DP Episode 124

Episode 124

December 13th.

The vast expanse of land that was supposed to host a monumental landmark now stood desolate, housing a skeletal tower and a barren complex. Construction had halted entirely, leaving only scattered building materials, steel rods, and containers exposed to the biting wind.

In the long winter night, with dawn yet to break, the site was shrouded in dim twilight.

Seo-joon sat alone amidst the flurry of strangers bustling around the site, desperately trying to recall the face of the lover he had seen just hours ago.

That morning, he had carefully straightened the school uniform Yeon-woo would wear for the last time and tidied up the house that would soon be left unattended for a while.

…He thought he’d done everything he could before leaving, yet the gnawing feeling persisted—that he had forgotten something important.

The warmth of his lover, blissfully asleep under the covers.
The soft rise and fall of his breaths, the occasional flutter of his eyelids, the hand resting on the empty pillow… the ring on that hand.

The ring.

Seo-joon glanced down at his own left hand. The silver band, clumsily crafted and engraved with uneven letters by Yeon-woo’s careful hands, still rested coolly against his finger.

At least he had brought this. At least he could take this with him.

Soon enough, the identity of “Ji Seo-joon” would scatter to the winds.

“…”

Seo-joon slipped the ring off his finger, placed it in his mouth, and swallowed it.

It was a primal instinct—a desperate desire to preserve at least one thing from the disgusting, fragmented mass his body would soon become.

At least it wasn’t a meaningless death.

Meeting Yeon-woo had momentarily made him forget, but his life was always going to end like this.

To burn countless hells to ash with his death—what an extravagant conclusion for someone so insignificant.

It was a grand finale far beyond what he deserved.

If he endured this moment, Yeon-woo would be able to continue living in a clean, peaceful world without gates.

…He had to be happy. He absolutely must be.

He needed to fulfill dreams he hadn’t even dared to attempt, meet countless people who would love him, and someday, unlike Seo-joon, find someone who would stay by his side for a long, long time—someone who could give him a family and a life without pain.

“…”

To have had even a fleeting claim to Yeon-woo’s radiant years was reward enough for Seo-joon.

So, it was fine.

“It’s fine.”

“Excuse me.”

Seo-joon turned at the voice calling out to him. His cold gaze landed on crates filled with grenades and explosives.

Among them were the specialized grenades that had once blown away Seo-joon’s lower body during the assault on Pasa. These weapons were designed to shred him into pieces, leaving no chance for regeneration.

“Um… please equip these and proceed to the main tower interior…”

The hesitant speaker explained in the most formal tone they could muster. Seo-joon followed their instructions calmly, stepping into the main tower.

“Agnes. I’ve received the radio.”

―Confirmed. Stand by.

Holding the radio handed to him, Seo-joon waited alone, listening to the static-laced confirmation.

Not long after, the countdown began.

―Countdown starts in one minute.

It’s really okay.

―10, 9, 8, 7, 6.

Everything was genuinely, perfectly… okay.

―5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

The only regret was

that I couldn’t say goodbye to you.

And for that, I am so, so sorry.

✽✽✽

“Are you still my friend after this?”

“Team Leader Jin, listen before you get angry.”

“How could you say something like that? Without even consulting me… how could you!”

Cheong-oh exhaled sharply as he stepped out of the car, his breath forming white clouds in the frigid air. The biting winter wind lashed against his cheeks.

“If I told you in advance, would it have eased your pain?”

His friend, perpetually composed and infuriatingly rational in every situation, always had a way of saying the absolute right thing—and sometimes that made him unbearable.

“I know how you’re feeling right now. But it’s just clinging to useless emotions. In time, you’ll realize you’re better off because of my decision. Trust me, you will.”

Yet, in all the time they had known each other, Seo-joon had never felt as cruelly distant as he did then.

“So please, do me this favor.”

Cheong-oh recalled the hours Seo-joon had spent delegating everything: flowers for Yeon-woo, how to handle his inheritance, and even the smallest tasks.

