Triangular Flight
#0. Magic has returned. Those who preserved the most worthless knowledge will begin to dream the most glorious dreams.
#1. Triangular Flight (1)
Singapore's December was the rainy season. After the downpours swept through the tropical city, the air hung thick with humidity. Christmas carols echoed down the stiflingly hot streets. Even in this sweltering heat, a massive Santa statue stood clad in its thick, red fur suit. People smiled for commemorative photos in front of it—people who hadn't the slightest clue what was happening now, or what it would unleash in the days to come.
"Hyungnim."
One of my subordinates called out in a subdued tone.
"You can see that mana essence stuff here too, right?"
Mana essence—that's the name I'd given the source of magic. It had been depleted for eons, but for some reason, three days ago, it began overflowing across the skies and earth everywhere.
I squinted and replied, "Yeah. It's everywhere—not a single corner without it."
Hearing that, the subordinate looked around again with renewed curiosity. But the unnatural wouldn't reveal itself to ordinary eyes. Not unless you gouged out your own eyeballs and implanted a relic like I had.
Another subordinate made a fuss. "Then shouldn't we head back ASAP? Prep for whatever's coming? If we hurry, we can snag tickets to Incheon before sunset."
"No. That'd make our movements suspicious."
"Suspicious how?"
"Trips abroad where you don't even stay half a day aren't normal."
"Ah!"
"Anyone who noticed this massive shift would've thought the exact same thing as me... 'First, confirm if it's just here or global.' To avoid their tracking later, we steer clear of obvious moves."
"Oh!"
"If we really wanted to save time, we should've rushed from Australia. The three days in Brisbane and today plus tomorrow here make for a solid alibi."
Schedules with this kind of slack blend right into the wasteful routines of the rich with too much time and money.
"So you two just enjoy the trip like normal tourists. This phenomenon... even if the mana essence overload drags on, nothing's exploding right away. Visible changes will creep in slowly."
"Kuh! Hyungnim always has a plan!"
"Lower your voice."
"Yes, sir!"
"Quieter."
"Yessir..."
The rowdier of my two subordinates shrank like a folding fan. As I'd said, Singapore was the second stop on this trip. Incheon to Brisbane to Singapore—forming a massive triangle in the sky. The goal of this short journey? Confirm variations in mana essence density by longitude and latitude.
If the distribution was local, density would shift with location. It could span broad areas or narrow bands. Hence the triangular flight—the minimal shape to define an area.
The results? Uniform density everywhere we'd passed. Given the area of my triangle, even if it thinned out beyond, the anomaly likely blanketed the globe.
I'd reined in the urge to draw a bigger triangle after weighing future backtracking risks against the certainty gained.
The remaining question: how long would this last? No one on Earth could answer that.
Lost in thought as we walked, we neared the reserved hotel. Entering the lobby, I sensed the folding fan eyeing me like an eager pup needing to pee.
"Kyung-tae. I said lower your voice, not shut your trap."
"Aha."
"Spit it out if you've got something to say."
The moment I gave permission, he blurted it out.
"This is the InterContinental, right?"
"And?"
"I looked it up—there's a bar just one block over that claims to sell every booze in the world. Obvious hype, but it's legendary among boozehounds. How about we swing by?"
"Hunting for drinks before sunset?"
"You said enjoy the trip! Half of traveling's eating and drinking, right? And they won't just sling booze. We hit it for some aperitifs, then after dark, roam the night market for dim sum, laksa, all kinds of skewers, ice-cold beer frosting the glass—"
The guy rattled on endlessly. How'd he dig up so much in so little time?
Still, better than holing up in the hotel. When your gut's churning, you force some leisure. Good ideas come when you're relaxed.
Let him lead; it'd be like walking a pet dog. I nodded visibly for him.
"Fine. Check-in first."
"Thank you, hyungnim!"
"Voice."
"Got it."
Tourist hotspot. No drawing eyes.
We dropped our bags and headed out past 5 p.m. Across the street loomed a massive, modern National Library. Personally, I'd pick books over booze—English, Mandarin, no issue—but nothing would stick right now.
"This way, hyungnim. I'll guide you."
Excited Kyung-tae directed from half a step behind. A quiet sigh came from the other side.
The bar we reached was opulent inside. A two-story ceiling and open space—lavish in land-scarce Singapore. Shelves lining thick support pillars brimmed with bottles sparkling under warm lights. "Every booze in the world" was hype, but the lineup was top-tier.
Jazz-infused carols played at a volume that let conversations flow.
"Take your time browsing."
The waitress guided us to a table, smiled, and left the menu.
Flipping through: 25 pages of standard liquors, 108 for special collections. The chatty drunk's jaw dropped.
