Nothing Special

"Whoa…… How did you call down lightning?"

"It's unscientific. It can't be explained."

Tofu's machine worked exactly as it should. Energy from the lightning rod launched the drone, and with the airplane slung beneath it, the craft shot out past the steel roof. High overhead the plane ignited its rocket boosters and tore away along the heading Tofu had locked in beforehand.

Whether it would actually reach the Human Meat Factory was another question.

Once the plane had vanished completely from sight, Tofu produced what she had brought.

"Here."

"……Good work."

"Oh, please!"

The subway blueprints had been finished long ago.

We left Animal Farm. Tofu stayed behind, still a free pet. If the day ever came when the bomber drones flew for Animal Farm, maybe then she could become a free person.

We'll see. It was the sort of business that had to draw blood. How it would turn out, I couldn't say.

"Bro~"

From the position I had assigned him, Clock-out Man checked the direction the plane had taken.

"Dead on. Like Tofu said — it might actually reach where we want it."

Before I knew it, early evening had come, and Clock-out Man's rations were gone.

"Ration your food."

"You're a good guy."

"Korean, idiot."

"Between ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the two of us, of course I ought to show at least this much generosity."

"Say it in English again."

"You're a good guy."

"That's nothing like it."

After the sky had gone fully dark, we made for an abandoned commercial complex — the same place where Clock-out Man and I had spent a night a few days earlier. Just before we went in, I spotted something familiar.

The liquor barrel Clock-out Man had hurled off the roof after giving me an earful. It was still lying there on the ground. He had surely seen it too. He simply seemed to be forcing himself to ignore it and walk on past.

I checked the roof for any newly laid booby traps, then spread my bedding and lay down.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Can't sleep."

"……"

"I'm bored."

"If you can't sleep, count zombies."

"Nostalgic. First time I've heard that since I was a kid."

"Count a thousand. If you're still awake after that, then we'll talk."

"A thousand's way too many."

"You've got to put in at least that much effort."

"No, that's not it. Zombies don't bunch up a thousand at a time."

Pointlessly realistic.

"Then five hundred."

"One zombie, two zombies, three zombies……"

It took four hundred and forty-one zombies before Clock-out Man fell asleep. I had never seen that many gathered in one place. If he could count that far without much complaint, did that mean he had?

Right — he had said he'd been to Busan. I'd heard there were more zombies in Busan than in Seoul.

The sound of him counting zombies was what kept me awake. Now that it had gone quiet, I could probably sleep.

The announcement sounded only inside Jo Yong-han's office. He made for the conference room at once. He turned the unusual summons over in his head, but he could not get a sense of what they wanted him for.

"Jo Yong-han, reporting."

"Come in."

The door creaked open and clicked shut. The moment he stepped into the conference room, the lock snapped home of its own accord — or rather, of his. In the Future Technology Department, it was common sense. The last person through the door locks it.

"The blueprints?"

His superior came straight to the point. One question was settled, and a new one rose in its place.

"In progress, sir. There is still a great deal of time before the return deadline."

Why a progress check they have never conducted before?

"Against the chance of failure, have the next postman prepared."

"Sir?"

"Is there a problem?"

The Future Technology Department never entrusted a second mission to anyone who had failed once. If Woo Jungkook failed, another postman would have to be recruited. That was only natural.

"He hasn't yet—"

"He hasn't failed yet. That is why I said in case. This must be handled promptly, so secure the next postman in advance, against the chance of failure."

"……Yes, sir."

"A lukewarm response. Unlike you. If something is wrong, say so now."

There was nothing wrong with the order itself. Only the fact of a mid-course check they had never bothered with before was a little strange.

"No, sir. It is only—"

There was one more oddity. If the matter was urgent enough that a replacement postman had to be thrown in the moment of failure, why had they not said so from the start, and only brought it up now?

"I am merely a little short on sleep. My concentration feels duller than usual. Nothing you need concern yourself with."

"……Judging by last night's record, you appear to have slept quite enough."

"I was short on naps."

"Hm."

But those peculiarities of his superior were not the only thing leaving Jo Yong-han ill at ease. There was a larger reason.

"The postman we have already sent will succeed. Without fail. He will bring the blueprints back safely."

Because he did not believe Woo Jungkook could fail.

"If so, all the better — but."

His superior knew a little about Woo Jungkook as well. That he was the greatest postman on record, a man who had never once lost the top ranking for performance. And yet—

"Even so, he is a postman. Do not be too certain."

However impressive the record, a postman's station was nothing worth making a fuss over. At least, that was how a mid-level manager of the Future Technology Department saw it.

