What, the Central Bank's President is Her Mother?
Damn, Lamien. You were born with a golden carrot in your mouth, you rabbit. No wonder you so casually wrote out that IOU for a guy like Dol Jumeok.
But Jin-cheol soon sensed something off.
"Why the hell would a golden carrot join the army?"
"...Golden carrot?"
Miguel gave him a puzzled look at the expression, then chuckled as realization dawned. "That's a funny way to put it. Calling a Lavito from a good family a golden carrot? But why a carrot? Sure, good carrots are popular with everyone, and rare ones at auction fetch prices that keep climbing..."
"No, I'm asking why Lamien joined the army. If she's from such a good family, why send her off to the military?"
Miguel shrugged at Jin-cheol's repeated question. "Only she and her mother truly know the details of their relationship. I'm not close enough personally to grasp the nuances. I only know what's been collected and organized in documents."
Miguel continued as he pulled out a cigarette, put it in his mouth, cupped his hands around a small oil-can lighter, and lit it. Smoke drifted across the balcony.
"...I just said it, didn't I? Lamien's biggest weakness is her tastes. Naturally, the central bank president knew about her daughter's preferences. I think she found out right before Lamien came of age. That's when she suddenly halted all the marriage arrangements and forced her into flight school. And Lamien—hilarious part—she got shoved in against her will but clawed her way up the ranks and graduated second in her class. Impressive, if you ask me."
Jin-cheol leaned against the balcony railing, arms crossed. "I see. But I don't get how that makes her the heir to that side—the prime minister."
Miguel glanced at his posture and let out a small laugh. "If I decide to make it happen, the central bank president would pour all her power into pushing Lamien forward. She's her daughter, after all. That would give Lamien, who has no faction in the revolutionary army, a solid base of support. She wouldn't just be a figurehead prime minister. But as I've kept saying, she has such a glaring weakness that it would ultimately block her from becoming the iron-fisted 'general' who rules Zasoyeonbang outright. Her background, her weakness, her abilities—they're perfect for the Zasoyeonbang that's about to build a completely different world."
"That's not what I'm asking."
Miguel's smile turned a bit bitter. "...Right. The most important part's still left. Whether Lamien herself wants to do it."
He exhaled a long plume of smoke from the cigarette. The wind scattered the falling ash into the sky. Ash and smoke dispersed toward the clear blue expanse.
"She'll do it."
"You think the woman who's waded through all this bullshit just to find her lover would go along with some half-assed plan like that? Hell, once she finds her girlfriend, she'll probably just retire."
"That's exactly why she'll do it even more. Once she's prime minister with real power, she can marry her lover properly. At the very least, she'll have that much authority."
"..."
Jin-cheol's mouth hesitated on telling him to cut the crap. Just for that? But on second thought, it wasn't something he could dismiss as "just." Lamien had endured a journey of hundreds of kilometers from far-off northern Siapo, all for her love. Joining the revolutionaries, piloting her battle wing to shoot down Urata fighters, flying all the way here to Rostang—it was all to reunite with her beloved.
And after that reunion? It'd be nice if it ended like a fairy tale, with the two living happily ever after. But reality didn't work that way. Especially not in rabbit society, with its militaristic flying fascist vibes.
When she traveled with Jin-cheol's group, her love hadn't stood out. Jin-cheol was human, Dol Jumeok an Olrog, and Maro a rabbit orphan who'd lived wild like an animal after losing his parents. Lamien's peculiarities barely registered in the group.
But just as her mother had foreseen, Lavito society wouldn't tolerate her. They'd try to shove her and Epani into some shadowy corner. And eventually, eliminate them.
Maybe Miguel was opening a path to survival for her.
Fuck. What a mess.
In the end, Jin-cheol let out a hollow laugh. Truth be told, after hearing Miguel's plan, he didn't have much to say. He couldn't dictate to Lamien or Miguel just because he didn't like it or it didn't sit right with him. He was the rolling stone that had tumbled in, the outsider in this land.
But even an outsider could do one thing.
"Just one thing—make it clear."
"...What?"
"Check with Lamien first before proceeding. No forcing her. If she says she doesn't want to, if she just wants to run off with her lover, then let her go quietly."
Miguel flicked the spent cigarette into the air. He exhaled the last of the smoke and asked back. "Hmm. What if I don't? What if I force her into it?"
"I'll drop this Comintern airship right to the ground."
Jin-cheol stared straight at Miguel as he said it, and Miguel's eyes widened. But he soon smiled.
"Who? You? We've already proven you can do it, so set that aside. On what grounds? Simple threats won't change a damn thing. If I bent to violence like that, I never would've started the revolution in the first place. So what will you demand it with? The value of the life you saved me back then? Or maybe the fame of that Hijacker who steals airships? Or as the guide who planted hope in her?"
"No. Just as a friend."
Miguel dropped his smile and stared blankly into Jin-cheol's eyes. There wasn't a flicker of doubt in them. They were the eyes of a man who would keep his word without falsehood.
Miguel slowly nodded. "...Understood. As you say, I'll ask her will first. No forcing, no holding her back if she wants to leave. And I'll wait until after this mission ends."
When the Comintern appeared over Rostang, it was late at night. Not planning a sneak attack or airstrike, it entered with all its warship lights blazing, boldly announcing the revolutionaries' arrival to any survivors below.
