Gu Seohyun, who had made a simple assessment, swung her whip vigorously.
“Aaaah!”
The thin but highly durable cord wrapped around Yoon Minoh’s ankle again and pulled. Dizzying sparks rose up. Yoon Minoh slid down like a flying insect that had been hit by an electric fly swatter.
Yeo Dowoon didn’t catch him as he fell, knowing he himself risked being electrocuted.
“You’ll have quite a hard time monitoring him so he doesn’t cause trouble.”
Gu Seohyun’s advice continued. Having tightly bound Yoon Minoh with her whip, she muttered with mixed feelings.
“Team Delta’s purpose of establishment is devotion, and the basis of its existence is loyalty.”
This was the content of the oath Kwon Jeonghoo had taken leading his team members when he was appointed as Delta’s commander.
“If there’s any possibility of becoming a burden to the base, it’ll be dissolved.”
“……”
“If it’s a team Jeonghoo wants to protect, I hope it can be kept as safe as possible. Dowoon.”
She looked directly at Yeo Dowoon with a cold light. Yeo Dowoon couldn’t choose an appropriate answer.
“I’m telling you to refrain from actions that will earn the Director’s hatred. For the sake of your poor captain too.”
Gu Seohyun, who had strongly shaken off one of his hands that had been clasped together, whispered as if in passing.
“If you’re going to call him Captain, you should at least treat him like a Captain.”
***
Even after Gu Seohyun left with the unconscious Yoon Minoh, Yeo Dowoon ultimately did not participate in the training.
Since they were going to push forward with an operation where the failure rate was higher than the success rate, he couldn’t agree with the administrative base’s decision and didn’t feel inclined to make the effort.
Moreover, even the meager sense of responsibility that had remained had evaporated in all directions.
“What are they trying to accomplish by dragging Guides into that chaos?”
Yeo Dowoon, who had come out of the simulation research facility, plopped down on a nearby bench and muttered.
“…It’s not like they’re taking civilians to use them as shields.”
Those damn civilians, civilians. Listeners might feel it was tiresome, but for Yeo Dowoon it was a more important and urgent problem than anything else.
At this point, there was a need to specifically recall the operation details.
Unless he discussed why the base bastards were insisting on bringing Guides along, there would be no way to explain his sense of resistance.
When Team Delta first departed for Yeongjongdo, Kwon Jeonghoo had made an unbelievable statement to him. If he briefly recalled the conversation they had then, it went like this:
‘Because you have to go in yourself.’
‘Where?’
‘Where else? Inside the monster’s belly.’
‘Aha. So you’re telling me to die?’
The reason could be found in the operation proposal he received this time. It was none other than because the Gate that opened in Yeongjongdo had erupted inside the mouth of some deep-sea monster whose true form hadn’t been revealed.
-Yeongjongdo-derived unidentified creature, estimated S-class.
That monster swam around the Yeongjongdo sea here and there, spewing out parasitic monsters and sirens. Though there was evidence of it revealing its form in nearby straits, that alone was woefully insufficient information.
The A-class Espers from the Gyeonggi Province branch, who were all said to have died, had also been deployed in the operation to find this monster. However, they too met their deaths without catching a single clear clue.
“Did the monsters all take drugs together?”
Yeo Dowoon habitually disheveled his hair. An uneasy premonition kept brushing past his waist.
“Why are they suddenly acting crazy…”
Somehow the situation in Yeongjongdo was unusual. No matter how much it was an S-class Gate, the thought that the difficulty level seemed too heinously brutal kept rising endlessly.
They even released an unidentified creature.
Yeo Dowoon reflected on the super-sized monster from the ground-type dungeon that had drawn out his own berserk state on that summer day five years ago.
“I heard that one’s identity is still unknown too.”
Certainly, he had never encountered a monster with a similar appearance since that day. So Yeo Dowoon couldn’t help but fall into worry. Back then too, hadn’t he experienced going berserk because he couldn’t withstand the wavelength?
And as a result of that…
“If only I hadn’t gone berserk, fuck.”
I ended up awakening Cha Haseong.
He was going crazy. Was it because the situation when he went berserk was imprinted like trauma? Thinking that Cha Haseong would be joining the dungeon suppression made his heart beat incoherently. Anxiety rushed in without rhyme or reason.
“And this time it’s even a coastal Gate.”
It wasn’t ordinary whale hunting, but the task of dealing with individuals that had become hosts due to parasitic monsters. In the midst of that, they had to find the unidentified creature that could be called the Gate’s origin…
“It’s better to die alone than to die in droves like dogs.”
Since it was a Gate that was sending Espers to their graves one after another, if someone had to be sacrificed, it was more beneficial for it to be himself. That way they could buy more time, and raise the success rate too.
