4DAS Chapter 3 (Part 1) – End
by BrieInterlude.
The man cried for quite a long time. As if he had decided to pour out, in tears, everything he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud.
At first, it seemed like Rowon was the one who initiated the hug, but when he came to, their positions had naturally shifted. Now, the man was clutching Rowon as if collapsing onto him, letting out quiet groans and trembling shoulders.
From a balance standpoint, it was actually a lot more stable, so Rowon didn’t particularly mind.
He didn’t know exactly what this man had gone through out there. Maybe something terrible had happened—or maybe, surprisingly, nothing had. The man didn’t seem inclined to explain, and there weren’t any clues worth speculating over.
But Rowon thought it was fine. It was a helpful time to soothe a body and mind worn thin from tension.
“If only we could stay like this.”
Sometimes, such silly thoughts crept in. The man’s body was damp, but warm and solid at the same time. The heartbeat pulsing against him through their clothes had a lullaby-like quality that made one feel oddly at ease.
A memory surfaced.
The time he first met this man—or more precisely, the time he first knocked him over. He’d thought he’d forgotten everything under a wave of panic, but with a trigger, the memory came back faintly.
He had needed warmth then too. Desperately wanted something to ease the fear, something to spark a will to live. Even if the other person resented him. Even if he screamed that Rowon’s parents had killed his wife.
You could ignore emotions, but perhaps you couldn’t shake off impulses.
“Heuu, ha…”
The sound of sniffling tickled his ears. The man still hadn’t fully calmed down. A sudden urge surged from Rowon’s gut—the urge to kiss this person. He thought it had disappeared completely after the first time, but here it was again.
If he kissed him now, maybe the reaction would be gentler than before. He wasn’t scared even while holding him so tightly—then a little more intimate contact shouldn’t be too much. Sure, he’d probably be surprised, but Rowon could make up an excuse. That he was too terrified he might get caught and killed, that his head had gone haywire.
If he fumbled an apology, maybe this softhearted man would forgive him.
But the problem was that doing so would mean Rowon had to face his own feelings.
The moment he first heard that the man had a wife, and the moment he realized that the man resented him—some emotion his subconscious had habitually suppressed began to press down on him.
It was a habit he’d never been able to fix his whole life. The moment he sensed he would be rejected, he instinctively denied something inside himself…
“Hey.”
“……!”
“You’re not thinking something weird, are you? Your body suddenly stiffened.”
Rowon pretended not to hear and hugged the man tightly, but the man was quick to catch on. He pushed Rowon away, then flopped onto the floor with his legs stretched out, as if he’d lost all strength.
If Rowon decided to pin him down, he wouldn’t be able to resist in that position, but he didn’t seem to be aware of that.
“It’s fine now, so you don’t have to keep hugging me. I’m roasting here. Didn’t you get hot sitting in that tiny closet for over five hours? There was no airflow at all in there.”
“I didn’t really feel hot, to be honest. It was kind of hard to breathe, but given the situation…”
“Yeah, that makes sense. In a horror-movie-level situation like that, heat would’ve been the last thing on your mind.”
Rowon lay down next to the man, acting like nothing was going on.
The man squirmed, seemingly bothered by the heat and trying to inch away, but when Rowon stubbornly kept sidling closer, he gave up with a sigh and a groan.
“Anyway, don’t go thinking weird things now. Looks like we survived, so let’s catch our breath a bit.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything weird.”
“Don’t lie. I bet you were racking your brain over what kind of mistake you made during the time you don’t remember.”
Even though the man had completely missed the mark, he looked triumphant.
Rowon was relieved he hadn’t picked up on the kiss impulse and played it off with an awkward, evasive look.
Maybe the biker gang had left the window open while rummaging through the house— a breeze drifted in from outside. It wasn’t enough to chase away all the heat, but the way it brushed against his skin was refreshing.
He started to feel like it didn’t really matter anymore how serious the sins he’d committed during his lost memories were. At least for now, he’d prevented those hidden thoughts from being exposed. No one knew what he’d mulled over alone in that closet.
As long as he forgot, then it would be like it never happened. Why the sight of a knife reminded him of a cleaver, what his only brother had said to him before dying—those things he didn’t want to recall at all.
