Chapter 22

Yu-su’s gaze wavered.

“Fuck, what are you, God?” Muwon demanded. “You’re not even the hero in some movie. What the hell do you expect yourself to do?”

Yu-su lowered his head and buried it in Muwon’s shoulder once more.

I’m nobody. But I don’t want to stand by and do nothing.

After thinking in silence for a long while, Yu-su finally mumbled into his shoulder, “Can I do one thing before we leave?”

“Do whatever you want.” Permission came first, with the question following only afterward. “What is it?”

Yu-su clenched his trembling hands into fists, slid off Muwon’s body, and sat upright. “I was thinking… What if we put up a poster or some kind of warning?”

“What are you going to write?” Muwon asked. “‘Run away because the helicopter’s going to explode’?”

“No. That’s way too ridiculous.”

He knew how absurd it sounded. Muwon clicked his tongue, but Yu-su was already lost in thought.

No matter how hard he tried to persuade them, people would never believe him enough to abandon the rooftop and descend to the ground. In that case… I could make it look like an official warning. He could list the helicopter’s scheduled departure time, its expected flight path, and the structural weak points in the surrounding buildings.

It was a desperate gamble. Perhaps no one would read it. Perhaps they would laugh and throw it away. But if even one person saw the warning and hesitated before stepping onto that roof, it would change something.

It would alter the fate of at least one person destined to die in the hell that would engulf this place tomorrow night.

He had to try.

It was the only way he could keep from feeling as though he were simply standing still, waiting for the world to end.

“How about we write that the helicopter rescue has been canceled and everyone should evacuate the building?” Yu-su suggested.

“Hmm…” Muwon frowned. “That isn’t convincing at all. Even if the rescue was canceled, why would anyone think they had to leave?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Yu-su’s expression gave nothing away. “If you saw a poster like that, what would you think?”

“I’d think, ‘Are these people insane?’”

“And then?”

“Why the hell would I leave the roof after climbing all the way up there? It’s dangerous as fuck.”

“Exactly.” Yu-su nodded and snapped his fingers the way Muwon had, although the resulting sound was considerably quieter. “Precisely because it’s absurd, people will start talking to whoever’s beside them. They’ll say something like, ‘Some crazy bastard is telling us to get off the roof.’”

“Yeah. They would.”

“And eventually, that idea becomes a premise. They’ll start wondering, ‘But if we really did have to leave the roof, how would we get down?’”

Confronting a situation for the first time was vastly different from having considered it, even hypothetically, at least once before. As Muwon hummed deep in thought, Yu-su quietly bit the inside of his lip.

He knew what this truly was. In the end, it was another form of escapism, a way of excusing himself by insisting that he had at least done something.

The only alternative was to become the protagonist of some movie, dying thousands upon thousands of times to confirm every chain of cause and effect until he discovered a way to evacuate everyone safely.

I can’t do that…

To Yu-su, death was not an ending. It was a process, and there was no guarantee he would ever be granted a clean death that ended everything in a single stroke.

Even if such a way existed, he still did not want to die.

He was afraid.

What if the loop that had appeared so suddenly ended just as abruptly? What if it stopped while the siblings he had to protect remained behind? Who would take responsibility for them then?

Yu-sol, Yu-rok, and Yu-yeong.

The world had already been overturned. Even if the zombie outbreak were brought under control, life would not return to normal for a long time. Without Yu-su, their guardian, Yu-rok and Yu-yeong would never receive the treatment they needed.

And without treatment, eventually…

Yu-su clenched his fists.

He would not die. He would not throw himself into the jaws of uncertainty. He only had to do whatever little he could.

“I think this is the best I can manage.” His voice steadied as he made the decision. “I’ll finish quickly, so wait for me a little longer.”

“Yeah. I’ll help.”

A few minutes later, a massive poster made from A4 sheets taped together and sealed beneath another layer of tape hung outside the window like a banner.

HELICOPTER
RESCUE
CANCELED

BUILDING
EVACUATION
REQUIRED

After fastening cords through holes cut into the insect screen, Muwon turned around and found Yu-su sitting on the floor, busy with something else.

“… What are you doing?”

“I thought I’d try communicating a little more directly.”

Yu-su was writing messages on pieces of scrap paper. He must have worked quickly because more than a dozen completed notes were already spread around him. Muwon’s bewildered expression gradually softened.

“So you had me tying knots while you worked on all this.” His mouth twisted in reluctant amusement. “You sneaky little…”

“Yeah. The poster is only visible from the building directly beside us.”

Because of the lounge’s position, even the enormous poster could only be seen from one adjacent building. Muwon leaned over to examine the messages.

Each one had been written in Jeong Yu-su’s characteristically neat hand.