“This is the private security I hired. Stay in touch with them. If Cha Kyung-soo so much as approaches Yeon-woo, block him immediately. And if anything happens to Cha Kyung-soo, don’t tell Yeon-woo.

“As for insurance and trusts, Yeon-woo might not know much about them. Guide him through it. I’ve already informed the legal representatives about inheritance taxes—make sure everything is handled properly.”

Seo-joon had entrusted Cheong-oh with everything, from mundane errands to his most sensitive wishes. He had been unnervingly calm, his demeanor so composed it made Cheong-oh want to punch him.

Cheong-oh could only think of himself as a cowardly bystander, just as his father, Colonel Jin, had said. He lacked both the courage to stop his friend and the strength to accept Seo-joon’s impending death. Now, as Yeon-woo approached, Cheong-oh was overcome with a paralyzing sense of guilt.

“Yeon-woo, congratulations on graduating,” Yeong-gyo said with a smile, handing over a bouquet. Neither of them realized it was the moment when everything began to veer off course.

Yeon-woo, holding his diploma under one arm with his hands stuffed in his pockets, hesitated before accepting the flowers with both hands, a little flustered. He clearly hadn’t expected their visit.

“Oh… thank you for coming.”

“Ji Lieutenant asked me to come on his behalf. He said no matter how busy he was, he couldn’t let you graduate without flowers,” Yeong-gyo said with an awkward laugh.

“Is he at the center now? I haven’t been able to reach him all morning—he must be really busy.”

“Uh… it’s cold. Let’s get in the car,” Yeong-gyo said, quickly changing the subject.

Cheong-oh and Yeong-gyo ushered Yeon-woo into the backseat before climbing into the car themselves.

“Let’s head to the center, Yeon-woo,” Cheong-oh said, starting the engine.

Just then, both Cheong-oh and Yeong-gyo’s phones buzzed with a message. A disaster alert appeared on Cheong-oh’s phone, displayed on the dashboard mount. Out of habit, Yeon-woo glanced at the screen from the backseat.

“…”

A familiar red box flashed on the screen. Before Yeon-woo could read the content, Cheong-oh quickly snatched the phone off the mount.

Yeon-woo, puzzled, pulled his own phone from his pocket. Disaster alerts were supposed to be sent to everyone, but for some reason, his phone remained eerily silent.

“…Something feels off today.”

It was a long time later, after the car had been on the road for a while, when Yeon-woo spoke again.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just… strange. I can’t reach Lieutenant Ji either.”

“…Everyone must be busy,” Yeong-gyo said, her voice tense as she exchanged a quick glance with Cheong-oh.

Cheong-oh caught Yeon-woo’s reflection in the rearview mirror, forcing himself to speak.

“Have you eaten, Yeon-woo?”

Yeon-woo tilted his head slightly, clearly finding the question odd. A brief silence filled the car.

“Not yet.”

“Then how about eating with us?” Yeong-gyo asked, her voice overly cheerful. But both she and Cheong-oh were far from professional actors, and their forced brightness only made their discomfort more apparent.

“No, I…” Yeon-woo’s low voice came from the backseat. Cheong-oh glanced at him through the mirror again, his unease growing.

“…I was planning to eat with the Lieutenant.”

✽✽✽

“The official countdown will start on Day 26, they said? Sounds about right. They’re planning to announce the end of the gates on the 100th day.”

Major General Park, beaming with excitement, walked briskly down the corridor, speaking to Colonel Jin beside him.

“Ha… Colonel Jin, can you believe this day has come? Remember how things were before the gates appeared? I thought we’d never return to those times in this lifetime.”

“…”

“I should probably invest in some stocks. Once the gates are gone, the market’s bound to skyrocket.”

Unlike the grinning Major General Park, Colonel Jin’s face was devoid of any emotion, like the charred remains of a fire long extinguished.

“Let’s start by getting the basics right. Make sure the field is managed properly. Contain the anomalies so it doesn’t blow up in other regions, got it?”