If only he could just focus on the man in front of him instead.
Sure, he couldn’t say his feelings toward this man were entirely clean, but at least being with him eased the anxiety. When Rowon hugged the man and soothed him, and the man patted Rowon in return, fear tended to disappear with just that.
“Hey, anyway, let’s eat something.”
“Huh?”
“It’s lunchtime. We got some butane gas in the supply drop, so let’s have a real meal for once. Judging by the way you look, you probably didn’t even get a sip of water while you were trapped.”
The man let out a grunt as he pushed himself up.
A real meal? Was he thinking of cooking rice or something?
Rowon had definitely not eaten anything, so he hesitantly got up to follow him.
“Those guys already came up empty once, so I doubt they’ll be back anytime soon. And even if they do, they’ll probably wait until they’ve checked in with Baek Seonghyeon before making any moves.
Oh, right—speaking of which, I ran into that bastard Baek Seonghyeon at the supply site. Nothing really happened, but I think he’s starting to get a little suspicious of me.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, we should have a bit of time to catch our breath. If we wear ourselves out from tension now, we might collapse when we really need our strength. So for now, let’s just rest, eat, and breathe a little. Got it?”
The man pulled a supply box out of his bag and began unpacking its contents one by one. Judging by the rather cheerful expression on his face, he seemed to be in a good mood.
But while he was laying out and inspecting the various food items and daily necessities, he suddenly flinched as if a thought had struck him. With a strange look on his face, he glanced over at Rowon—like he had something he wanted to say.
“Come to think of it, hey… by any chance, do you…”
“Yes?”
“…Never mind. I said we should rest, and here I am about to spout nonsense. Anyway, there’s gotta be a gas burner somewhere in this house, so just hang tight. I’ll go find it.”
As if flustered, as if trying to take back what he’d started to say, Young-il mumbled incoherently and then headed straight to the kitchen.
What in the world had he wanted to say?
From the way he acted, it didn’t seem like it was something light.
Rowon figured that if it was something Young-il didn’t want to say, it might be better not to hear it. Like a dog waiting patiently for mealtime, he sat still and watched Young-il’s back.
Young-il made ramyeon for the first time in ages. It had come in the supply box and was just barely within its expiration date, but at a glance, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it.
He set a pot on the burner he found in a corner of the house, poured in bottled water, and started to boil it. It gave him the feeling he was actually cooking.
Of course, it was a stretch to call this proper cooking, but that was by the standards of the old world. There was no fresh meat or vegetables, and the circumstances didn’t allow for any fancy meals. Under the current conditions, instant noodles were more than enough for a filling dish.
Back in the early days of the zombie outbreak, he’d at least been able to throw together some kind of pig slop with the leftover food, but as time passed, proper food and fuel became scarce—and even the will to cook started to fade. For the last few weeks, Young-il had been surviving on jerky, energy bars, and canned goods. It was survival, nothing more.
Having a hot meal with broth again after so long actually put him in a good mood.
Rowon, however, wore an odd expression.
He’d looked fairly cheerful too, right up until Young-il added two packets of noodles into the pot. But once a bag of snack crackers from the supplies went in too, his expression slowly hardened.
“They said it’s vegetable-flavored.”
“So…?”
“If you eat it, it might help replenish your dietary fiber.”
“……”
If they had some kimchi to go with the ramen, it would’ve been perfect. But unfortunately, there was no kimchi in the supplies, so wasn’t this the best way to balance the vegetable content? Young-il looked quite serious, but Rowon let out a sigh with a look that said he wasn’t going to respond any further.
Feeling like the younger man was showing some attitude, he gave him a light smack on the back of the head. This brat must really be spoiled. He’d gone to the trouble of making a hot meal with soup, and yet here he was, full of complaints. Probably just hadn’t fully snapped back to reality yet. Rubbing the back of his head where he’d been hit, Rowon slowly opened his mouth.
“Uh… did you usually eat meals like this?”
“No, not at all. Back then, I ate the meals my wife prepared. Stuff like salad, sweet potatoes, and chicken breast. Brown rice with some seasoned greens for the side. I pretty much only made ramen when my daughter wanted some.”
