Slices

A private shower, is it.

Ignoring a kindness would be rude. Maybe he ought to wash up before he left.

Not once since his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠days as a Hunter had he bathed in a space that was his alone. The apartments issued to Hunters had a shower in every unit, but from the barracks soldiers used onward, it had always been a communal washroom. There was no denying the comfort of washing where no one could see. And yet.

Was it really true that no one could see?

A CCTV camera hung from the office ceiling. Would a shower room be any exception?

The latch rattled. Nothing.

No. They might simply have hidden it where it wouldn't show.

The moment tobacco smoke curled up, whoever had been watching through the camera asked after the office at once. A shower room would be no safer. A shower, of all things, ranked among the more dangerous things a person could do indoors. Tip backward while you were washing and you could be dead on the spot. Whether he fell or didn't, the safe assumption was that someone was watching.

Tch.

It wasn't as if being seen would change anything. It just sat wrong. This was nothing like standing stripped beside a stranger in a communal washroom, where everyone worked at not looking and pretended the others weren't there.

Come to think of it, it wasn't even unique to communal showers. It was the same with every layer of clothing still on. People rarely studied other people out in the open, anytime, anywhere.

He'd said Headquarters was turning ugly.

Put together everything Jo Yong-han had said through a thick haze of cigar smoke, and it came to this: a killing wind was about to cut through Headquarters. Anyone with power enough for that would be watching them, one way or another, all the time.

He stared into the CCTV camera. Was someone beyond the lens looking back at him even now?

"Oh, Hocheol."

Hocheol, just finished with a delivery and heading for the residential quarter, came face to face with Director Bae.

"Good afternoon, Director, sir! I. Love. You!"

Jungkook had never introduced Hocheol to Director Bae. Word had simply spread that the new recruit was skilled and eager to please, and that word had reached the director's ear.

"Finished the delivery already?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Ha! Fast, that's fast! Nothing too rough out there?"

"I'm fine, sir, I am!"

"With that bad leg of yours, you're really something."

"Whatever the body's short on, passion fills in, sir!"

"Now that's what I like to hear!"

Hocheol's good record was, of course, mostly his own skill. It wasn't skill alone, though. There was a hidden helper neither Hocheol nor Director Bae knew about.

The postman's post Jo Yong-han had secured for Hocheol at Jungkook's request. That request was the whole of what Jungkook had asked, but Jo Yong-han had quietly taken an extra step on his own. Thanks to it, Hocheol was never assigned work in the danger zones.

The old Jo Yong-han would have had no patience for a man who picked only the easy jobs. After watching Jungkook survive to the end by doing exactly that, his thinking had shifted a little. If someone was a person who was needed, there was no reason to drive them into a death trap. Hocheol wasn't needed by Jo Yong-han, but he looked needed by Jungkook, and that was reason enough—the same logic by which Dr. Myeong treated Jungkook's acquaintances. No one had told Jungkook any of this directly, so he had no way of knowing.

"Headquarters treating you all right? I heard you lived outside for a long stretch."

"Ah, yes..."

"Headquarters is good, though, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir! Of course it is, sir!"

After that, Director Bae's lengthy speech went on. It was an introduction to exactly how and where life at Headquarters was good, though in the end one point was the same as the next. The conclusion was that you must not go outside.

"Thing is, though, listening to me run on, you might be a little put out. You're a postman. You have to go out into the field. Even if you wanted to stay inside Headquarters forever, you can't."

"Ha ha. Still, I get to come back like this now and then, sir, I do!"

"You keep stacking results just like this. Do that, and you might get promoted into a desk job!"

That was the intention tucked behind the speech: motivation to keep working hard from here on.

The talk drifted into more personal ground. Someday, when Hocheol had a spouse and children, there would come a day he was prouder still of working at Headquarters than he was now.

"You can get the whole family hired here, you know! Everyone living a safe life!"

It was a talk he made a point of giving at least once to every subordinate. Now and then, unsure whether he'd already told someone, he delivered it again without a flicker of hesitation, and the subordinate reacted as if hearing it for the first time. The record holder had sat through it nine times in all.

"That is incredible, sir, it is!"

This was Hocheol's second.

The delivery completion report was filed.

If he could keep getting work like this from Jo Yong-han, he might seize a ticket to the Geofront even faster than a Hunter would.

Provided he kept surviving.

