Hiding a House in the Apocalypse-Chapter 148.2: Painkillers (2)

Maybe it’s the Confucian culture, but in Korea, people tend to give excessive authority to age—a biological number—and expect a matching level of virtue to go with it.

I never really agreed with that mindset, but Kim Han-na was definitely someone caught in the trap of age—a precarious outsider.

Even after a brief observation, it was obvious she was a person full of flaws.

“······.”

She hadn’t spoken a single word for an entire hour.

She wasn’t shameless like some high-profile politician, nor did she seem to have any personal convictions.

She kept glancing at me nervously, her silence driven by extreme stress.

Even though it was blatantly clear that her stubbornness was rooted in the childish desire to avoid doing anything, I couldn’t bring myself to look at her favorably, no matter how much I tried to stay neutral.

While she remained silent, I reviewed her records.

She was from Hwaseong, Gyeonggi Province.

Raised in an area even more “Dongtan” than Dongtanmom herself.

The region’s known for good education, yet her academic record stopped at middle school.

Apparently, she refused to attend school.

The problem is, that was ten years ago.

Her entire life after that has been filled with blank space.

When the war began, she evacuated with her family, endured the first wave of attacks, and was relocated to a Seoul shelter under government policy.

Her first year there was also a blank, but a year later, she took a quick aptitude test—the litmus test—and scored off the charts. She was sent straight to Jeju.

The examiner who tested her at the time noted that she was an undeniably perfect Awakened, nothing to question.

It seems that at first, she gave it her all.

She wasn’t faking illness back then. She threw herself into training with a fresh mindset and even ventured into what they called the Big Hole multiple times.

That was surprising.

To think someone who looked like a shut-in could manage such a change.

But that change didn’t last long.

After the brightest year in a life full of voids, her story began to fill up with less favorable content.

Always hesitates to join missions, citing health reasons

Chronic malingering

Despite not being particularly attractive or likable, she shirks responsibilities. No team rapport, recommends transfer.

Rumors spreading. Following initial team meetings, decided not to integrate her.

Despite prior Big Hole missions, recommends transfer to the Lighthouse

...

...

Anyone can burn out.

Stamina—what we call willpower—varies from person to person.

Some can withstand extreme conditions for a long time. Others can’t even last a moment and flee.

Records, by their nature, are short and concise.

There’s a “notes” section, but even that exists only to explain numerical changes.

“People” are rarely visible in them.

So, we have to rely on uncertain methods like guesswork and inference.

Still, we do have data.

We know what wears people down, what makes them sick, what makes them give up.

It’s like how the health service offers age-specific checkups—they got that right for a reason.

“······.”

I turned to her family records.

Both parents: deceased.

Younger sibling: missing.

The time of death listed for her parents is suspiciously close to when she was transferred to Jeju.

It means something.

Maybe Kim Han-na pushed herself for her family’s sake.

And after a year of hard work, when she went to see them, they were already gone.

Maybe that’s why she became the way she is now.

It’s just a guess.

Regardless, I have to put her on the battlefield.

That’s my job.

“You’re always feeling unwell, huh?”

I finally broke the long silence.

Kim Han-na looked at me and gave a small nod.

It hit me again—she’s big.

Not fat, just naturally large-framed. Among other women, she’d look like a different species altogether.

But the way she slouched and kept her eyes cast downward stripped her of any presence.

I stared directly at her as she sighed and averted her gaze.

“You can’t run away forever.”

“······.”

“This is the end of the road.”

My mentor, Jang Ki-young, always talks about hope.

You can do it.

If you try, it’ll work.

If you try, it’ll happen.

Those were his favorite lines.

As his best student, I say the opposite.

“If you get kicked out of here, you know what happens, right?”

That’s reality.

To be specific—

“Be ready by 4 a.m. tomorrow. Training yard.”

“······.”

“Tomorrow’s mission is patrol and reconnaissance. You’re not betting your life, and it’s not a suicide run.”

“······.”

