There was a ti when all of South Korea’s resources were being ferried to Jeju Island.
Even I, absorbed in the internet inside my bunker, would sotis step outside just to watch the trail of condensation forming in the sky, as a convoy of heavy transport planes flew southward.
Vrrrrrrrrrr—
This is my second ti going to Jeju.
Everything has changed since the first ti.
Jeju itself, , and Woo Min-hee, sitting across from now, reclining her seat as she fumbles with an eye mask.
Why is she trying to show her child?
What exactly is she trying to say?
What is she hinting at, through a mysterious girl she claims is her daughter?
Soon, the transport plane took off, and we arrived over the skies of Jeju.
Close enough to fall forward and touch it with your nose.
It’s hard to believe such a nearby island could have ever felt so distant.
Jeju, once again, remained desolate.
Gigantic concrete walls and reinforced structures still disfigured the once-beautiful island, and its abandoned cities only deepened the sense of emptiness.
But sothing had changed.
Birds.
On this death island—where they once said not even a single bird survived—birds were now returning from sowhere, flying freely alongside and beneath our wings.
I looked at the land unfolding beneath us.
The ominous, ashen hue that had once blanketed the island was fading, replaced again by the familiar colors of Earth.
The ominous fog that had clung to Mount Halla was lifting, and the eerie traces of the rift were now completely gone.
Kang Han-min had done it.
He had closed the rift, driven out the monsters from Jeju.
Of course, it's also true that the process ca at a trendous cost.
It’s true that people on the island were once again forced onto ships and dragged back to the mainland, and it’s also true that children with Awakened aptitude are now being raised here as warriors for the next generation.
“...”
That’s where Woo Min-hee’s child is said to be.
Boom!
A sudden explosion echoed in the distance.
I turned toward the cockpit.
“What was that just now?”
Unlike comrcial aircraft, military transport planes have open cockpits and cargo holds.
The pilot, who looked to be in his forties, grinned as he replied.
“Sounds like they’re beating down so Japanese bastards.”
“Japan?”
The co-pilot turned around and answered in his place.
“Not sure if you’ve heard, but Japan completely collapsed recently. Just last year, they were parading around calling themselves the last functioning state in East Asia, but the rot inside had already set in. Eventually, it all ca crashing down.”
We were the only passengers on this flight.
The interior of the transport plane was empty.
The flight plan was simple: drop us off, load up supplies stored in Jeju, and return to the mainland.
The pilot shifted the plane’s heading.
As the craft tilted, the small bits of trash scattered inside slid across the floor, and we finally saw what he wanted to show us.
Warships and vessels.
Boom! Boom!
South Korean naval ships were firing.
But no matter how I looked at it, the target didn’t appear to be a warship.
It was an ordinary passenger ferry.
And then—
Crash!
Within the towering spray kicked up by the rciless bombardnt, the ferry drifted helplessly before taking a direct hit and keeling over.
“Isn’t that a civilian vessel?”
The pilot replied.
“It is. But they brought it on themselves.”
He snorted.
“Those Japanese bastards did the sa thing a few years back—turned fleeing civilians trying to cross over from Busan and Mokpo into fish food.”
I had heard of that story.
But what I was more curious about was the diplomatic angle.
“What about the Japanese governnt? Are they just letting this happen?”
The pilot laughed loudly.
“Don’t worry. There’s no problem.”
“Why not?”
I was curious how he could be so sure.
Without a trace of doubt, the pilot replied, still grinning.
“Because those people aren’t citizens.”
Non-citizens?
As in, not nationals of Japan?
“They left their beautiful country of Japan on their own two feet. Doesn’t that make them non-citizens?”
Amid the indifferent sound of gunfire, we began our descent onto the runway.
The feeling of returning to the last paradise left in South Korea—while real-ti slaughter unfolded below—was hard to describe.
“Hunter Park Gyu. And Director Woo Min-hee.”
It was true—Jeju had been fully evacuated.
Even the airport was operating with only a bare minimum of personnel.
Most of the movent in the vast airport lobby ca from robots.
“You’re heading to Eden, right?”
The female staff mber who greeted us asked Woo Min-hee politely.
Woo Min-hee let out a shallow sigh and nodded.
After she began walking, I asked the woman a question.
“Excuse , but what exactly is Eden?”
