4DAS Chapter 3 (Part 3) – End
by Brie“Mister.”
“Yeah?”
“What do you think that man—Baek Seonghyeon—would say… if we told him everything?”
Rowon asked in a calm, passing tone. The man, who had been lying with his head on a makeshift pillow made from a rolled‑up taekwondo uniform, glanced away from the ceiling and studied Rowon’s expression.
“It’d be great if he said, ‘I didn’t know the whole story. I guess you weren’t such a bad guy after all.’ But honestly, I doubt it.”
“……”
“Even if he hears the truth, I don’t see his attitude changing much. He’d probably just get mad and say you’re making excuses.”
Rowon thought so too. There was no way that after everything, misunderstandings would dissolve, apologies would be exchanged, resentment would melt away, and they would arrive at some happy reconciliation. There are things in life you can’t undo—especially in a world like this, after the outbreak.
Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t grateful for what Young‑il had said earlier. He had genuinely been relieved. The idea that everyone has a little bad in them, and that what determines a person’s path is whether someone is there to pull them back—that part especially resonated. Young‑il had talked about circumstances as well, but for Rowon, it was the presence of someone beside him that struck deeper.
If I had met someone like you earlier… maybe I would’ve turned out a little different.
He didn’t believe he would have become a perfectly good person. But if he had met this man before the world fell apart—even a little earlier—maybe something would have changed. Even a small difference might have led to a completely different outcome. And maybe, just maybe, even his feelings toward this man would have—
But then, the man spoke again—flat, simple, and painfully grounding.
“There are stories that don’t change anything no matter how much you tell them. Don’t expect too much.”
Stories that are useless to tell. He clearly meant Baek Seonghyeon—but that wasn’t what Rowon thought of. He remembered instead the moment earlier when he had quietly asked if it was okay for him to rely on this man, and how the man had misunderstood the intent completely.
Rowon didn’t resent him. He had forfeited so many chances, lied so many times, and avoided the truth so many times that it was only natural for the man to take his words at face value.
He had told him repeatedly: that he had no special feelings toward him. That when he attacked him that first night, and on the occasions after when he clung to him or held him close, there was no ulterior motive, no hidden emotion of the sort the man might imagine.
There had been no choice back then. If it was a story that “wouldn’t change anything even if spoken,” then it was better left unsaid. What could he possibly confess to a man who said his wife and daughter had kept him standing? What reaction could he hope for? Would any confession mean anything?
“Alright. I won’t expect anything.”
When Rowon answered calmly, the man let out a small, bitter smile. Giving up on expectations was something Rowon had practiced all his life—he didn’t even need to try anymore.
Whatever Rowon said now would be pointless anyway. If he confessed everything to Baek Seonghyeon, it would only enrage him. And if he confessed his feelings to this man on what might be their last night, he would probably just get an awkward or flustered reaction in return.
So he decided—he would not say it. Not the darkest truth he had been hiding, and not the distorted feelings he had only recently understood.
“…Get some sleep.”
“Yeah. We’ll have to move again at dawn, so let’s turn in early…”
The man closed his eyes almost immediately, exhausted. His injured leg and days of turmoil had worn him down far more than he ever showed. Rowon felt guilt rise in his chest. After three days together, he could recall nothing good he had given him—only the trouble and danger he caused.
I’m sorry.
He didn’t say it aloud. It would change nothing, and it would only wake a man who desperately needed rest.
Rowon waited for him to fall deep asleep. The man often muttered and twitched from nightmares, but there would always be a brief window where he truly drifted off. Rowon needed that moment.
Thank you for everything.
He also chose not to say that aloud. He already knew the man’s reaction. The man would shout at him not to say such things, insist they were in this together, demand they see it through side by side. But… but…
I thought about it. And in the end, I don’t think there’s any other way.
Words may be meaningless, but actions are not. Rowon didn’t know how to persuade Baek Seonghyeon, but he did know how to release the man’s rage. He had no way to properly convey his true feelings to Park Young‑il, who slept peacefully beside him, but at the very least, he knew how to protect the man’s life.
‘Tonight will be the last night. Stay well.’
After confirming that the man was fast asleep, he quietly rose to his feet. The cushioned mat absorbed nearly all noise as he stepped away. He wished the man would not have nightmares tonight. Last night, Rowon had held him and calmed him when he thrashed, but tonight, he would not be there to do so.
He moved carefully and went down the stairs without making a sound. Just as his hand gripped the handle to open the iron door on the first floor, someone peeked out from the direction of the laundry shop. It was the young woman who had helped them earlier.
She was not wearing her mask this time, perhaps careless because she assumed she was alone. The corners of her mouth bore scars, as though her lips had once been torn by someone forcing them open. Rowon instantly guessed how she must have gotten them.
“Hey, you. Hold on a second.”
“……”
“That man—where is he?”
“He’s upstairs, sleeping. The floor with the taekwondo studio.”
Her expression clearly showed concern for him. She had said earlier that the man had helped her once. Some people were blessed that way—Rowon smiled faintly at the thought. But the woman only looked at him suspiciously, her eyes scanning him up and down.