"Understood."

His superior rose first.

"Then go safely, sir."

"I will."

The man took the handle lightly and turned it. The lock released with a bright click. Then came another click. He locked the door again. There was still something left to say.

"By the way."

"Yes."

"Have you seen the route map of the subway under reconstruction?"

"Yes. I committed it to memory while briefing the postmen."

The special-mission briefing where Jo Yong-han and Woo Jungkook had first met. There, they had disclosed the route map of old Seoul Metro Line 5, scheduled for reconstruction.

"Not that one. The real route map."

"……Which line do you mean, sir?"

"So you have not seen it."

"I do not understand the question. Are you not referring to Line 5, the one to be rebuilt?"

The lock clicked open again. The door creaked, then shut. Jo Yong-han was left standing alone in the conference room.

She ignored the scanner chattering on by itself and walked past.

Dr. Myung.

Myung Hwa-young went to bed when the sun set and rose when it rose. It sounded like the obvious way to live, but she had a reason of her own: eyes that flashed with a crimson glow. Out at night, they shone all the more brightly.

Of course, almost no one who knew Myung Hwa-young was unaware that she was an Immune. There was no cause to be startled by those eyes. A complex, though, often has nothing to do with how other people react.

Even for her, the nights she stayed out after sunset were few. Tonight was one of them. There was someone who, unlike her, worked only in the dark, and if she meant to meet him, even Myung Hwa-young had no choice.

"Yo, Doc."

"Bag's small today."

"Came just to see you, Doc."

"Two sentences in, and already nonsense."

"Hey, I'm serious!"

"What, you want a thank-you?"

An illegal merchant who came and went from the Geofront.

"Grateful, right? So you'll throw in a little extra today?"

"Cut the nonsense and show me the goods. There's no way you came for me alone."

"Tch. No fun."

From checking the merchandise to paying for it, the whole exchange took less than twenty seconds. They were that used to it. Myung Hwa-young set a freshly bought cigarette between her lips and lit it at once.

"Hoo. Tastes good. I'll be going, then."

"Hold on."

"I'm busy. If you're hard-selling, try someone else."

"I usually try not to hard-sell you, Doc, no matter how good the stuff is, but—"

"What, you were actually going to hard-sell me?"

"Just hear me out."

"You're so full of nonsense today, it looks like you need an operation."

Whether she listened or not, the merchant drew a sheet of paper from inside his coat.

"Doc. What's your grade, by any chance?"

"……What?"

Asking a doctor their grade was a different matter entirely from asking a soldier their rank. It was not quite as forbidden as asking a hunter what their ability was, but it was still not something a two-bit illegal merchant had any business saying.

"Is that a roundabout way of saying you don't want to deal with me? You think I've got nowhere else to trade if it isn't you?"

"Calm down. You know how much I look out for you, Doc."

"I have no idea. There's an operating room free right now. Come with me."

"Tsk. Fine. Here."

The merchant held the paper out to her.

"Truth is, I already know you're A-grade. That's why I brought it."

"You are unbelievably rude. What exactly are you trying to—"

"Remember? That post office director."

She knew of him. Jungkook had mentioned him more than once. Director Bae, Jungkook's direct superior. He was one of the merchant's customers too.

"Changing the subject?"

"I'm telling you, you won't regret it. Just listen this once, for real!"

She took a deep drag and glared at him.

"Hoo. And why Director Bae."

"Truth is, I met him first."

"And you said you came only to see me?"

"Ah."

"Ah, what."

"Well — you know. Anyway, I met Director Bae first, and—"

The merchant's words sped up.

"He said he wouldn't buy it. Too expensive. Ah, wait, wait! Calm down and listen! So I figured I'd show ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it to you first, special! You look, and if the information checks out, then I'll take the money. How about it?"

"……What on earth are you talking about?"

"This time the goods are information. Information! You know what information is, yeah?"

"Talk fast, before I put you under. Don't drag the nonsense out."

"With an information deal, you take the money first — that's common sense! ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠But I'm specially offering to tell you first!"

If she listened and it was worthless, she didn't have to pay. Not a bad arrangement.

"Hoo. Why are you so desperate to sell it?"

"Because I care about you that much, Doc! If you prepare ahead with the information I give you—"

"Prepare?"

"Yeah, prepare!"

"Meaning I have to do something."

"That's right!"

"Did someone buy you off? Did they tell you to sweet-talk me?"

"Bought off? Can't you see my pure soul? This free-spirited soul!"

"Free-spirited, my ass."

Myung Hwa-young snatched the paper from the merchant's hand. While she checked the so-called information, she did not take a single drag.