Such a Future Will Not Come

"I'm home. Huh? Dad?"

Around dusk, Baek Su-ho returned home after finishing his part-time job and was startled. His father, Baek Ha-il, was sitting perfectly still on the sofa in the dim living room, looking like a ghost.

"Oh? You're back, son? What time is it?"

"It's past six. Why are you sitting in the dark without even turning on the lights? What about dinner? Wait, you haven't eaten?"

Baek Su-ho flipped the light switch and asked, scanning the living room and kitchen, which looked exactly as they had when he left that morning.

"......"

Baek Ha-il stared at his son without answering. He looked perfectly healthy, no matter how he scrutinized him. But if there was even a one-in-a-million chance that what that crazy guy said earlier was true...

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Su-ho blinked at his father’s gaze, which felt different from usual. After a moment of organizing his thoughts, Baek Ha-il gestured for him to come to the front of the sofa.

"You, come over here and sit down."

"Ugh, what is it now..."

He complained, but in truth, Su-ho respected his father more than anyone else in the world, so he obediently sat down on the living room floor.

"Why?"

"...Are you feeling sick anywhere lately?"

"Sick? No? Oh, nice rhyme. Note to self, write that down."

As Su-ho, a fan of hip-hop, muttered to himself in admiration, Baek Ha-il struggled to suppress his frustration.

"You little brat, forget the rhymes and think carefully. Do you have stomach aches or anything? You've lost some weight lately, haven't you?"

"Stomach? My stomach only hurts if I eat too much spicy or salty food. And weight... I'm not sure."

"Haa..."

"But seriously, why?"

"Forget it. Let's go to the hospital tomorrow."

"Hospital? Why all of a sudden? I'm really not sick."

"Just let's go. It's about time I got a check-up, too. Let's go together."

"Uh... okay. But tomorrow is election day. Are there any hospitals open?"

"There are. I already made an appointment."

"Wait? You even made an appointment?"

To his son’s bewildered face, Baek Ha-il let out a deep sigh and spoke in a strangely drained voice.

"Yeah. Tomorrow morning, we'll vote together, then go to the hospital. And drink some water now. They said you have to fast for at least eight hours."

"Yes..."

Su-ho felt like something was off, but he agreed readily. He knew all too well how hard his father had worked to raise him and his older sister for over ten years since their mother passed away when he was in elementary school. That was why, aside from his mediocre grades, he always tried to listen to his father. Besides, if he didn't, his sister Baek Su-ah, who was three years older, would nag him or beat him up for at least a week.

* * *

The next morning, after voting early, the father and son headed to one of the largest hospitals in Busan in their old truck. Inside the car, Su-ho kept tilting his head in confusion. There was a fairly large hospital near their house, so he wondered why they had to go all the way to a university hospital.

'I'm hungry, too. Ugh, whatever.'

Clutching his hungry stomach, Su-ho spent the entire morning undergoing tests with his father. However, he had no idea that he was receiving a PET-CT, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a full-body CT scan, and an endoscopic ultrasound—none of which were included in a standard physical. He also didn't know that the testing costs alone amounted to several million won.

After finishing the tests in the afternoon, the two had a hearty meal at a Chinese restaurant near the hospital before returning home.

"You worked hard. Go to bed early tonight. You have school tomorrow, right?"

"I do, but already? I'm not sleepy. I'm going to watch the election results. I wonder if Choi Ho-su will win."

"Since when did a little brat like you care about politics? Watch a little and go to sleep."

"Okay."

The two sat in front of the living room TV and began watching the broadcast. Soon, the voting deadline approached, and the screen showed the candidates from both parties and their officials as the countdown began.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

The photos and names of the candidates from both parties appeared simultaneously, and the figures were displayed.

"Whoa! What is this? 0.6 percent? Yang Jin-cheol is winning? Is this for real?"

