15. Icarus (1)
In the car heading to the orphanage, we started talking about something we'd momentarily overlooked.
It was about Han Myung-hun—the story of that man's life.
I'd focused my investigation on his bizarre actions, the kind no human could possibly commit, and his indomitable will. But Chen Zuiyuan took a different approach.
"When tracing a person's actions backward, it's faster to look at their life as a whole rather than isolated knowledge. People like that always leave traces behind, and those traces naturally infuse their beliefs and thoughts."
It was a gap born from the differing perspectives of elves and humans. For us elves, reviewing a lifetime held little meaning.
I'd lived an exceptionally long time, sure, but most elves survive over a thousand years, devoting that millennium to a single pursuit.
The documents and writings an elf leaves behind are their life. Eating, sleeping, breathing—those basics rarely mattered to us.
Humans were different.
With their short lifespans, they had a strong urge to imprint their will and intentions even on trivial things.
That's why humans change far more readily than elves and embrace those changes. They're called the animals of adaptation, after all.
Elves, on the other hand, feel a signal in their bodies if their life's environment or the magic they pursue shifts even slightly. Sometimes, it even kills them.
And Han Myung-hun was one of those humans who pursued change more aggressively than most.
"Once he rose to deputy director, he transformed so much he was practically a different person."
His appointment as deputy director.
That position brought him many things: new experiences, and unexpected confrontations.
"Deputy Director Han Myung-hun... tch. I think I met him once during my military days on a security detail. All I remember is he seemed like a nice guy. Gave us soldiers ice cream at the end as a thank-you."
Huh Song-hyeok, who was driving, spoke up. He'd enlisted early at 19 and weathered the Gate incidents—a seasoned hunter with real grit. As he drove, he recalled that time.
"Yeah... oh, right. He showed a lot of interest in mana stones. Didn't seem like it was just for the money, like us hunters. Hard to put into words, but you can tell from a person's eyes, y'know? Like, this guy's the real deal."
He'd unearthed a meaningful memory from his past. According to Huh Song-hyeok, Han Myung-hun was fascinated not just by mana stones, but by the mana flowing through Gate interiors.
These days, plenty of hunters can sense mana, but back then, it was extremely rare. Humanity had only just encountered mana; everything was novel.
"It was uncanny. Whenever Deputy Director Han Myung-hun had a bad feeling about something, shit always went down. Looking back now, I see it was that 'instinct' of his."
Han Myung-hun's rise to deputy director at the Elf Management Bureau might not have been coincidence, but destiny.
He had the talent and ability for it from the start.
"Talent, huh."
I murmured quietly. Even among elves, such children occasionally appear—gathering elements instinctively without instruction, sensing mana on their own from birth.
"Maybe it was inevitable that the man changed."
Humans change. The more they're exposed to dramatic, varied situations, the more they transform. It was their essential nature, adapting to their environment.
To adapt, they must change, and such radical shifts breed discomfort among those around them.
"He changed a lot. For starters, about a year after becoming deputy director, he divorced his wife. Said their personalities didn't mesh."
There was archived interview footage. His divorce was big news, so reporters swarmed him. Amid the flashing cameras, he spoke boldly.
He said a few more things after that, but nothing substantial. The key point was that even his wife couldn't follow his thoughts and changes.
Han Myung-hun had adapted to the new phenomenon of Gates faster than anyone, charging ahead as a pioneer.
But he didn't get far before hitting a wall.
God granted him talent, but erected a wall of limits where he sought to advance.
He was human, after all.
"We're here."
Huh Song-hyeok announced as he parked in the orphanage's front lot. The building loomed beyond.
As we parked and drew closer, the orphanage's name came into view.
Utopia Orphanage
It was a serene orphanage built on a gentle hill. The sign looked like it'd been replaced once. Pines dotted the surroundings, and a small playground lay in the front clearing.
Kids of various ages were playing soccer on the field. They eyed us strangers warily. A few stared right through me.
One boy who'd been glaring finally shouted.
"It's an elf!"
They'd spotted my pointed ears. The yeller looked about first-year middle school age. We were briefly startled by their stares, but the kids didn't approach.
