DP Side Story 2, Episode 11
by BrieDeep Pivot Side Story 2, Episode 11
Officially, only five no-named Espers remained.
Among them, the one from Libya had secretly applied for asylum in the United States through NASA. However, while the U.S. side was preparing the immigration process, they suddenly withdrew the request.
Then, two weeks ago, the death of the Libyan no-named Esper was unofficially confirmed.
“Only four remain now. The only one whose survival is currently certain is in Brazil.”
The Federative Republic of Brazil had signed an agreement with the U.S. to continue gate research in cooperation. Eventually, a new facility was planned to be constructed in Antarctica—a gate research base where the remaining no-named Espers would be gathered.
Antarctica is about 1.4 times larger than the United States. What Cha Yeon-woo had once half-crazed pleaded to Hee-min—“Take me somewhere deserted with you, like an uninhabited island. I’ll live like I’m dead and never step outside”—was beginning to take form in reality.
However, since over 50 countries currently operate scientific stations in Antarctica, their collective approval was required, and that process was moving painfully slowly.
“And here’s where the problem lies. Until the Antarctic gate research base is completed, we don’t know if the countries currently sheltering the remaining no-nameds will hold out.”
At the seminar, where such dull discussions were taking place, Yeon-woo dozed off with his head resting on Seo-joon’s shoulder. The content would’ve been boring even in Korean, so it was only natural to fall asleep after listening to hours of English he could barely understand.
The other SAU team members weren’t any different. Jet lagged and fatigued, the seminar was basically a strong sedative. Seo-joon, burdened with the guilt of being one of the surviving no-nameds, couldn’t even allow himself to sleep and forced himself to listen attentively.
“…That does sound serious.”
Seo-joon gave mechanical replies whenever he locked eyes with the lab director. Yeon-woo, with his head on Seo-joon’s shoulder, would occasionally nod in a half-awake state, pretending he was following along.
Finally, break time came. The team members collapsed like broken puppets. Seo-joon also took Yeon-woo outside for some fresh air. Yeon-woo stepped away for a moment, saying he needed to wash his face with cold water to wake up.
While waiting, Seo-joon slowly walked across the neatly trimmed artificial grass. That’s when Lieutenant Park Min-geon stepped out with a cigarette in his mouth.
“…”
Seo-joon gave him a short nod, which Min-geon returned. Some people got along fine in a group but felt awkward face-to-face. It wasn’t that their relationship was bad—just not especially close.
“…Lieutenant Ji, did you ever smoke?”
Min-geon hesitantly stepped closer and held out his pack. Seo-joon smiled and shook his head. Blowing out a puff of smoke, Min-geon chuckled.
“Man, they sure talk a lot in there.”
“Seriously.”
A brief silence passed.
“Hey, um…”
Min-geon awkwardly started, pausing for several seconds before continuing.
“There was never a good time to bring this up properly, so I haven’t said it until now.”
Seo-joon turned to look at him. Min-geon, still staring straight ahead in silence, finally spoke.
“…The final gate incident.”
He finally turned and made eye contact.
“I still feel sorry about it, Lieutenant Ji.”
“Sorry about what?”
“About participating in that operation.”
The unexpected words made Seo-joon blink. Min-geon, face calm, continued speaking.
“My belief was always to respect your decision. But that doesn’t mean I’m blameless.”
When Cheong-oh and Young-gyo had refused to participate on principle, Min-geon had gone ahead with the mission. He’d wanted to honor Seo-joon’s choice. If none of the SAU team were there, Seo-joon would’ve been alone. Given how things had turned out, he’d rather stand beside him as a teammate than be a bystander on his final path.
But when Cha Yeon-woo showed up, they all realized how foolish that decision had been. Though they eventually changed their minds and supported Yeon-woo, the guilt over their initial choice never went away.
“Captain Yoo Si-hwan, me, everyone who went—we all know we’re guilty in your eyes. We all feel bad about it.”
“…”
“I’ve always wanted to say it at least once. Not to ease my conscience… I just didn’t want to forget.”