“I told you to go over the rooftop to the next building. So why are you—”
“Um… can I ask you a favor? If the biker gang storms in and asks if you’ve seen a limping man, please tell them you haven’t. Please.”
He believed Baek Seonghyeon would cool down once he had captured him, but there was always the chance something could go wrong. So even a small safeguard like this was worth setting up. Without waiting for her answer, Rowon began pushing open the iron door—when her uneasy voice stopped him.
“…Are you going to die?”
“Please don’t tell him. And if he does find out… please tell him not to follow me.”
He had started all of this, so he would be the one to end it. He would atone to Baek Seonghyeon, and he would make sure Park Young‑il suffered no harm and could return to a normal life. Every part of that responsibility was his to carry.
Rowon stepped outside into the dark night and began walking. It would not take long for them to catch him.
The young man left, hoping the sleeping man would rest peacefully, but the one who had already closed his eyes had no way of knowing.
Left alone, asleep, Young‑il dreamed. As always, it was a nightmare. After a day like today, he wished that at the very least his dreams would offer peace—but reality is never that generous.
…Honey.
Yesterday he dreamed of his daughter, today he dreamed of his wife. The thought that he could even notice such a pattern meant that part of him still had enough room to think. But it was without question a nightmare—of the moment his wife was killed, or at least, that was how it had appeared on the surface.
The front door of their apartment was left slightly ajar. Inside, his wife staggered, her limbs mauled by zombies. The infected middle‑aged couple sank their teeth into her flesh, tearing into her as she gasped and trembled in pain, too weak to flee. Young‑il stood frozen, unable to do anything but watch. For a dream, it was not exaggerated—just as brutal as it had truly been.
To anyone who hadn’t known the circumstances, it would have looked like a horrific murder. To eyes clouded with shock and rage, it would have been nothing else.
If you had held onto life for just a few days longer… could I have saved you?
Can you call being bitten by a zombie and dying a suicide? Someone who knew nothing of this world might call it murder. But survivors who had lived through those times would not speak so easily. There were too many ways to die during the outbreak.
The longer the zombie crisis dragged on, the clearer it became that death was caused less by zombies and more by people’s despair. In those days—before the cure gas was discovered—many believed the nightmare would never end. Loved ones died one after another, and the idea of the world returning to normal felt like a fantasy. So countless people simply gave up and left the world behind. Zombies were just another method of suicide.
But even then… would you have chosen to die?
His wife had been drowning in despair. She pretended to be strong in front of Young‑il, but she could not overcome the pain eating away at her. If only she had leaned on him, if only she had believed she didn’t have to endure it alone—but Young‑il was weak, unreliable, and she had known it.
He had noticed the signs. She had begun speaking less. Sometimes she would stare into space, not answering even when he called her. His unease grew, and he tried—clumsily—to reach out, to talk, to help… but nothing worked.
He had told Rowon, so confidently, that people are most themselves when they have someone to rely on. That someone by your side can keep you from making a terrible choice.
And admitting that truth forced him to face something cruel: if only he had been someone she could rely on, maybe she wouldn’t have made that choice.
—Maybe we should have gone with Hayoon from the start. When she died, that should have been the end. We were just too late.
—What are you saying? Come out! Please! You said it yourself—that the living must live on! That we should at least live a life our child could be proud of!
—Yes. I did say that. But… I’m sorry. I told you a lie I didn’t believe. The truth is, I think about it every single day.
—…What?
—But you didn’t have to kill her. You didn’t have to kill our child. Maybe it should have been us instead.
He remembered trying to stop her, trying to talk her down until the very last moment. He had believed she was the one person who would never choose death. Always stoic, always strong—never admitting she was hurting.
—You should go.
—What…?
—You already killed our child with your own hands. If you do that to me too, there’ll be no turning back. Go. If you run now, I won’t follow. These zombies… they weren’t very healthy even when they were alive. They don’t move fast. You can get away.
—…!
—I’m sorry. I’m tired. Please forgive me for going first.
Helplessness crushes a person more completely than anger ever could. Young‑il wondered, night after night, whether she might have lived if someone better than him had been at her side.
Because on that day, it wasn’t just the middle‑aged couple he killed. Against his wife’s final wish, Young‑il killed three zombies in that narrow apartment: the couple who had torn into her… and then—
At the very least, he had thought then that he should protect the final dignity of the person he had once lived depending on.
Revenge, huh. In the end, I just wanted an excuse. It was because I wasn’t enough.
Young-il wasn’t the kind of person who could willfully forget his memories like Rowon, but he could still smother reality’s pain by layering false emotions over it. In the end, it was the middle-aged couple who completed the narrative of his wife’s “suicide.” So Young-il kept his sanity by directing hatred toward them. Without that, he wouldn’t have been able to endure. Especially after the existence of the treatment gas was revealed—more than ever.
Maybe that’s why Young-il had wanted Rowon to kill him. Because, in truth, his revenge had always just been a form of escape, while Rowon’s grief—born of losing his actual parents—was surely more excruciating. But in the end, even if it wasn’t what he’d intended…
I hope I can save you, Rowon.