"Haha..."
I couldn't say anything rude, so I just waved awkwardly. No helping it. As we walked up, the iron gate—standard for school entrances—swung open.
A girl from the orphanage opened it. She seemed high school age.
She guided us inside and spoke softly.
"The director's waiting inside."
The director must have known we'd come. Had Baek Seol-yeon tipped her off? No way to know; she hadn't mentioned it.
"...The facilities are pretty decent."
The orphanage exceeded our expectations. It had two classrooms of its own, and the three-story building was worn but clean and well-maintained—sturdy.
"Look, they're learning magic."
Chen Zuiyuan pointed to a lit classroom.
In one corner, a lesson was underway. Students were trying to gather elements. Some struggled, but most succeeded. Solid curriculum.
An old bookshelf lined the hallway by the classrooms, stuffed with books. But one thing caught my eye first.
"He wrote books too, huh."
Books authored by Deputy Director Han Myung-hun sat on the shelf. Not available online, so probably made just for the orphanage.
Mostly magic textbooks for students, but a couple seemed philosophical. I eyed the titles.
Species' Limits
Beyond Humanity
They looked like writings born from desperation after hitting his limits. I didn't bother reading them. Chen Zuiyuan flipped through a textbook.
"Seems we can't deny that Deputy Director Han Myung-hun was an exceptional mage."
As Chen Zuiyuan browsed, someone descended from the second floor. A middle-aged woman in her mid-50s.
She had an odd vibe. Dressed in what looked like a Catholic habit, cross necklace around her neck, head shaved bald on top.
"You've arrived. Welcome. I'm Lee Won-ju, director of this orphanage."
She introduced herself as Lee Won-ju, her gaze fixed on me—especially my pointed ears. They always drew eyes, but not this blatantly.
"Please, come inside. I don't want to keep rare guests standing."
She led us to the reception room, Gothic-styled with a woody scent.
"Have some."
As we sat on the sofa, she brought coffee and snacks. Nothing fancy, but suitable for visitors. She sat across, smiling. Chen Zuiyuan got straight to it.
"I don't like beating around the bush, so I'll ask directly. We're tracing Deputy Director Han Myung-hun's records. Did he leave or say anything around the time of that incident?"
"That incident, you mean."
She glanced at me again. I nodded. We were probably thinking the same thing.
"...Ahh."
The director closed her eyes, tilting her head back. Arms spread wide like a cross. Then she murmured what sounded like an incantation—too quiet to hear, just lip movements.
Soon, she slowly lowered her arms and head. She looked at me.
"Right before that incident, the deputy director visited and said either he or an elf would come here. If it was him, success. If an elf... failure. It seems..."
She looked at me. I nodded faintly. He'd failed. But in a way, succeeded.
"Follow me. I have something for you."
The director stood. Questions bubbling, I asked.
"What if I weren't a mage? Han Myung-hun wasn't one, was he? I'm a woman. And as you know, female elves as mages..."
She met my eyes and spoke before I finished.
An unexpected truth slipped from her lips.
"It doesn't matter. Even if you're not a mage. Elves have come and gone before you."
She turned and walked ahead without looking back. She led me to a room next to the director's office on the third floor, labeled 'Archive Room.'
"Here."
Creeeak. The rusty door groaned through the hall. Inside, musty mold mixed with old paper. No fluorescents, but the books on the shelves were pristine. Some scrolls too.
Han Myung-hun had been a serious collector. Mostly magitech tomes. Shockingly, some in ancient Elvish—familiar ones.
This one's mine?
My name even appeared occasionally. Then she pulled a worn book from the end.
"Here it is. This... is Mage Han Myung-hun's research."
She opened it and handed it over. I took it, examining closely. Several oddities stood out. First, its physical form.
Less a book, more a compiled binder of research notes. All handwritten pages, preservation varying wildly.
Familiar yet strange. Endless marginalia from revisions.
"......"
The moment I opened it and read the first paragraph, I felt it. A human's burning ambition. And the foolishness of reaching for what he could never touch.