DP Episode 130

Episode 130

It was an absurd set of readings.

For a typical human, a heart rate above 100 beats per minute was already considered irregular. But Cha Yeon-woo’s heart rate had exceeded 400. His body temperature fluctuated wildly between 20 and 60 degrees Celsius, and his brainwave signals oscillated between those of a comatose patient and erratic spikes that seemed almost alive with chaos.

These numbers simply couldn’t belong to a living human.

“This is the heart rate, and here’s the brainwave activity. Below that, body temperature and hormone levels. But these readings are…”

Song-hee pointed at the monitor, trying to explain to Colonel Jin.

Twelve hours had passed since Cha Yeon-woo entered the gate, his bio-signals intermittently sending out inexplicable patterns from within. In the meantime, Colonel Jin had faced numerous challenges, including confrontations with operatives sent by Major General Park.

Tearing off his rank insignia and swearing at a superior had been grounds for severe disciplinary action, but the “final gate” operation was highly classified. Replacing Jin or introducing third parties would have been a logistical and security nightmare.

Aside from an initial clash over gaining access to the main tower, Jin’s adherence to the mission had largely gone unquestioned. Major General Park reluctantly allowed him to retain command of the operation, provided all activities remained under close surveillance.

If the higher-ups knew the true intent of this mission—to guide and potentially revive a “No-Named” operative—they would have never allowed this to continue. Fortunately, those details remained hidden.

Jin took a swig of his strong instant coffee, the bitterness jolting him awake. His bloodshot eyes fixed on the monitor. The gate, which had expanded erratically and surged with activity shortly after Cha Yeon-woo’s entry, had finally settled into a lull as dawn approached.

The relentless gunfire that had echoed throughout the day had also subsided. Operatives remained at their posts, either waiting or dealing with the few remaining anomalies.

After listening to Song-hee’s breakdown, Colonel Jin pointed at part of the monitor.

“So, what does this mean? Is the kid brain-dead right now?”

“Well, if you only look at the brainwave readings, it seems like it, but his heart rate is—”

“Overpivot.”

Hee-min, who had been staring unblinkingly at the monitor, murmured the term. Song-hee turned to him, puzzled.

“Overpivot? But that only happens with Espers.”

The bio-patterns on display did resemble the telltale signs of an Esper on the brink of overload. Straightening abruptly, Song-hee clapped her hands as if struck by a realization.

“Oh, then could Yeon-woo’s chip be linked to Ji’s?”

Still glued to the monitor, Hee-min responded in an even, minimal tone, as though speaking disrupted his focus.

“Ji Seo-joon’s already in full overload.”

It was almost as if moving his lips to talk was an obstacle to observing the data.

“Then… it must be the equipment malfunctioning?”

Song-hee nodded to herself, her explanation seemingly making the most sense. But Hee-min didn’t answer.

His gaze shifted to the camera feed capturing the gate. His expression was ghostly, as if he were witnessing something beyond comprehension.

…What in the world are you doing in there, Cha Yeon-woo?

✽✽✽

“Cha Yeon-woo.”

A sharp nudge from the tip of a foot prodded his curled-up back. Yeon-woo’s eyes flew open, and he instinctively checked the baby cradled in his arms, sitting up quickly.

“Do my words mean nothing to you? Huh?”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Yeon-woo apologized reflexively, clutching the baby tightly to his chest.

“How many times do I have to ask? Is there any ramen in the house? You little bastard, ignoring me because you’re too busy doting on the kid, huh?”

“Th-there’s no ramen…”

The cold, gray eyes twisted with rage.

“Why not?”

Yeon-woo gasped, shuffling backward on the floor, still seated.

“Why not, you little bastard! I should rip out your damn eyes, shouldn’t I?”

A fierce blow came down on his head.

Thud.

A dislodged eyeball rolled across the floor.

Huff, gagging, save me, save me, please save me, someone save me.

Shaking hands reached up to feel his face, searching for reassurance. Slowly, Yeon-woo retreated toward the front door. His eyes were still intact, but the floor beneath his hands was littered with hundreds of smashed and squished eyeballs.

“Cha Yeon-woo.”

A vicious kick sent his body flying out the door, crashing against the edge of the cold cement stairs. The impact shattered his ribs, and the piercing pain stabbed into his lungs.

“You worthless piece of trash, today you’re dead! You think you can eat ramen by yourself while I haven’t even eaten yet? Huh?”

“I-I didn’t eat it, I swear…”

“Yeah, well, we’ll find out once I cut open your stomach, won’t we?”

Clutching the baby tightly, wrapping the blanket around them both, Yeon-woo scrambled up the stairs on all fours in a frenzy.

“Stop right there, Cha Yeon-woo! If I catch you, you’re dead, you hear me?”

The venomous curses felt like they were grabbing at his ankles, chasing him with a chilling dread. Barefoot and desperate, Yeon-woo ran through the icy alley, holding the baby as if his life depended on it.

Huff, gagging, save me, save me, save me. Please, someone, anyone, please, someone.

Please, just save you.

