A Strange Question
It was a peculiar question. I mulled over the intent behind it, but nothing clicked. Above all, when I died wasn't up to me.
"I don't know. If I had my way, I'd put it off as long as possible."
"Then it stands to reason the next cult leader should be decided just as late. With caution."
"Wouldn't it be better to settle it quickly? Since no one knows when I'll kick the bucket."
"That's the problem with your attitude, Leader."
Kang Ji-a's tone sharpened again. I felt a flicker of confusion.
"Hey, now what's that about?"
"Having a successor doesn't mean you get to die."
"I've never once thought it did."
"Isn't that exactly why we're preparing one—in case you die?"
"It's just precaution. Things have been dicey lately, and nobody knows when the end might come for me."
Kang Ji-a eyed me with narrowed displeasure. I held her gaze. Silence stretched between us.
Before long, she looked away and spoke.
"Understood. Just... don't die."
"Not exactly my call."
"Don't die."
She repeated it, staring fixedly. The near-command in her voice caught me off guard—she'd never issued an order quite so firmly before.
"You too, Ji-a. Don't go dying on me. You nearly did last time, poking around Satanists without telling me."
"That's... no need to dredge up the past."
"How's the background on Mun Yo-seop coming? That heretic inquisitor."
"Ah, yes. It's... going."
She trailed off, dodging my eyes.
"...Not great, but I'm digging in. Inquisitors have scant info out there, and the security..."
Heretic inquisitors fell under the Papal Office, so no easy digs like for civilians or regular clergy. Their intel was locked down tight—beyond imagination—so she was working indirect angles, safely scraping what she could.
Truth be told, I was clueless on this stuff; her jargon sailed right over my head. But it sounded like progress.
"Oh, right—Ji-a."
Since we were on investigations, something clicked from the incident: mercenaries blocking Florence's main gate, stalling the holy knights. Crow Mercenary Corps, was it?
"Ever hear of the Crow Mercenary Corps?"
"Yes, sir."
She explained politely. A band formed from blind farmers who'd claimed abandoned land in Incheon, tilling it into a base. Their blind vice-leader was renowned for skill, but the captain's identity remained veiled. Their prestige had tanked after a crushing loss to the Eastern Holy Knights.
I had a hunch who the Crow's leader was. Likely one of the "traitors" who'd abandoned Voodoo during the Holy War. Not certain, but worth probing—with Ji-a's help.
"Can you look into them? Mercs should be easier than an inquisitor, right?"
"Mercenaries are... slightly trickier than inquisitors."
"How so?"
"Investigations rely on word-of-mouth. Means tracking down active mercs or their contacts in person. Method-wise, it's akin to Satanist work."
"Ah. Then skip it."
She'd been snatched by Satanists mid-probe once. Same risks with mercs—I'd end up playing rescuer again. Better to drop it.
She fell silent, face sullen.
"...I can handle it."
"Too risky. Let it go."
"Not really. Artifacts for tails and shadows have improved lately."
"And if you get nabbed like last time?"
"...No repeats of that mistake. Never."
"Can't count on it. What then? Me charging in again?"
"..."
She clammed up. For anything that hazardous, I should handle it myself. Risking my neck for my goals was fine; sacrificing others for them was not. A leader never threw congregants under the bus for personal gain.
"Keep at the inquisitor dig. Drop it if it feels dicey."
"Yes, sir..."
She nodded, reluctant.
As I wrapped thoughts on the Crows, her stare hit me. Looking up, she was boring holes with unabashed intensity.
"What? More to say?"
"Pardon? No, um..."
She hesitated, averted her eyes, sighed deeply.
"Calling me 'Ji-a-ssi'... it feels a tad distant."
"You said 'Kang Ji-a' was fine anytime. Ji-a-ssi."
"That was... first encounter. Circumstances have shifted since."
She fumbled excuses, embarrassment plain on her face. It'd been ages since her expressions showed so vividly. Maybe she'd always varied, but I'd been blind to it—now finally tuning in. Either way, a welcome shift.
Our banter brimmed with playfulness. She let out a brief, snorty chuckle. Her smile flashed short, gone in a blink—but it lingered in my mind.
The longer we spent together, the more her face revealed. Good change, whichever way.
[How about stepping out? You're a mess without sunlight.]