“Maybe your taste buds got used to that diet for too long… Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
Maybe it was the lingering pain from the smack, but Rowon quickly mumbled his words. Still, his face clearly showed how unimpressed he was. Now that he thought about it, Young-il remembered how Hayoon used to wrinkle her nose whenever he made ramen too.
“Do kids these days not like ramen? Back when I was young, even if we had proper meals, we’d still eat ramen instead.”
In any case, the ramen turned out decent enough, and despite all his grumbling, Rowon eventually finished every last drop in his bowl. After having a real meal for the first time in a while, the two of them sprawled out on the floor. Lying down right after eating probably wasn’t great for digestion, but with the tension eased and their hunger gone, drowsiness naturally followed.
“It should be okay to rest a bit. We’ve taken care of the urgent stuff for now…”
No, to be precise, not everything was truly resolved.
He still hadn’t asked anything about Rowon’s brother.
Young-il scratched his head, feeling a vague discomfort. He’d kept quiet earlier because he didn’t want to push the kid, especially when he was already so on edge from the biker gang incident—but sooner or later, whether he wanted to or not, that conversation had to happen.
“Baek Seonghyeon wouldn’t have brought it up for no reason. He must’ve had a purpose.”
The first possibility that came to mind was blackmail.
“Your brother is with me. If you care about your family’s life, stop hiding and show yourself.”
Using a family member as leverage has always been one of the most effective threats, and if it was true, it might’ve actually worked on Rowon.
But there were some problems with that theory. First of all, Baek Seonghyeon had asked a very direct question—”Where is he?” If he really had intended to threaten Rowon, he would’ve said something more ambiguous, like “Where do you think he might be?”
And there was a bigger issue.
It had already been three days since Park Young-il started staying with this young man. Depending on perspective, that could be considered a long or short amount of time, but still…
During those three days, Rowon hadn’t once brought up his brother.
If he came home and didn’t see his brother, it would be natural to feel at least some concern about whether he was alive or dead.
“Did something happen…?”
The thought gnawed at him, but now wasn’t the time to bring it up. Actually, even if it weren’t now, bringing it up at all would still be difficult.
After all, he was the one responsible for killing more than half of this kid’s family—what right did he have to worry about the ones left?
Even if Rowon didn’t care, if anything related to his brother was like a raw nerve to him, then it shouldn’t be touched carelessly. Even if Rowon were the one to bring it up, he’d probably do so cautiously—so how could Young-il be the one to broach the subject first?
However—
“So, mister.”
“Huh?”
“Why were you crying earlier?”
“……”
That bold brat ended up throwing a difficult question at Young-il. And it wasn’t even a question that had much to do with their current situation.
It was the kind of thing that felt a little too awkward and embarrassing to say out loud. Still, he didn’t plan on keeping his mouth shut either.
“Because I was afraid you were dead.”
“…What?”
“Why do you keep asking the same thing over and over? You think someone dying is a normal thing? I thought you were dead and gone, that’s why. Satisfied?”
You’re not my wife, but being with you gives me something to lean on. You’re not my daughter, but if I leave you behind, I can’t help but worry.
He didn’t want to go that far, so he mumbled and cut himself off at that point.
And seriously, why was this kid even asking something like that? Well, whatever, it was over now. Was he trying to mess with him or something? Young-il shot a sulky glance at Rowon for no real reason.
But instead of teasing him, Rowon just smiled.
“You’re kind of amazing, mister.”
“What now?”
“I thought you hated me.”
“Well, I don’t have any reason to like you.”
“For someone with no reason, you sure treat me well.”
Young-il stared blankly at Rowon, completely dumbfounded. Look at this kid falling head over heels just because he cooked him one bowl of ramen. Wait—was it the ramen? Come to think of it, maybe it really was just the ramen. The kid had seemed a bit unhinged from the start anyway.
“You hid me, and you cried because you were scared I might die.”
“……”
“And earlier, even when I hugged you, you didn’t pull away as much as I thought you would.”
“J-just so we’re clear, I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you! Don’t get the wrong idea!”
“So you’ve always been the kind of person who just goes around hugging anyone?”
“W-what?!”
He tried to draw a line ahead of time but ended up hearing something even weirder in return.
The kid’s expression was the same blank one as always, but for some reason, it was Young-il’s face that flushed red without warning.
