Chapter 4
"But what should I eat..."
Even after scouring the forest, he hadn't spotted a single fruit. Sure, if he ventured deeper into the woods, he might find a tree laden with them—but with no clue when that light would reappear, leaving this spot felt too risky. If it showed up while he was off foraging, he'd be screwed.
So Hanyaseong just paced around the shattered pillar, staying within its shadow to escape the scorching sun.
If only there were fish somewhere... But there wasn't a stream or river in sight.
Hanyaseong smacked his lips, then remembered the most crucial thing.
"Right—fire first."
To avoid freezing again come nightfall, lighting a fire was priority one.
He ducked back into the hollow beneath the tree roots. Staring at the log he'd used before, he pondered.
"I definitely rubbed it like this to get the spark..."
He'd mimicked the survival shows, but it hadn't worked. Then he recalled a shipwreck movie where the protagonist struggled endlessly to start a fire. The guy had even injured his hands, drawing blood, before hurling a volleyball in frustration.
Back then, Hanyaseong hadn't understood that rage. Now he did. Yesterday, he'd been furious too—just hadn't cursed out loud. He'd bellowed into the void instead, something he'd never done in his life. First time yelling, all because of a damn fire.
Examining the log closely, he flashed back to a scene from the film. After countless failures, the hero had an epiphany and finally got it going. But the details were fuzzy—he'd chucked the log in anger, and somehow, after that mess, fire bloomed. The log had definitely splintered in a particular way.
Hanyaseong closed his eyes, straining to visualize it. Then it hit him.
"Ah—slingshot!"
The log had split down the middle like a slingshot fork. That memory unlocked everything.
"Yeah—air, oxygen!"
Even the hero's triumphant shout echoed in his mind.
Armed with the clue, Hanyaseong rushed out and hunted for a sharp rock. He needed to cleave the log in half slingshot-style before rubbing for fire.
Near the broken pillar, he found a jagged stone shaped like an axe blade. Bone or rock, he couldn't tell—but it fit the bill. Clutching it, he returned to the root hollow.
He struck the log's midpoint hard. The tool held sharp and sturdy. After pounding relentlessly, it cracked into the slingshot shape.
He hammered more until it split clean through the center, then scavenged for dry bark. The roots of the nearby tree felt promising.
"Sorry. Just a little."
He peeled thin strips delicately. After a while, he had a fistful. He wedged it into the log's cleft—just like in the movie.
Then he pressed a long stick against it and rubbed. Back and forth, relentlessly.
Still no luck. But he didn't quit, grinding away.
Time dragged. His arms screamed, his grip numb—he was about to stop when a faint burning scent wafted up. A wisp of smoke?
Hanyaseong rubbed for dear life. He'd never worked this hard at anything.
The scrape-scrape filled the air as he pistoned the stick furiously. Finally, white smoke billowed from the bark.
"Whoa!"
Startled, he sped up. Thicker smoke poured out. He paused, blew gently into it—more smoke surged.
Then, without warning, red flames whooshed to life.
"Yes!"
Hanyaseong whooped, beside himself. The bark blazed fiercely but flickered weakly. He crammed in dry leaves. The fire roared higher.
"Hahaha!"
He laughed wildly—another first—tossing in more leaves and snapped twigs. Watching them blaze filled him with unmatched joy. He'd earned this fire through sweat; that made it sweeter.
High on triumph, he forgot his hunger for a while.
"Hah..."
But afternoon brought it roaring back. The fire warmed him now, logs crackling before his eyes. Yet his stomach was empty, skin slapping spine.
"What now..."
He needed food but couldn't stray far. The light might return anytime, and plunging into the forest risked unseen dangers.
This wasn't Korea—not even Earth. He'd never seen these bizarre trees back home. Another world entirely.
That cast doubt on the light too.
"Portal...?"
Absurd, but it made more sense than anything. He'd brushed some portal and tumbled here. Nothing else explained it.
Hanyaseong mulled it over, then shook his head and emerged from the roots. Food until the next glow—that was priority.
"What to eat..."
Nothing edible nearby. His gaze drifted to the trees. Maybe arrowroot or something? Ancients had baked or boiled tree roots in famines. Who knew—some might taste good.
He inspected nearby trunks. The shapes screamed "not food," but roots? Protruding ones caught his eye. He pried one off, retreated to the roots, peeled it, and roasted it over the flames.
It sizzled faintly. No aroma.
Deeming it done, he nibbled a piece. Chewy, then astringent bitterness flooded his mouth.
He spat it out, grimacing. "No way."
Hunger sapped his strength further. Nearly a full day without food. Normally he'd shrug it off, but yesterday's ordeal had drained him extra.
Slumped and listless, pondering his next move—
"Huh?"
Light bloomed near the shattered pillar—the exact glow from the attic.
Hanyaseong bolted up. "Por—portal!"
He lunged toward it but spotted the fire. Scooping dirt with both hands, he smothered it fast. Couldn't burn his shelter from the cold.
Hands flying frantically, he buried the flames. They died under the soil.
"Thanks! I'm out!"
He bolted from the entrance. The light pulsed brilliantly by the pillar. Hanyaseong sprinted and dove in.
"Ugh!"
Thud-crash! He tumbled out.
Blinking, he saw the attic. Glancing back instinctively, the glow shimmered on.
Hanyaseong fled downstairs. No desire to return there yet. He slammed the attic door shut.
"Hah... hah..."
Panting, he scanned the room—his living room, unchanged from yesterday. Relief washed over him.
Back home. "Thank God..."
He collapsed onto the living room floor. Safe at last.
Lying there, savoring the return, his stomach growled.
Rest reignited his hunger. "Food time."
He boiled water for ramen, nuked some rice packs, chugged fridge soda, tore into a bag of snacks.
Munch-munch...
Heavenly. For an hour, he ate mindlessly.
"How is this even possible..."
Belly full, sprawled on bed—the past day replayed. No rational explanation for world-hopping. Tell anyone, they'd call him insane.
But show them the attic light? Proof enough. Government would swarm, investigate. Even the Americans might join.
Hanyaseong wanted no part. Curious, sure—but not at the cost of his freedom. Endless interrogations, his rented place seized "for study," maybe quarantined over "contamination" or viruses.