Moreover, if it was a Gate that even A-class Espers failed to conquer, Guides would be even more useless personnel.
“They’ll just be a burden anyway even if they’re there.”
Yeo Dowoon, who muttered his thoughts without hiding them, spread both arms wide over the bench backrest. As he leaned his back and sprawled out, all kinds of thoughts sprouted up.
The operation proposal explained that the reason for mobilizing Guides in the perilous coastal Gate suppression operation was to increase the Espers’ chances of survival. At that, Yeo Dowoon wore a sneer.
“To save the Espers? …Really now.”
Conversely speaking, wasn’t that saying it was an operation where the Guides’ chances of survival would be infinitely lowered? Into an operation where even promising Espers had been ground down, they were going to send in Guides who couldn’t even protect their own bodies. If only they’d told him the reason accurately, he wouldn’t be this irritated.
Yeo Dowoon distrusted the base and sprouted seeds of suspicion.
“The proposal is so half-assed, how much more shoddy will it be when it goes into actual combat?”
Surely there must be other background circumstances he didn’t know about. Even if the content that could be confirmed through the operation proposal was all the elements he currently knew.
“Haah.”
Yeo Dowoon, who had been grumbling, closed his eyes while feeling the gently blowing wind.
There wasn’t anything worth seeing in the scenery of the simulation research facility anyway. Even the few trees planted as if to lighten the rigid atmosphere only looked shabby.
It was around the time he was making a loose plan to rest a bit more and then return to headquarters training ground.
“Uh…?”
Someone’s large palm, whose body temperature seemed to have cooled in the outside wind, covered Yeo Dowoon’s eyes. Yeo Dowoon was startled for a moment and tilted his head back.
His vision was pitch dark, but he could recognize it immediately.
“Hyung?”
It was natural since Kwon Jeonghoo’s scent wafted strongly. The fabric softener scent embedded here and there between the murky cigarette smell was quite familiar. It was the same type he used. The fabric softener in the blue container.
…The one Cha Haseong had asked about the product name.
“If you stare at the sunlight for too long, your eyesight will worsen.”
Hearing the refined voice, it was indeed Kwon Jeonghoo. He asked consecutively.
“Do you want to wear glasses?”
“……”
“I don’t think they’d suit you.”
Yeo Dowoon slightly raised his eyelids at the familiar low voice rippling in his ear. Kwon Jeonghoo’s fingers had such thick bones that they blocked his front without leaving even a small gap.
Yeo Dowoon retorted sullenly.
“Where is there an Esper who wears glasses?”
Espers were beings whose eyesight couldn’t be ruined even if they wanted to ruin it. Did they get called superhumans for nothing? The extraordinary physical abilities that ordinary humans couldn’t imagine manifested starting from the five senses.
“Seonwoo wears them sometimes.”
When Kwon Jeonghoo corrected him, Yeo Dowoon, who had snapped off his wrist, turned his face to check behind him.
“That’s because that bastard unnecessarily cares about appearances. Because he doesn’t want to look ignorant.”
Ah. His gaze locked directly with Kwon Jeonghoo, who was leaning one elbow on the bench with his upper body bent. Kwon Jeonghoo smiled and tapped Yeo Dowoon’s cheek. Then he scolded in a calm tone.
“Seonwoo is older than you, what kind of speech habit is that?”
Whether Yeo Dowoon grumbled or not, Kwon Jeonghoo walked to the front of the bench and settled down to sit next to him.
“Now you’re openly slacking off?”
He, who had completely loosened his loosely tied necktie, added.
“If you received a salary, you should work bone-breakingly hard for it.”
Yeo Dowoon silently stared at the necktie rolled up and held in his hand. Soon he parted his lips and answered.
“I can return all of it.”
“What.”
“My salary.”
Staring intently at the necktie reminded him of the days when he slept and woke up at Kwon Jeonghoo’s house. There were countless days when he would tie his necktie for him, unable to resist his urging.
Kwon Jeonghoo retorted indifferently.
“If I could skip operations by paying my salary, I would have done so long ago too.”
Yeo Dowoon thought for a bit, then stealthily suggested.
“…That, should I tie it for you?”
At the question completely unrelated to the context of the conversation, Kwon Jeonghoo showed a puzzled look for a moment. He asked back.
“The necktie?”
“Yeah.”
Yeo Dowoon was immersed in memories by himself.
When he tied neckties in a half-awake state, the finished shape often wasn’t very good. But as if to tell him not to worry, Kwon Jeonghoo would maintain the necktie in that state until he got off work.
Yeo Dowoon urged.
“Come over here. I’ll tie it for you.”
