Chapter 82

“Hold on. I’m summoning the medical dispatch team right now,” Jeong-ham insisted, his fingers flying across the screen.

“No, please don’t,” Seoul pleaded urgently. “I just had a touch of a cold, so I was sleeping like a log.”

“A cold? Understood. In that case, get an injection and go back to sleep,” Yu Jeong-ham stated firmly.

At his resolute tone, Geum Seoul extended his arm and caught Jeong-ham’s wrist.

“I’m really fine. I actually feel somewhat better now. I was just about to eat something since I’m hungry,” Seoul insisted softly.

“……” Yu Jeong-ham stared at him in searching silence.

Yu Jeong-ham peered intently into Geum Seoul’s eyes as if weighing the veracity of his claim.

“I’ll process leave for you tomorrow, so take the next two days to rest thoroughly. I’ll make sure your meals are delivered separately,” Jeong-ham decided.

“I’m sorry. You have so many other matters to handle, yet you’re burdened with looking after me as well,” Seoul murmured, his face still pale.

Geum Seoul spoke with a bloodless expression. He was capable of viewing his own circumstances with clear-eyed objectivity; he knew full well how the rest of the agency perceived him.

Scritch.

Wearing a momentarily conflicted look, Yu Jeong-ham scratched the bridge of his nose.

“Given your personal relationship with the deputy director, Seoul-ssi, I’ll likely never be able to speak informally with you down the road,” Jeong-ham admitted with an awkward grimace.

He patted Geum Seoul’s shoulder with gentle camaraderie—the very gesture he occasionally offered Bae Seo-woo or Choi Da-ol.

“Even so, I consider you my teammate, just like the rest of those bastards.”

“……” Seoul stared at him, breath catching.

Embarrassment washed over Jeong-ham the instant the words left his mouth. Clearing his throat loudly, he sneaked a glance at Seoul and saw the boy biting his lower lip. Startled by the reaction, Jeong-ham rubbed behind his ear.

“So take proper care of yourself. If you’re ever hurting or feeling unwell, tell me. That’s what the others do. Since you said you don’t want an injection, I’ll prepare some medication separately and drop by again later.”

“Thank you,” Seoul murmured, his voice trembling slightly.

Geum Seoul offered his gratitude in a cracked, raspy voice. There was no need to discern whether he was thanking him for the promise of medicine or for the words that preceded it. Acknowledging it with a brief nod, Yu Jeong-ham turned to leave, only for Seoul’s voice to call out over his shoulder.

“Is the pharmacy open right now?”

Yu Jeong-ham turned back around to offer to fetch it himself, but Geum Seoul shook his head with quiet resolve.

“I’ve been sleeping nonstop, so I’d like to walk a bit and buy it myself—the cold medicine and the fatigue recovery tonic. Since you told me to take proper care of my body.”

At that earnest rationale, Yu Jeong-ham smiled and nodded in approval.

“The pharmacy stays open until ten, and the convenience store runs until dawn,” Jeong-ham instructed, nodding toward the boy’s wrist. “Pay with that. You’ve worked hard, so you should use up your welfare points.”

“I will. Thank you.” Seoul bowed.

“Contact me immediately if anything comes up,” Jeong-ham reminded him.

Offering a polite bow, Geum Seoul closed the front door. He wiped his palms—still clammy with dried sweat—across what was surely a disheveled face, then rotated his wrist.

● SYSTEM

213.

● SYSTEM

213.

The two incoming transmissions were from Friday and Saturday night respectively. He had genuinely spent nearly two full days collapsed in the corner of his bed. Up until last week, no matter how deeply he slumbered, he had unfailingly awakened when the deputy director’s signal arrived; now, he had remained unconscious, deaf even to the chime.

“……”

Something was wrong. Whatever the cause, his body was failing. Geum Seoul quenched his parched throat with water retrieved from the refrigerator, then took a scalding shower. Only then did his foggy senses begin to clear.

Changing into fresh clothes, he lifted his wrist once more to confirm the numbers. Drawing a deep, steadying breath and exhaling slowly, he stepped out through the front door.

When he first arrived at the compound, he had occasionally strolled through the courtyard tucked between the agency buildings. Yet with little greenery to speak of and sunlight that felt no different from what filtered into the pantries, lounges, or archives, his excursions had dwindled over time.

Today, he chose the outdoor route to the pharmacy. The path was still enclosed within the agency compound and inaccessible to civilians, but it ran beneath open sky rather than through another corridor. For Seoul, at that moment, that small difference mattered.

Geum Seoul raised one arm, reaching toward the sky. The honeyed amber glow of the late afternoon felt pleasant. Despite wearing only a short-sleeved tee, the air was not the least bit sweltering. Only now did the changing season register in his bones: the tediously interminable summer was gradually slipping away with the passage of time.

At that juncture, Geum Seoul’s thoughts circled back to Gye Do-hyeop once more. Tilting his head back to gaze into the firmament, his vision blurred vacantly before he managed to drag his feet forward.

What if the deputy director never comes back? The dread crashed over him like a tidal wave. He would inevitably be cast out from this sanctuary. And then… and then.

“…Where would I go?” he murmured into the cool breeze.

It was strange. In the past, the immediate instinct would have been to drift into an adjacent district, run errands, and carve out a meager existence once more—a resolve that had allowed him to bid the deputy director farewell with brave composure back then. Yet now, an all-consuming despair was all that greeted him.