And then he realized—the kid’s face felt way too close now. When had that happened?
Somehow, Rowon had crept up right beside his waist and was looking up at him from a dangerously short distance.
When did he even get that close?!
“No, I don’t mean anything weird by it. There were teachers like that in my high school too. People who’d do free hugs and stuff. Are you that type?”
“Hey, quit saying weird crap! You know you can get in serious trouble for that these days!”
“Why would it be serious trouble?”
“You really don’t know?”
“I don’t get it. It’s not like it’s corporal punishment or anything.”
Was he actually clueless? Or was he just pretending not to know?
No matter how he looked at it, the kid seemed to be messing with him. Besides, how many times had Young-il hugged the kid first to be saying this?
If anything, he had more memories of just accepting the hugs than initiating them.
Was this brat trying to pull something again?
But strangely enough, Young-il realized that he didn’t feel scared at all.
In the past, he probably would’ve started trembling, terrified the kid might pounce on him again.
Suddenly embarrassed for no reason, Young-il shot to his feet.
Well, so what if he wasn’t scared?
The kid was a guy, and not just any guy—he was a full twenty-five years younger than Young-il. Well, technically twenty-four years, since Rowon was twenty-one now. But still, more than double the age gap.
And Young-il had a wife and child. Well… not anymore. But he had them once, and they were the most precious thing to him—that was what mattered.
“Anyway, you try anything weird again, and you’re gonna be in serious trouble.”
“And what kind of trouble would that be?”
“I’ll string you up upside down and whack your butt with a stick, that’s what. I don’t care if schools ban corporal punishment these days—this isn’t a school, is it? You think I won’t do it? You need something like that to come to your senses.”
“And yet, you never said you’d hand me over to that Baek Seonghyeon guy.”
“Brat, there are some things you just don’t say! Whatever, let’s go downstairs. We’ve got stuff to pack.”
He had no idea what kind of conversation this even was anymore.
As he stomped down the stairs, Young-il found himself wondering just how long it had been since he’d had such a ridiculous, meaningless chat with someone.
It had really been a while.
And for some reason, there was a tight feeling blooming in a corner of his heart.
“You both made it back safely. Nothing happened, right?”
“Uh, yeah. Nothing happened… but also, we didn’t find much. Up to the fifth floor was open, so we checked it out, but there was really nothing there.”
“There were two cigarettes.”
“Would you stop going on about those damn cigarettes already? Anyway, we did put in quite a bit of effort searching, but it doesn’t look like that Lee Rowon guy’s returned to that apartment yet.”
“Yeah. On our way down, we ran into that old guy. We bumped into him around the third floor, and man, my heart nearly dropped.”
“I’ll be honest, I felt kind of guilty. That guy’s got such a menacing look. But still, he didn’t seem like the type who’d hide a zombie, you know? Wasn’t he originally from one of those zombie-hunting groups?”
“Yeah, but no one really knows for sure. Wait… you said you saw Mr. Park Young-il on the third floor?”
“That old guy’s name is Park Young-il? Yeah, we definitely saw him on the third floor.”
“Even though he has a bad leg, he still carried a heavy supply box all the way up to the third floor. I wonder what his reason was.”
“Y-yeah. Now that you mention it, even when he saw us running away, he didn’t come after us.”
“He knew there were intruders in his territory and didn’t even give chase, huh… That’s not normal. One thing’s for sure—he’s hiding something from us.”
“Then what did we miss? Sorry… I mean, we really did search thoroughly.”
“No, it’s fine. It just means that guy’s extremely cautious. He’s a veteran—that’s why he’s managed to survive alone even with a bum leg.”
“I-is that so?”
“Anyway, thanks for your hard work. Others picked up your supply rations for you, so don’t worry about that. Besides, I got some rations myself today, so our storage should be in good shape for a while. That said, I’ll need your help again tomorrow, if possible. Maybe even this afternoon.”
Baek Seonghyeon let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. He looked lost in thought, but at the same time, utterly exhausted.
Day 3, Afternoon
When Young-il went down to the first floor and checked the fridge, several boxes of energy bars were missing.
Signs of casual looting and searching were left all over the house. The barricade had, of course, been ripped apart, and the floor was littered with muddy footprints.
