A Desperate Truth
Although there was a slight bottleneck near the Cheonan Interchange due to its notorious reputation, Jun-ho was able to make excellent time down the Gyeongbu Expressway toward Busan, thanks to his early morning departure. The semi-autonomous driving system made the trip effortless, and the electric vehicle glided smoothly down the asphalt, propelled by the quiet power of its motor. Amidst the faint vibration of the tires against the road, a light, groovy acid jazz track filled the cabin.
As the eastern sky gradually bruised into a pale blue, the first rays of sunlight began to touch the gray highway. Outside the window, fields and forests that had slept through the winter stirred to life, and splashes of tender light green began to bud among the rows of trees lining the road.
“Spring really is here...”
Even during the apocalypse, spring had always returned. Even when despair swallowed the world during the brutal winters, and the breath of the survivors grew faint, flowers still bloomed in the cracks of alleyways and along abandoned roadsides. The sun shone down with the exact same warmth. If not for the roaming, man-eating monsters and their bizarre, guttural cries, it would have looked just like any peaceful spring day from the old world.
“Once this spring ends, only two more left...”
There were only two springs left that humanity could enjoy without the threat of zombies. That made it all the more important to spend them meaningfully—not just for Jun-ho himself, but also for Baek Ha-il, the man he was going to meet today. For him... the time remaining before the apocalypse might be even more critical than it was for Jun-ho.
After stopping to charge his car at the Gimcheon Service Area, Jun-ho got back on the highway. As he drove further south, the desolate atmosphere characteristic of rural provinces suffering from severe depopulation became increasingly noticeable.
Ironically, the collapse of rural areas and the extreme concentration of population in the Seoul metropolitan area—once one of South Korea's most pressing social crises—were solved by the zombie apocalypse. To escape the deadly urban centers, vast numbers of people fled to the suburbs and countryside. Of course, countless lives were lost or turned into zombies in the process. Nevertheless, the apocalypse ended up resolving the issue of urban overcrowding and population density that South Korea, and indeed the rest of the world, had failed to address for decades—albeit in a truly horrific manner.
But... the major provincial city currently coming into view, marked by the massive "Busan" sign hanging over the tollgate, had met a tragic end as its population flight only accelerated.
Jun-ho arrived in Hadan, Busan, shortly after 11:00 AM. He parked at the business hotel he had booked, checked in, and went up to his room to unpack. Before heading back out, he took a moment to check his appearance in the mirror. He wore well-fitted black slacks, a light gray turtleneck, and a tailored coat. Overall, it was a clean, professional look designed to inspire trust.
Frankly, the things he was about to tell Baek Ha-il would sound completely insane to anyone. He needed his appearance, at least, to project credibility.
Opening his map app, Jun-ho set his destination to Suho Tool Center and set off on foot. After walking along the main road for about twenty minutes, he turned down a narrower street that led into a residential neighborhood packed with villas and low-rise apartments. Walking a bit further past the small businesses lining the narrow two-lane road, a three-story red brick building came into view.
It was an ordinary building, the kind you could find anywhere in Korea. The first floor bore an old sign that read "Suho Tool Center," the second floor housed a lamb skewer restaurant, and the third floor appeared to be a private residence.
Jun-ho stepped into a small cafe directly across the street. While a few locals chatted in the back, he ordered an Americano and took a seat by the window overlooking the road. Through the glass, he carefully observed Suho Tool Center. Various construction materials and hardware supplies were piled haphazardly outside, and the glass entrance door was plastered with so many stickers and flyers that it was impossible to see inside.
After a few minutes, the heavy glass door swung open.
“...”
The person who stepped out was a young man who had clearly tried to dress up, though the overall effect was somewhat awkward and old-fashioned. He looked quite young, but his sharp, defined features gave him a masculine air. It was a face Jun-ho had never seen before. Yet, as the youth looked both ways before quickly jogging across the crosswalk, Jun-ho recognized him instantly.
“So that's Su-ho.”
Baek Su-ho, who must have just entered college this year, bore a striking resemblance to his father. Wearing wireless earbuds and bobbing his head to an unseen beat, the young man's back quickly receded into the distance.
“Whew...”
Leaving the cafe, Jun-ho took a deep breath to steady himself and crossed the street.
Ding-dong!
“Su-ho, you little punk, what'd you forget this time?”
A deep, gruff voice—speaking standard Korean laced with a heavy Busan accent—boomed from the back. A man in his mid-to-late forties with a buzz cut and fierce, piercing eyes suddenly emerged from the shadows of the shop.
