The Path Below
“Got any good ideas?”
Han Jaejeong asked.
Lee Hyun-soo wore a confident expression for the first time since meeting the group.
“I’ve got over a million subscribers.”
“And?”
“You think I didn’t do some crazy shit to rack up a million subs?”
“So?”
Jaejeong humored him reluctantly.
“There are two paths in Seoul.”
“Keep going. And stop staring at me.”
“One’s the ground we’re walking on right now. The other’s underneath it. The sewers.”
“Sounds good, but can we navigate without a map?”
“We have to follow the river to the broadcasting station anyway. The sewers big enough for us to walk in aren’t that long. So we stick to the river underground, then veer inland when we’re close. Blocked sections have ladders to the surface, so we climb up then.”
“Opening a manhole in the middle of the road? The infected would love that.”
Kang Youngman shook his head.
“From what I’ve observed about these zombies, they don’t look down. They don’t crouch or kneel. So I figure we can at least poke our heads out and scout. The real problem comes after, but we’ve got firecracker arrows, right?”
Hyun-soo glanced at Anna.
“Friend? I’m not really in the mood to be buddies.”
“Just a figure of speech. How many firecracker arrows you got left?”
“None. Used ’em all.”
Anna replied curtly.
Lee Beom-sik unzipped his bag.
“I’ve got some. Two, for emergencies. Didn’t say anything sooner ’cause I figured you’d burn through them.”
“Two should be enough, right?”
Jaejeong pondered it.
It had real potential.
But there was no good reason to say no—so why did it feel off?
Maybe because of Gaon’s story. Or worries they’d arrive too late, miss contact with Major Kang.
Maybe both.
Youngman asked,
“What do you think, lad?”
“We go. No other way.”
“But will a rescue team really come if we reach the station?”
Beom-sik wanted certainty.
He was voicing Jaejeong’s exact doubts.
They needed something more concrete.
“We’ll know when we make contact. For now, we trust and go.”
“So contact might fail.”
Beom-sik’s face had sharpened, more sensitive than before.
Too much in too short a time.
Survival instincts and resolve fading, replaced by razor-edge caution on thin ice.
Everyone waited for Jaejeong’s answer.
Hyun-soo, Anna, Minyoung.
Even Gaon and his men listened intently.
Jaejeong glanced subtly at Youngman.
“We’ve got an expert—what’s to worry? We’ll make contact, rescue’ll come. Let’s take the sewers. Sitting here solves jack shit.”
He forced a grin, but his mind was a mess too.
Even reaching the station was iffy.
But he couldn’t show it.
Beom-sik’s doubts had everyone rattled already.
If they had to go, they had to believe.
Believe in contact. In rescue.
That’s how they’d unite, move as one.
One thing to handle before departure.
“You lot, up. You’re Gaon, right?”
“Yes.”
Gaon and his men stood, bowing.
With Jaejeong’s bulk, it looked like gangsters greeting each other.
“Go. Won’t tell you to live nice… Nah, just go. World’s fucked—good or bad don’t mean shit. Stay outta my sight.”
“Got it.”
Gaon bowed; his men followed.
They slipped away in the chaos.
Suddenly, Jaejeong called Gaon back, dashing over.
Gaon’s face paled as he listened.
Slow nod.
Jaejeong returned, eyeing the group.
“Let’s move. Time’s wasting.”
* * *
Splash! Splash!
“Feels gross, but the water’s clearer than I thought.”
Minyoung shone her flashlight on water up to her shins.
Her voice echoed like in a cave.
“Right? Technically not sewers—streams. Dried up, turned sewer-like. Used to be named rivers.”
“Huh. Lived in Seoul my whole life, never knew.”
“Most don’t. Learned it broadcasting.”
Sewers too quiet?
They didn’t notice how loud their voices echoed.
Infected down here? In pitch black you can’t see shit in?
“Thinking about it,”
Beom-sik muttered, parting the water.
“Feels like everything led to this.”
