The Wooden Horse
The sound of Korea's traditional wind instrument, the Taepyeongso, ringing out across the Trojan War.
At first, I genuinely wondered whether I was imagining it.
'If they went out of their way to slip our music into this, there has to be some meaning behind it….'
"Wait, the Trojan War? That's the story with the Trojan Horse, right? What exactly is it about?"
Jang Siun leaned her head toward me, pressing for a detailed explanation.
It was the most important and famous war story in all of Greek and Roman mythology, but of course it was possible not to know the finer details.
Judging by the student's glazed-over eyes, he apparently didn't know the story well either — just like Jang Siun.
"Right. That's correct. It's a war fought between Troy and Greece."
[Since some of our visitors may be unfamiliar with this war, allow me to bring in someone to provide commentary.]
Just as I was about to explain the Trojan War, the Curator abruptly wedged himself into our conversation.
And then, without warning, he announced he would introduce a narrator and began to move.
A narrator out of nowhere — I had no idea what his intentions were, but either way, a new figure was about to appear.
All three of us tensed up and eyed the Curator warily.
"…?"
The Curator's fluid, water-like movement came to a stop directly in front of an enormous wooden crate.
After Yang Myeonghyun had been attacked, my mind had been so preoccupied that it never occurred to me to examine the house closely.
Now that I actually looked at it, the oversized wooden crate tucked into the corner of the house seemed very suspicious indeed.
"?!"
[Come on out.]
Then the Curator opened the wooden crate, and out stepped a strikingly handsome man dressed in Greek attire.
'Who on earth is that…?'
The man scratched his head with an awkward expression as he climbed out of the box.
There was no doubt about it — he had been hiding inside someone else's crate.
For all his crisp, handsome features and sturdy frame, his behavior was remarkably spineless.
"F-for having sneaked in here uninvited… I apologize."
[This is Pandora's home. It is hardly a place for a prince to lodge.]
'A prince? Then that would make that man….'
The moment my eyes sharpened, the man tugged up the corners of his mouth into an uneasy smile and greeted us.
"Right. I should introduce myself. I am Paris. The one who set fire to this very war."
The prince of Troy, Paris, hiding in a place like this.
I knew he'd shown plenty of pathetic moments throughout the Trojan War story, but still…
However you looked at it, wasn't it a bit much for the prince of an entire nation to be hiding in a commoner's wooden crate?
'Trying to act cool now does nothing. The damage is already done.'
Paris's smile was pointlessly refreshing, which only made the whole thing more absurd.
Even in the myths, I don't think he was ever quite this pathetic.
The Curator stared intently at Paris as he emerged from the crate.
[Paris. The very cause of this war.]
"It was hardly the cause…."
[At the origin of this long, long war, there you stand.]
[You even introduced yourself as the one responsible just now, did you not?]
"……."
What did the Curator look like through Paris's eyes?
If Paris were seeing the same headless plaster statue we were, there was no way he wouldn't be startled.
Or maybe, faithfully playing his role as an NPC, he simply didn't bother taking issue with the Curator's existence.
"I am Paris. Long ago, when I was a shepherd, I was made the judge of a contest: to award a golden apple to one of three goddesses — Lady Hera, Lady Athena, or Lady Aphrodite."
The golden apple.
That story had been adapted into countless works of fiction, so I knew it well.
The goddess of discord tossed a golden apple, and three goddesses fell into a dispute over it.
Zeus, unwilling to take responsibility, decided to choose a human as judge, and the most handsome man among mortals — Paris — became the protagonist of the affair.
"And… I gave the golden apple to Lady Aphrodite, and in return received the love of the most beautiful woman in the world."
The three goddesses had promised Paris a reward for choosing them.
Hera offered wealth and power.
Athena offered wisdom and victory.
And Aphrodite promised the love of the most beautiful woman alive.
Just as Paris had said moments ago, the goddess he chose was Aphrodite.
And soon after, Paris would meet the most beautiful woman in the world.
"My Helen."
'The problem being that she happened to be the queen of Sparta — a married woman.'
While Menelaus, king of Sparta, was away, Paris fled to Troy with Helen.
King Menelaus then marched on Troy with a host of heroes and a colossal army, and thus began this long war.
'Right. Loving someone and having the courage for it are two different things.'
Even with this whole mess unfolding around him, Paris's love for Helen still seemed unshakable.
But in a mythology crowded with genuine heroes, a coward like Paris was never going to look appealing. It couldn't be helped.
"And so began a war filled with countless heroes — and gods alike."
Paris lowered his head, as if to hide the shadow that had fallen over his face.
He didn't appear willing to give up his love for Helen, but whatever courage or enthusiasm he might have had for the war itself seemed to have died out long ago.
"So then — will you not fight alongside me, as heroes of Troy?!"
"……."
Abruptly, Paris stretched out his hand, asking us to join him.
It was the kind of scripted line and gesture an NPC was bound to make, but…
The meek, hesitant man from moments ago was gone, and here he was now, eyes gleaming, trying to pull us in.
'I really don't want to follow him.'
I didn't trust him in the slightest.
Jang Siun and the student must have sensed the same wishy-washy air about Paris, because neither offered any reply — they just kept looking at me.
And setting aside Paris's attitude and character entirely, the whole premise of the Trojan War was a problem in itself.
"Curator."
[Yes, Visitor Kim Jisan?]
"Isn't it blindingly obvious which side we're going to choose?"
[Why do you say that?]
"The outcome of the Trojan War is common knowledge by now, isn't it?"
Paris, true to his NPC nature, paused without hearing a word I said.
Thank goodness he couldn't hear me. Otherwise, he'd have flown into a rage at the conversation that followed.
[Those who are not well-versed in Greek and Roman mythology — as you are, Visitor Kim Jisan — would hardly know.]