I slid the collection book his way. "You pick."
"From these?!"
"Champagne for me. Don't wanna get wasted."
Grinning Kyung-tae glanced next door. "What about Suyeon-noona?"
"Same as hyungnim."
"Roger. I'll start with champagne too. Bottle for us three. You two handle the snacks."
His eyes stayed glued to the book. Pages rustled as he pored over it, utterly absorbed. Made me wonder if it was that good.
"Whoa!"
He yelped at something, checking my reaction.
"What."
"A 750ml at 197,000 bucks."
"Champagne?"
"Yeah. Insane, right?"
197,000 Singapore dollars—about 160 million won. You could sip Dom Pérignon Oenothèque for 300,000 yen smack in Tokyo.
I beckoned Kyung-tae. "Lemme see."
"Here."
The open page had an English product description.
On October 26, 1916, amid World War I, a small smuggling schooner named Jönköping departed from the port of Gävle in southern Sweden. Aboard were 3,000 bottles of champagne ordered by Tsar Nicholas II of Imperial Russia...
It went on about sinking off Finland by German sub U-22 and such—tl;dr, a century-old vintage salvaged from the seabed. The pressure and cold preserved it.
"1907 vintage for 197 grand."
"A hundred-year-old champagne! Aren't you curious?"
He gulped audibly.
I eyed Kyung-tae. "You want it?"
"Hell yeah! But the price—"
"Order it."
"O? Ooooooh?!"
Kyung-tae clenched his fists, cheering silently. "This ain't a dream? Loyalty forever, hyungnim! Haha!"
Suyeon cut in primly, displeased by his antics. "Hyungnim, indulge him too much and he'll get spoiled."
"Noona, c'mon. Am I a kid?"
"Acts like one."
"Hitting me with facts, huh."
"Facts what...?"
I tapped the table to refocus them. They shut up instantly.
"Champagne unseen for a century. Perfect to commemorate a day like today, no? Let's drink."
First felt the mana surge days ago, but confirmed it global today. Worth marking, good or ill. Both magic's source and the sunken ship's bubbly had slumbered eons before returning.
Reluctant Suyeon, no fan of extravagance, slowly nodded. "Understood."
But Kyung-tae eyed me warily with his bulk. Fair—extravagance like this outside business wasn't routine. Better I order.
The waitress, summoned, hid her fluster at the order, scanned me shrewdly, then smiled sweetly.
"Order confirmed. Anything else?"
I added snacks. "We'll bring food as it's ready. Please wait."
Her steps lightened leaving—probably floating on the ++ service charge. 10% of the tax-in total, a compact car just in booze tips. To split with staff, sure.
Soon, drinks and food arrived. A dozen stone flowers with minuet sauce and lemon; croque-monsieur bites stuffed with La Peral cheese and shallot pickles; a plate of Madeleine with unsweetened cream; a tray of pissaladière topped with anchovies and baked. Quick-prep stuff.
Looks plenty, but order less and Suyeon hides her appetite—troublesome in spots like this, always confirming my prefs.
The champagne's label was nearly gone; bottle and cork bore ineradicable sea and time scars despite careful work. The manager presented Christie's auction cert, guaranteeing authenticity—queryable by unique ID if taken home. Souvenir for Kyung-tae.
"Shall we open it?"
With permission, the manager gripped the bottle delicately, easing the cork. Ancient stuff—handle wrong, it crumbles.
"Glasses?"
Sweat beading his brow. Kyung-tae, licking lips, waved it off in rough English. "Nah, we're good. You can go."
"Call if needed." Manager bowed out politely.
Grinning ear-to-ear, Kyung-tae lifted the bottle reverently with both hands. "First pour's on me."
I tilted my glass as he filled it. Golden swirls bubbled up in the narrow flute.
"You two too."
I took the bottle, filling theirs in turn. Clink glasses hard, sip.
First taste: oak and fruit notes, low sweetness, crisp with balanced acidity. Smooth from age, but purely on flavor? High-street premium beat it.
Suyeon grimaced similarly. "Not worth the price."
Kyung-tae, savoring blissfully, countered. "Heh. Noona, this is for the vibes, the vibes."
"Vibes pay bills?"
"Apple's all about that vibe life."
"..."
What was this banter?
Squeezing lemon over thick stone flower, Suyeon set her half-sipped glass down and asked, "Hyungnim, if this drags on long-term, what happens to the world?"
"Who knows."
I placed lemon on ice, pondering. Changes too vast to list; too curt risks underselling. Best as is.
"One thing's certain. The world we live in? It'll grow wilder, more dangerous, less predictable with time."