This time he'd gone to Geumcheon District, the safest area there was, so it had been on the easier side. Ordinarily it would be far more dangerous. Even the Geumcheon job, the one that was supposed to be safe, hadn't gone easily. Either way, the urgent business was finished.

Next was Gimbap Heaven.

Who was he supposed to go there with, again? It had been one of those arrangements where he wouldn't be paying. Ah. Director Bae.

Anyway, before he hurried off to Gimbap Heaven, he ought to drop the cores off for appraisal. If there was a backlog of appointments, it might be a long wait before he saw a result.

Elder Heo was still alive in the same spot he always occupied. Old enough that it wouldn't have been strange for him to die at any moment, and old in a way no one would envy. Play it right, and it might even turn into a luxurious life lived out to its full span.

"A postman, with three whole cores? Where'd you buy 'em, huh?"

Elder Heo answered with a grumble. As expected, he didn't remember him. Even so, as dementia went, this was a gentle case. He was still doing the work properly. Elder Heo could see the failure rate on a core. If the failure rate ran unusually high, it was almost always an Ability Core, which meant his ability alone could pick out a jackpot.

"My appraisal fee ain't cheap!"

"I'll pay the fee properly. Will it take long?"

Two green cores, one each from the Cradle and the Animal Farm, and one yellow core from Claw Farm, taken after he'd swept the raiders away. The Physiognomist had told him the yellow was an Ability Core, but he couldn't be sure, so it still needed appraising. The other two, the greens, were top grade in color alone; he had no idea what they were for, so appraisal was mandatory. One of them showed a wave pattern. If he'd seen it right, that was the sign of a rare core. A jackpot.

"Just sell those cores, I'm telling you. Get 'em appraised, go bust, and I don't do refunds!"

"I won't ask for a refund."

"I'm saying it's expensive, that's why! Two greens, and if they're duds, then what? Sell 'em as they are and you'd still get your hands on a fat stack. Don't even know how to gamble, do you?"

There really were people who gambled with cores. In the old era they'd called that sort of thing a lottery. You bought a cheap core and paid to have it appraised. Get lucky, pull an Ability Core, and you could recoup the investment several times over.

"Hmph! I can already see that face you're gonna make, blaming me!"

"No chance of that. How's your health these days?"

"Why d'you wanna know!"

"Your daughter's been worried. I ought to pass along her regards on this delivery, too."

"Ah... Right. That's right."

Elder Heo snatched the cores up at once.

"I'm healthy! Go tell her I'm doing just fine! Come get the cores tomorrow. I'm backed up with work today. You hear me?"

Hooking Elder Heo like this didn't sit easy with him either. But if he didn't say it, the old man wouldn't so much as listen to a postman's request.

"You make sure you tell her I'm well! Tell her proper!"

"Don't worry."

Elder Heo muttered something under his breath. His eyes, though, were smiling.

Out in the world beyond, he wouldn't have lasted a day. In that state of mind, ability or no ability, he would only have been a fine meal for raiders. If the illness had worsened until he couldn't be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠managed, he would have been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thrown out, but fortunately his dementia had progressed slowly. Keep on like this, and a natural death would come before the disease did. He probably wanted to live out his years inside Headquarters.

So long as no mishap, for whatever reason, got him driven out.

He followed Director Bae, met again, toward Gimbap Heaven.

"Mr. Jungkook, have you been before?"

"No."

"So you've never even eaten gimbap?"

"Waste of money. Food only has to fill the calories."

"Eat it and you'll change your mind."

He doubted a meal with this man would digest well. Maybe he shouldn't have agreed to come. He wasn't even curious about the gimbap.

"You know what they put in it?"

"Pickled radish, spinach. That sort of thing?"

"Even the names sound high-class, every one of them!"

They arrived at Z-Dong with Director Bae spraying enthusiasm in every direction. A building packed with shops in the expensive range. Gimbap Heaven was on the top floor. The Heaven in the name had been stuck on for the same reason: it sat nearest the sky.

The menu didn't list prices. You had to ask separately, it seemed. Director Bae would already know them. It wasn't his money going out, so he didn't bother asking.

And so he was presented with a single line of gimbap. Director Bae ordered a bottle of liquor and drank it straight down.

"Go on, Mr. Jungkook, eat!"

Gimbap cut into slices, the cross-section laid bare. They'd sliced it to make it easy to eat, but it looked gruesome. Like a corpse cut open so the guts showed.

"Mm."

"Well?"