Su-ho exclaimed in shock. But Baek Ha-il just stared at the screen, his face frozen and his eyes wide. Unlike general or local elections, presidential elections rarely have significant margins of error. In other words, it was highly unlikely that those figures would change drastically even after the counting was finished. At most, it would shift by 0.1 to 0.2 percent. Which meant...

'That crazy guy... Could it really be true...?'

Baek Ha-il shook his head violently. That couldn't be. It made no sense. Regression? A prophetic dream? Even if he conceded the prophetic dream part, that was somewhat understandable. Since his late mother had been a shaman, he could accept the idea of predicting the future through spirit possession or fortune-telling. But to have seen and experienced everything that would happen over several years in a dream, and not just regarding a specific issue?

"I'm not crazy..."

As he muttered to himself, Su-ho turned his head.

"You think so too, right, Dad? Wow, this is insane. How could the gap be like that? Oh? Why are you turning it off?"

Baek Ha-il, who had suddenly turned off the TV, said,

"What kind of election talk is this? Go to your room and study."

"Ugh... okay."

Since he could just watch it on his phone anyway, Su-ho grabbed some snacks and went into his room. Left alone in the living room, Baek Ha-il leaned back against the sofa and sank into deep thought. But the more he thought, the more complicated his mind became, and no clear answer emerged.

'I just need to get the test results this week. Cancer? What cancer? A prophetic dream? That crazy bastard...'

Baek Ha-il tried to steady himself. However, as the ticking sound of the old pocket watch his late wife had chosen herself continued to ring in his ears, his heart grew heavier and heavier.

* * *

Tap, tap, tap, tap...

178 centimeters, 78 kilograms. Jun-ho, possessing a muscular, solid, warrior-like physique, was running quickly on the treadmill. It was a hotel fitness center equipped with the basics: treadmills, bench presses, and cable machines. But Jun-ho was the only one using it. Even though it was already Saturday, Jun-ho hadn't left the hotel except for a few hours since meeting Baek Ha-il. He hadn't wasted his time. He exercised, studied various things on the tablet he brought, and kept to his own routine. The few hours he spent outside were spent parked in front of the Suho Tool Center, trying to track Baek Ha-il's movements. As expected, on election day, Baek Ha-il had gone to the hospital with his son. If it had been a general cancer screening, it would have taken time to get the results, but Jun-ho was certain that Baek Ha-il would have chosen the fastest possible testing method, no matter the cost. After all, what parent wouldn't want to wait for results when their own child might have cancer?

Jun-ho stepped off the treadmill, returned to his room, finished his shower, and sat in thought while drinking a sports drink.

'The doctor said the findings would take three or four days at the latest.'

If he had opted for the fast-track testing, Baek Ha-il would contact him or come to find him today or tomorrow. Back when he worked under Baek Ha-il in the cult's stronghold, he would repeat the same story whenever he drank. That if he had only taken his son to the hospital two years earlier, he would have had surgery and been cured.

-I was a fool. I'm the one who should be killed. I should have taken him when he had those frequent stomach aches before he went to the army...

The image of him staring into the void with bloodshot eyes, blaming himself in a voice full of resentment, was still vivid. And Baek Su-ho died one year and five months after the apocalypse broke out, three months after Jun-ho first met Baek Ha-il. It wasn't because of the illness. They had "disposed" of everyone who wasn't helpful for survival—the sick and the elderly—who only consumed resources and food. And the next day, Baek Ha-il beat the butler, one of the cult leader’s henchmen who carried out the disposal, to death, only to be captured and eventually lose his own life. His daughter, Baek Su-ah... she, who had become a plaything for the cult leader and his henchmen, had watched the scene of her brother being disposed of and her father dying with unfocused eyes.

But.

"Such a future will not come."