When that kid had asked if it was okay to lean on him, had he brushed it off with a joke because he lacked confidence? Having already lost the people dearest to him—twice—he wasn’t sure whether he could protect the one by his side this time.
Everything I was supposed to protect slipped right through my fingers. I know it was because I wasn’t enough. Still, even if it’s just one thing…
If it were possible, he wanted to protect him. The young man with the face of a stray, lost and without a place to belong. The boy who looked like he might give up on everything at any moment. If he could just save him with his own hands…
But in that very moment, Young-il felt an eerie chill creep over him. That sudden sense of falling you get when waking from a dream crashed down on him out of nowhere.
Waking up suddenly wasn’t the issue. But something felt off. Despite the summer night being hot and humid—so much so that no blanket was needed—there was a foreboding chill, like something that should be there was missing, sliding cold down his spine…
“Hey, mister!”
“…!”
“You just gonna keep sleeping? That kid—the bloodied-up one that was with you—he left by himself.”
When he opened his eyes, he saw the masked woman poking her head through the half-open glass door by the entrance. Inside the dojang, only Young-il remained.
Day Four. Dawn.
Rowon walked toward the apartment with steps that felt like wandering through a long dream.
It wasn’t that he missed home or felt any attachment to his belongings. He simply thought it would be the fastest way. If Baek Seonghyeon was still sending people after him, then there was no way they would be neglecting security in that area.
Even though it wasn’t a road he’d taken often, déjà vu followed him with every step. Just three days ago, Rowon had walked this same path with similar feelings and thoughts. Back when he’d just returned to being human from a zombie, with nowhere else to go, and no choice but to head home.
The man would never know. He’d never know how relieved Rowon had been to find him there in the house instead of his parents. What if, at the very moment he stepped inside, his parents had looked past him and asked for his older brother first? What if he’d had to confess to them that he was the one who killed their son? Every time that thought crossed his mind, Rowon had been filled with dread. He hoped the man would never understand just how much.
Because you were there in that house, maybe I was able to survive three more days.
Wasn’t three days enough? Enough to understand what had happened to him, to realize the horror of what he had done? In that time, he had felt warmth again, had been made happy by a single kind word. For Rowon, that alone made those days more precious than he deserved.
How long had he walked like that?
Thud. A sudden blow to the head made his consciousness flicker. He hadn’t expected a polite welcome, but he hadn’t imagined he’d be struck on the back of the head without warning either. At the very least, he thought he would’ve heard the sound of a motorcycle coming up behind him.
“……!”
He collapsed from the impact, lost consciousness, and woke again on a cold cement floor. It must’ve been a fairly large indoor building. For nighttime, it was strangely bright all around. As he stirred awake to the sound of murmuring voices, countless figures came into view surrounding him. They must have been members of the biker gang. The ones who had lost companions to Rowon when he was a zombie.
It would be a lie to say he wasn’t scared or afraid, but it was a situation he had somewhat anticipated. At the very least, it wasn’t the worst-case scenario. Dying without ever seeing Baek Seonghyeon’s face again would have been worse.
As soon as he lifted his head, Rowon muttered just one sentence.
To the man who stood over him — his brother’s lover.
“…I’m sorry.”
If he had wanted to appear courteous, maybe “Hello” would have been the more appropriate greeting. Rowon considered it for a moment, but there was no point in wondering now.
The man’s foot slammed Rowon’s head into the floor.
Gasping, Rowon let out a painful groan, and laughter erupted from the crowd around them.
“If you were sorry, you shouldn’t have run.”
“……”
“If it happened once, I could have called it a mistake. But this is the second time, isn’t it? Are you at least going to make an excuse this time?”
Even with a mouth, he had nothing to say. Rowon could only cough, struggling to breathe. He already knew that no matter what words were exchanged, none of it would matter. Things were far too broken to be fixed with a conversation, and now he wasn’t even sure if there was any option left other than quietly offering up his neck. At the very least, maybe that would bring the man some relief.
The foot pressing on him was lifted. Rowon raised his head, and the man tilted his chin as if to say: go on, speak. After thinking for a moment, Rowon gave the same answer as before.
“I’m sorry.”
“You came here just to say that? Did you think I might spare you if you apologized?”
“I’m sorry.”
“So you don’t want to live at all? You’re just sorry, and that’s it?”
“I’m sorry…”
He wanted to give a more sincere answer, but nothing came to mind. He doubted that anything he said would help anyway. His brother must have never wanted to show this man anything ugly. If Rowon were to respect that wish, then perhaps the best thing he could do now was keep his mouth shut and add nothing more.
So Rowon said the only thing he believed was appropriate. No self-defense, no pleading for his own life—he let all of that go.
“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Of course. No matter how many times you apologize, that won’t change.”
“Then that’s enough. After you kill me, please forget everything.”
“…Forget it, you say.”
“You know it too, don’t you? That in the end, forgetting is the easiest. It was easiest for me when I forgot. I don’t know how it is for you, but in my experience, that was best.”
