Was I always this pathetic?

Sitting here like a fool in front of someone who’d clawed his way back from the edge, all battered and stitched up, as if I meant to sabotage his recovery somehow...

And yet, while her head remained cool, her blood was heating up wildly.

“You scolded me so much for being unable to let go and living like a wreck. But you, Instructor—you're so clean-cut and cold. I’ve never seen you show even a hint of attachment or try to contact your wife.”

“So this is what psychological torture looks like these days?”

“......!”

What the hell... His gaze, even in its dazed state, held a chilly undertone.

“You think I’d waver because of some pathetic line like that?”

“.......”

Seoryeong ran her tongue over her dry mouth in disbelief.

He thought her words were just a form of mental torture?

God, the level of bullshit.

“Not a bad attempt, but what intake are you from, huh? Did you even drug me? Which branch of the Special Security Team are you with, and who’s in charge? Judging by the fact they sent a joke like you, your superior clearly lacks competence and judgment.”

That superior was you... Seoryeong brushed her bangs back over her forehead and dragged a chair over to sit.

His foot, immobilized in a cast, looked as swollen as a sandbag, and thick white bandages wrapped around his entire torso under the hospital gown. Smaller cuts trailed across his face, ear, and neck. The sight took the wind out of her bluster.

Some people spouted dirty jokes under sedation, others babbled in alien languages. Looking for your ex-wife? That was probably on the normal end. She arrived at that logical conclusion in her head—but what came out of her mouth was entirely different.

“Even if you play the doting husband, you still slept with another woman.”

“......!”

“Stripped completely, let her stare at you under a magnifying glass.”

“.......”

“Do you know how many times you spanked my ass, Instructor?”

His pupils trembled for a moment before regaining focus, and then the corner of his lip curled into a crooked grin.

“That’s a rough one. But why would I sleep with another woman?”

“......!”

“Even if someone dumped a bowlful of rut-inducing drugs into me, if anything reacted where it shouldn’t, I’d have snapped it off myself. Even a wild bear doesn’t abandon its own cave to crawl into someone else’s. It’s disgusting. There’s a limit to how much you can disrespect a married man.”

“Hah...”

Seoryeong exhaled sharply, scrubbing her face with a hand as it twisted in disbelief.

“You were the one who started liking me first... Ha...”

She couldn’t understand why she was trying to justify their breakup. It felt like everything had turned upside down.

And yet, the moment she realized there was a painful past even he couldn’t talk about, something inside her started to grow—a dangerous kind of desire, like realizing you were in the middle of a crash before it even happened.

All they’d ever done together was mission work: business trips, foot drills, underwater training, hand-to-hand combat, shooting drills, torture resistance training, hell week, survival week, storming hotels, torturing deputy directors, escaping monasteries...

Just missions. Always missions. So when had this started...?

Seoryeong tilted her head slowly.

“Did your wife... happen to look like me?”

“......!”

“Is that why you picked fights with me, got annoyed, interfered with everything I did?”

She’d meant it as a jab, but in hindsight, it made a disturbing kind of sense. Wooshin’s eyes roamed over her face with a sharp glint, momentarily slicing through the haze. His gaze was so focused it felt like a scalpel.

Then, faint lines creased between his brows—like he found it all laughable.

“There’s no way anything in this world could resemble my wife.”

“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you...”

“That question was pathetic. What kind of POW treatment is this? This isn’t Entertainment Weekly, you know.”

“...Fine. [N O V E L I G H T] Then how about you leave a message for your wife. I’ll write it down.”

Seoryeong pressed her fingertips to her aching forehead, feeling like she’d lost something and hadn’t even gotten the consolation prize. Whatever this emotion was, it didn’t deserve to be compared to what she felt for Kim Hyeon.

She dropped her gaze and resolved quietly.

Just stop. Don’t dig deeper. There’s no place for Lee Wooshin in your already tangled life.

“But... what was your wife’s name?”

It slipped out. An innocent, idle question.

“Phone number?”

“.......”

“I just mean... If I’m going to send something, I need the right info.”

“Pretty.”

“...Excuse me? Ugh, forget it. What’s the message?”

At that, the man who’d been practically threatening her to bring his phone suddenly shut his mouth. His eyes, fixed upward at the ceiling, were wavering. He swallowed repeatedly like he was choking down something bitter.

The silence stretched on endlessly. Seoryeong, fighting back a yawn, blinked heavily. The ambient light embedded halfway up the wall gave the room a soft warmth, making her sleepier.

When he finally opened his mouth again, a lot of time had passed.

“Don’t wait up tonight.”

