DP Episode 125

Episode 125

“Where should we go for our trip tomorrow?”

Under the faint glow of the bedside lamp in the dim bedroom.

“…Anywhere. It might be fun to just go somewhere on a whim.”

Yeon-woo clearly remembered Seo-joon’s face from the previous night. He’d thought the redness in Seo-joon’s eyes and the unnatural shine were merely due to the lighting.

“Do you think it’s too cold for the beach? I really want to see the ocean with you, Lieutenant…”

He also recalled how cold Seo-joon’s hand had felt as it brushed against his cheek. Foolishly, Yeon-woo had only focused on warming his hand with his own.

“Let’s go to the beach. We’ll do what you want to do, Yeon-woo.”

“But you get cold easily, Lieutenant. Is there anywhere else you’d like to go?”

“…”

That sudden, heavy silence should have been his first clue.

He should have noticed then. Truly, he should have held on to Seo-joon in that moment.

Should have tied him down, bound him so tightly that he couldn’t leave—couldn’t go anywhere.

“…Wherever you go.”

His voice, low and cracked, like it was breaking apart.

“That’s where I want to go.”

The tremor in Seo-joon’s body as he burrowed closer.

Every single one of those moments had been a signal. Why hadn’t Yeon-woo realized it?

“You’re dangerous.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re too beautiful, Yeon-woo. …I can’t help but want more.”

He should have known then. Should have understood that it wasn’t a casual sentiment but a desperate plea to keep living.

Despite being so close, even when he was cutting into Seo-joon’s very core—his heart, his soul—Yeon-woo hadn’t been able to glimpse that vital truth.

“It’s too late now, Baby…”

Perhaps smart people live with grand convictions. But for Yeon-woo, whose life had been no more than scraping by day to day, those lofty ideals were beyond comprehension.

Seo-joon was the beginning of this disaster, they said. That he had to disappear for the disaster to end. That he wasn’t human to begin with but an external force that had brought calamity upon the Earth.

That this had been everyone’s unavoidable choice.

“The operation started early this morning. Right now, Lieutenant Ji is—”

“Where is he?”

As those incomprehensible words filled the air, Cha Yeon-woo clung to only one thought.

The warmth of Seo-joon’s body, which had held him just that morning. The heartbeat he’d felt beneath his palm as they drifted off to sleep. The soft, rhythmic breaths he had memorized.

Somehow, no matter what, Yeon-woo had to bring him back.

The convictions of others might have been grand and wise, but if Yeon-woo had a conviction, it was Seo-joon.

Seo-joon was the fantasy that kept his burdensome, exhausting life afloat.

Seo-joon was Cha Yeon-woo’s belief, his world, and his god.

✽✽✽

“Are you saying you deliberately concealed the truth with intent?”

“I didn’t conceal anything! I was verifying the causal relationship!”

Bang!

Hee-min slammed the table, his shout echoing through the conference room, unable to contain his anger.

“Is it right to sacrifice someone recklessly without knowing the full truth?”

“Doctor Kang…”

One of the officials, seated slightly away from the head of the table, exhaled as though the situation was ridiculous.

“You keep claiming you didn’t know, but you were aware of the assassins sent by the IGTS Deputy Director targeting our No-Name. Isn’t that right?”

“…”

“You had multiple calls with the Deputy Director. You discussed the disappearance of gates in Moscow and surrounding countries multiple times.”

“That was…!”

“You were aware that the DNA structure of the No-Name and the gates were the same. You confirmed this with the Deputy Director and even verified it personally. Why didn’t you report this connection to the higher-ups sooner?”

Evidence, including records of gate samples collected via Colonel Jin and comparative results with No-Name samples, was laid out before them—evidence seized directly from Hee-min’s lab.

“After that, you even traveled to Ohio, where NASA’s base is located, with the No-Name in tow. This is clearly an act of deceiving the upper echelons—”

“I believed there was another way.”

Hee-min cut him off, his voice resolute.

“I intended to find that way myself.”

His words were met with derisive laughter.

“Were the disaster victims not part of your calculations during your search for this ‘way’?”

“That’s not it…”

Hee-min’s voice faltered, and he swallowed his words.

Up until recently, Sergei from Russia had been the only sample suggesting a possible link between the gates and the No-Name. It was only after No-Names from other countries began to surface that the situation became undeniably clear.

It felt like watching a delicately balanced scale tilt irreversibly with a single drop of water.

Now, the upper management, scrambling to assign blame, had set their sights on Hee-min—it was inevitable.

The room’s dozen or so occupants sighed, folding their arms or leaning back in their chairs, all staring at the now-silent Hee-min.

“It seems Doctor Kang allowed personal feelings to cloud his judgment.”

“The weight of responsibility is heavy, isn’t it, Director Kang? Especially for the head of a disaster research center tasked with handling national crises.”

