ticket was in my hand. I took a seat by the window and closed both hands around that small slip of paper, holding it as carefully as if it were something sacred.

A long while later, a tray was set down in front of me. French fries, a hamburger, and a cold cola. I drew the hamburger out slowly, steam still curling off it.

My hands trembled, just a little, as I peeled the wrapper away. Cheese and meat showed between the buns, and the moment that smell struck the tip of my nose—

My breath stopped.

That day, ten years ago. The hamburger I had eaten at the amusement park, running, laughing, my parents' hands held tight in mine. My father had said it then.

I really hadn't forgotten. I had wanted to, and I couldn't. I brought the hamburger carefully to my mouth.

The moment I bit down, everything gave way. Flavor spread through my mouth. Meat, cheese, sauce, bread—all of it familiar. But it wasn't simply a taste.

It was memory. It was grief. And, for one very brief instant, it was warmth.

"Ha..."

I let the breath out and dropped my head. The hamburger shook in my hands, and a tear fell, hard, onto the tray.

This was all I wanted to eat.

Just this. Only this.

The hamburger I had eaten with my family. That stretch of time when we ate without a thought and laughed. All I had wanted was to feel it one more time.

What was so special about it? Why had something like this been so impossibly hard?

Another tear fell. Then another. This time onto the hamburger itself. And I quietly chewed the burger as it soaked them up.

I swallowed what was in my mouth and called back the warm voices and hands of that day. It didn't feel like I was chewing a hamburger. It felt like I was chewing my mother's smile. Chewing my father's laugh. Chewing my little sister's innocent, unguarded smile.

The bridge of my nose stung, and my chest rose until it filled my throat.

"It's good..."

The words slipped out before I knew they were coming. Hoarse. Small. Why hadn't I been able to eat something this good for ten whole years?

All that time, I had been forced to starve. Not only of food, but of love. Of warmth.

Without a word, I picked up a fry and put it in my mouth. Salty, and hot. The tears wouldn't stop.

I drank the cola. Its cold felt, somehow, far too warm. One mouthful. And like that, I slowly turned that day from ten years ago over in my mind again. When I had finished every last bite, I pressed my hands together.

"Thank you for the meal..."

I meant it. To me, this hamburger had not been a simple meal. Perhaps it had been the last of my family's warmth, still clinging to the world.

I bowed my head low, believing my parents were watching. I had to believe it. Only then did it seem the heat inside me might settle, even a little.

The chair scraped as I stood. My revenge was not finished. But this moment, and this moment alone, had been a warm hour spent remembering them. I started toward the next revenge, and murmured under my breath.

"...Please wait for me. I still have things left to do."

There were still far too many people in this world who needed to die.

"The fire investigation results are in. It was arson."

The report filed by the forensics team recorded it in detail: traces of an LP gas leak, the mark of a Zippo lighter's spark, and the deliberate residue of a flammable substance. The fire had broken out at 12:23 a.m. And inside that house, the body of one male victim had been found.

"Multiple fractures over the entire body. Cause of death is estimated as massive blood loss and shock."

"...So he didn't burn to death. He was already dead before the fire ever started."

"Yes. And this victim... appears to have a connection to the perpetrator."

The investigative team's attention gathered in one place.

"Han Seungwoo. The deceased's nephew."

The case file that carried that name thickened in no time. It wasn't a single incident. There was the convenience store assault as well. Kim Hyunbae, the victim of that case, had been ruled permanently disabled and still had not regained consciousness in intensive care.

"Both cases have only one point of contact. Han Seungwoo."

"No fingerprints at the fire scene. No traces at all. And the convenience store CCTV just happened to be down that day. But..."

The investigator drew out a photograph. Footage of Han Seungwoo walking away from the mouth of the alley behind the convenience store, his back to the entrance.

The only suspect whose witness statements, timing, and route all lined up.

"This is enough to identify him. Put out a wanted notice. Now."

The investigative team moved fast. The stink of a serial crime was already thick in the air.

Even so, it was still all right. In a country like Korea, where a single block was enough to put you under another camera, a perfect crime could not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠exist. Every detective assigned to the case was certain the culprit—certain that Han Seungwoo—would be caught before long.

Shopping bag in one hand, I stood before a mirror. A T-shirt, jeans, new sneakers. All of them ordinary brands, on the cheaper side, and yet they dragged a considerable change out of me.

They had to. Until now, the clothes I wore had been full of holes, and the soles of my shoes had split so wide that rain leaked in on wet days.

