Chapter 115

As if having his worst suspicion confirmed, a shadow of worry settled over Yu Jeong-ham’s face. If the Deputy Director were indeed carrying it, that was one thing, but if by any chance it wasn’t on him, they would be completely at a loss.

Yu Jeong-ham had been working day and night for days, scouring every possible corner for the ledger. Beneath that duty lay a desperate, almost superstitious hope: if he could finish what Gye Do-hyeop had set out to do, maybe the man himself would somehow come back. He still refused to believe that Do-hyeop could simply die like this. Pressing his lips into a hard line, Jeong-ham took his place beside Geum Seoul.

“The rain just won’t let up.”

Just as Jeong-ham quietly murmured, the rain showed no sign of stopping. The downpour had tapered slightly, yet it continued as a persistent spray, leaving Seoul’s hair thoroughly soaked despite standing beneath the eaves.

“They said it will stop when the sun rises in the morning.”

The moment the first drops fell, Geum Seoul had looked up every weather forecast and memorized them all.

They exchanged a few more words about the weather. With the question of Gye Do-hyeop’s life or death hanging directly over them, the conversation was almost absurdly calm, yet neither seemed capable of speaking about anything more important. Seoul kept both fists clenched and swallowed again and again. Jeong-ham never looked away from the monitor. Outside, rain fell without pause until the darkness thinned into the pale blue of approaching dawn.

Screeech.

Dense storm clouds kept the early morning shrouded in gray. The rain had dwindled to a fine drizzle, hinting it would soon stop, but that was all. Dawn had arrived without the sun, leaving the world bathed in murky darkness.

Beep— beep— beep—.

Hoisting away one final massive slab of stone, the crane backed away with a mechanical hum, stepping aside.

In the center of the rectangular section reinforced with shoring struts, a significant portion of the dome’s pitch-black, seamlessly interlocked upper surface had finally emerged into view. Though scuffed and dented in several places from the debris cleared off its top, it looked solid, without a single breach anywhere.

Whirrrrr—.

Screeech—!

“Cutting through now!”

The moment to breach the dome and descend underneath had finally arrived. Several men geared in safety equipment climbed down, preparing to cut open the dome on command.

Stepping out from beneath the eaves, Geum Seoul strode forward. Rainwater had pooled all around, but he wanted to watch with his own eyes from the closest possible vantage point.

“It’s dangerous. Watch from here.”

Even so, he couldn’t directly see into the deep hollow left after clearing away all the debris. As Seoul took an uneasy step forward, Yu Jeong-ham stepped beside him again, holding out a monitor while opening an umbrella over them. Bae Seo-woo was among the crew sent below, and the feed was from his body camera. Seoul gripped the device tightly with both hands, shutting his eyes tight before forcing them open.

Seoul was more certain now than ever. The location was right; the Deputy Director had to be beneath it. Across the jagged dome formed by cutting through the surrounding wreckage, a shower of brilliant white sparks erupted, flooding the screen.

Skreeeech—.

The hair-raising shriek of metal melting under savage friction resonated through the drumming rain. Not a single human voice could cut through it. Seoul clenched his hands, numbed by the icy downpour, and held his breath, standing rigid and unable to move.

“It’s open! Send down the line!”

The monitor filled with the parted ceiling of the dome and the debris exposed below. The crane on standby lowered its line in a long descent.

Creeeak. Screeech.

Thud.

The larger pieces filling the dome were cut loose and hauled out one by one. Every single one was intimately familiar to Seoul’s eyes. When the mangled sheet-metal eaves that had looked ready to cave in the Deputy Director’s back at any second were strapped and hauled outside, Seoul had to bite hard on his lower lip.

“Looks like that opened up a way in. Moving in!”

Bae Seo-woo’s voice crackled through the monitor. Tapping his helmet twice, he eased himself down into the pitch-black opening.

Skreeek.

The screen was a hazy, blurred mess from the clinging water. As Seo-woo squeezed inside, the feed went black several times as if jostled against something, repeatedly cutting out before regaining focus. Seoul clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white.

“There’s too much dust to secure a clear line of sight.”

Just as he said, nothing was visible in the pitch-dark interior except swirling dust, despite his helmet headlamp being turned on. Only the largest obstructions had been shattered, cut, and hoisted out, leaving the space still choked with rubble; Seo-woo had to spend considerable time hauling away concrete chunks and rebar. Even though the area wasn’t particularly wide, combing through the entire perimeter took a substantial amount of time.

“Whew. Let me check the eastern side as well.”

Seoul couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen. Beyond Seo-woo shifting bent rebar, crushed computer towers, and steel plates, Seoul stared intently into the blurry, out-of-focus background and outer edges.

As the search dragged on, Seo-woo’s breathing grew steadily rougher. In equal measure, Seoul’s insides were churning to pieces.

Nothing was visible beyond the narrow circle cast by the headlamp. To make matters worse, the overcast sky was so dark that what little daylight entered through the breached roof offered no help at all.

The beam swept across the surroundings at a meticulous, deliberate crawl. With every movement, shadows cast by the rubble stretched long and shrank back in turn, while Seo-woo thrust his head into every gap between collapsed objects, shifting debris aside to uncover every inch within the dome.

Thump.