As long as the painful past doesn’t come chasing after you, there’s no gift more comforting or merciful than forgetting. Fortunately, that man had the chance to kill off the remnants of his past, so it wouldn’t be too tormenting for him. Rowon honestly didn’t know whether that man could forget as easily as he did, but at least he’d laid the foundation for it — and that alone was enviable.
“Kill me, and let the painful memories die with me. Forget all the bad things and carry only the good with you.”
Rowon meant it from the bottom of his heart. He wished that the man — who must have suffered through every moment because of him — would now be able to find peace again. If the man killed him here and now, that would be a peaceful enough ending in its own right.
Still, if there was one small selfish wish he had, it was to say just one more thing to that man. It was shameless, really, to say it even at the very end, but he just couldn’t stop himself.
“Forget everything, and let it all end with me… Right, could you please not go after that man? The one who ran away with me — the man with the limp.”
“……”
“He had nothing to do with any of this. He only got involved because of me, by accident. The lie, the escape — it was all my doing. So, please…”
He knew it was selfish. He was aware that, in a moment meant for apology and asking for forgiveness, he was bringing up something for his own sake. Even he thought it was shameless. He knew. He really did know.
‘Maybe I take after my brother. I become selfish at the most critical moment.’
Still, what else could he do? He’d found the courage to come here in the first place just to try and protect that one person. If nothing else, may that man come out of this unharmed. May this end just between himself and Baek Seonghyeon.
Rowon looked up at Baek Seonghyeon, sincerely wishing only for that.
The man stared back at him silently.
“…Is that it?”
The dry voice finally came. It was hard to tell if he was dumbfounded or angry. It felt like he could be asking whether Rowon was finally done with his excuses and ready to be killed, or maybe even wondering if that was really all he had to say after being caught with such effort.
“No other words?”
“I don’t know.”
This, too, was hard to read. The man’s face was expressionless, like a perfectly crafted mask. Rowon had expected fury, or maybe the thrill of successful revenge — but from that blank face, he could read neither.
He couldn’t tell whether this man naturally had no expression, or whether he was just hiding it. And just as he was thinking that, Rowon suddenly realized one simple truth:
He didn’t know anything about this person — Baek Seonghyeon.
What kind of person had been his one and only brother’s lover? Rowon could tell he was persistent and meticulous, the type who would do anything for the sake of revenge. But that couldn’t be all. There had to be something about him that made his brother love and cherish him. As a person who lived and breathed, surely there were many other sides to him. If they could talk more, maybe Rowon could learn some of them…
“…Yeah.”
“……”
“There’s no point in asking for a reason now. Hearing it won’t change anything anyway.”
At those resigned words, Rowon could only accept it. He couldn’t move his head well, but in his heart he agreed. Really, what was there left to say between them? If he said that his only brother had been bitten by a zombie, and had begged Rowon to kill him before he fully turned — would that protect even a sliver of Rowon’s dignity? Or, if he answered that he killed him out of a burst of anger because his brother cared only for this man, would that lessen the man’s misery in any meaningful way?
He didn’t know. He had no way of knowing. As Rowon sighed in resignation, two hands came to rest on his throat. As if that sigh had been the final breath he would ever be allowed to release in this life.
“You really are a shameless bastard.”
“……”
“As I thought. You’re nothing like Lee Jeongwon in any way.”
As he dwelled on how heavy and tired that muttering sounded, the grip around his throat tightened. The hands choking him were thinner and weaker than the man who had strangled him days before, but they still had more than enough strength to kill.
Rowon did not resist.
His eyes closed on their own, and darkness swallowed his vision.
Are you insane? Really?
Young-il nearly tumbled down the stairs as he rushed downward. His desperate urgency did nothing to accommodate his ruined leg. His body, stiff from nightmares, refused to move the way he wanted. If the Masked Man behind him hadn’t grabbed his shoulder, he might have tumbled down and died right there.
There was only one thought rising in his head. Are you insane? What the hell were you thinking? Just what were you trying to do?
But he couldn’t be sure who the subject of that thought was. He was yelling it at Lee Rowon in his mind, but maybe it was also directed at himself.
Why the hell did you just lie there sleeping soundly when that kid was leaving? Are you trying to let someone else slip through your fingers again? You couldn’t even save your daughter, or your wife, and now you thought you could save a kid you’ve only known for four days — was that just blind arrogance?
“Are you going after him?”
“I have to. That kid… he’s in a really unstable mental state right now. I’m sure it was impulsive. He probably thought he could resolve it all on his own. But from the beginning, this was never something he could deal with alone. So, we have to go after him, quickly…”
He kept muttering without pause as he hurried down the stairs, but then his foot slipped again. The Masked Man caught him once more, but the size difference between them was too great for that alone to keep him upright. In the end, Young-il’s body slid and he landed hard on the floor with a painful thud.
Luckily, he’d fallen with only a few steps left, so he wasn’t seriously hurt, but the impact on his tailbone and the possible sprain in his ankle left him aching all over.
“This might not be the right time to say this, but… can you even go?”
