IGWKE Episode 34

Episode 34

‘Screech!’

A dark and suffocating space. Damp humidity. Malicious high-frequency noises pierced his ears. He could hardly breathe. Yoon-ui opened his eyes.

There was no way he had time-warped; this was clearly a dream. Surveying his surroundings, Yoon-ui quickly recognized where he stood. It was the first gate he had ever entered.

Endless darkness stretched before him. From deep within came the menacing screams of strange creatures. The protective gear and guiding amplifiers he wore for the first time felt unbearably heavy and restrictive. And the rancid stench, the source of which was unknown, filled the air.

‘Ah, memories.’

Yoon-ui thought as he slowly looked around. It felt as though two consciousnesses existed within him—one reliving the past terror and another detached, calmly observing this memory within a dream.

If it were now, he could scoff and breeze through this C-rank gate, despite his years away from the field. But back then, it had been terrifying. The gap between the theoretical knowledge from manuals and 3D simulations and the grim reality of the gate was enormous. His younger self was utterly paralyzed with fear.

‘I might die here.’

But where exactly is “here”?

He wanted to reassure his younger self, telling him he wouldn’t die in a place like this. Yet in the dream, his past self was already gripped by paralyzing terror. His strength was unmanageable, and he was entirely alone—there was no senior guide by his side. The tactics and guiding techniques he had learned were powerless against the fear. Bereft of strategy or understanding of energy allocation, all he could do was blindly release guiding energy into the air.

Fortunately, the Espers he accompanied weren’t the observant type. Their personalities revolved around breaking through obstacles and flaunting their strength. They didn’t notice his cowardly trembling.

Somehow, their first mission ended in success. Yoon-ui vividly recalled stepping out of the gate into sunlight and realizing he was alive, a mix of exhilaration and relief flooding him. Even in the dream, he resonated with the emotions he had felt back then. ‘So this is what it means to be alive. Coming back alive feels like such a blessing.’ It was a confusing but fulfilling memory of his first return.

And with it came the shame and relief of simply being alive.

The flow of the dream wasn’t something he could control. Yoon-ui wanted to scream as the scene darkened again. Instinctively, he knew what was coming next. This time, he wouldn’t be able to remain calm. Yet he was paralyzed, as if bound by a nightmare. He couldn’t make a sound. ‘Please… I don’t want this. Anything but this moment.’ Time marched forward mercilessly, leaving no room for alternate choices.

‘Jung Yoon-ui…!’

It was five years ago. An Esper, their eyes glazed with madness, reached toward him. Their limbs contorted unnaturally, and their abilities exploded outward in a dangerously volatile state—on the brink of rampage. Yoon-ui tightly shut his eyes.

‘You bastard…!’

‘Yeah, curse me. Go ahead, curse me, you jerk. Do you think you’re the only one who wants to live?’

Did he actually shout that? He couldn’t remember.

On that day, he was the only one who retained full awareness in the chaos. Even Jung-woo, who was also there, remembered nothing. To this day, only Yoon-ui knew the full truth of what had occurred—if one could even call his self-centered, self-preserving interpretation of events “the truth.”

‘Screech!’

‘Please, I want to get out…!’

‘Murderer!’

High-pitched shrieks and desperate screams echoed from somewhere in the gate. It was deafening. Yoon-ui clutched his ears, but the noise wasn’t coming from outside.

Screech! Murderer!

In the dream, Yoon-ui pleaded with his subconscious, begging to be released from this moment. He would take anything else over this memory.

Perhaps his prayers were answered. The next thing he knew, his subconscious transported him to a fiery hell. The air was suffocating with acrid smoke. Yet amidst the choking haze, he found salvation—a towering gray figure. Heon-ju.

‘Heon-ju!’

Shouting his name jolted Yoon-ui out of his earlier memory. He remembered that the accusations, the hateful words he had thought he screamed, had only ever been uttered in his head. His first meeting with Heon-ju remained vivid in his memory, with witnesses to confirm it.

‘Get a grip, kid…!’

For the first time in his recollection, Yoon-ui moved with a clear purpose: to save someone. He approached Heon-ju, who stood like a petrified statue, brushing ash from his shoulders and placing a hand on the back of his neck. The scene differed from reality, but Yoon-ui didn’t question it.

‘I’ll save you.’

Beneath his palm, he felt a violent, erratic pulse. He channeled guiding energy into Heon-ju while speaking to him.

‘Can you hear me, Heon-ju?’