The world turned blinding white as snowflakes swirled through the frigid air. The cold filled his lungs, suffocating him, pressing down on his insides.

Gasp, heave, gag. Red, green, yellow, blue. The church crosses lined along the sloping alley gleamed in dazzling colors.

Red, green, yellow, blue. Red, green, yellow, blue. Red, green, yellow, blue.

Let’s just die together.

Die together, die, die, die, die, together, together, together, together.

Yeon-woo’s trembling feet gave out beneath him, and he crumpled onto the ground. Wrapping himself tightly around the baby bundled in the blanket, he stared down at it, as if checking something.

“…”

The snowflakes clung to his eyelashes, cold and delicate, fluttering faintly as he blinked.

It wasn’t Jung-woo. What he had been holding all this time wasn’t Jung-woo.

It was a bright, pulsing red heart.

No.

The scream that tore from his throat was barely human, a guttural wail that echoed like the howling of a beast.

The pristine white snow turned crimson, soaking and sticky. The red-streaked world bled before his eyes, and the mangled flesh and viscera in his trembling hands writhed and pulsed, twisting grotesquely.

Yeon-woo.

Stop. Please.

Save me.

✽✽✽

Day 3 of Cha Yeon-woo’s Entrapment

Wrapped in a blanket and dozing fitfully, Song-hee blinked awake. The communication equipment, which had been erratically cutting in and out, was once again faintly picking up traces of Cha Yeon-woo’s bio-signal.

She sat up, her movements groggy yet purposeful, and looked over at Hee-min, who hadn’t slept a wink and stared intently at the fluctuating signal with unyielding focus.

“Director…?”

Her voice was low, tentative. Did you get any sleep? She stood and gently nudged Jin Dae-ryeong awake, shaking him from his light doze. He jolted upright, immediately activating his radio.

—Preparing to confirm the end of the Gate soon.

“Not yet. …Not yet. Stay on standby,” Jin growled into the radio, his voice rough with exhaustion. He sat upright, stretching his body that felt like a lead weight.

The Gate, which had stopped ejecting more monsters since the first day, now seemed calm. Some teams had already been ordered to withdraw, while others remained to monitor for any unforeseen developments. Everyone, including Jin, was running on fumes.

He turned to the monitor showing the faint trace of bio-signals.

“Man, NASA sure knows how to make batteries…,” he muttered, his words more an exasperated reflex than actual commentary.

Without the miraculous endurance of the device, they would have long since declared the Gate closed and accepted Cha Yeon-woo’s death, pulling back the remaining forces. Yet every time they thought of leaving, the signal—however faint—reappeared, pulling them back into hope’s vicious cycle.

But calling it hope felt overly generous.

The erratic beeping and wild fluctuations of the bio-signal weren’t human—not by any stretch of the imagination. Even someone like Jin, who had no medical expertise, could see that these were not the readings of a healthy person.

He turned to Hee-min, who seemed rooted to his spot like a statue.

“Director Kang, have you gotten any rest?”

Jin placed a firm hand on the other man’s shoulder, his tone more strained than sympathetic.

“This… is unbelievable,” Hee-min murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What is?”

“This… shouldn’t be possible….”

Song-hee stepped closer, squinting at the monitor. The erratic bio-signal—still deep in an over-pivot state—looked to her like a technical glitch. After all, humans hadn’t even mastered observing black holes, let alone understanding what lay beyond a Gate. Perhaps this was all meaningless data, a cruel mistake that was fueling their misplaced hope.

But Hee-min’s murmur had a different weight.

“This is… most likely…”

Before he could finish, the ground trembled violently.

Boom. Rumble, rumble—

Dust cascaded from the ceiling as small pieces of debris clattered to the floor.

Jin’s eyes snapped to the Gate’s feed on the camera monitor. The structure, which had calmed for a day, was now violently convulsing. Fissures were forming; parts of it looked ready to burst open anew.

“Get out. Everyone, out—now!”

Jin barked, grabbing Hee-min and Song-hee to push them toward the exit. A warning blared over the radio.

—Gate wave detected. Expecting maximum scale vibrations.

The vibrations rippled through the building, shaking even the nearby structures. This wasn’t just routine tremors—this was catastrophic.

“Move! Get out before the building collapses!”

Jin’s shout sent Song-hee into a frantic sprint. She tugged at Hee-min, who still couldn’t take his eyes off the monitor. The horrifying screech of metal buckling under pressure echoed dangerously close.

“Director Kang! Let’s go! Please, now!” Song-hee screamed, panic clawing at her voice. But Hee-min, swaying slightly as he stood, stared at the monitor with a look of eerie clarity.

This isn’t a technical error. This isn’t just an over-pivot.

It’s a ‘deep pivot’.

A desperate, primal resonance of survival.

In other words—

Cha Yeon-woo is guiding Ji Seo-joon right now.

TL/N: Hehe hope you guys forgave me for my mistake. Also wanted to ask cuz there are only 10 chaps till main story ending do you guys want me to continue with 1 chap per week or post them all!! cuz I deffo can.