"……."
[But for those who already know this war's fate, the choice is all too easy. Like you, Visitor Kim Jisan.]
As an answer to my question, that was far from satisfying.
At that, Jang Siun, standing behind me, poked at my shoulder.
"Jisan. How does the Trojan War end anyway? That guy can't hear us, so just tell me."
"…All right."
I nodded and slowly dredged up my memory of Greek and Roman mythology.
It was a story I knew well enough that with a little time, I could explain it even without activating my Docent ability.
"In the Trojan War, countless heroes — Hector, Achilles, and others — fought and died. On top of that, the gods kept intervening, so the war just dragged on and on."
After Paris gave the golden apple to Aphrodite, Aphrodite sided with Troy, while Hera and Athena took Greece's side.
The other gods, too, each for their own personal reasons, picked sides in the mortals' war.
Of course, there were gods who stayed neutral, like Demeter and Hestia.
"And so the Greek strategist Odysseus comes up with a brilliant scheme."
"Is that the Trojan Horse?"
"That's right."
I gave Jang Siun a smile.
Even people who didn't know the Trojan War in detail had usually at least heard of the Trojan Horse, or Achilles.
"The Greeks built a colossal wooden horse, and hid their soldiers inside it."
And that horse, as planned, made its way into the Trojan camp.
The Trojan army had no idea that dozens of Greek soldiers lay hidden inside, biding their time.
"The Trojans accepted the horse as a symbol of their victory. And in the end, they brought it inside their city walls."
When night fell deep, the Greek soldiers emerged from the horse and brought Troy down.
"That's how the Trojan War ends. In a Greek victory, in other words."
"Then shouldn't we obviously side with Greece? The Curator asked which goddess we'd follow, so we can just pick Hera or Athena."
"That's exactly my point."
I nodded along with Jang Siun.
But even as I agreed, a nagging discomfort lingered in my chest.
"Um, actually…."
Then the student carefully joined the conversation and put my own thoughts into words.
"Wouldn't that be way too easy? If knowing a Greek myth is all it takes, this quest's basically a guaranteed win."
"…Exactly. That's what's been bothering me too. And on top of that—"
~~~
The traditional music swelled once more, mingled with the pounding of drums.
The more I listened, the more certain I became. That was the Taepyeongso, without a doubt.
'Yes. It's definitely the Taepyeongso. But why would Korean traditional music be playing in a war from Greek mythology?'
[That is correct. It is far too simple.]
[And that is precisely why we here at the Museum of Wishes, in the interest of your entertainment, have altered the course of the Trojan War on the 13th floor.]
Altered the course of the war? What did that even mean?
Just as I was about to press the Curator for answers—
KWARREUNG—
In an instant, the sky was swallowed by storm clouds, and something came surging in from the far distance.
'What is that? Blue… water? The sea? A tsunami?'
But this wasn't a coastline, and no tsunami swelled that slowly. Water doesn't rise that fast.
So I wondered if it might be a river.
"Habaek is coming!!"
Paris, his face drained white, screamed at the top of his lungs.
He squeezed his eyes shut as he stared at the river.
It was divine territory, and so Paris — a mere human — could only accept it, utterly helpless.
'What? Habaek?!'
I knew this was a war the gods meddled in — but Habaek?
Soul drained, I looked back and forth between Paris and the river.
"Jisan. Habaek — that's definitely not a Western god, right?"
"No. He's the god of the Amnok River. A god from a Goguryeo folktale."
"…Why is that god here?"
Jang Siun looked equally dumbfounded; she tilted her head and let out a hollow laugh. I couldn't make sense of it either.
And yet, undeniably, Paris had just called that river Habaek.
The Trojan War was a war the Greek gods fought in. And yet—
'If a god from a different mythology suddenly cuts in—'
A foreign god had barged in and rewritten the story of the Trojan War.
Which meant nobody — not anyone — could know how it would end now.
[Indeed. The outcome of the war unfolding within this tower cannot yet be known.]
[Will Troy be invaded?]
[Or will Greece fall first, before that ever comes to pass?]
Once again, the Curator had read my mind, answering a thought I'd never voiced aloud.
If there really was a chance the war's outcome could change, then Paris's proposal — and the Curator's talk of picking the "right answer" — suddenly made a degree of sense.
[This is not a battle with a visible ending. It is a war quest in which you, our visitors, must seize victory using both your minds and your bodies.]
[Are we understood?]
Of course. There was no way the Museum would hand us something as simple as that.
I clenched my fists at the creeping tension rising within me.
[Amid all the many variables, the greatest variable of all is you, our visitors.]
The Curator stretched both hands out toward Jang Siun, me, and the student.
'We're the biggest variable.'
So, in a tower where survival was everything, the place had decided to crack a joke.
[Lead this war to victory with your wisdom.]
Us — neither gods nor warriors — changing the outcome of a war?
Sometimes I wondered if this tower wasn't asking far too much of mere visitors who'd come to tour a museum.
'If only I could join forces with Yang Myeonghyun again….'
Maybe he'd left to ease my guilt.
Or maybe he'd looked down on Jang Siun and the student, and left the house pretending to sacrifice himself for their sake.
I had no way of knowing which was the truth, but ever since he died, my mind kept drifting into fog.
Perhaps because he'd vanished so emptily, or because the situation was so urgent, I hadn't even had the chance to properly feel the grief.
I didn't cry — but a hollow ache and a crushing guilt filled me to the brim.
In the end, it felt like Yang Myeonghyun had become a Component because of me.
"Hey, um, by the way. Mister. Noona."
…Mister?
Pfft.
The moment the student called me "mister" in that tiny voice, Jang Siun finally lost it and burst out laughing.