I had lived in clothes like that. In clothes like that I had been mocked, beaten, and ignored. And now the man in the mirror—

"...Ha."

A disbelieving breath of laughter escaped me. Anyone looking would have called him clean-cut. No. More than that. The features were clear. The dead flesh beneath the eyes was gone, and the skin was smooth.

The shabby figure I had been had vanished without a trace, and a stranger was looking back at me from the other side of the glass.

Physical Improvement.

The only thing I could guess at was the bodily refinement that had come with Awakening. I had thought my body had simply gotten better. It hadn't stopped there. I had been rebuilt without a single scar.

Like a newborn, I carried no mark and no trace. The muscle was restrained, precise, and my gait had grown sure of itself. An exterior so close to perfect that even the word normal felt like a luxury. So much so that I myself would not have recognized the man I used to be.

I left the department store and walked the street.

I could feel people looking. Being looked at was nothing new. But the looks I used to get had been disgust and contempt, or pity at best.

And now? A woman stared straight at me. Only later did I understand that what lived in that gaze was admiration. A man, with jealousy in his eyes. I understood that one too—the look a man gives when he has just seen a rival who outclasses him.

They were looks I had never received before. All of it, simply, was strange.

Walking on like that, I caught a breaking news bulletin flashing across the display board at the subway station. Right after it, a single wanted poster.

I knew. CCTV covered Korea from end to end, and pinning down a suspect here was easier than in any other country. Barely half a day had passed since the judgment, and already I was the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠suspect.

But I wasn't afraid. My eyes went, instead, to the man in the photograph. He was still wearing the shell of the past.

A swollen face. Exhausted eyes. Skin dried to leather, and shoulders hunched in. An ugly student-ID photo, taken with his head ducked as if he were already running. Red lettering had been painted over it.

Beneath it, a small child tugged at his mother's hand while staring at the poster.

"Mom, that man looks scary..."

Scary. He would be. Matted hair and dead eyes—the sort of shape that would frighten a child. But then—

"That mister is handsome!"

This time the boy shouted it while looking at me.

"Shh! He can hear you. Quiet."

The child's mother scolded him and gave me a small, apologetic bow.

The gap between the two was dizzying. The same person, and one of them was frightened while the other took a liking to him. Then the chime announcing the train's arrival cut the thought short.

My destination was already set. A place where I had once asked for help, and where no one had reached out a hand.

I had money enough for a taxi, or for some other way. Even so, I deliberately chose a place full of people. The reason was this.

Leaning against a pillar near the gates, I read the Karma values. Most of the passengers around me sat at zero. Ten below, at the most. The small lies of an ordinary day, or the sort of sin that amounted to habitually dodging a fare. None of them were fit for judgment.

This was why I had chosen the subway. Karma was as good as the engine of my power. Even if someone wasn't part of my revenge, I could gain strength by judging the wicked—by judging those who carried a heavy Karma.

That was why I had picked a crowded train, and still a worthy target was not easy to find. And there was one thing more I could tell.

Good people... are vanishingly rare.

Negative Karma—people who had committed evil—made up most of them. Positive Karma, by contrast, was as good as nonexistent.

Even late in the morning, the number of passengers was considerable. And if a good one was still this hard to find among them, then this was simply the state of the society we lived in.

I hadn't found a target. That didn't change why I was riding the train.

From this moment, I had one thing to do. Execute the man who had thrown away his calling and his professional conscience, who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had stood by and watched from behind a loathsome mask. And so—

The screen doors hissed open, and I boarded the train.

It rattled and clattered, swallowing the dark as it ran through the tunnel. A shaking, metallic vibration. Inside the car, faces worn out by fatigue hung slack, and every person carried a weight of their own.

Among them, one figure shone with unusual force. A number rose before my eyes.

Positive Karma. The number was so startling I couldn't help staring straight through it.

A pregnant woman. A pink badge pinned to her chest, she sat catching her breath, bowing again and again to the person seated in front of her as she said thank you. Anyone could see she was a good person.

The first good person I had met amid a crowd of the wicked. They say someone good, someone who carries a bright presence, can light the air around them simply by being there. Whether that was true or not, my head cleared for a moment because of her.

A sensation exactly opposite the memories of breaking bone and spilling blood. But someone was already ruining that good memory. At the edge of my vision, another number tore its way in.

At first it was −198. A figure you might take for a petty criminal, but that wasn't why he had my attention.

As time passed, the number climbed. What did a phenomenon like that mean?