I had a rough idea.
But I wanted certainty.
It’s just my nature—I hate assumptions.
Perhaps confused by my question, the woman stared at for a mont with a chanical smile, then, as if sothing finally clicked, she deepened her smile and answered.
“It’s where the children are.”
She handed a na card.
The na on it was Kim Yu-ram, and above that, the na of the institution was printed:
[Elemantary Defence school of Exceptional Nation]
A forced acronym, by the look of it.
From ahead, Woo Min-hee muttered coldly:
“A na they cobbled together just to make it spell 'Eden.'”
Whatever the intent, the fact that the facility’s short na is “Eden” was undeniable.
And calling it “Eden” certainly invited so unsettling interpretations.
Especially because it’s tied to soone like Kang Han-min—soone I thought I’d never be able to reach.
Before boarding the transport, I had done so light digging, using my own channels, to investigate the situation unfolding around .
It was undeniable that there had been contact between Kang Han-min and Woo Min-hee.
I didn’t know what they had agreed upon, but so kind of deal had clearly taken place.
The source of this information was the Defender siblings—old friends I had t online.
*
I make it a point to et up with the Defender siblings in person at least once every two weeks for a al.
Even with close online friends, emotional distance leads to physical distance. Making ti like this was the only way to preserve the fragile relationships we’d managed to build.
Human relationships need maintenance.
One of the few things FoxGa ever said that actually stuck with .
He, of course, neglected that maintenance and ended up with no one left in the end—but in a way, that only underscored the contradiction of who he was.
With the threat of monsters gone and the world settling down, New Seoul’s production of goods had steadily increased, and overall living standards were improving across the board.
Defender's team—“Team Defender”—received better treatnt than other combat units, given the nature of their missions.
No one, not even the most fanatical Communist Party mber, wanted to hunt down zealots.
More than just dangerous, the job involved walking the razor’s edge between conviction and conscience.
But dirty work always cos with perks—be it opportunities or material gain.
“Those committee guys over in Jeju? A few of them want to cozy up to us.”
Hong Da-jeong spoke as she sipped from a precious pre-war soda can.
She snorted.
“Looks like they need soone to do the dirty work.”
Da-jeong had a sharp eye.
Defender had his own insights too, but she had a wider perspective—and that instinctive female intuition.
“They’re keeping everyone distracted with elections right now, but that won’t last long. Sooner or later, they’ll start doing whatever they want again. Just like they did when they screwed up Seoul.”
It was true—Defender and his group had basically beco a governnt-sanctioned terrorist organization.
Like a continuation of the white terror groups that had road free during the Liberation of Korea.
The zealots were easier to vilify than Communists, so they held a superior position to past terror groups.
But such groups always end in tragedy.
I glanced at the cola can in her hand and spoke.
“Wouldn’t it be better to keep so distance?”
“I won’t turn down what they offer. But I’m not planning to get too friendly either.”
Da-jeong looked at Defender, who nodded.
“I listen to my sister.”
“Smart.”
Defender glanced around.
Da-jeong nodded and pulled out a device, sweeping it around.
Probably a bug detector.
She joked lightly.
“Our team’s gotten bigger lately, you know. Can’t trust everyone like we used to. I try not to be suspicious, but better safe than sorry, right?”
After a mont of silence, Defender finally spoke.
“There’s a rumor that Director Woo visited Kang Han-min. And the source is solid. Soone trying to curry favor with us said it directly.”
“Who was it?”
“You wouldn’t know even if I told you. They’re one of the unnad mbers of the Committee.”
“Hidden class.”
Da-jeong added.
“Hidden class?”
“They call themselves that. The ones with known nas are small fry—the unknown ones are the real power.”
“Still... I kind of want to hear the na.”
Defender pondered for a mont, then answered.
“Kim So-uk. No title. Probably not on any official Committee list. But he’s a real power.”
“Yeah?”
That na rang a bell.
Right, that brat who overworked Filkrum—one of those half-baked Awakened kids.
Could be a coincidence, but for now, I’ll just keep the na in mind.
“They say Woo Min-hee and Kang Han-min really didn’t get along. That she stayed on the mainland specifically because he was in Jeju. And now she went to him. Kim So-uk, who knows the history, couldn’t stop talking.”
That’s as far as Defender knew.