She nodded slowly and sat straighter. Even now, Lee Wooshin kept staring at the tiny star-like pattern punched into the ceiling, as if trying to pluck the perfect sentence from a sky full of them.

“I’ll be really late. A long, long time.”

He murmured it like he couldn’t even raise his head, hiding his eyes behind his forearm.

Seoryeong wanted to at least pretend to type the message—but for some reason, her fingers wouldn’t move. The longing in his voice had hollowed her out completely.

His voice began to tremble.

“Will you be warm enough on your own tonight?”

Her heart twisted uncomfortably.

“...I’m sorry.”

***

“Whoa, what happened to your face? You get your ass kicked somewhere?”

When she stepped into the operatives’ room, Gitaemin—mid-peeling a tangerine—dropped his jaw. It was late, and she’d opened the door quietly, but his voice pierced the air, fresh and alert.

“Ah...”

Seoryeong let out a dazed sigh and rubbed her stiff cheek. She kneaded her sore neck, trying to shake off the strange emotions weighing her down.

“How’s the Team Leader?”

“.......”

A simple question, but her lips didn’t want to move. When she hesitated, the expressions on their faces slowly darkened. Worried they’d start imagining the worst, she quickly added in a rush:

“He got through the sutures just fine. He’s sleeping now.”

“Phew... thank God.”

Yu Dawit ran a hand down his face, grimacing from pain. His upper body was wrapped in bandages like a second uniform—neck to shoulders, back, arms, all pale white.

The sight reminded her—painfully—of what Kiya had done to try to take “Sonia” back. A fresh wave of guilt washed over her as she approached their beds with slow, dragging steps.

“But are you okay? You didn’t get treated properly because of us, did you?”

Gitaemin looked her over with concern.

“I finished quickly.”

She’d suffered a minor concussion and a scalp wound, but it felt pathetic to even call them “injuries.”

While she had been casually eating ramen and lying down, they had been the ones suffering. She lowered her head, her shame weighing her down. Gitaemin furrowed his brow and spoke bluntly:

“Han Seoryeong. Have you slept at all?”

“.......”

Not even a minute. Even though the company had gotten her a private room, even after washing and changing into clean clothes, she hadn’t slept a wink.

“That insane priest was obsessed with you from the moment we arrived. Honestly, you should’ve been hospitalized instead of us. You were the one he dragged off. Don’t forget that.”

“Yes. I learned a lot from that priest.”

“...What?”

“Ah... I mean I’m okay.”

There was a flicker of confusion in the exchange, but the last words were genuine. Her time being locked up hadn’t left any real psychological damage.

What weighed on her more... was something else.

The thought sprang to mind before she could stop it—and she winced, as if she’d just bitten her tongue.

Looking for his wife now? Isn’t that cheating...?

Such a contradictory heart.

And here I am still clinging to Kim Hyeon like my life depends on it.

Seoryeong wanted to clear her head somehow—do anything to break out of this spiral. And then, glancing at Yu Dawit, something occurred to her.

“Senior... I have a question.”

She changed the subject deliberately, trying to purge the tangled bitterness from her chest.

“What’s... the ‘Mark’?”

“Huh?”

Yu Dawit’s voice was nearly gone. The man who’d always carried such quiet dignity now spoke in a raspy rasp, having spent it all yelling at the crash site. Just hearing it gave her a sense of how close they’d come to not making it out.

Her chest tightened again.

“I think the priest said... ‘the Mark of the Beast.’ Something like that.”

“......!”

A crease instantly formed between Yu Dawit’s brows. She added, “He mentioned something about Revelation, too.”

He took a deep breath—then winced, clearly unable to adjust his position because of a fractured rib. All he could do was grit through the pain.

“It means a sign. A symbol. But... ‘Mark of the Beast’...”

Yu Dawit pressed a hand to his forehead, his expression heavy.

“If someone from the Sakhalin Branch said it, it’s not just some figure of speech.”

“How so?”

“In the eyes of God, the ‘beast’ can represent nations... or rulers. Anyone who wields power. Compared to divine omnipotence, tyrants must’ve seemed like raging animals.”

“......!”

“So... it’s a prophecy that such beasts—or the forces they represent—will brand people with that symbol.”

He pushed his long hair back from his face.

“I used to think it was like the insignias worn by Nazi Party members. Interpretations vary. But especially when the world’s changing rapidly, fear about the ‘Mark of the Beast’ flares up.”

“.......”

“When barcodes first came out, the religious world overreacted. Same thing happened with vaccines. But if there’s one interpretation that ties it all together—”

The conversation took an unexpected turn. Seoryeong blinked.

“—It’s the veri-chip. The implantable biometric chip.”