He would hear it. Even if Heon-ju’s long lashes didn’t so much as twitch, Yoon-ui kept speaking and guiding. ‘Open your eyes, Heon-ju.’

But hope and salvation didn’t come easily. The violent pulse beneath his hand refused to settle, and the fiery storm around him grew fiercer.

‘Screech!’

Once more came the high-pitched scream. Yoon-ui knew what would follow.

‘Murderer!’

This time, the sound wasn’t internal. He opened his eyes wide. Heon-ju’s rigid body twisted unnaturally, his head snapping toward Yoon-ui with glaring eyes. His pale lips parted, and a grotesque, damp darkness peered out from the cavern of his mouth. From within, something—or someone—dead seemed to scream with all their might.

‘Murderer!’

A chilling voice.

“Gah!”

Yoon-ui jolted awake. There was no fire. The room was dark. Heon-ju wasn’t there. It was all a dream. Weak and trembling, Yoon-ui slumped back onto the bed.

“What time is it…?”

He tapped his phone, but the screen didn’t light up. Reality came rushing back. He had turned off his phone earlier, annoyed by Manager Im’s relentless calls.

“Ugh… So annoying.”

Curled up in bed, Yoon-ui powered his phone back on. Thirteen missed calls. Eleven were from Manager Im, starting at 4:53 p.m. The last two, however, were from Heon-ju—at 5:10 p.m. and 6:30 p.m.

Ignoring Manager Im’s messages, Yoon-ui opened Heon-ju’s first.

[Did you leave early?]

[I came after training, but they said you left early.]

[Are you feeling unwell?]

[Should I bring you porridge?]

[Did you take any medicine?]

The last message was sent around 10:30 p.m.

[Are you asleep?]

“This kid really asks a lot of questions….”

For Yoon-ui, who had little interest in others, Heon-ju’s barrage of messages was something he could never quite get used to. As he typed a reply, he glanced at the time. 3:30 a.m. It felt too late to respond to a “Are you asleep?” text.

“…I’ll reply tomorrow morning.”

If he remembered, that is. Holding his phone in his hand, Yoon-ui closed his eyes again. This time, he was swallowed by a deathly still darkness. Peaceful it was not.

Just as he had fled the office, Yoon-ui’s consciousness seemed to constantly seek escape. Waking early in the morning, he checked the time and, without hesitation, drifted back to sleep. When he woke briefly in the afternoon, he still found no will to stay awake.

After two days of such fits of sleep, reality began to solidify once more. On the third morning, Yoon-ui finally roused himself and checked his phone. Manager Im’s last missed call had been at 5:47 p.m. the previous day. The next notification, at 6:10 p.m., was a message from Joo-min.

[Manager Im says she’ll approve the transfer if you come into the office just once.]

She must want to try and persuade him again. The ploy was transparent, and Yoon-ui scoffed. Joo-min seemed to share his skepticism, as her message ended with a laughing emoji and an added line:

[Smells like BS. Sniff sniff.]

Then came the messages from Heon-ju:
Missed call. Missed call.
Message. Message.
Missed call. Missed call. Missed call.

[Are you feeling really unwell?]
[You didn’t collapse, did you?]
[Is it true you’re resigning?]
[Can I come over to your place?]
[Am I bothering you with my calls?]

“Oh.”

Pausing at the last message, Yoon-ui felt a pang of guilt. It was unmistakably tinged with hurt, the kind you couldn’t miss even through text. And it had been sent at 2:30 a.m. Of course, someone would feel upset if the person they cared for suddenly vanished and ignored them for days.

‘I get it… but this message almost reeks of alcohol.’

On a whim, Yoon-ui sniffed his phone, as if it might actually carry the scent.

“I should text him back….”

Though most Espers frustrated him, he didn’t harbor any ill will toward Heon-ju. In fact, among all the Espers, Heon-ju was one of the few he genuinely liked. Maybe not as much as the sense of responsibility he felt toward Jung-woo, but enough to feel bad about leaving him in the dark.

‘He’s probably really disappointed and upset. He’d want to meet and talk about this.’

Even knowing that, Yoon-ui felt oddly drained and heavy-hearted. He read Heon-ju’s messages a few more times before shutting off the screen. ‘I’ll reach out later. Not now.’

He had more pressing matters. With less than two weeks left before his resignation took effect, Yoon-ui sat up and leaned against the wall.

“The number…”

Gathering his pillow and blanket into a makeshift cushion, he scrolled through his contacts. Two numbers stood out. After his finger hovered indecisively for what felt like an eternity, it finally settled on the one at the top.