“…”

“And what about the No-Name? They say if it goes berserk, it’ll make the largest gates look like a joke, huh? Maybe we should send up a helicopter and record it. This is history in the making—the final gate. Shame no one will know about it.”

Park chuckled to himself, blissfully unaware he was monologuing the whole time. The synchronized footsteps of the two officers began to falter as one slowed.

“…”

Colonel Jin came to an abrupt stop. Park turned to him with a puzzled expression, his chuckle dying mid-breath. Then, softly, barely audible, Jin muttered:

“…I can’t do this shit anymore.”

“What?” Park’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Looking down at the floor, Colonel Jin slowly raised his head to meet Park’s gaze. Then, with deliberate movements, he reached up and tore the insignia from his uniform, his eyes filled with disillusionment.

Rip.

“I can’t do this shit anymore,” Jin repeated, his tone steady. The insignia—his rank, his life’s work—fell to the floor with a dull clatter.

“What… what the hell are you saying? Huh? What’s gotten into you all of a sudden? Hey! Colonel Jin! Where do you think you’re going? Get back here! Stop right there, damn it!”

“Jin Hyun-jung—! You bastard, this is insubordination—!”

Major General Park’s furious shouts echoed through the quiet corridor, but Jin didn’t turn back. His footsteps carried him away, leaving behind his rank, his past, and a man who had lost everything but the resolve to walk away.

✽✽✽

Ding.

Every phone in the lounge of the Awakener Center chimed simultaneously.

Yeon-woo silently followed Cheong-oh and Yeong-gyo into the elevator, his gaze fixed on his phone. He toyed with the device absentmindedly, his eyes occasionally darting toward Yeong-gyo, who quickly checked her own phone and slipped it back into her pocket.

“…”

The message he had sent to Seo-joon that morning still bore the lonely “1” of an unread notification. Meanwhile, the emergency alert from the Central Disaster Management Center—mandatory for all citizens residing in South Korea—was conspicuously absent from his phone.

“Lieutenant Ji seems really busy today. …Looks like you’ll have to have lunch with us,” Yeong-gyo said, breaking the silence.

Someone else was receiving the contact he was not.

“Yeon-woo, how about we grab a cup of coffee?”

The older members of SAU, who had always referred to him by his codename “Baby,” now insistently used his name, as if trying to ease his suspicions.

“…I…”

It was all very strange.

“I think I should visit my brother’s hospital room first,” Yeon-woo said, his voice firm.

“Oh, right,” Yeong-gyo replied quickly, nodding with a faint smile.

As Yeon-woo pressed the button for the floor where Jeong-woo’s room was, Cheong-oh discreetly canceled another destination and gave an awkward laugh.

“Alright, we’ll wait for you in the lounge next door. That okay?”

There was something unspoken in their demeanor, something that sent a shiver down Yeon-woo’s spine.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open.

“…”

Yeon-woo led the way into the quiet corridor, but suddenly came to a halt. The two following him stopped as well. Slowly, Yeon-woo turned to face them. Yeong-gyo’s eyes, bloodshot and filled with anxiety, darted about uneasily.

“So,” Yeon-woo began, his voice measured.

“…”

“When was the last time you were in contact with Lieutenant Ji?”

“What?” Cheong-oh asked, visibly caught off guard.

“I’ve been asking since earlier. Why haven’t you answered me?”

“Well, you see… Yeon-woo…”

Yeong-gyo reached for Yeon-woo’s arm, her eyes damp with suppressed tears as if pleading silently.

“Lieutenant Ji… he asked us for a favor.”

Yeon-woo instinctively pulled his arm away from her grasp, a growing unease gnawing at him.

“So please… could you just hear us out for a moment?”

As Yeong-gyo lunged forward, desperate to hold him back, the tears she had been holding back finally spilled over.

And in that moment, Yeon-woo understood. A chilling clarity washed over him as memories of Seo-joon’s face from the day before surfaced with sudden vividness.

“Where is Lieutenant Ji right now?”

His voice was calm, but the undercurrent of dread was unmistakable.