“Even if something unexpected happens, don’t worry. As long as I’m alive, I’ll protect you.”

It’s a reality she can handle.

The bare minimum needed to stand on the field.

When I first became a team leader, we had ample personnel, and our team always ranked at the top. I had no trouble filling spots.

But the war dragged on, and we started running out of people.

Some left for good reasons—promotion, reassignment, Awakened aptitude. But many left because of injury, death, or personal issues.

I had to accept people I didn’t like as teammates, and I had to make them move.

When possible, I avoided working with those who were clearly unqualified.

Trying to fix broken people is neither efficient nor pleasant.

Sometimes, you might discover hidden talent. But I understand just how painful that is for the person being “fixed.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

I gave her the conditions.

The next morning—

“······.”

Kim Han-na was standing under a dim streetlight, hunching her large frame as she waited for me.

I let out a sigh of relief.

Halfway there.

 Since it was a light patrol mission, I didn’t bring any other team members.

All of New Seoul was busy.

Snow had piled up in places, but daytime temperatures were still above freezing.

This was the last real window to move freely.

Everyone was doing their part.

I hadn’t even had time for a personal meeting with the Defender siblings, because we were all that busy.

Well, in their case, volunteering for cultist cleanup was part of it.

Our patrol route was somewhat secure, but I chose an unfortified path on the outskirts.

A casual walk. A warm-up.

Woo Min-hee wanted the power plant secured within ten days.

So I had to take an Awakened there and clean it out—no later than that.

Strangely enough, even when walking side-by-side with someone you don’t know well, you’ll naturally talk once or twice.

“Urgh······.”

Kim Han-na groaned.

I could guess why.

A corpse.

Tied to a chair, arms bound behind its back—reduced to white bones. Others were tossed around, lying dead and displayed in the shattered window of a ruined store.

Probably the work of raiders or a local militia.

Jeju kids aren’t used to seeing corpses. Her reaction was raw.

I looked at the faceless body and spoke.

“They probably didn’t want to die either.”

“······.”

“Truth is, almost nobody wants to die. Even people who kill themselves—I believe they didn’t really want death.”

“R-Really?”

For the first time, Kim Han-na spoke.

She had a surprisingly cute voice.

Something out of a commercial or an anime.

“They die because they can’t find a way to live, not because they seek death itself.”

“······When you put it like that... I guess so.”

“Wouldn’t it be boring?”

I suddenly asked her.

She glanced at me, startled when our eyes met, and looked away.

“B-Boring?”

Looks like the conversation's opening up.

That’s a good sign.

“Yeah. You’d stop breathing, thinking, and you couldn’t even go online.”

“O-Online?”

She stared at me again.

I looked her in the eye and replied, enunciating clearly.

“I like the internet.”

“Oh.”

“Why?”

“I-It’s just... it doesn’t seem like something you’d say.”

“Why not? What’s wrong with using the internet?”

“I mean... the internet’s just a tool, right? Liking it or disliking it seems kind of strange...?”

“You weren’t browsing any shady sites, were you?”

Kim Han-na’s not-so-small frame flinched.

“I—I never did anything like that!”

“······.”

That reaction. Suspicious.

When you’re a name on PaleNet, you develop a sense for these things.

But I’ll let it slide.

No need to ruin the flow.

We continued along the route.

I deliberately chose open ground.

Normally, I’d avoid that kind of path, but I had an Awakened with me.

An Awakened’s reaction barrier can block bullets—but only if deployed instantly, at the speed of thought.

That’s one reason Awakened are such a pain to deal with.

Plenty of Chinese soldiers died following bad orders from above.

The Chinese claim they invented intimidation-style defense tactics before us. As much as they claim everything as theirs, I’ll give them that one—maybe they did come up with it first.

But that’s it.

A discovery is meaningless if you don’t analyze it, build a theory, and prove it.

“Um.”

Maybe she relaxed, or maybe she started to trust me.

This time, Kim Han-na spoke up first.