Tracing the root cause, it was undeniable: the man’s embrace had been far too warm. He had grown accustomed to it—this exquisite comfort where he never had to shiver in the cold, suffocate in the heat, or starve on an empty stomach.

Yet when he examined whether his state had truly been exquisite lately, that was hardly the case. His vitality had eroded along an exponential decline, culminating in two full days lost to a comatose slumber. Reflecting quietly, Geum Seoul pinpointed the moment his deterioration began.

It had begun when the deputy director’s absence stretched beyond endurance. His body had broken down—simply because the man’s arms were too far away.

Chime.

“Welcome,” a voice greeted him.

At the greeting, Geum Seoul realized he had pushed open the glass door and stepped into the pharmacy. Blinking to gather his scattered senses, he approached the counter.

“I’d like to buy some cold and flu medicine, along with a fatigue recovery tonic,” Seoul requested softly.

“What symptoms are you experiencing?” the pharmacist asked.

“Ah…”

At the question, Seoul rubbed his brow and tried to gather the scattered symptoms into something he could explain clearly.

“I’ve been sleeping excessively—sometimes sleeping around the clock without waking. I have a persistent low-grade fever, though it’s not severe. And I get occasional dizzy spells, along with nausea…”

“Hmm. Is there any possibility of pregnancy?”

“Pardon? No, no. Absolutely not,” Seoul replied, shaking his head in immediate denial.

Geum Seoul rejected the notion on the spot. The pharmacist offered a polite nod and set down several medicine boxes on the counter.

“This is for body aches. Take one of this and one of that after meals. And this is our in-house fatigue recovery formula…”

Tap, tap.

Fidgeting anxiously as he rubbed his thumb against his forefinger, Geum Seoul listened through the thorough explanation before raising his trembling eyes.

“How… how do you confirm if you’re pregnant?” Seoul asked in a small voice.

At that hesitant question, the pharmacist bent down, retrieved a small box from the lower cabinet, and placed it before him.

“We usually use this to check,” the pharmacist explained. “It’s a diagnostic kit for omegas. Affix the patch to the inside of your elbow and wait five minutes; if you’re pregnant, a delta symbol will appear on the surface. If you aren’t, the patch remains blank. Shall I include it?”

It was impossible. There wasn’t the slightest chance. Truly, none at all. Yet, staring at the faceless silhouette illustrated on the packaging, Geum Seoul slowly nodded.

Normally, he would have panicked over whether his funds were sufficient while paying, yet his mind was an utter void. Holding out his wrist as directed by the pharmacist, he took the paper bag upon hearing the payment was authorized, and turned on his heel.

Walking back to the quarters, the amber sunlight no longer reached his senses. The breeze, the ambient scents, the temperature—none of it stirred a single ripple within him. Wearing a taut, pale expression, he strode until his breath hitched, wrenching his front door open.

Rustle.

He did not even make it as far as the living room. Crouching in the entryway, Geum Seoul emptied the paper bag onto the floor and tore into the small square box. His shaking fingers failed three times to catch the edge of the protective film. On the fourth attempt, stiff plastic slipped beneath the seam of his thumbnail and drew a bead of bright blood. He shook the hand once against the sting, ripped the film free, and slapped the coin-sized patch into the crease of his inner elbow. Five minutes. Only after confirming the countdown had begun did he finally remember to kick off his shoes.

Even then, he couldn’t bring himself to sit comfortably inside the apartment. Hovering by the entryway—repeatedly triggering the motion-sensor light as he shifted in place—he curled into a tight crouch, checking his wrist. Three minutes.

His thoughts were almost completely blank. Pregnancy was impossible. He knew that. Yet a tiny, thornlike unease had lodged somewhere behind his ribs and refused to disappear, and now he needed to see the answer with his own eyes before he could dismiss it. They had told him conception was impossible. Two minutes. Once the patch stayed blank, he would take the cold medicine, drink the restorative tonic, crawl into bed, and sleep until his body finally returned to normal.

Geum Seoul deliberately pressed his palm over the patch. Unable to quell his pounding heart, he wrapped his arms around his knees, curling himself smaller and smaller. Had the deputy director been here, he likely would have chided him for being foolish—scoffing at him for bringing home a test kit after doctors had already confirmed conception was out of the question.

One minute.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Geum Seoul replayed Gye Do-hyeop’s voice over and over again in his mind: the voice calling out, Geum Seoul; the voice offering rough praise, You did fucking great; the teasing, amused tone asking whether he wasn’t curious to see just how brilliantly his gemstones would shine.

Beep.

Lost in the remembered echo of Gye Do-hyeop’s voice, Seoul barely noticed the terminal on his wrist until it chimed. He lifted his head sharply. A new transmission had arrived from Yu Jeong-ham.

● SYSTEM MESSAGE

The deputy director will be arriving tomorrow night.

We just received confirmation that he is preparing for departure from the site.

Startled by the words, his eyes flew wide as he sprang to his feet in disbelief. In doing so, the hand shielding his inner arm dropped away of its own accord. His gaze instinctively tracked downward. Etched vividly upon the surface of the thin adhesive patch was a crisp, unmistakable triangle. Geum Seoul clamped both hands over his mouth.

Δ.

It was pregnancy.

‘Family? Fuck that. Gives me the creeps.’

The man’s profane curse echoed through the vacant apartment like an auditory hallucination.

[END of VOLUME 3]