The helicopter rescue has been canceled. Judging by the clouds, heavy rain will probably begin tomorrow.

Remaining on the roof for an extended period will be dangerous, so please consider how you might get back down.

Please refold this into a paper airplane and send it toward another building so others can read it as well.

“This might work better than the poster.” Muwon tapped the edge of one note. “But a paper airplane?”

“Yeah. I’m going to fold the messages into paper airplanes and send them out.”

“You really thought this through. Clever Yu-su.”

“… There’s no telling whether anyone will actually pass them along.”

Muwon lowered himself to the floor opposite Yu-su and picked up one of the sheets. His hands moved with easy familiarity as he folded it into a paper airplane, while Yu-su began writing another message.

“Honestly, I’m only doing this to ease my own conscience.”

“Even if it were just to ease my conscience, I still wouldn’t have bothered.”

Yu-su glanced at him.

“It’s exhausting, it’s a pain in the ass, and there’ll always be plenty of bastards acting like they’re the real victims no matter what you do.”

As they worked through the stack, the paper airplanes gradually piled up around them.

Yu-su rubbed his right hand, which had gone numb from gripping the pen for so long, then nodded. “This should be enough.”

The first airplane Yu-su launched toward the open window dropped almost immediately. Calling the pathetic distance a flight would have been generous. A laugh sounded beside him, and Yu-su narrowed his eyes.

“… Are you laughing?”

“It’s funny.”

“You do it, Do Muwon.”

Still chuckling, Muwon nudged Yu-su in the back. “You just stand there and watch.”

“… Fine.”

Muwon toyed with one of the paper airplanes for a moment, testing its balance, then leaned his upper body out through the window. Without hesitation, he swung his arm.

“Did you see that?”

Yu-su ignored the triumph in Muwon’s voice and followed the airplane’s path instead.

The winter sky was a clear, brilliant blue. Riding the wind as though a pilot sat inside its narrow folds, the white airplane glided across the gap and landed safely on the neighboring rooftop.

“… Yeah. I saw it.”

Yu-su took on the role of assistant, passing the paper airplanes to Muwon one after another. Muwon accepted each one and sent it sailing toward its destination with perfect accuracy.

One.

Then another.

As Yu-su watched the airplanes drift lightly across the sky, an old memory surfaced. Do Muwon had been just as good at flying paper airplanes in high school. Sometimes, when their classes were separated and Yu-su was outside on the athletic field while Muwon remained in the classroom, a paper airplane would come gliding toward him in exactly the same way. Whenever one tapped him between the shoulder blades and dropped at his feet, a small warmth would bloom inside his chest. Looking up, he would find Muwon sitting at the classroom window with his chin propped in one hand, grinning down at him.

Just like now.

“Satisfied?”

With the clear sky spread behind him like a cloak, Muwon flashed his canines in a broad grin. One eyebrow arched in smug satisfaction, while his eyes curved into bright crescents.

The mischievous, boyish smile softened Yu-su’s expression considerably.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Then eat something to show your gratitude.” Muwon looked him over critically. “You don’t even have enough strength to fly a paper airplane.”

“Stop nagging.”

Oh?

A large, rough hand descended and thoroughly rumpled the crown of Yu-su’s head. Yu-su smoothed his hair back into place, though its soft, fine strands settled almost immediately on their own, then looked up at Muwon.

“… You’re still good at this. Have you been practicing?”

“It’s just talent, you know?” Muwon replied. “It feels a little like cutting through water.”

Is that so…?

One paper airplane, which Muwon had launched with particular force while leaning half his body out of the window, had overshot the neighboring building entirely and lodged itself in the branches of a roadside tree across the street.

Since the tree stood close to the building’s windows, Yu-su hoped someone might still notice it. He pulled out two apple cookies, handing one to Muwon and keeping the other for himself.

The apple cookies had a texture somewhere between bread and an actual cookie. Their soft, powdery sweetness eased the weight in Yu-su’s heart, if only for a moment.

The sticky, unpleasant feelings remained pooled inside him, but this was no time to stop. After finishing his stretches, Yu-su shook out his wrists and spoke.

“Time to switch. I’ll go down first.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m going to try reaching somewhere around the twentieth floor without stopping.”

The twenty-seventh floor.

The twenty-fifth.

The twenty-third.

Yu-su continued descending until he reached the window on the twenty-first floor. He eased it open just enough to inspect the lounge beyond it, then pressed his face close to the narrow gap.

His eyes met those of a man and woman inside.

“…?”

“…!”

“A ghost…!”

The man recoiled and nearly screamed, but the woman urgently clamped a hand over his mouth.

“I told you not to scream!”

“Let go!” His protest came out muffled beneath her palm. “There’s a ghost at the window!”

“A ghost? That’s a person. A person…?”