“Huh? Oh, you're not him.”
Startled, the man quickly tilted his head in greeting.
“Welcome. Didn't realize we had a customer.”
Seeing Baek Ha-il and hearing that distinct accent made Jun-ho's eyes tremble slightly. Before his regression, the Baek Ha-il Jun-ho knew had a face so haggard and worn he could have passed for a man in his sixties. Back then, Jun-ho had simply assumed he aged poorly, but seeing him now, the truth was obvious. The sheer weight of what he had endured in the span of just a few years after the outbreak had aged him prematurely.
“You lookin' for somethin' in particular?”
Sensing something odd about the way Jun-ho was standing there in silence, Baek Ha-il asked again.
“Ah.”
Snapping out of his daze, Jun-ho approached him with a tense expression.
“You are Mr. Baek Ha-il, correct?”
“Huh? You know me? What's this about?”
Suspicion and confusion flashed across Baek Ha-il's face. Jun-ho decided to use one of the approaches he had spent the entire drive from dawn simulating and refining.
“You've been having strange dreams lately, haven't you? And you're starting to worry that you've inherited shamanic powers, just like your late mother.”
It was shock therapy—a direct, no-nonsense frontal assault.
“...!”
Baek Ha-il's already fierce eyes widened to the size of saucers. His expression instantly hardened into a hostile glare as his guard shot up to the maximum.
“Who the hell are you? What do you want?”
He spoke in perfect standard Korean—a habit he only fell back on when he was deeply rattled or enraged.
“Could we sit down and talk? This is going to be a rather long story.”
“What? Of all the crazy...”
As Baek Ha-il took a menacing step forward, looking ready to grab him by the collar, Jun-ho quickly added:
“Those dreams have been getting more frequent since the start of the year, haven't they? At first, you had no idea why you were having them. But now, you have a pretty good guess.”
“...!”
Baek Ha-il froze. Confident that his hook had landed, Jun-ho decided to drive the wedge home.
“The asteroid heading toward Earth, AX07. You realized it after seeing the news, didn't you? You noticed that the first time you had that dream lined up almost perfectly with when NASA first observed that asteroid.”
Baek Ha-il's expression shifted dramatically. His lips parted, trembling slightly, before he finally managed to squeeze out a strained voice.
“...Who the hell are you, really? What are you?”
“The chairs.”
“...What?”
“I told you. This is going to take a while.”
“Ha...!”
Clang! A pair of worn metal folding chairs were slammed roughly onto the floor.
“It might be best to close up the shop for a bit, too.”
“Unbelievable... Sakes alive.”
Though he grimaced in sheer disbelief, Baek Ha-il ultimately did as Jun-ho suggested. After locking the front door and taking his seat, he glared intensely at Jun-ho.
“Alright, start talking. Who are you, and how do you know all this? No bullshit. Give it to me straight.”
Baek Ha-il's mother had been a shaman with no family to her name. He never knew if she had been an orphan from the start or if she had severed ties with her relatives after receiving the calling. He didn't even know who his father was. The only thing he remembered from his childhood was the day he turned seven, when his mother suddenly coughed up blood and died in the middle of an exorcism ritual. Strangely, he had absolutely no memories of his life before that day.
Afterward, Baek Ha-il grew up in an orphanage run by a Catholic priest. Never one to stray, he graduated from a technical high school with top marks and entered a two-year technical college in Busan on a scholarship. Balancing his studies with various part-time jobs, he happened to cross paths at work with a girl one year his junior who had grown up in the same orphanage.
They began dating, moved in together upon his graduation, and soon welcomed their daughter, Baek Su-ah. Thanks to his excellent college grades, Baek Ha-il easily landed a job at an automotive manufacturing plant. However, the company was sold to foreign investors, and he was laid off overnight.
To feed his family, he bounced between countless construction sites and subcontractors, taking any job he could get. Sleeping only five or six hours a day, he did whatever it took to earn a living. Through sheer grit and saving every penny, he managed to buy this building at an auction about ten years ago.
He turned the third floor into their family home and opened a hardware store on the first. With a roof over his head, rental income from the second floor, and the network of contacts he had built during his years in construction, running the hardware store provided a comfortable living.
But the very next year, his wife died suddenly in an accident. Widowed at a young age, he had lived quietly in this building ever since, raising his two children alone. His eldest daughter had gone off to a university in Seoul, while his son, who wasn't quite as academically inclined, had just enrolled in a local polytechnic college in Busan this year.
