That Morning Was Different
That morning was different from any other. I lay in bed, unable to do a thing. I didn't even have the strength to open my eyes. It wasn't exhaustion. There was no reason to feel this drained when I'd only just woken up. My body felt like it could move at any moment, yet no reason to do so came to mind. It was an unmistakably unnatural sensation. If my Physical Enhancement Procedure was functioning normally, there was no way I should be feeling this. It was that disease. The one that had massacred countless men and turned the world upside down. Sleeping Sickness.
I'd undergone the Physical Enhancement Procedure, so I should have been immune. But my current condition screamed infection no matter how I looked at it. Lying there wouldn't make it better. This moment might even be my last while conscious. I'd seen plenty of people who never rose again. If I wanted to live, I had to get up now. But why?
"This has nothing to do with you," Yukiko shot back coldly.
"I'm already the property of my master. My investment in your business was only because I knew it would be profitable."
"You ungrateful wretch... After all we've done raising you!"
Compared to what Yukiko's family expected from her, her devotion to them had been pathetically lacking. She'd made a simple investment and leveraged her name to boost their prestige among the Japanese. But she'd offered no real help to her master or even her own family. It was natural for slaves to struggle with external activities, but her family couldn't grasp that. They still saw slaves as mere concubines or mistresses, like in the old days. It wasn't entirely wrong, but the reality was far harsher.
"What, did your master whisper sweet nothings to you? That's what men are like, dear. He's not sincere."
Her adoptive mother pounded her chest. Women often mistook a man's brief kindness for a promise of lifelong commitment. But men had always—and still did—crave new women.
"You think he'll take care of you forever? In the end, family is all that remains. Yukiko, when will you realize that?"
It was a curse disguised as advice. Yukiko felt rage but didn't show it.
"If he discards me, then that's all I was worth."
Her adoptive mother's persuasions fell on deaf ears.
"You little... "
To her family, Yukiko was no better than a traitor. They'd polished the merchandise and put it on display, only for it to walk off the shelf on its own.
"The family is short on money. We've let go of almost everyone who worked for us. At this rate, even your sister might... have to be sold as a slave."
"My sister is certainly a fine woman. If you send her to my master, I could recommend her."
Yukiko's follow-up words enraged her adoptive mother.
"But regrettably, my master doesn't seem interested in new slaves. You'd best look elsewhere..."
"How can you... be so heartless about your own sister becoming a slave!"
Her adoptive mother shouted. Yukiko's ears rang, but she didn't hang up.
"Haruko is undoubtedly talented and charming. But must I grieve if she's sold into slavery?"
"She's your sister!"
"My half-sister."
"You two got along like real sisters when you lived here. How much did Haruko dote on you..."
Yukiko briefly recalled the past. Back then, she hadn't even realized how unjust or painful her life was. She'd assumed all the torment, suffering, and frustration were just how life worked. But now that she knew what true love felt like, she could look back objectively. Her birth family had never once seen her as real family.
"You didn't grieve when I was sold."
"Th-that was because things were so dire and frustrating... And grief isn't always shown with tears, is it?"
"I agree. So, will you acknowledge that I'm expressing my sorrow without weeping over Haruko becoming a slave?"
"We don't need your money! If that man isn't paying you properly, I can find someone in Korea who..."
"Ah, I'm diligently saving my salary."
She dreamed of one day giving Seongha a small gift.
"H-how much is it...?"
"It might seem like a lot to you, but it's not that much. Especially compared to my master's wealth."
After the war, the yen and yuan had plummeted against the won. Money that wasn't much in Korea felt like a fortune abroad. It was one reason slavery thrived.
"It's not about the amount—you promised!"
"But I belong to my master. How could I casually hand over what he's given me to someone else?"
"Ugh..."
"Instead of extravagance, why not live modestly and work diligently within your means?"
Her adoptive mother trembled with fury at Yukiko's words. But antagonizing her now carried too much risk.
"Extravagance...? "
In truth, the family wasn't indulging in excess. They lived in poverty unimaginable in their heyday. Yukiko, living ordinarily in Korea, actually enjoyed a better quality of life.
"At the very least, about the Demon General—couldn't you at least mention it?"
"Impossible."
Money was a matter of living standards; this was survival.
"The intel says you two are close..."
"My master doesn't think so. He refuses to even meet."
But Yukiko didn't know the exact nature of their relationship. Seongha vehemently rejected the general and seemed somewhat afraid. Yet the general held Seongha in high regard. Their perceptions were clearly mismatched.
"You haven't been here, so you don't know—things are getting worse."
But Japan's woes held no entertainment value for Yukiko.
"The rebels are openly carrying guns, handing out recruitment flyers..."
Public security was deteriorating. Political repression was intensifying. In such chaos, safeguarding even oneself required aid from other Koreans.
"Is that so? How regrettable. I'll end the call now."
Yukiko hung up decisively. She needed to head home soon to prepare breakfast. But her adoptive mother's words lingered unpleasantly. Perhaps what Seongha offered wasn't love, but mere kindness.
Others disagreed, but I called this sensation my meditation time. Without a clear answer to why I needed to live, it felt like being trapped in an inescapable room. The virus from China spread through the air, infiltrating the brain. It sapped the will to live and paralyzed the body. Soldiers who first encountered it dismissed it as spring fatigue. The reality was horrific. Once down, people wouldn't rise even at gunpoint.
Some claimed willpower could overcome it. Because one man truly did, the idea spread that sheer resolve sufficed.
"Mm..."
How many months since my last Physical Enhancement adjustment? I should have gotten it recalibrated this month but missed the window. Anyway, to escape this, I needed to find myself. I needed a concrete reason to rise now.
"Ugh..."
I used to figure it out instinctively before, but now I could do nothing. The disease's terror lay in turning every potential suicide into a success. Even with live ammo, suicide required effort—biting down on a grenade or putting a barrel in your mouth and pulling the trigger. It wasn't hard, but the act itself mattered. Depressed brains were exhausted and simplistic; even minor actions felt impossible. But with this disease, no such deliberations were needed. Simply letting go of the will to live, averting your eyes from reality's pain, was enough to die. No anxiety over failure, no sacrifices for success. Just close your eyes and rest.
I analyzed my situation thoroughly, but it was all wrong. There was no escaping on my own. I wanted to live. I missed Yukiko, Karin, Mikoto. But if half-hearted resolve sufficed, it never would have decimated the male population. I'd heard rumors of relapses even in the enhanced, but never dreamed it'd be me. Good thing I'd written a will in advance—sloppily, figuring I'd never need it, but Yukiko would handle the rest.
I'd made peace and was ready to let go. That's when the door opened.
"Seongha oppa?"
It was Mikoto.