Kikiik.
Han Seori sat in her chair with a dazed expression, her face filled with fatigue as she massaged her neck. The soft, cracking sounds that echoed from her slender fingers working the tension in her neck were rather intimidating. Hearing the aggressive noises coming from her own throat, Han Seori sighed and brought the mug steaming with something warm to her lips.
She inhaled deeply, filling her nostrils with the rich, nutty aroma rising from the mug. After soothing her throat with the final sip of hot coffee, she addressed the person who had brought her the coffee.
“Today’s coffee is delicious as well,” she said. However, this standard compliment was more like a heavy sigh, heavy with exhausting fatigue.
“…Are those people here today?”
In response to her question, Kim Cheon-soo, who could have merely been the one who brought the coffee, glanced at the monitor that cast a bright gleam. Squinting from the dazzling light, his gaze fell upon a cluster of people murmuring indistinctly among themselves.
He sighed inwardly.
“Here they are again, damn.”
“…They’re here.”
“Haa…”
Han Seori’s real sigh in reply to his thoughts wiped her coffee-stained lips, pressing hard on her temples. This headache—whether it came from drinking the coffee or being overwhelmed by the situation—she couldn’t tell.
Who exactly were these people appearing on the screen? If they were ordinary people, Han Seori wouldn’t be sighing so deeply. Of course, the fact that the borders around this area had loosened might explain it, but in any case, there were now beings capable of stopping intrusions even without such assistance. In fact, the peculiar board game had already made its way here, so it didn’t quite have much meaning anymore.
Anyway.
If those people on the screen gathering nearby were here because they heard rumors of some energizing herbs or animals, it would have been convenient. However, lamentably, those gathered were not of such a category.
Frankly, if they were such ordinary people, they’d calm down naturally with a bit of neglect.
But instead, these people were what could best be described as a group of middle schoolers who had escaped a fictional affliction—a support group of sorts. More accurately, they were a collection of “reasoning” characters akin to Lee Yoo-jin.
These were the people who had, against their will, been drawn into such a collective. Word had likely traveled quietly, and they must have rushed here upon hearing it. Unfortunately, they didn’t know where the entrance was and so could only mutter faintly in hope that Han Seori’s group might hear them.
[Please, accept us too!]
[It’s suffocating there!]
[We’ve truly nowhere left to run. Please!]
[Time is running out! If you have any decency, shine some light on us!]
Their desperate entreaties were mixed with both hope and accusation. Although their reasons were hard to grasp, it was clear they believed the end had come.
No matter how desperate they were, the burden of receiving that desperation fell heavily on her.
Han Seori had never, not once, declared that she would welcome refugees—no, escapees. Taking in Lee Yoo-jin was a different matter entirely. It hadn’t exactly been shouted to the world, so it puzzled her as to how these people knew to come here.
“…Maybe I left a record…”
Could they have found her on the basis of just one line of information?
Han Seori felt her mind spinning. First, the fact that people still retained access to this kind of information was worrisome, and second, the thought and courage it took to journey here based on that one line was astonishing.
Moreover, if the person mentioned in that one line wasn’t Lee Yoo-jin but someone else, what would they have intended to do?
Even if it were a hypothetical scenario, if that were the case, the only outcomes for them would seem to be retaliation from the group of afflicted individuals or punishment by some governing body.
“Why do they think I can protect them?”
The assumption that she would take them in was itself strange. Even if she were protecting Lee Yoo-jin, what made others assume she’d extend the same protection to everyone else? Ask a hundred people, and all hundred would answer, “No.”
Of course, someone with an abundance of universal love might answer “Yes,” but that was impossible in this case.
Even managing the protection of a few individuals wasn’t easy, let alone such a large group. Forget about the issue of control, what explanation could she possibly provide to others?
And even if Han Seori, overwhelmed by an overwhelming compassion, decided to accept them—well, then, she’d have to somehow convincingly explain to others: “These people are wronged and need to be properly investigated and judged anew!”
Would accepting them lead to a happy, harmonious laboratory life?
Clearly not.
There’s a saying: continuous kindness becomes entitlement. Once she accepts them, others would come in droves, and among those stirred by the reception, inevitably would be the crazies she had sent away just a short while ago.