Min-geon, who had been holding Seo-joon’s gaze, finally looked away and scratched at his scalp. These kinds of talks were best done over drinks, but the damn seminar wouldn’t end. He muttered something awkward like that to himself.
“…And now you bring this up, after all this time.”
Seo-joon chuckled incredulously. Everyone had been foolish back then. Countless officers, Major Park, Colonel Jin, Doctor Kang Hee-min, Jin Cheong-oh… even himself.
In the end, it was just that the one who was more desperate had grabbed the trolley brake. Cha Yeon-woo’s desperation mocked the foolishness of thousands and, with his ironclad will, shattered the tracks entirely.
So Seo-joon believed there were no true villains in the trolley incident. There were just people who held the switch, those who wanted to fix the brakes, those who wanted to clear the trolley off the tracks, those who ended up on unwanted paths by their own choice—or by pressure from others.
“This grudge is lasting way too long. We could’ve flown to the U.S. three times and back already.”
Min-geon chuckled and tapped Seo-joon’s shoulder at the poorly timed joke. He stubbed out his cigarette, filter and all, in a paper cup, and muttered in mock-annoyance.
“Not like I had a chance to say anything anyway. You’re always off playing with the kid. We’ve tried to get you to drink with us like five times, and you don’t even check the chat room these days.”
“That’s because I can’t stand Lieutenant Bbak’s profile picture.”
Seo-joon deadpanned.
“What’d you say, punk?”
“When I open the chat, it’s the first thing I see. And of course, he posts the most. Every time I see that new picture… ugh.”
Seo-joon grimaced like it was a horror show. Min-geon looked genuinely offended.
“Hey, that photo came out great!”
“Not at all.”
“Like your profile’s any better?”
“I look handsome.”
“…Shit, you’re so full of yourself.”
Their silly bickering made them both laugh. Yeon-woo approached in the middle of it.
“What’s so funny?”
“We’re talking about how good-looking Lieutenant Ji is.”
Yeon-woo hugged Seo-joon from behind and blinked at Min-geon, as if to say, “Why state the obvious?”
Min-geon cursed, muttering that this was why you should never get between a couple, and that Ji had completely corrupted the kid. Yeon-woo looked confused, protesting that he hadn’t even said anything.
“Lieutenant Bbak, aren’t you coming in?”
Yeon-woo turned toward the lab and looked back at Min-geon. Min-geon held up his cigarette pack, saying he’d smoke one more before heading in.
“Don’t hold onto it.”
Seo-joon said softly and started walking.
“…”
Left alone, Min-geon silently lit another cigarette.
Seo-joon and Yeon-woo had to spend the night on an uncomfortable bed in the lab. The researchers had requested it, wanting to gather as much biometric data as possible from a surviving no-named Esper and his Guide.
The next day, the researchers collected samples of blood, saliva, skin tissue, fingernails, and hair from both of them. All of this had been thoroughly discussed and agreed upon beforehand via video conferences, so the entire process flowed smoothly and efficiently.
“You’ve been through a lot. This is really the last thing for today.”
A cheerful Korean researcher approached Seo-joon, who had just gotten up from the neural scan machine. Adjusting his gown, Seo-joon asked about Yeon-woo’s progress.
“He’s just about finished too. Seems like he might need a bit of help, though.”
Puzzled, Seo-joon followed him. Apparently, Yeon-woo had entered the sample collection room to provide a semen sample, but hadn’t come out for over thirty minutes. The researcher who had escorted him to the bio-data center had vanished.
When Seo-joon entered the observation control room, the staff greeted him warmly. The space was equipped with biometric monitoring tools, cameras, and microphones, as it was also used for matching tests and pair bonding data collection—not just bodily fluid sampling. Of course, since Yeon-woo was currently inside the collection room for a semen sample, the cameras were turned off.
“In unfamiliar settings, it can take longer for some people. The collection room is a little sterile and cold, and some Espers with deep bonds to their partners can’t get aroused unless they’re with them…”
The seasoned researchers spoke in reassuring tones, clearly not seeing this as a big deal. And indeed, Yeon-woo’s biometrics currently showed a calmness that didn’t match someone trying to produce a semen sample.