“……”
“I mean, I’m the one who woke you and told you what happened, so maybe I shouldn’t be the one saying this… but honestly, you don’t look like you’re in any shape to go.”
“……”
“I don’t know the details, but didn’t you run away in the first place because you couldn’t handle it? What good will it do if you go now?”
Young-il groaned, unable to argue with the Masked Man’s words. It wasn’t wrong. In this state, it would be a miracle if he wasn’t caught right alongside Rowon, let alone manage to save anyone. Rowon, like he’d said earlier, was mentally unstable — but physically, he was fine. Young, healthy, and with perfectly working legs.
That kid had probably already gone far by now. Maybe he’d already been caught by Baek Seonghyeon’s group.
“Still, I have to go.”
Young-il forced in a shaky breath and pushed himself to his feet.
And so, he let go of the knot in his chest, and Young-il would go on to live a peaceful life, free from Baek Seonghyeon, without any further threats. Maybe, in that kid’s mind, it was the most ideal ending.
But there was one thing the kid had overlooked.
Park Young-il was a completely different kind of person from Rowon. Just because the evidence in front of him disappeared didn’t mean he could forget everything.
If only that were possible — how nice would that be?
If he could bury the past and live a new life in this new world. If he could bury the dead deep in his heart and let the living go on living. Then maybe he wouldn’t have tried to kill himself so many times. Maybe he wouldn’t be haunted by nightmares every single night.
Living like this is worse than death. You’re not the only one who’s ever had that thought, Rowon.
He understood the boy’s young, impulsive thinking. It must have been a stubborn and obsessive impulse, just like Young-il’s. The only difference was the direction they were facing. Rowon, in his own way, was endlessly fragile — he couldn’t go on living while carrying the full weight of his mistakes. That’s why, before taking his own life, he went to Baek Seonghyeon. In his mind, that was the most logical conclusion.
But at the same time, Young-il was just as stubborn and obsessed. His subconscious whispered that if he lost even Rowon, if he lost anything more at this point, he simply wouldn’t be able to go on. Rationally, of course, it didn’t make sense. Just like Rowon’s thoughts, it didn’t hold up under logical scrutiny — there were plenty of holes in that line of reasoning…
“That kid… he’s not your son, right?”
“……!”
“You don’t really look alike, and I don’t think he ever called you ‘Dad.’ And if you were actually family, I doubt either of you would’ve left the other behind like that.”
Maybe realizing it’d be too rude to ask directly what their relationship was, the Masked Man didn’t press further and just watched Young-il’s expression instead. If he had asked what their connection was, Young-il honestly wouldn’t have known how to answer.
Should he say they’d only known each other for four days? That they were practically enemies? One had killed someone’s parents. The other had raped someone. A bizarre, twisted connection that could only exist in a world like this.
We are… that kid and I…
He didn’t even know if the word “we” was appropriate. Just two strangers who happened to hold their breath in the same apartment for a few days, barely clinging to life. They were nothing to each other.
It was hard to call Rowon his wife’s killer, since even Young-il himself had trouble believing that story. It was even harder to call Rowon his enemy, because Rowon had let go of that label far too quickly.
So what were they, really? Two complete strangers to one another, and yet here he was, claiming he couldn’t live if he lost that boy. Was that just emotional exaggeration?
Or maybe—
Maybe there really had been some sort of feeling between them. One side deliberately denied it, and the other never realized it.
“We’re not family. But still…”
“…….”
“Hey, uh… I have a favor. Can I borrow something from you?”
“Something?”
“In today’s supply drop — they included it, right? Butane gas. I still have the one I got, except for a little bit I used to cook ramen. I’ll come back for it and return it later.”
He couldn’t bring himself to say that he might not make it back to the apartment. That even if he did return, their belongings were probably already stolen. That he might not even survive the night, or manage to save the kid.
Those grim possibilities came to mind, one after another — but he swallowed them all down.
“……!”
“You two didn’t look that much alike, and he didn’t seem to call you ‘Dad.’ And if you were really family, I don’t think you would’ve just left each other like that.”
What’s your relationship, then?
Maybe thinking it would be too rude to ask, the Masked Man held his tongue and just glanced at Young-il, gauging his reaction. And honestly, if someone did ask what their relationship was, Young-il wouldn’t know what to say.
Should he say they’d only known each other for four days? Or that they were like enemies? One had killed someone’s parents, the other had raped someone. A bizarre and grotesque kind of relationship that could only exist in a world like this.
We are—Rowon and I…
He didn’t even know if the word “we” was appropriate. Just two strangers who’d spent a few days hiding out in the same apartment, barely scraping by. They weren’t anything to each other.
Rowon had given up on calling him his parents’ killer far too quickly, and even Young-il himself hadn’t truly believed Rowon was his wife’s killer.
So if they weren’t enemies, then what were they?
Two people who were complete strangers to each other, and yet here he was, saying he couldn’t live if he lost that boy. Maybe that was just an overblown emotional reaction.
Or maybe—
Maybe there had been something between them. One side had deliberately denied it, and the other hadn’t even realized it.