As he set down a heavy stone slab, another thick plume of gray dust billowed into the air. Seo-woo’s arm brushed past the camera lens as if wiping sweat with the back of his hand.

“It looks like… there’s no one inside.”

“…”

Even at Seo-woo’s subdued report, Seoul did not move. He simply stood frozen, replaying every corner that had just flickered across the screen.

A discarded switch tossed to one side, crushed and twisted steel plates, frayed wires dangling in bends. Only Gye Do-hyeop, who should have been right there, was nowhere to be seen.

Seoul tore off his outerwear in a single motion and shoved his glasses down.

“I’m going down there myself.”

“Seoul, that’s too dangerous.”

“I need to go down and see it myself.”

Yu Jeong-ham tried to dissuade him immediately, but Seoul believed this was the one thing he had to do. This was the place where he had been with the Deputy Director. The scene displayed across the monitor was unmistakable: beneath the contorted, makeshift ceiling lay severed pillars and fallen stones strewn haphazardly from above, what used to be walls, and the basement floor.

The floor.

Seoul pulled free of the restraining hands, froze, then spun around with sudden clarity lighting his face. The room as it had existed before the collapse flashed through his mind in one complete image. In his desperation to locate Gye Do-hyeop from above, to calculate exactly where the man might be buried, Seoul had overlooked another route.

“The floor. On the floor… there was a square cover or something. Like… like a manhole.”

“The floor?”

“Check it.”

“Understood.”

Clamping Seoul’s shoulders to keep him from moving, Yu Jeong-ham raised his voice over the comms.

“This! I think this is it! Lower the rope again, please!”

Bae Seo-woo shouted at the top of his lungs. Right after the camera angle on the monitor jerked several times, the manhole in the floor filled the screen. A thick, rectangular lid hung broken in half across the opening, weighed down and blocked from above by a massive concrete pillar. It was an angle that had been almost impossible to see.

The surrounding crew sprang into frantic motion.

Thump. Thump.

Seoul’s own heart thrashed against his ribs just as frantically.

“Lowering the rope!”

Dripping with rainwater, the machinery fed a long cable back down into the dome. After several attempts to thread through the narrow gap, the rope was wound securely around the colossal concrete block, followed by a hand signal. As the taut line slowly began to reel in, the seemingly immovable mass lifted with a groaning thud.

Crash!

With a heavy rumble, the concrete pillar tipped to one side, kicking up a cloud of dust.

“I’ll handle this part myself.”

The shattered manhole cover was at least light enough to be lifted by human hands. While Seo-woo strained and grunted to haul open the slab a handspan thick, the camera was squished against his chest, blacking out the screen. A burning sting throbbed beneath Seoul’s eyes.

“Ugh, damn heavy…”

Seo-woo bent down. The screen remained too dark to make anything out. Seoul narrowed his eyes until they hurt. Sound, touch, smell—every other sense seemed to drain away. His entire world contracted into vision.

Scrrrape.

Thunk!

Only after Seo-woo hauled with everything he had did the broken cover heavily slide aside. It revealed a rectangular gap just wide enough for a single person to slip through, the space bleached in a circle of white where the beam fell. As he leaned low to shine the light into the interior, the chest-mounted bodycam shook erratically. Seoul had to clap both hands over his mouth to hold back a surge of nausea.

“I think I can fit! Going in.”

Shhk.

Concurrent with his report, a deft movement plunged him inside, capturing the subterranean space on screen. Aside from where the beam pierced, the screen was plunged in pitch-black gloom.

“Phew, it’s way too cramped in here…”

The passage was an abandoned drainage channel boxed in by concrete on every side. It had been disused for years and sealed beneath solid slabs, leaving barely enough height for a person to stand. Seo-woo had to hunch nearly double, and the corridor was so narrow that extending both arms would have put his palms against either wall. Twisted into that cramped posture, his bodycam and headlamp illuminated little more than the waterlogged floor and the toes of his boots.

Yet not a single person outside uttered a word.

Maybe. Just maybe. Could it be? The certainty of failure that the workers clustered around the monitor had harbored for days was, in that breath, slowly creeping into possibility.

Splash!

On screen, the combat boots splashing through the shallow water came to a dead halt. And then.

“Ah! Dep—no, someone! I see someone!”

Swish.

The bodycam jerked erratically, until at last a figure slumped against the wall filled one side of the screen.

One could barely discern the posture—broad shoulders propped against the wall, legs bent in, head hung low—yet there was no mistaking who it was. There was no way on earth he wouldn’t recognize him.

“Ah…”

Seoul collapsed to his knees. The strength drained from his entire body, leaving him unable to stand. His shins and knees sank into the pooled puddles, soaking through in muddy black, but he couldn’t feel the cold at all. The tears he had swallowed back for days finally burst forth. Streams spilled down his cheeks, gathering at his chin. Yu Jeong-ham dropped down beside him immediately, catching and supporting him.

Rumble.

Just then, a flash of lightning split the sky, accompanied by a deafening roll of thunder. The once-subsiding sound of rain turned fierce once more.

“He’s alive! Commencing rescue!”

Covering his eyes with one hand, Seoul let out a wracking sob. But his weeping was swallowed up by the chill rush of rain, leaving barely a trace.

[END of VOLUME 4]