“…”

“A moment’s foolish decision can lead to devastating consequences.”

The veneer of sympathy was nothing but hypocrisy.

“Though it’s not officially acknowledged, it’s undeniable that South Korea is a No-Name-possessing nation. If this issue offends China or Japan, it could escalate into a diplomatic crisis.”

The arguments presented were so well-crafted that even Hee-min couldn’t refute them.

“If you want to continue your gate research, go to NASA or elsewhere. But as for your position as the Awakener Research Center’s director, it’s time to step down.”

This was the outcome Hee-min had faced just two days prior.

“I still don’t get what’s going on, Director,” Song-hee said, her face blank with disbelief, her voice unable to mask her unease.

Hee-min, packing up his belongings, ignored her and let out a heavy sigh.

The disaster victims, the catastrophe at Shin Hee-dong, all the while he kept the truth concealed—it all began to weigh on him. No matter how steadfast his resolve had been, days of relentless criticism from all sides had begun to erode his convictions.

Maybe he wasn’t as good a physician as he thought.

…It was over.

He could no longer save Seo-joon, nor did he have the will to try.

“Just a few days ago, you were flying out to NASA on a private jet. Now you’re packing up? Has your replacement been chosen? No one told me anything,” Song-hee said, her frustration clear.

“They’ll fill the spot with someone suitable soon enough,” Hee-min replied in a tired voice, patting her on the shoulder. He handed her a small box while cradling a larger one himself and stepped out of the lab.

“I’ll be back up for another load. There’s more than I thought, after all.”

“But why were you suddenly dismissed? What is even—”

Song-hee’s words were cut off by a loud commotion from somewhere below. Both their heads turned toward the noise. From downstairs, a crashing sound reverberated through the building, sending a chill through the air.

✽✽✽

“Where is the site?”

Yeong-gyo’s words were cut off by Yeon-woo’s low voice, sinking as though it had dropped deep underground.

Even after hearing the full truth, Yeon-woo’s face remained eerily calm. Too calm, like the desolate stillness of an abyss. His piercing blue eyes shifted from Yeong-gyo to Cheong-oh.

“Where is Lieutenant Ji?”

“…Baby, please, sit down. Let’s just talk for a moment—”

Cheong-oh couldn’t finish his sentence. Yeon-woo’s imposing frame moved toward him in an instant. Realizing Yeon-woo was after his phone, Cheong-oh instinctively hid it behind his back.

“Ba—Baby, calm down. L-let’s talk—ugh!”

Crash!

Yeong-gyo shrieked as a table overturned with a loud clatter. The room filled with chaos as Yeon-woo and Cheong-oh wrestled for the phone.

“I told you, it’s no use going there—ah, damn it! Baby, calm down! Listen to me—ow—!”

Thud!

A chair flew across the room as Cheong-oh’s flailing leg struck it. Despite his military experience, Cheong-oh couldn’t match the sheer ferocity of Yeon-woo, whose strength now bordered on madness.

“Then just tell me.”

Pinned under Yeon-woo’s weight, Cheong-oh quickly realized he couldn’t escape. Yeon-woo’s ice-cold voice demanded:

“Where is Lieutenant Ji?”

“I can’t! Seo-joon begged me—begged me to make sure you wouldn’t—argh!”

“Baby, stop…!”

Yeong-gyo retreated to the corner of the lounge, her voice trembling with distress.

She couldn’t bring herself to intervene. Yeon-woo’s desperation was so raw, so unrelenting, that it left her paralyzed with pity.

Pinned to the floor, Cheong-oh’s grip finally gave way, and the phone slipped out of his hands. Yeon-woo seized it, forcing Cheong-oh’s head to the side to unlock it via facial recognition.

“…”

The sound of Cheong-oh’s labored breathing and Yeong-gyo’s muffled sobs filled the tense silence. Yeon-woo sat atop Cheong-oh, eerily composed now, his focus entirely on the phone in his hands.

[Central Disaster Management Center]

Seoul District 2, Yeonwol-dong Access Restrictions

Location: TH Megatower construction site and surrounding area.

Nearby roads are restricted, leading to expected traffic congestion. Please seek alternate routes.

Affected areas: Yeonwol IC, District 2 Outer Ring Road, etc.

Yeon-woo read the disaster alert message, then calmly placed the phone beside Cheong-oh’s head. Rising to his feet, he turned to face the two officers.

“…I’m sorry. I truly apologize.”

He bowed deeply to both of them.

Yeong-gyo, unable to suppress her anguish, stepped aside from the lounge door. She had faced countless terrifying anomalies without flinching, yet Yeon-woo’s desperation left her defenseless.

For the briefest moment, Yeon-woo’s eyes met hers. They were filled with such fragile determination that it felt like he might shatter at any moment.