Their claims might be true, but if they were, it was heartbreaking. Still, the fact that Han Seori could not help them was not easy to swallow either. It was unfathomable why, without any invitation or coercion, they had come to cause such havoc.
Han Seori, lost in these thoughts, shook her head, bringing to mind Lee Yoo-jin, whose arms were still tightly bandaged.
Even though family bonds were meant to curve inward, Han Seori felt pricked with guilt about criticizing someone she had come to consider family.
In conclusion.
There was simply no way to grant their request.
And this wasn’t the only thing troubling her.
With another sigh, Han Seori manipulated the screen to display several messages she’d received. After scanning the strings of sentences that appeared, she scratched her head and complained.
“…Why are these people suddenly acting like this?”
At her remark, Kim Cheon-soo glanced at the screen and said with an uncomfortable expression,
“…Are these requests to transfer their positions here?”
“Yes. Requests to be employed here. We’d seen some before, but recently, the number has skyrocketed.”
“That’s quite…”
Like chewing dried radish shreds—irritating.
Nonetheless, it wasn’t hard to understand why this was happening. After all, Hwang Bo-yul had mentioned something along those lines upon returning.
“…And these people likely follow Lime, don’t they?”
“It’s quite plausible, given the stories circulating presently.”
“Hnn…”
Han Seori’s thoughts became tangled.
Even if Lime desired a world where humans and themselves could coexist, surely she didn’t wish for a special apocalypse. Watching the current state, however, the suspicion that such an event might truly unfold began to rise.
Although within the country it was manageable due to the relatively small land area and the presence of Lime (an irregular force), the news from abroad was anything but pleasant.
The apocalypse might be a bit of an exaggeration, but the reality was that the world seemed to be increasingly unable to hide the existence of ‘Special Singularities.’
Even though she was not directly involved in these events, the unease crept up at the thought of a world unlike anything she had ever encountered potentially emerging.
“…”
This wasn’t the way she envisioned things unfolding.
What was happening was overwhelming for a single individual to control—a colossal tide. Unless one were a mythical giant, it was impossible to stop. Even a giant couldn’t block a global-scale current, so perhaps there was really nothing Han Seori could do.
After all, no one understood why Singularities occurred in the first place. Humanity’s ability to influence such a tidal wave could very well be laughable.
“Is this… the flow of the times?”
Han Seori could not keep up with the radical changes in the pace of this flow, no matter how wise she was. It wasn’t as though she could stop a meteor blazing blue light as it descended from the heavens with the palm of her hand.
With another sigh, she abruptly stood up.
“Eh? Is something wrong?”
“Hmm.”
Without responding, she left her seat and started walking. Kim Cheon-soo, blinking in confusion, followed her.
Why this sudden movement? Did she have a brilliant plan? He’d placed his trust in their doctor!
Donning that “love goggles,” Kim Cheon-soo believed Han Seori had devised some masterstroke and followed her closely like a duckling trailing its mother.
Their destination?
The hangar.
“?…”
While Kim Cheon-soo was momentarily baffled, Han Seori entered casually, looked around, spotted Lime, and her face lit up.
“What are you up to?”
Han Seori held Lime in her arms and sprawled on the couch, starting to gaze blankly at the TV screen.
“Let’s find something fun to watch.”
Eh?
Did she not have some ingenious plan?
Contrary to Kim Cheon-soo’s baseless hopes, Han Seori hadn’t conceived of any brilliant solution. Or perhaps she had. A solution to reduce her stress.
Apparently, embracing Lime had improved her mood more than ever.
“…Hmm.”
Kim Cheon-soo felt a slight sense of futility but rationalized the situation as mental health management being essential.
At this moment,
Lime grabbed onto an aimlessly standing Electric Scent with one of its tentacles. Electric Scent then approached Kim Cheon-soo and inquired,
“Does he have any leftover pudding?”
“Uh, yeah, there’s some from last night.”
What was this feeling?
Responding without thinking, Kim Cheon-soo felt a strange emotion.
Was this why I—
His wandering thoughts were interrupted by Han Seori’s bright voice.
“Ah, I’d like some pudding too. Is there enough for everyone?”
“Of course! I’ll fetch it immediately!”
Whatever, it was fine. If Han Seori couldn’t come up with a response, truly, there was no solution.
Kim Cheon-soo stopped thinking.
Because once he let go… it was easier.