Nearly forty years had passed since his shaman mother had dropped dead before his eyes. In all that time, Baek Ha-il had never felt even a whisper of spiritual sensitivity, nor had he ever told anyone that his mother was a shaman. Not even his late wife.
But starting last autumn, something bizarre began to happen. At first, about once every fortnight, and recently, as often as once a week, he began dreaming of red rain pouring from the sky.
As the ominous dream repeated, anxiety began to gnaw at him. Could I be developing spiritual sight at this age? Am I going to end up a shaman like my mother? A news report about the asteroid AX07 that he stumbled upon on YouTube only added fuel to the fire. The timing of his dreams aligned almost perfectly with the discovery of the asteroid, and to make matters worse, his mother's patron deity had been the Seven Star Fairy.
The Seven Star Fairy, an asteroid, the number seven. The coincidences only deepened his dread.
Yet here was this wet-behind-the-ears kid sitting right in front of him. He had a remarkably solid build, but his face was, to put it politely, clean-cut, and to put it bluntly, utterly ordinary. And this ordinary-looking young man knew secrets that Baek Ha-il had never uttered to a single living soul. Baek Ha-il was utterly flabbergasted.
But the "long story" the young man proceeded to tell was even more preposterous than his knowledge of those secrets.
“...You're out of your mind, aren't you? You're a lunatic. Prophetic dreams? A zombie apocalypse? You're a complete nutjob!”
“...”
Jun-ho had fully expected this reaction, but he couldn't help but let out a bitter, silent laugh.
“What? I worked for some cult? And you got dragged there and worked as my assistant, and that's when I told you all this?”
“Yes.”
“Listen, you crazy son of a—”
“It was in Oryu-dong, Guro. Right in the neighborhood where your daughter, Baek Su-ah, has her studio apartment.”
“...!”
The curse died on Baek Ha-il's lips as his face went cold.
“You watch your mouth, kid. If you bring up my Su-ah one more time...”
“Your daughter will be perfectly safe until then.”
That wasn't entirely true. Things had happened. But knowing that telling Baek Ha-il the whole truth right now would only make him fly into a rage, Jun-ho chose to keep the details about his daughter to himself.
“She didn't suffer any harm, and she stayed with you there. The problem isn't your daughter. It's your son, Baek Su-ho.”
From here on, it was the absolute, unvarnished truth.
“...What?”
“I know it's hard to believe anything I'm saying. I completely understand. But please, just listen to this one thing. For your son's sake.”
“Ha... I've been patient with you, but you're really pushing it—”
“Your son has pancreatic cancer right now.”
“...!”
Baek Ha-il froze like a stone statue.
“In 2024, while serving in the military, he'll suffer from frequent stomach aches and keep losing weight. He'll get a health screening during one of his leaves, and that's when they'll discover it by chance.”
“...What kind of bullshit are you spewing now, you bastard? My Su-ho has cancer? You son of a bitch, who are you? Are you a con artist? Trying to shake me down for money—”
“He'll be waiting for his scheduled surgery when the outbreak hits. The only reason you stayed under that cult's thumb was because of your son. It was the only place left where he could get life-prolonging treatment.”
As he spoke, Jun-ho pulled out his smartphone, tapped on his banking app, and turned the screen toward him. Baek Ha-il's eyes naturally drifted to the display, and his pupils dilated. There were so many zeros he couldn't even count them at a glance.
“My liquid assets stand at fifteen billion won. If you include my stock portfolio, it's closer to eighteen billion. I have more money than I know what to do with.”
“You...”
Baek Ha-il looked back and forth between the smartphone screen and Jun-ho's face, swallowing hard.
“So, Mr. Baek Ha-il. Take your son to a general hospital tomorrow and get him screened for cancer. If he gets surgery now, he can make a full recovery. I'll be staying in Room 801 at the Raymond Hotel in Hadan all week, so if you want to find me, you know where I am. Here is my card.”
Setting his business card down on the table, Jun-ho stood up and turned to leave.
Click.
Ding-dong!
“Ah.”
Just as he opened the door to the hardware store, Jun-ho seemed to remember something. He turned back toward the interior.
“In tomorrow's presidential election, Yang Jin-cheol will win by a margin of 0.5 percent. It's a shame. You're planning to vote for Choi Ho-su, aren't you? Ho-su, Su-ho. Because it's just your son's name in reverse.”
Leaving behind a stunned Baek Ha-il, who flinched as the words hit him, Jun-ho stepped out into the street.