They had taken a few items they must have liked, but the theft didn’t seem to be the main purpose—more of a side effect. Every space big enough for a person to hide in had been opened, but ambiguous spaces like drawers and the upper cabinets in the kitchen had been left untouched.
“Was a lot taken?”
“No, just the kind of stuff a petty thief would take. It’s not like this house had anything valuable to begin with.”
The only thing worth missing might’ve been the portable radio—but thankfully, they hadn’t taken that. Though, as if they knew exactly what to target, they had swiped the batteries inside it. He had new batteries now, so he could replace them, but it still stung a little. If he’d known, he should’ve taken the batteries out in advance.
“The only thing I really regret losing is two batteries, so it’s fine. Hey, let’s clean this place up first. Those bastards left it in total chaos.”
The young man nodded and started tidying the mess. He looked a bit down, maybe thinking it was his fault the place got looted, but Young-il wasn’t particularly upset. So what if a few things were stolen? The important thing was that everyone was still alive.
“If they keep coming back to ransack the house like this, it’s gonna be a pain though… Hm. What should I do?”
Was there any way to make those guys give up?
He kept thinking it through in his head while his hands moved steadily, cleaning up the master bedroom. First, he decided to fix the broken barricade. He brought in various tools from the balcony, tore off the wardrobe door, and nailed it over the window as reinforcement. If someone really meant to get in, they could still tear it down from the outside, but it was better than nothing. The wardrobe door was sturdier than the original barricade anyway.
The wardrobe wasn’t going to be of much use anyway. Maybe the intruders thought someone might be hiding inside—because they’d taken out every last piece of clothing and tossed it onto the floor. Even Young-il had never inspected the contents of the wardrobe this thoroughly.
‘Annoying bastards.’
First, he’d have to stuff all those clothes back into the wardrobe. He didn’t plan on folding them neatly, of course—he’d just shove them in like garbage. After all, the only person who might wear these clothes now was Lee Rowon. Everyone else who used to live here was dead, so there was no need to take special care of anything.
‘Wait… are they really all dead?’
Lee Rowon’s older brother—was his clothing stored in this wardrobe too? Without realizing it, Young-il peeked inside. He was suddenly curious if there might be anything left that the brother would’ve worn.
Up until now, while living in this house, he’d never come across any clear trace of another family member. All the belongings seemed to fit the lifestyle of a middle-aged couple with one son—nothing more, nothing less.
‘Maybe the older brother had already moved out.’
He didn’t know the exact age difference between Rowon and his brother, but if the brother had already entered the workforce, it wouldn’t be strange if he’d left home to live on his own. If he’d taken all his things with him, that would explain why the house only held traces of three people.
But even if a family member had moved out, there would typically still be some trace left in the wardrobe. It’s rare for someone to take even their old clothes when they move out. Besides, a wardrobe can hold more than just clothes. Up until now, Young-il had avoided digging through it—he hadn’t even known its exact layout.
‘So this is where it was—the family photo album.’
Thanks to the bikers tossing out all the clothes, an album that had been tucked deep inside had been exposed. Carefully, Young-il took out the albums and started flipping through them, glancing toward the kitchen now and then in case Rowon came back.
‘Not many families keep physical photo albums these days, what with everything being digital…’
Still, some parents liked to keep printed photos taken on special days. In fact, there was an album full of pictures of his wife and daughter in the closet at Young-il’s house. He didn’t know if it was still there—and even if it was, he didn’t think he’d be able to bring himself to look at it again.
The moment he opened the album, a familiar face jumped out at him.
Familiar, because he’d killed them himself.
It was a wedding photo—so they looked younger than when he saw them in real life—but they were unmistakably the middle-aged couple he’d murdered.
With a bitter sigh, trying to shake off the weight of guilt, Young-il flipped through the pages. But no matter how many pages he turned, there was only one child. And oddly enough, that kid didn’t look much like the current Rowon.
‘…Is this the older brother?’
It had to be. It’s not like Rowon had magically transformed into someone else overnight. Still, just in case, he opened the second album. Only then did a baby—presumably Rowon—start to appear in the photos. Judging by the fact that the child in the first album already looked like they were in the upper grades of elementary school, the age gap between the two must’ve been significant.
