Final Farewell
"But why are you trying to get your hands on Dragon Scale?" asked an executive who had served in the 75th Ranger Regiment, moved on to Delta Force, and finally retired from the Army Special Operations Command. "Even in South Korea, it shouldn't be illegal for a civilian to buy a standard bulletproof vest."
Jun-ho, now wearing a crisp combat uniform adorned with a patch showing he had completed training at the REDROCK Tactical Institute, shrugged. "Because it's cool? It's on my bucket list of collectibles."
"No kidding," the executive muttered, looking incredulous.
Jun-ho chuckled. "I'm serious. I'm a bit of a military enthusiast. That's why I volunteered for the Rangers when I was conscripted back home, and why I attended civilian tactical academies and trained in Krav Maga."
"Ah, I see." The executive nodded. It wasn't an uncommon profile among the wealthy eccentrics who registered at REDROCK.
"Anyway, getting you the Dragon Scale won't be difficult. It doesn't use any classified technology, so it's not an export-controlled item. Shipping it to Korea shouldn't be a problem."
"Yes, I looked into it and it seems perfectly fine," Jun-ho replied.
South Korea had some of the strictest gun and gunpowder laws in the world, but it was strangely lenient when it came to other tactical gear. Civilians could buy almost any functional firearm accessory except for suppressors, and bulletproof vests were completely unregulated. Thus, even though it was a Level IV body armor, shipping the Dragon Scale from the US and receiving it in Korea posed no significant legal hurdles.
The flexible hybrid structure based on carbon nanotubes, graphene, and ceramic composites used in the armor was already well-known technology. The cooling and ventilation systems were nothing new either. The shock-absorbing frame was mediocre compared to the latest military exoskeleton systems, and the integrated electronic equipment and communication modules were nothing special.
At first glance, one might wonder why he was going to such lengths to obtain something so seemingly ordinary. But in Jun-ho's judgment, the Dragon Scale was the absolute limit of specialized body armor a civilian could legally acquire in Korea. Anything superior to the Dragon Scale? There was a 99% chance it utilized classified or sensitive military technology, making import and export nearly impossible.
"Then it's settled. I'll source it for you myself." The executive didn't doubt Jun-ho's claim that it was just a display piece for his collection. The reason the Dragon Scale had failed to sell well in the US and was eventually discontinued was precisely because, despite its excellent ballistic protection, its other features were mediocre, and crucially, it was too expensive and heavy.
The price of a basic full set, stripped of various options, was a whopping $20,000. Furthermore, running military operations while wearing something that weighed nearly 45 pounds (about 20 kilograms) was a grueling task even for special forces operators. While wearing just the Dragon Scale might be manageable, once you added a ballistic helmet, primary and secondary weapons, magazines, and mission gear, the total loadout reached a staggering 120 pounds (about 54 kilograms). It was a brutal weight that would make even active-duty Tier 1 "badasses" in the US military curse up a storm. No matter how many "Outstanding" ratings this "Korean badass" had received, carrying that load in combat would be impossible.
"I'd appreciate it if you could send two full sets in my size to this address. If there are any extra costs, bill me. I'll wire it to the REDROCK account." Jun-ho handed over a business card with the address of a rented warehouse in Yangpyeong, Gyeonggi Province, which he had leased before coming to the US.
The executive, taking the card which had only a standard phone number and the address printed in both Korean and English, grinned. "Just send another $20,000. Two fully optioned full sets will be on their way within a month. We'll handle any excess costs and customs clearance on our end. Part of it is my personal respect for a 'Korean badass,' but it's also a REDROCK service for letting us have the video rights so cheap."
"Thank you. I was also genuinely impressed by REDROCK's high-quality training and facilities." Jun-ho shook hands with the executive and each of the staff members in the operations room.
At least half of these people would die or turn into zombies when the apocalypse hit. And even those who survived would likely be swept up in the American civil war that would erupt six months after the outbreak. It was a brief acquaintance, but Jun-ho sincerely hoped these combat professionals would survive for a long time... Amidst a small pang of guilt, he offered a silent prayer.
After completing their three-week trip to the US, the brothers, Jun-ho and Jun-hyuk, returned to Korea through LAX.
Woof, woof, woof! Woof!Purdy, who had been staying at a dog hotel and training center while they were in the US, ran over like crazy and threw himself into Jun-ho's arms.