“This what? That what?”
Jaejeong asked.
“If we hadn’t raided that mart from the hospital, would we even think sewers now? No flashlights, couldn’t try.”
“Skip the mart, maybe got supplies from another outside. Avoided those mutant freaks. And…”
Jaejeong trailed off.
And… I wouldn’t have killed that guy.
No, he wouldn’t have died.
The chef clinging to the door till the end.
Without him, the group would’ve been slaughtered underground.
In the end, Jaejeong and Beom-sik killed those two.
Not wrong.
Unavoidable for survival, but still—repaying kindness with betrayal.
Ironic as hell.
Beom-sik pressed, frustrated.
“Why stop mid-sentence?”
“Nothing.”
“Overthinking’s a problem. World’s already a chaotic mess—don’t need your head like that too. Right?”
Jaejeong watched Beom-sik clap his shoulder and pass.
You started it.
Usually so rational, calm.
Even philosophical.
But anger turns him feral.
Jaejeong tilted his head, stepping forward.
Makes sense he climbed that high without a temper? No.
Memories of prepping to uproot Beom-sik’s gang.
Hundreds official members.
Plus scattered cells—massive.
Gangs had changed.
Smaller, legal fronts to blend in.
New groups: barely ten guys.
Beom-sik’s? Huge.
Oddly, not money-driven scatterbrains.
Old-school: heads loyal to one boss.
Flashy, easy police target.
Top three new-gen gangsters? Beom-sik led.
Others couldn’t touch him.
Makes him crazy for a reason.
“Uncle.”
Anna called to Youngman ahead.
“What?”
“Can I ask something… curious?”
“Ask away.”
Youngman nodded, eyes forward.
“Sis said rough—you were military?”
“Aye.”
“My great-grandpa too. Army, one star. You?”
“Hm… Officially, retired major.”
“Officially?”
“Aye. Unofficially, rankless merc for over twenty years after. Different from your great-grandpa. Foreign merc firms abound. Anyway, he sounds remarkable. Army ain’t just time-served promotions. Brigadier general? Impressive. Father military too?”
Youngman glanced back.
“No. Dad hated it.”
“Pity. Planted right, he’d rocket up.”
“Great-grandpa remarried, new family.”
“Ah…”
Youngman looked stunned.
Anna pressed on.
“Not the point. What wars you fight in?”
“Wars? Women hate military tales, no?”
“I’m different. Great-grandpa’s Korean War stories were fun.”
“Fun to hear, not live.”
“Not like that… Merc life—traveled everywhere?”
“Likely. Not tales I fancy telling.”
Minyoung, listening silently, pondered Youngman’s detached replies.
Dad wasn’t around much for her.
Shared a roof only after adulthood.
Childhood to high school graduation: absent.
Family dinners annual events.
But she studied freely, no envy.
No teen angst.
Realizing his work set her path.
Living off blood money burdened her.
So, doctor.
Save lives, unlike him.
Youngman supported.
Killing ten easier than saving one.
But becoming doctor, Mom gone.
Mom dying, Dad absent.
Lives’ efforts wasted.
Husband killed for cash, missed wife’s death; daughter couldn’t save Mom.
After, Dad quit, returned home.
No more military talk.
Like now with Anna.
Minyoung never comforted him.
Didn’t want to.
Blame crept in—for Mom’s death.
Residency suited: busy, home less, no forced peace.
Minyoung lost in thought—
“Hold.”
Youngman ahead dropped low.
All froze in sync.
“Lights out.”
Flashlights snuffed instantly.
No moonlight—pure black.
Ears strained: nothing.
Just breaths.
“What?”
Beom-sik whispered.
“Wait. Do nothing. Quiet…”
Youngman repeated.
How long? Silence broke.
Swish! Swish!
Something parting water.
Forward, forward.
Pattern, force, flow: human movement.
But not living.
Sounds multiplied over time.
All sensed it.
Infected approaching.
Infected People