"...They've turned it into a total shitshow."
That was Miguel's take on Rostang's landscape. As he said, what they saw wasn't a city but ruins. Different from the Solka-in Jin-cheol's group had seen before. If that city had been wrecked by airstrikes and war, Rostang looked like someone had mobilized manpower to bulldoze the whole place.
No lights anywhere. Piles of dirt, stones, and debris dotted the city, with vast pits dug here and there like open-pit mines. In the dim hour, lit only by the Comintern's beams, they resembled craters. Scaffolding stood in some pits—shoddy work that looked ready to collapse if a few people climbed on. Some had already crumbled into heaps.
The city resembled an unfinished construction site. Plenty of signs of dismantled buildings, winding long trenches like fortifications.
The Comintern flew slowly overhead, searching for signs of life. Then, far off—pyuung—a small flare shot up. It blazed high, burned bright for a moment, then fell and extinguished. A signal flare.
"There!"
The Comintern veered toward it immediately. Its searchlights swept the ground. Soon, they spotted Lavitos—presumed flare-shooters—waving from atop a building ringed by makeshift barricades.
The Comintern approached slowly, lowering ropes and ladders. They tried to climb up, but revolutionary soldiers descended faster. Among them: Jin-cheol and the group, plus Miguel.
"W-We need to lift off right now! Immediately!"
The Lavito officer—Urata soldier—who'd fired the flare stammered in terror. Miguel stepped forward and first disarmed them. The Urata soldiers, frightened, handed over their guns without resisting.
Only then did Miguel speak. "First, tell us the situation. The Comintern can take off anytime. You're Urata military, right?"
The officer backed away, realizing these were his wartime enemies. He glanced involuntarily at the other huddled Lavitos—mostly Urata soldiers. Hesitating, he finally spoke.
"...Yes. Seventh Infantry Division, Lieutenant Jarman."
"Did you hear Rahman's surrender broadcast?"
"...Yes. We surrender too."
"Good. Now explain what's happening here."
Jarman, desperate to board the airship ASAP, spilled it fast in his panic. The beginning matched Rahman's account: Under the general's lead, they'd torn up the whole city of Rostang, uncovering a creepy underground passage. He'd sent his elite spec ops down, and that night, monstrous beasts crawled out, plunging Rostang into terror.
"We know that part. Tell us after Rahman took the warship and left."
"...There's not much to tell after that."
Not everyone could board the warship. There'd been a selection process, and the rejects were abandoned. After Rahman left, they banded together: barricades, pooled weapons, watched all sides, prepared to survive.
Then they spotted the Comintern and fired the flare.
"Hold up. What about Zasoyeonbang's citizens? They must be around."
"..."
Fur bristled on the soldier's face—Jin-cheol guessed it was like going pale for humans.
"Th-They..."
"Where are the people?"
"Well... it's like... um..."
"You fucker! Where are the people?!"
Lamien, who'd been holding back behind Miguel, exploded at his hemming and hawing, lunging to grab his collar. No revolutionary stopped her—they were just waiting on Miguel's conversation, eyes gleaming with murder.
Urata soldiers. Stationed in Rostang. Meaning these Lavito troops in front of them were the ones who'd shoved Zasoyeonbang citizens into unsafe dig sites on Rahman's orders. Trash who'd herded people to their deaths.
"Urk!"
Lamien's fist finally smashed the soldier's face. "You! Answer! What happened to everyone else while you sit here high and dry?!"
"...It was, uh... urk!"
As he hesitated, her fist flew again. The other soldiers edged back, then froze—revolutionaries had surrounded them.
Aiman, watching, tapped his shoulder with his staff dryly. "Spit it out. Or these folks won't take you aboard."
Whether from the quiet threat or Lamien raising her fist again, eyes blazing, Jarman spat blood and talked. "O-Outside! They're outside!"
"Outside? What outside?"
"Outside the barricade!"
"What? Why the fu—"
Lamien pieced it together alone and trembled with rage. Those white beasts hadn't just attacked—they'd abducted people. These bastards had used Zasoyeonbang citizens as bait. To buy themselves time.
Expression vanished from Lamien's face. She emotionlessly drew her hip pistol, aiming to blow Jarman's head off.
Thankfully, Jin-cheol's hand caught hers first. To Lamien looking up with teary eyes, he said quietly, "From down here, the city's noisier than I thought. Lots of people still out there somewhere."
"Is... Epani among them?"
"Now we find out. That's why we flew all this way..."
Grinning to soothe her, Jin-cheol suddenly looked up. Everyone followed his gaze. Beyond the shoddy barricade, in the dark ruins, white shadows writhed.
They crept this way. And Jin-cheol, who pierced the darkness deeper than anyone, saw they weren't just a few—dozens, hundreds, swarming.
He also saw the beasts' faces. Peel the fur from a Lavito's face, leave pale skin, gouge the eyes, stretch the limbs—and you'd get that. Where the pale skin wrinkled, pus oozed, rotting black. Jagged teeth stuck out like broken dagger shards. The drool was yellow-brown sludge.
Seeing one sniff the air, Jin-cheol muttered, "That fucker looks goddamn ugly..."
As if hearing him, one beast let out a kyeeeee—a piercing shriek.