This baby did resemble the present-day Rowon quite a bit. Of course, that made sense—it was him, after all. Chubby cheeks and adorable expressions—he was a cute kid. That had nothing to do with why Young-il opened the albums, but he found himself thinking it anyway as he looked through the photos. Now that he’d confirmed the older brother was a real person, he had no reason to keep looking—but still…
‘Wait… hold on a second.’
It wasn’t as though going through the albums had been completely pointless.
About halfway through the third album, after breezing through the first two, Young-il noticed something odd.
‘Given how big the age gap is between the two, it makes sense that there’d be more photos of the older one overall, but still…’
Still, it was strange. The amount of space Rowon occupied in the family albums was uncomfortably small. Even after he was born, there were still frequent photos of just the parents and older brother. And in the rare ones he did appear in, Rowon was always off to the side, wearing a sullen expression.
Even in what looked like his own birthday party photos, it was the older brother who sat smiling brightly at the center.
In other words, it felt like he’d just learned something he would’ve been better off not knowing… Scratching his head out of unease, Young-il suddenly sensed someone approaching. He hurriedly shut the album.
“What are you looking at, mister?”
Not that it did much good. Apparently done cleaning the kitchen, Rowon—now looking slightly grimy—had come up beside him and was peering down at the album cover with a sulky look. Young-il felt the heat rise up his neck as he fumbled for an excuse.
“N-no, it was just lying there, so…”
“…There’s not much interesting in there anyway.”
“Well, yeah, most photo albums aren’t if they’re not yours. By the way, you had a brother?”
He wasn’t sure this was the best time to bring it up, but then again, there probably wouldn’t be a better time either. Cautiously, Young-il opened the topic and glanced at Rowon’s face. He expected signs of discomfort or irritation, but surprisingly, Rowon’s expression was calm.
“Yeah. I did.”
“……!”
“He was twelve years older than me. That’s a big age gap, right? I’m pretty sure the first album is full of nothing but my brother.”
“……”
“He was already much older, but even beyond that, he always acted more mature than his age. Even though I must’ve been annoying as the little brother, he always played with me. When both our parents were out working, he took care of me too. He was still just a kid himself, probably wanted to hang out with friends and have fun—I don’t know how he managed it.”
“……”
“I heard that after I was born, our family’s finances got really bad. And because my mom had me later in life, her health took a hit in all sorts of ways too… But even then, he never once complained. My parents always said how admirable and mature he was.”
Rowon’s tone was wistful, as if remembering someone truly precious. And he likely was—his only sibling.
Judging by the family album from earlier, the two didn’t seem to have a bad relationship. In the photos, the older brother looked affectionate, always pulling Rowon close in friendly poses. And Rowon, too, leaned comfortably into his brother.
“He moved out. After graduating college, he got a job, but it was pretty far from home.”
“I see. So he moved out. No wonder I couldn’t find any trace of him.”
It was nothing particularly unusual—a common family story. Nothing suspicious. Nothing to raise doubts.
But Young-il focused less on what Rowon said, and more on what he didn’t.
‘So… aren’t you worried? About where your brother is?’
Maybe up to now, Rowon had just been too overwhelmed to think that far. But now?
Now that his brother had come up in conversation, wouldn’t it make sense to at least say something like, “I wonder if he’s okay,” even just out of politeness?
A vague unease settled over Young-il. The fact that Rowon wasn’t asking about his brother’s whereabouts—could it mean he already knew where he was?
The fact that he wasn’t worried about his safety—could it mean there was no point in worrying anymore?
Of course, Young-il knew this might be an overstep. He knew how rude it was to speculate about someone else’s family when they hadn’t said anything themselves. He understood that.
So he said quietly,
“I see.”
Young-il gave a quiet nod and stood up from his seat. He shoved the albums piled up in front of him back into the wardrobe and stacked the clothes on top of them. Once the albums disappeared from sight, the young man wore a confused expression. Even if he were witnessing a mirage vanish in the middle of the desert, he probably wouldn’t look that dazed.
“Well, it’s not exactly something urgent right now. Anyway, did you finish cleaning the kitchen?”
“Huh? Oh—yeah. I finished it.”