I didn’t respond immediately—I was focused, walking through open ground.

By the time I spoke, we’d reached some cover, and I noticed the gloom returning to her face.

“What is it, Kim Han-na?”

“N-Nothing.”

“You were about to say something. Say it while you can.”

“No, really.”

“Listen. I’d rather die like the boy who cried wolf than die with things left unsaid.”

I’m the type who says everything that needs saying.

Sure, I’ve done my share of politicking, but I think a little self-promotion is healthy.

You need that level of self-confidence.

“Sorry, but... isn’t the internet down? I heard there used to be something called PaleNet, but it’s gone now, right?”

“There’s still Viva! Apocalypse!”

“Oh. That satellite internet?”

I nodded.

“Not to brag, but I’m a name there.”

“Wait, what?!”

She jolted like she’d been electrocuted.

That shocking?

“······Not to brag, but there’s not much I can’t do. I’m not the best in any single field, but I can handle everything above average.”

“O-Oh... Director Woo said that, too.”

“Min-hee?”

“Yes. She said someone with the callsign Professor could do anything. The only thing he lacked was the talent to be Awakened, but otherwise he’s the perfect hunter.”

Unexpected.

Woo Min-hee complimented someone else?

Probably just flattery.

That’s easy to check.

“When did she say that?”

“About two years ago?”

“······I see.”

If it was two years ago... that might’ve been sincere.

Min-hee, huh.

“She’s scary, right?”

Everyone’s afraid of Woo Min-hee.

Even bold guys like Lee Sang-hoon and slick talkers like Gong Gyeong-min kept their distance from her.

But what she said next surprised me.

“People talk bad about Director Woo, but I think she’s a good person.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She accepts even failures like us—Awakened with terrible records. Otherwise, I would’ve been sent to the Lighthouse long ago.”

That... felt off.

Something in the tone had the faint stench of a forum warrior.

Still, I stayed quiet, and Kim Han-na fidgeted with her fingers as she continued.

“······Director Woo even takes care of the elderly.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s only one nursing home left in Jeju, and she’s the one supporting it.”

“For real?”

“Yes. I heard she takes in the parents of old comrades, people she once knew.”

“You’re not lying?”

“Wh-Why would I lie? I’m not even family!”

“Feels like a lie.”

“It’s true! The old folks even call her princess!”

“······.”

Princess, huh.

Sure. Princess my ass.

What is this, some fairytale?

Still, things were going better than expected.

Conversation isn’t always the best method, but it’s definitely an effective one.

From complete darkness to a faint glimmer of light—this was progress.

We finished the patrol in that decent mood.

Aside from a few rats startling Kim Han-na, there was no danger. Honestly, it was a good incident.

Thunk!

It gave her a chance to prove she was a genuine Regular Awakened.

“······The mission starts tomorrow.”

“T-Tomorrow?!”

“There won’t be much danger. It’s just an outer-layer stripping op. The spider type won’t move from its nest anyway. It’ll only send out minions.”

“Minions······.”

“It’s just to get you used to the battlefield. If anything seems off, we’ll retreat immediately.”

“O-Okay...”

“Why are you so afraid? Didn’t you go inside the rift before?”

“Y-Yeah.”

She mumbled with a blank look, then suddenly perked up.

“I saw Savior Kang Han-min!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes! He was incredible! He didn’t even look human. He was like a god—a god!”

“A ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) god, huh······.”

So he’s become a god now.

Kang Han-min.

The memory unfolded in front of me like a picture—years ago, a near-identical situation.

A frustrated upper command.

A nearly expelled hunter.

And me, the one assigned to him.

Just the two of us on patrol.

Then came his awakening.

“······.”

I’m not the type to regret the past or dwell on it.

But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t stir something inside me.

Even I, as calm as I try to be, am still human.

“······You like the internet?”

I needed something to balance this strange mix of emotion.

“T-The internet? I used to use it a bit...”

“I’m not just a name.”

I corrected myself.

“I’m a legend.”

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