Legba chimed in after dinner, back in my room.
Come to think, days holed up now. Paranoia about watchers, plus mounting helplessness at home—it bred outing dread. Too many experiments ate my time anyway.
"...Gotta go soon, like it or not."
I eyed mold creeping the ceiling corner. Summer was turning the underground chapel harsher by the day.
[Right—break's nearly over. Pity?]
"Kinda. Home rest was comfy."
[Pity or not, student's a student. Mind your duties.]
Legba chuckled. One day cult leader duties, next student ones. Hard to parse jest from gospel with him.
*
The chapel, being underground, sweltered summers and froze winters. AC managed temps and humidity decently enough. Proper upkeep kept hygiene fine.
Still, basement life in peak heat felt wretched. Why I'd applied for dorms.
A week shy of break's end, optional attendance greenlit—for facility access or office errands.
I hit the office then, dorm request in hand. Escaped the chapel's grimness, dodged Mun Yo-seop's suspicions. Drawback: outing permits curbed night jaunts some. Worth it.
Lamps don't spot shadows right beneath.
"Straight to dorms on day one?"
Uncle asked, long absent from chapel.
I nodded. "Probably. No upside lingering here."
"Right, two-per-room? Wait—Florence loaded, solo digs?"
His tone dripped sarcasm.
"Standard two, but spares mean solo."
"Oho... money to burn."
"Yeah."
Heading in, Uncle's face struck oddly unfamiliar. Like ages since last sight.
Simple reason: it had been ages.
"What kept you gallivanting?"
"Gotta say 'gallivanting'?"
"What're you up to, roaming?"
I rephrased per his gripe.
He checked his phone habitually, casual.
"Nothin' big. Forgin' an ID."
"For who?"
"Gyeonggi exec. The one who bolted to China."
Gyeonggi cadre, zealous till Papal heat forced flight. Dodged via China, then Russia, Brazil, even adrift on no-name isles—world tour. Per Uncle, ID scrub done; alias finalized, inbound soon. Might show at next cadre meet.
"Shock when you see her. Stunner now."
"Eh? Didn't strike me that way."
Not my place to judge, but objectively no beauty. Recall: flaws dotting her face, lending peculiar charm.
Uncle jabbed his cheek.
"Surgery. Total makeover."
"Ah."
Whatever glow-up, irrelevant to me. Never liked her much—always yapping nonsense, grating my nerves. Headache brewing at the thought.
*
Reenrollment day dawned.
First time, post-turmoil admission: butterflies, thrill. Now? What was the fuss.
Excitement from that initial commute? Faded.
Slid into class just shy of tardy.
First sight: empty desk. Gu Jun-hyeok's old spot. Single white chrysanthemum atop.
Ha Ye-jin, entering next, spotted it—horrorstruck.
"Who the hell... who put this here...!"
She snatched and binned the flower. Face flushed fury, head swiveling for the perp.
We kids—including me—gawked innocently, clueless.
Ha Ye-jin sighed deeply at the front.
"Everyone. You know Jun-hyeok's missing—from news or word. If not, now you do. Anyway..."
Gloom shadowed her.
"Missing ain't dead. Chrysanthemums on a missing kid's desk? Rude, ignorant stunt. Got it?"
No replies. Classroom dead quiet.
Front-seater Jeong In-ah twisted back. Eyes met; she whipped away fast.
Unclear why, but eye contact irked her.
Silence dragged. Ha Ye-jin scanned faces slow, deliberate. Eyes shut, sighs piled, then faint smile.
"Alright, roll call. Lots of key updates—listen up..."
Updates galore. Minutiae mostly; biggies I knew.
Two shocks fresh: one, extended break axed summer vac. Attendance quotas ironclad—repeats meant grade repeat. Unavoidable.
No beach, then...
Vacay or not, doubtful anyway.
Two: midterms first and second merged—written then practical back-to-back. Date: 19 days out. Text-noticed mid-break, apparently.
Others' faces said all knew but me.
"Study hard. Delays crammed it—expect heavier weight than usual. Practicals too."
I sweated, scrolling school texts frantic as she droned.
"Schedules fluid; updates when firm..."
Her voice faded. I scoured messages for exam shift notice.
...None.
Zip. Double-checked: nada.
Protest fodder.
(To be continued)