“Then go sit down and take a break. There’s a small fan in the supply box over there—might be a good idea to set it up and get some air. I’ll handle the master bedroom. I ended up spending so much time with those albums that I didn’t clean a thing.”
Young-il helped the young man up and gently ushered him out of the room. Then he began picking up the scattered clothes and shoving them haphazardly back into the wardrobe.
Just listening to the young man’s story had stirred quite a few thoughts. It seemed like Rowon wanted to speak only kindly of his family, but with the kind of job Young-il had, and all the kids he’d seen in that age group, it was hard to shake off the vague, unsettling profile forming in his mind.
A large age gap might suggest an unplanned child. In the second album, the younger child was wearing the same clothes the older brother had worn in the first album. If the age gap were small, that might not mean much—but twelve years apart? If it was a special day worth photographing, they probably could’ve dressed him in new clothes.
Whether or not the family’s financial situation truly collapsed after Rowon was born, what mattered was that the boy himself believed that to be the case. At that age, kids tend to understand their family circumstances exactly the way their parents describe them. So regardless of how tight money actually was, what stood out was that his parents had said as much to him.
On top of that, many of the words Rowon used to describe his brother earlier had clearly been from the parents’ perspective. Words like “mature for his age” or “at an age where he just wanted to play” weren’t things a younger sibling typically said about an older brother twelve years their senior. Those are the kinds of phrases adults use when they look at children with pity. Normally, kids—especially little siblings—are full of complaints about their older siblings, no matter how well they’re treated.
‘…Better just to keep it in mind.’
He didn’t know whether Baek Seonghyeon had figured this much out, but at the very least, Young-il felt like he had a slightly clearer picture of Rowon’s relationship with his brother.
With a deep sigh, he finished cramming the wardrobe full of clothes.
As Rowon tried to insert the batteries into the small fan, his fingers kept slipping. He was afraid the clattering noise might carry into the master bedroom, so in the end, he simply set the fan down on the floor.
He wanted to take a deep breath, but even that felt like it might come off as suspicious to the man, so he hesitated. He was breathing, yes—but it didn’t feel like the oxygen was properly reaching his lungs. Maybe it was just too hot. The house had no openings for air to escape, and the heat was suffocating.
‘I don’t know.’
Since he couldn’t clear his lungs, he at least had to clear his thoughts. Just in case the man asked anything, he needed to have an answer ready. Of course, the man hadn’t asked anything yet, hadn’t said a word, but it wasn’t a bad thing to be prepared. Things that might happen have a way of eventually happening.
And maybe, someday, he’d have to answer not to that man, but someone else. Already, it felt like someone was pressing him for the truth, and Rowon was scrambling to come up with a defense.
‘My brother… moved out right after starting college. He cut ties with our parents, and we only kept in touch from time to time, but now I don’t know where he is. There’s no way to find out what happened to him. Phones don’t work, you know.’
Would that explanation be enough? Would that one raise suspicion?
He ran through the lines again and again in his head, rehearsing, but it felt useless. The thought that he would definitely get caught kept bubbling up.
‘I never envied him. Sure, my parents liked him. They liked him enough for both of us. But… it’s not like they loved every part of him.’
‘I didn’t hate him either. The parts our parents didn’t like—I liked them in his place. Like how he was probably into men. Or how he had no plans to take on the kind of job they expected. In a way, we were similar in that regard.’
As the excuses became more elaborate, he found himself explaining things he didn’t even need to say. It was all a ploy to prove his innocence, but it didn’t feel like anything was really being hidden. That man—he was sharper than he looked. The more puzzle pieces he got, the faster he’d piece together the truth.
‘Or maybe… maybe he won’t ask at all.’
Rowon clung to that hope. If the man really wanted to ask something, he would have done it earlier. But he hadn’t. It seemed like, for now, he had accepted things as they were. Or at least decided to keep quiet about what he couldn’t accept.
So don’t think about it. Don’t dwell on it.
It’s nothing to do with him, anyway. Only Rowon knows.
‘Nothing happened.’
If he closed his eyes, it would be as if nothing ever happened. If he forgot, no one else would remember. As long as he kept his mouth shut, no one would ever know.
So if he could just forget…
‘But if you’re not the only one who knows—what then?’
Rowon wanted to scrape the unpleasant thoughts out of his head. He wanted to shake off the ones that wouldn’t help, no matter how long he thought about them.