“We’re not family. But still…”
“…….”
“Hey, uh… I have a favor. Could I borrow something from you?”
“Something?”
“There was that thing in today’s supply drop. Butane gas. I still have mine, aside from using a bit to boil ramen… I’ll come back for it later and return it to you.”
He couldn’t bring himself to say that he didn’t know if he’d be able to return to the apartment. Or that even if he did, their supplies might already be gone. That he didn’t even know if he could get Rowon out alive tonight.
A lot of those unfavorable thoughts crossed his mind — but he swallowed every one of them.
He just wanted to think about saving Rowon first. About how he might repay the debt afterward. And… how he was supposed to define his relationship with Lee Rowon.
“You know, I’ve been realizing lately… maybe I’m the kind of guy who’s easy to scam.”
“…….”
“You’d better pay me back later, old man.”
Even he didn’t seem to believe those final words — but Young-il silently nodded all the same.
Kill him. Kill him right now.
While the enraged shouts of the crowd echoed in his ears, Baek Seonghyeon suddenly found himself questioning what he was doing in that moment.
Countless former zombie hunters were gathered here. These days they were more used to being called biker gangs or delinquents, and they even used those labels themselves, but originally, they had gathered with one purpose — to hunt zombies.
Zombies who killed people and then pretended to be human after forgetting everything, discarding guilt and responsibility, had no right to live. Even if some treatment gas tricked them back into human form, a zombie was still a zombie. Killing them was a sacred ritual that burned away painful memories and offered purification.
Everyone in this place wanted Lee Rowon to die. Even Lee Rowon himself seemed to, at least to some extent. Whether zombie or not, that monstrous brat had killed people. There was no way they could just let him live as if nothing had happened after such atrocities. Someone had to kill him and erase him for good.
Baek Seonghyeon had made up his mind to do it — to kill the younger brother of Lee Jeongwon, a young man who had probably just turned twenty-one. He was certain of it. And yet—
Jeongwon, what am I even trying to gain by killing your brother?
The pulse he felt beneath his fingertips sickened him. The sensation of a trembling body convulsing in pain was enough to raise goosebumps on his skin. The young man who had surrendered his body without resisting — Lee Rowon — resembled Lee Jeongwon in no way at all. Maybe the age gap made it feel even more distant.
If this young man had resembled his lover even slightly, would he have hesitated? Would he have asked why? Asked if there had been a reason? Would he have at least questioned how they ended up here, and wondered if there might have been a better path?
No — perhaps it wouldn’t have changed anything. And besides, regret at this point was far too late. The life fading beneath his hands was already beyond saving, and there was no reason to save him to begin with. This moment was something he had pursued for far too long for him to suddenly create an excuse to stop now.
If he did not finish this act, Baek Seonghyeon’s life would never move forward — no matter what he did. He would never shake off the nightmares left behind by the zombie outbreak. He would never step into the next chapter of his life.
Yet, as he watched life slowly suffocate and slip away, certain words rose unbidden in his mind.
Is revenge really what you need in order to breathe again?
Then that’s enough. After you kill me, please forget everything.
The thoughts he had avoided for so long finally surfaced. He was certain that if he killed this young man, he would finally rid himself of the resentment and torment that had crushed his chest ever since his lover died. If he could empty those emotions, he might at last escape the nightmare, breathe again, and even feel the strength to keep living.
But—
Even if it brings me relief, I’ll never be able to forget that I killed your brother.
The resentment would fade, but guilt would remain. The nightmares would stop, but even if he woke refreshed in the morning, the lover who used to greet him at his side would never return. He had prepared himself for that. He truly had. But even so—
It was then.
Just as Seonghyeon was straining to keep his hands clenched around the boy’s throat, a sudden outcry struck his ears like a hammer.
“Fire! There’s a fire!”
Wait—what? At the unexpected uproar, everyone — including him — turned their eyes toward the noise. Come to think of it, there did seem to be a faint, acrid smell of something burning in the air.
“What? A fire?”
“Some crazy bastard set fire to our supply warehouse!”
“Shouldn’t someone call 119? The fire department?”
“What the hell are you talking about, you lunatic? You think calling will make the fire trucks show up? We have to put it out ourselves!”
Through the window, an unnatural light was flickering. It wasn’t from electric bulbs or artificial lighting — it was the glow of something burning.
Who the hell would do this now?
Flustered, Seonghyeon began to rise, but then he noticed something — Rowon, staring up at him with a look of realization in his eyes.
The next moment, a powerful blow struck him square in the gut.
I have to go save him.
Rowon realized it instinctively, even though no one told him.
“Start with the butane gas — we’ve got a whole stash there! If it all blows, we’re screwed!”
“How the hell did this fire even start? No one should’ve been in that warehouse! There’s no reason for anyone to be there at this hour…”
“Shit. You think someone did it on purpose?”
Maybe it was just a coincidence. Someone could’ve been sneaking a cigarette and accidentally started the fire. Or maybe someone who held a grudge against the group had used the chaos as cover to strike.
But it was strange — very strange.