I turned my eyes without thinking. A man muttering to himself, the corner of his mouth twisted. A black jumper. A bulging bag. And through the open zipper, a small canister.

My sense of smell, sharpened past belief, caught what was inside it.

Gasoline...?

No. He wouldn't.

He popped the cap and began pouring gasoline across the floor of the train. At first, people must have thought he was only spilling water. Then, almost at once—

"Huh? Wh-what...?"

Those who caught the volatile reek went wide-eyed in alarm. And with that—

"Die! All of you, just die!"

With a smile gone mad, he flung the match in his hand at the floor.

Flame roared up. The ceiling caught. Heat came slamming in. Smoke raked at throats, and vision smeared. People crushed toward the passage that led into the next car.

And in that instant, one person entered my eyes.

The only good person there. The pregnant woman with the pink badge. She was hunched in her seat, caught against the chair.

Heavy with child, she couldn't move quickly, and the fire was closing in on her.

She was going to die.

I knew it before anyone else. If I didn't move, she would burn to death together with her baby.

The moment I thought it, I ran.

I threw myself straight into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the flames, into a heat so fierce I could barely breathe.

Fire caught my arm. The heat cooked flesh.

But it was all right. Pain was familiar. And this improved body was resisting the fire, if only a little.

Agony couldn't buy my attention. I looked straight ahead, at the pregnant woman.

This person was not like me. She had to be saved.

I wrapped my arms around her. A thin hand seized the front of my shirt.

"Please help me... please... my baby..."

I nodded. In this moment, and this moment alone, I had to be someone's savior, not the Judge.

The flames had drawn close before I noticed. My clothes burned away, and skin hissed as it cooked. I turned my back to the heat as much as I could, so it wouldn't reach her, and I ran.

I barely made the next car.

"Hhk—!"

She was crying. But she was alive.

"Th-thank you. Truly, truly, thank you!"

She poured out her gratitude through tears and a running nose.

I didn't answer. It was too early to accept thanks. I wasn't finished yet.

I looked back. The arsonist was nowhere to be seen. The sudden chaos had stopped the train, and he seemed to have fled through an open door.

I went out through that door as well. Into the black of the tunnel.

I focused. Senses honed past anything ordinary.

A footstep. I confirmed a presence off to the right. In that instant I burst forward.

A speed no ordinary human could produce. The astonishing pace granted by Physical Improvement carried me ahead in a blink, and before long I had the arsonist's back in sight as he ran.

"Aaagh!"

He screamed, as if he'd realized I was coming after him.

"Nobody even died! So it's fine, isn't it?! I wasn't trying to kill anyone, I just—I was just angry at this shitty society!"

Bullshit.

I cut across the open air, caught him in an instant, and brought him down.

"Gyaaah!"

He thrashed. Against my strength, he couldn't move an inch. I upended his bag.

What was left of the fuel spilled out, matches scattering with it. When it came time to actually do the thing, he'd been too worked up to light it properly. If he had calmly carried out everything he had prepared, the loss of life would have been far greater. And the sin of it showed itself without ambiguity.

The highest Karma I had seen in recent memory. I could be certain without a shred of doubt. This was not an impulse. It was not an error. It was malice, plain and clear.

"Let go! Let me go!"

He screamed as if he were coughing up blood. Crushed in my grip, he tried to crawl along the ground. It did nothing. My hands were no longer weak.

"You thought you could run."

"...Nobody died! They're all alive! I didn't even kill anyone, so why are you doing this?! I really wasn't going to kill them!"

"I see."

I slowly picked up a match from the bag. Then I tipped the open fuel can.

The liquid he had poured—the evidence of an attempted murder, and the seed of the fire—came glugging out.

"Hey. Hey, what are you doing? This is illegal. I'm reporting you...!"

"I don't intend to kill you."

I set my hand to the match. His eyes flew wide.

"W-wait a second... you're serious? You're really gonna light me up with that?! Hey! Hey! Stop! This is insane!"

"I told you. I don't intend to kill you."

A single match scraped alight, and a red flame bloomed. I threw that small rising tongue of fire—blue at its heart—at him.

"N-no!"

And in the next instant, the tunnel lit white.

"Aaagh—aaaaagh!"

Screams. Flame. A life going out. And then—

By rights, it should have ended with judging the wicked and absorbing the Karma he carried. This time was different.

A system notification I had never expected. An additional reward, paid out for the rescue of the pregnant woman who carried positive Karma.