...Different from what he'd expected, he'd give it that.

"It isn't simply the taste of each ingredient added together."

"Right? Told you a new flavor comes out of it."

Even so, once it went into the gut it was all the same. What did flavor matter?

"Headquarters, you know. I think it teaches you how important flavor is."

As if he'd read what was going on inside, the director launched into a speech.

"Important or not, it's still just flavor."

"I'm not simply talking about the tongue. The flavor of living is a flavor too. The true taste of life! You've heard that one, haven't you?"

"Mmph... Couldn't say."

Too much talking. The food wasn't going to digest.

Director Bae's mouth didn't rest after that, either. How did a man talk that well even while he was eating? The liquor he was drinking alone ran dry in no time.

"Having the leisure to savor something—that's quality of life. Eat the same thing, and the gap between the person who enjoys it and the person who can't is enormous."

The man was already drunk.

"You know the word? A reality crash."

"Target lock on the current objective?"

"Not that. Simply put, it's when you get to thinking, 'What's the point of living like this?' All your drive just disappears."

So it meant your belly was full. Being alive was meaning enough.

"That all happens because you can't enjoy things."

He put the last slice of gimbap in his mouth.

"If you don't want the crash to hit, you have to enjoy yourself, and there's two ways. Either you do something you can't endure unless you're enjoying it, or you keep enough leisure to enjoy whatever comes."

For dessert they brought out sliced fruit. This place liked cutting everything into pieces. Was the cook a former Hunter?

A yellow fruit he'd never seen before.

"It's called pineapple."

Some kind of apple? He fitted the slices back together, and they made a ring with a round hole through the middle. Pineapple. Exactly what the name said.

"Good, isn't it?"

"Ghk."

Sweet enough to numb the tongue.

"Hm? Something wrong? Has it gone off?"

Director Bae picked one up and ate it.

"It's fine. Maybe it's just not a fruit you're used to, Mr. Jungkook."

Two or three pieces in, he adjusted. How could anything be this sweet?

"Food's a good way to beat a reality crash. Something delicious coming into your mouth is something you can't endure unless you enjoy it. You get forced into enjoying it."

The fruit plate was cleaned off as well. At this point he could say he'd received Director Bae's kindness in full. He was really putting himself through it. He hadn't even been interested in the gimbap. As for this tooth-aching fruit—

"What was it called again? This."

"Pineapple."

Right. Pineapple. Not interested.

"Here. Take a look outside."

The view from the top of Z-Dong. The crowns of the low government buildings, of course, and even, faintly, the distant ruins where the pink dress stood, all of it in a single glance.

"This is leisure."

The director picked up a chopstick and tapped the empty plate. Tick, tick.

"This is flavor."

Then he spread both arms wide.

"And this, right here, is Headquarters."

A happy face. Not everyone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at Headquarters was like Director Bae. If anything, he was the rare one. Jo Yong-han and Dr. Myeong both wore faces that always looked worn down somewhere.

Leisure.

Jo Yong-han, who always looked chased by work. Dr. Myeong, run ragged by patients who never stopped coming. Now that he thought of it, both of them smoked. But there was no leisure to be found in it. It was closer to the opposite: they smoked because they had none.

"Well! If you're done eating, Mr. Jungkook, get back to work. Thanks for making the time today."

"You're not going, Director?"

"I'm going to stay a little longer."

Director Bae waved him off and turned his head to the window again.

Maybe the director's time, unlike other people's, came already sliced. No work chasing him. No patients piling in. No deliveries that never ended. Time with no continuity, like gimbap cut into pieces.

Director Bae, in a different sense from Elder Heo, was a man who could live only inside Headquarters.

"Woo Jungkook? What's this about? You sick somewhere?"

It happened to be just after the afternoon clinic had ended. Dr. Myeong had a lighter in her hand.

"Nothing much. Something I wanted to show you."

Presenting it outright felt awkward, so he'd come with both hands behind his back, the things hidden.

"Hm? What are you hiding? Ah... don't tell me it's a gift for me?"

Mm. A severed finger, and a lipstick he could sell. Better to show the lipstick first, at least. This wasn't a gift either, but it wasn't ugly to look at.

"Wait. Are you holding something different in each hand? I'll take the right one first."

"Right from whose view?"

"From yours."

The severed finger it was.

"...Can I refuse the gift?"

"No."

Dr. Myeong quietly turned the official document on the desk facedown.