Even as the head of an up-and-coming paramilitary group, he wouldn’t have access to top-tier governnt conversations.
But one thing was clear.
Woo Min-hee had gone to see Kang Han-min herself.
She must’ve gone to make a personal request.
Maybe even this plane was the result of that request.
Now it’s ti to see how that request ends.
I still don’t know Woo Min-hee’s “intent.” Nor Kang Han-min’s “plan.”
But after spending a bit of ti with her, I had a vague sense.
Woo Min-hee had made up her mind about sothing.
She carried that feeling with her everywhere.
Even the abandoned apartnt we visited—maybe that was part of it too.
I don’t know what moved her.
But the vehicle was already entering the facility.
“This is Eden. A top-secret facility known to only a few.”
Just because it’s top secret doesn’t an it’s so high-tech underground base.
Eden was located in an old city district that had once been bustling with “chosen citizens.”
Not the sa neighborhood I lived in, but probably nearby.
I could tell just from the faded signs still hanging around.
[Yonggil PC Café]
[Jeju’s Original Black Pork BBQ]
[Daycare Center Licorice]
These places no longer operated.
“This is Eden.”
The institution raising the warriors of Korea’s future generation was housed in an old school building.
Ard soldiers stood guard around the periter, and there were visible security systems and unmanned weapons installed everywhere.
As if walking on thin ice, we entered the building.
[E.D.E.N]
A flashy sign greeted us.
And beyond it ca the sound of children laughing.
I looked at Woo Min-hee’s face.
Frozen, expressionless.
She began walking slowly.
There was a large window at the end of the hallway, and through it, we could see children playing energetically under the guidance of instructors.
“Okay, who wants to go next? Raise your hand~!”
“!”
“~!”
“Pick ! !”
We passed several rooms like that.
More like a daycare center than a school.
To an outsider, it would look like a normal governnt-run childcare facility.
But even a regular person would feel that sothing here was... off.
They’d probably ask the sa thing I did.
“Why are there only girls?”
Woo Min-hee looked at with a bitter smirk.
“Why ask sothing you already know? You’ve seen the files too, haven’t you, senpai?”
So it’s true.
All the children here...
They’re all children {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} of Awakened?
No visible signs of intellectual decline or deformity.
Two possibilities.
Either such children were filtered out...
Or only one parent was Awakened.
“...How long has this facility been running?”
“Five years.”
“Right around when the war began.”
“Probably started planning just after that.”
I nodded.
Back then, the Awakened were seen as humanity’s only answer to the rifts.
Creating a state-run Awakened youth training center was the obvious next step.
But there was sothing else odd about the children.
How should I put it...
They weren’t identical—but they all looked similar.
So of them looked almost exactly like soone I knew.
Noticing my confusion, Woo Min-hee smirked and curled her claw-like fingers.
“You noticed, huh, senpai?”
She looked surprised.
“I didn’t think you were the observant type.”
“Living in a bunker makes you develop weird hobbies.”
“Yeah.”
She turned away.
For so reason, her shoulders drooped with a sorrow I hadn’t seen in her before.
She walked with her hands behind her back.
A piece of cloth wrapped around her prosthetic caught my eye.
Still, a mother is a mother, I guess.
It wasn’t the ti to smile, but a faint one crept onto my lips.
Only for a mont.
Then Woo Min-hee spoke.
“All the children here have the sa father.”
“...Who?”
“The one you’re already guessing. Or rather, already know.”
Kang Han-min.
They were his children?
Is that what he ant by Adam and Eve?
No. That couldn’t be it.
Sa the, maybe. Sa foundation.
But this wasn’t the Adam and Eve he spoke of.
It was too simplistic, too crude—and most importantly, this thod couldn’t overco the rifts or the monsters.
He was looking at sothing else.
Sothing I still couldn’t see.
[5H-032]
Lost in my swirling thoughts, she stopped in front of one of the classrooms.
She turned her head and looked through the glass with clear, unfocused eyes.
Among the similarly shaped children, there was one who looked distinctly different.
With a hollow gaze, she stared at the girl.
“All but one,” she said.
The girl seed to sense our gaze and turned to look at us.
A chill ran down my spine.
Of course it did.
The girl looking back at us—looked terrifyingly like Woo Min-hee.
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