Rowon had no solid reason to be sure, but one man’s face surfaced in his mind. The man he had hoped would fall into a deep, peaceful sleep, not dreaming or knowing anything — and only upon waking to the morning sun would feel sadness.
Maybe… just maybe.
He had believed that man could never know where he was taken. And even if he did know, there was no way he could arrive in time with that limping leg. So it was nothing more than an unrealistic fantasy. The idea that the man would suddenly come storming in, furious to the point of shaking, shouting you damned brat and breaking down in tears as he held him in his arms — that was nothing but a dream.
I know. It’s nonsense.
It was far too absurd and laughable. To run out chasing such an illusion would be disgraceful. If anyone accused him of changing his mind just because the situation had shifted — of using someone else as an excuse because he suddenly wanted to live — he would have no argument against it.
However, if by some slim chance—
If that man, driven by nothing but the desperate will to save Rowon, had dragged his ruined leg all the way here—
No.
His body moved on its own.
The man who had moments ago been strangling him with merciless determination, intent on killing, now collapsed onto the ground in a ridiculous, almost pitiful tumble.
“Kh— cough—!”
Rowon tried to stand without hesitation. Of course, having no hesitation didn’t mean his body actually cooperated. He ended up rolling on the ground several times, forcing what little oxygen he could into his lungs before he could finally push himself up to his feet.
“Hey, he’s running! Catch him!”
Those who realized what was happening shouted in alarm, but not many were able to chase him. Most of them were racing toward the fire in a panic, trying to put it out before the situation grew worse.
That didn’t mean the way was completely clear. Baek Seonghyeon himself was already staggering upright, glaring at Rowon. Since the man stood between him and the exit, Rowon would either have to knock him down or find a way around him.
But then — why was it?
Baek Seonghyeon only glared at Rowon. He didn’t charge at him or try to strangle him again.
“You crazy bastard.”
“…?”
“That guy, right? He set a warehouse full of butane gas on fire to save one person?”
“Uh, well… I mean, it’s probably better than throwing butane gas to kill someone, right?”
There was no proof yet that the fire was started by Park Young-il, but even if it were true, it still seemed like a more restrained use compared to the homemade weapons the biker gang had been using. Still, Rowon found it odd. He hadn’t expected them to have the luxury of having this kind of conversation right now.
“…It’s meaningless now, isn’t it? Begging you not to kill me.”
“Isn’t it weirder to let someone off after they set a building on fire? With a busted leg, too — what was he thinking?”
It sounded like he was saying: unless he was trying to run away with someone else, there’s no way he’d get far. He’d be caught right away if he tried to escape on his own. That was the implication. And Rowon agreed with him, deep down. If that man really did start the fire just to save him, then there was no way Rowon could die here.
Rowon took a quiet breath and spoke.
He wasn’t sure if it was something he should say to this man — but at the very least, it seemed like something useful to say right now.
“You know, Baek Seonghyeon…”
“……”
“Hyung said… he didn’t want to show you anything bad about himself, Seonghyeon.”
At the very least, to his own blood, you were someone precious. He could ask his only younger brother to kill him without hesitation — but he didn’t even want to show you what it looked like as he turned into a zombie. Maybe, even if he was the most selfish kind of brother, he still knew what it meant to cherish a lover.
And now, Rowon had found someone just as precious — someone he absolutely could not turn his back on.
“So I’m sorry.”
“…Son of a bitch.”
The moment the man muttered with a hollow voice, Rowon lunged at him.
The blow, thrown with all his weight behind it, sent Baek Seonghyeon sprawling across the ground. Without missing a beat, Rowon sprinted toward the door.
That man had to be out there somewhere. Maybe it was just wishful thinking — nothing more than a delusion — but even so, Rowon followed his instincts and bolted.
He had figured setting the fire was the fastest method, but even Young-il hadn’t expected the flames to spread this quickly.
He saw crowds of people scrambling to put it out. One building in particular seemed to be spilling out an unusual number of people — maybe it was used for lodging, or maybe something had been going on inside.
Did I do the right thing?
He’d known for a while where the biker gang’s base was. They had taken over multiple buildings and topped them off with loud, messy barbed wire. Anyone who’d been in the area long enough would’ve known. A lighter he’d luckily found near a taekwondo studio, flammable fabric borrowed from a dry cleaner, and a few cans of butane gas — that was all it took to start a large fire.
Now, he just had to find that boy.
He still didn’t know where he was. Maybe he was already too late. Maybe the kid was already dead, and all this chaos had been for nothing. The thought terrified him.
Don’t try to run by dying. It might give you peace, but now I’m the one who needs you.
That boy was infinitely fragile and broken — the kind of person who might crumble under the weight of his guilt. Maybe, from Rowon’s point of view, dying really was the best choice. Talking about what’s “best” when it comes to death was ridiculous, but Young-il understood that everyone had their own version of what “best” meant.
But that wasn’t the best choice for Young-il. So he had no choice but to grab him, hold him up, and make him stand.
If there’s anything I can give, I will. Just come with me.