The trainer mentioned that despite being separated from his two owners for quite a while, Purdy hadn't been depressed or whined at all, behaving exceptionally well. Hearing this made Jun-ho feel proud, but seeing how ecstatic Purdy was to see them also brought a lump to his throat.
"We won't be going away for a long time anymore."
Woof! Purdy barked vigorously as if he understood Jun-ho's words.
After bringing Purdy back to the Bucheon House, Jun-ho played with him for about ten minutes before tagging out with Jun-hyuk and heading down to the basement.
The basement, which had been filled with exercise equipment and all sorts of clutter since they first moved in, had undergone a massive transformation. First of all, the bulky exercise equipment and other miscellaneous items were completely gone. In their place, the dark, cool basement was now packed with bottled water, various canned goods, and freeze-dried combat rations, all of which would easily last three to five years in this environment.
What remained was a small-capacity ESS hybrid battery and a diesel generator in one corner, along with the solar power system, high-performance surveillance cameras, the PC controlling the standard CCTV, an air conditioner, a refrigerator, and a freezer.
"..."
Silently scanning the basement, Jun-ho pulled out a secret notebook from the computer desk drawer, tore out a page, and wrote a long note with a ballpoint pen. Placing it next to the keyboard, Jun-ho operated the PC to configure the solar power and ESS battery to prioritize power supply to the control PC, the refrigerator, the freezer, and the air conditioner, which was set to a target temperature of 27 degrees Celsius (80.6°F).
Since all of them were Grade 1 energy-efficient or low-power appliances, they would only consume 3 to 5 kilowatt-hours of electricity per day, even in the summer. Once he finished, Jun-ho closed the thick blast door installed at the basement entrance and removed the batteries from the digital door lock. To open this door now, one would have to insert new batteries and enter a 12-digit passcode. Forcing it open would be nearly impossible without explosives.
After looking around the living room, kitchen, and bedrooms of the house—which now resembled an abandoned home because they had moved most of their belongings out long ago and left it unmaintained—Jun-ho set up a ladder and climbed onto the roof. He unplugged the power cable of the high-performance camera, covered it with an old, dirty tarp, and wrapped it tightly with plastic twine.
Packing the portable ladder into the car trunk, Jun-ho called out to Jun-hyuk and Purdy. As Purdy hopped into the backseat, Jun-hyuk looked around the house and asked, "Hyung, are we never coming back to this house?"
"We'll have to come back at least once to change the generator oil and make it look more like an abandoned house."
"Man, it's a bit of a shame. It was a nice place to live... Oh, by the way, what about the lease?"
"I extended it for two years. The landlord was thrilled."
Since the original lease was set to expire at the end of November 2023, Jun-ho had renewed it for another two years in advance. Of course, starting from August 2024, leases and monthly rent would mean absolutely nothing.
"Anyway, this neighborhood seems to be getting emptier by the day. But shouldn't we install some barbed wire or something?" Jun-hyuk asked, clearly feeling a lingering attachment to the house they had lived in, however briefly.
"That would only draw suspicion. It's better if it naturally looks like an abandoned house that hasn't been lived in for a long time."
"I guess so. Oh, right. Hyung, that boiled chicken place we went to when we first moved in really closed down."
"I figured. Business was terrible."
Not only the chicken restaurant, but the junkyard right in front of the house had also closed down. Although a few people still lived in some old houses about 40 to 50 meters away from where the brothers lived, there was absolutely no reason for anyone to come to this house at the very end of the alley. With empty lots on both sides and no streetlights, it became incredibly eerie once the sun went down.
"So, is saying goodbye to the gym people the only thing left...?"
"Yeah. Officially, we've moved to the countryside in Gyeongsangbuk-do."
Jun-ho had rented a countryside house in Sangju, Gyeongsangbuk-do, under Jun-hyuk's name. He also switched all bills and notices sent to the Bucheon house to email or electronic delivery. Living in Korea, which had one of the world's best IT infrastructures, was a huge advantage in times like this. From now on, no one would ever look for the Bucheon house.
"I'll say the goodbyes alone, so you take Purdy and head to the pension. If both of us go, the conversation will just drag on."
"Alright. But Hyung... No, never mind. Let's talk later." Jun-hyuk shook his head after starting to say something hesitantly. But Jun-ho already knew what his brother wanted to say.
"I'll take care of the Hyeon-woo situation."
"..." Jun-ho smirked as he saw Jun-hyuk's eyes widen to the size of saucers.