Jun-ho muttered as if to assert it. Baek Ha-il, a mechanic himself who had mastered everything from machinery and electronics to construction—a true jack-of-all-trades—was the most crucial figure in the shelter Jun-ho was planning. He wasn't just someone to join later; he was an essential member who had to be there from the very construction phase of the shelter. Jun-ho didn't know much about construction. He had a vision of how to build the shelter, but he had almost no technical knowledge to actually implement it. Of course, he could build it if he spent enough money. But could he trust the construction manager? In a situation where he had to entrust even the structure and functions of the shelter, he was worried about how much he should tell him. The conclusion was clear. The best thing to do was to entrust it to a "colleague" who would be with him in the shelter from the start. And the most suitable person for that position was Baek Ha-il, whom Jun-ho had experienced firsthand in the apocalypse. Loyal, capable, and diligent. If it were Baek Ha-il, he wouldn't take Jun-ho, who had effectively saved his son, lightly. At the very least, it was certain that he wouldn't treat him like a crazy con artist like he did when they first met.

"I wonder when he'll come..."

Muttering to himself, Jun-ho took his coat out of the garment steamer. He was a bit tired of eating only regular meals for the past few days. Since he was in Busan, he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thought he might go eat some sashimi for dinner.

Ding.

With a cheerful bell, the elevator door opened.

"Excuse me, look over here."

A heavy voice. Jun-ho, who was searching for sashimi restaurants near the hotel on his phone while walking through the lobby, stopped and lifted his gaze. A middle-aged man with a stiff, awkward expression was looking at him. Jun-ho smiled, sliding his phone into his pocket.

"You like pork, right? I was just thinking of having some pork belly and a glass of soju. Let's go together."

Even though he had lived more than half his life in Busan, Baek Ha-il preferred meat over sashimi.

* * *

Sizzle-

Long, thick slices of pork belly were cooking on the grill. Other customers enjoying their weekend were chatting happily and clinking soju glasses, but Baek Ha-il’s expression was incredibly heavy and slumped.

"Would you like a drink?"

Jun-ho poured some soju and held it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out.

"Ah, yes, thank you."

Baek Ha-il quickly lifted his glass. The two, having poured soju into each other's glasses, opened their mouths at the same time.

"Um..."

"By any chance..."

Jun-ho chuckled and spoke first.

"Did you get your son's test results?"

"Yes. They found a suspicious mass or something in his pancreas, so the doctor told us to hospitalize him and get a detailed examination... but he said he was sure it was pancreatic cancer. Still, it's completely early stage, there's no metastasis, and he said he can be cured if he just gets surgery. I admitted him right away."

"That's a relief."

"The doctor... said we were really lucky. He said it would have been a big problem if we had left it alone without knowing anything..."

Baek Ha-il, who had been holding his soju glass and watching Jun-ho, suddenly bowed his head deeply as if he had made a decision.

"Mr. Jun-ho, thank you so much. Before, I didn't know who you were and made a huge mistake. I'll apologize formally. I'm truly sorry. And... thank you so, so much."

"Don't mention it. So, how is your son? Does he seem okay?"

"Don't even ask. When he first heard the word cancer, the poor kid looked like his world had collapsed. But he was a bit better when I admitted him today."

Baek Ha-il, who gulped down his soju, continued.

"The surgery isn't that difficult, either. Since they said he'd be completely better if he just gets the surgery, he was a bit relieved. He even asked if he didn't have to go to the army because he had cancer, so I think he's doing alright."

"Haha..."

Jun-ho laughed lightly and poured him more soju. Baek Ha-il, who received the drink respectfully with both hands from Jun-ho, who was much younger, opened his mouth cautiously.

"But Mr. Jun-ho. That... really... that..."

"Yes. Whether you consider it regression or a prophetic dream, you can think of it however you like. I really did spend several months with you, Baek Ha-il—no, Brother."

"......!!!"

Just like when he first heard those words a few days ago, Baek Ha-il’s fierce eyes widened. But it was definitely different from then. Because now, he was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠filled with boundless gratitude and trust toward this young man—no, this young fellow in front of him—who had effectively saved his son’s life.