Young-il, too, was endlessly weak and lacking. He had no confidence in surviving alone. Rowon forgot easily, and Young-il remembered everything — maybe that was enough to keep them balanced. It was how they had each adapted in order to survive this hellish world. So if they could just meet again — if they could just find each other and run…
But maybe his luck had run out.
While he was searching through dark corners, trying to avoid attention, some of the people running around with water buckets spotted him.
“That bastard—what the hell?!”
“It’s that limping guy from earlier! Don’t tell me he’s the one who—!”
No matter how chaotic and frantic the situation was, a suspicious-looking person was bound to stand out. Young-il instinctively took a step back. A few people had already thrown aside their water buckets and were rushing toward him.
He had to run.
But could he?
No — was it even okay to run when he hadn’t found Rowon yet? If he ran now, how would he ever find that kid again, or know where and when to meet him?
As he hesitated in confusion and panic, groaning to himself, his body was suddenly lifted off the ground.
“Mister, let’s go!”
“……!”
A familiar voice. That reckless strength lifting him up without asking. The tears welled up before he could even feel stunned or angry — overwhelmed by the joy. Truly, this kid was unbelievably, ridiculously stupid. Though, from Rowon’s perspective, it was probably the other way around.
“Mister, aren’t you seriously an idiot? What were you thinking, coming all the way here?!”
“You little punk—! There are things you just don’t say—!”
“You couldn’t even run away on your own! If I hadn’t shown up, you’d already be caught for sure!”
He had come all this way to stop Rowon from dying, only to be called an idiot. Was it really okay to save such a fool? It was almost laughable — but the brat wasn’t entirely wrong.
Rowon darted through the chaos like lightning, throwing off their pursuers with ease. A few of them gave chase in confusion, but when they heard other voices shouting from behind, they hesitated and veered off. It seemed putting out the fire took priority.
Young-il, clinging to Rowon, silently prayed the fire wouldn’t spread too far. There had been a time when just brushing against this boy had filled him with fear and dread — but now, somehow, he found comfort in the warmth and contact. Without thinking, he leaned a little closer into Rowon’s chest.
And at that, the young man — panting from the run — let out a breathless, half-laugh.
“You really are… Mister, you really are…”
“…….”
“You’re irresponsible. And yet, you’re so kind.”
He didn’t dwell on the meaning of the word “irresponsible” just then. Just seeing that awkwardly averted gaze, that faintly reddened face not from exertion or sweat but something else, was enough to make something stir from deep inside him — a realization that didn’t even need to pass through his brain.
“Mister.”
“Yeah.”
“There’s something I always thought was pointless to say to you.”
“What is it?”
“Guess.”
“…I think I might know.”
“You don’t, really. You’re such an idiot, Mister.”
No — now he knew. But he didn’t want to deny that “idiot” part. In that regard, Young-il really was an idiot. Of course, accepting those feelings, and even going so far as to return them, might be something else entirely. Still…
It had only been four days. Four days to go from hatred and thinking they were completely incompatible, to thinking: I want to be with this person.
That seemed like a strange and surprising thing. If he spent even more time with that kid, maybe Young-il’s heart would start to shift, too.
“…Hey.”
“Yes?”
“There’s just one thing I can say for sure. No matter what you say to me, I think I’d still rather be with you.”
“……!”
“This is all I can say right now. I can’t promise you much. I can’t give you certainty about everything…”
But still. I know for sure that I need you.
Hearing that whispered truth, Rowon’s lips seemed to relax just slightly. He didn’t say anything after that, not a single word.
They kept running.
By the time Rowon’s exhausted steps began to slow and Young-il was walking on his own again, the sun had already begun to rise in the sky.
“The night’s already over.”
That night really did pass in an instant, Young-il murmured. He hadn’t gotten any proper sleep, so his body was a wreck. He hadn’t eaten anything, and there wasn’t even any food left to eat — hunger would come soon. Once the sun climbed higher, the suffocating heat would return. The world ahead would still be just as harsh.
And yet—
“What are we going to do now, Mister?”
“…I don’t know. Should we just go somewhere? Then again, what about the stuff we left in the apartment?”
“Maybe we’ll be able to get it back. You made the fire pretty big, so they’re probably all panicking. And more importantly… I don’t think Baek Seonghyeon will come after us right away. Just my guess, though.”
“I hope you’re right. In that case, let’s get what we can and get out. Anywhere. As long as it’s not here.”
That apartment didn’t seem to hold good memories for either of them, so maybe now really was the perfect time to leave it behind. Even if there was nowhere waiting to welcome them, wouldn’t a path open up somewhere?
Even if they were only running away, that would be enough.
Even if the zombie crisis eventually ended and normal life returned, the two of them would probably keep running for the rest of their lives, always trying to forget something. Reality was too overwhelming to completely forget, and the human heart was too weak to carry it all — but as long as they could lean on each other as they moved forward…
Let’s go somewhere better.
We’re broken and ruined, but if we can lean on each other, we’ll manage somehow.
The two of them stumbled forward, hand in hand. Faint morning light stretched across the dirty asphalt road.
4 Days a Stranger – Complete.