"Hey, do you really think I'd just abandon the guy who stayed all the way through Dad's funeral procession? What kind of person do you take your brother for, you punk?"
"What do you mean! I see you as the King-God-General-Emperor-Majesty Big Brother, of course. Hehe! Thanks, Hyung."
"You sycophant, cut it out with that King-God-General crap... Anyway, don't worry about Hyeon-woo. I have something prepared for him. Go on ahead."
"Yes, sir!"
The diesel SUV, driven by Jun-hyuk who had gotten his license last year and carrying Purdy, drove off. Jun-ho got into his electric car and headed toward Sang-dong, where the gym was located.
The people at the MMA gym welcomed Jun-ho warmly, but they also seemed quite surprised to see him. It was only natural, as Jun-ho's appearance had changed drastically since the days he used to drop by sporadically. Though he had lost a bit of weight, after completing Krav Maga, parkour, and tactical training in the US, his physical appearance and overall aura were completely different. He was like a finely honed blade, sharp enough to cut at the slightest touch.
"Did you get a job as a bodyguard for Baek-ho hyungnim or something?" the coach who had personally trained Jun-ho asked cautiously.
"What are you talking about? Representative Kang was looking for Jun-ho when he came by recently."
"Ah, right." The director clicked his tongue at the coach, who was scratching his thinning hair, and turned to Jun-ho. "So you're moving to Sangju for good?"
"Yes. I didn't know either, but my father's only relative passed away and left behind a house and a small farm. The youth support benefits are quite substantial, so I thought I'd go and give it a shot."
"In a recession like this, that's not a bad idea. Man, our gym is having a harder time now than during COVID." The director sighed deeply, while the coach just watched them, reading the room. Having firmly planted the idea that he was leaving Bucheon for good, Jun-ho spoke to them with the utmost seriousness.
"Director, Coach, do you remember what I said when Yang Jin-cheol was elected?"
"Of course I remember. You said his impression was terrible and his energy was really bad. You said he'd ruin every event he attended and ruin the country too."
"Hey, when I heard you say that last year, I actually laughed inside. But... whew, anyway, Jun-ho, you're really something. Can you actually see things like that?" To the two men who had witnessed and experienced all kinds of incidents and accidents caused by the worst administration in history over the past year, Jun-ho nodded with a grave expression.
"Yes. Ever since shortly before my father passed away in that accident, my... sixth sense? It's gotten a bit stronger. That's why I'm telling you this. Actually... there's a decisive reason why I'm leaving Bucheon."
"..." As the two flinched, Jun-ho continued.
"I keep getting this feeling that something incredibly bad is going to happen next year. Just thinking about next summer makes my heart race. The feeling is much worse than the day of my father's accident."
"..." They still seemed half-skeptical, but having directly witnessed Jun-ho's uncanny foresight before, they listened intently.
"So I wanted to tell you both to be careful. If possible, absolutely do not go to crowded places next summer. Especially during the vacation season, it would be best to stay home with your families. Ah... just thinking about it makes my heart pound even now."
Seeing Jun-ho place a hand on his chest and take a deep breath, the director and the coach swallowed hard. If anyone else had said this, they would have laughed it off, but the Jun-ho they knew was always serious and never spoke nonsense.
"Anyway, it might sound like nonsense, but please don't ignore my words. Just... try to avoid crowded places during weekends or vacations next summer."
"Man, you're scaring me. Alright, I got it. I'll make sure to do that."
"Me too... Wow, I just got goosebumps."
"That's because you turned the AC on full blast already, you idiot."
"Ah."
Although they had once been a bit annoying by persistently urging him to go pro, they had done their best to make him stronger. Having fulfilled his basic human duty to the director and the coach, Jun-ho hid his bittersweet feelings, forced a smile, and said his final farewell.
Starting with the gym, Jun-ho severed all his personal connections using his move to Sangju, Gyeongsangbuk-do, as an excuse. For the next year or so, Jun-ho intended to avoid meeting or contacting anyone, except for those who knew about the pension or were already there. He planned to make arrangements or provide help to a select few right before the apocalypse hit, but everyone else had to be cut off coldly.
In any case, a year was a long time, and by next year, most people would probably even forget whether he had moved to Gyeongbuk or Gyeongnam. And so, time flowed quietly. Finally, the year of ruin, the year of the apocalypse, arrived: 2024.