Maybe getting some air from the fan would help. Just as he reached for the batteries again, his gaze drifted to an object beside them.
‘Oh—another knife.’
This one was different from the earlier knife. That one had been jammed into the wardrobe door and was now completely ruined. The man had clicked his tongue regretfully and tossed it into the junk room. Said it might be useful for something later, but for now, there was no real reason to keep it around.
So, what about this knife?
It was actually just a fruit knife. The man had probably used it to cut open the plastic wrapping of the supply boxes. The plastic had looked too tough to tear by hand.
Without thinking, Rowon picked it up. He hadn’t taken it with the intention of harming anyone. He hadn’t stabbed a biker gang member with the last one—he’d just used it to block the wardrobe door. He really had no plans to kill anyone. If he ended up hurting someone, it would more likely be himself.
It was just… just in case. Who knew what might happen later? It was better to have it than not. That’s what he told himself. Still, he cast a glance toward the master bedroom. What would that man think if he saw Rowon picking up something like a knife? Would just seeing him with it be enough for him to figure out what Rowon had done in the past?
Of course, it was a ridiculous thought. And yet…
As it turned out, Rowon’s decision was unexpectedly appropriate for the situation.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rang from the front entrance, and Rowon froze up completely—but for an entirely different reason this time.
“What the hell? Who the fuck is that?”
The man burst out from the master bedroom at the sound, immediately motioning to Rowon. Thankfully, he didn’t seem suspicious of the knife in Rowon’s hand. When Rowon quietly slipped into his room and closed the door, the man hesitated for a moment before opening the front door.
Rowon pressed his ear to the door, focusing entirely on the voices outside. The voice coming from the entrance was all too familiar. He’d heard it just yesterday.
“This is Baek Seonghyeon. We saw each other earlier, didn’t we?”
Yesterday and today, he hadn’t seen the face—only heard the voice. The name still felt unfamiliar, but as soon as he heard it, Rowon tensed up.
Earlier?
It felt strange for him to refer to “yesterday” that way. But then it clicked—Young-il had said he’d met that man at the supply station. He hadn’t gone into detail about their conversation, but it hadn’t sounded like a pleasant one. Come to think of it, the reason the man had broken down crying when he saw Rowon might have been because of Baek Seonghyeon.
“…You’ve got some nerve. Your friends tore through my place. So what, biker gang and robbers now?”
“Ah, so you already knew my friends paid a visit. That’s actually why I came. Apparently, they think they missed something while they were here.”
“Missed something? They didn’t leave anything behind.”
“Did I say they left something? Slip of the tongue. They said they missed something.”
“If it’s in my house, then it’s mine. You’re the ones who took my radio batteries and energy bars. I’ll give you one chance—tell me what you’re really after.”
The man growled like a beast, voice rough and full of irritation. It was clear this wasn’t going to end the way yesterday’s encounter had. No way that creepy guy had come back two days in a row just to test the waters.
“They missed something,” he said.
That whole “left behind” line was obviously a cover—“missed something” was what he really meant.
And it wasn’t hard to guess what that “something” might be.
Maybe he’d heard about the [locked wardrobe] from the biker gang and started to suspect something else.
Had he really figured it out? That Rowon had been hiding on the fourth floor?
As he pressed his ear to the door, tension drying his veins, Rowon suddenly caught another sound.
‘Huh?’
It wasn’t coming from the front door. Nor was it from the master bedroom, where the barricade had been reinforced.
It was much closer.
From the opposite side of the door he was listening at—from the room’s window.
Someone was tampering with the barricade on that side.
It was clearly an attempted break-in.
Meanwhile, Young-il—unaware of what was happening behind the closed door—was listening intently to the voices at the entrance.
From far off in the hallway, the sound of two sets of footsteps climbing the stairs echoed upward. He could guess what was happening. While Baek Seonghyeon stalled him here, the others were going upstairs to find whatever it was they had “missed.”
Which, in a way, was actually perfect. Rowon wasn’t on the fourth floor right now. So even if they searched, they’d come up empty. Still, one thing kept nagging at him.
‘Damn. The closet door on the fourth floor is still open.’
In all the chaos, he hadn’t had time to close it before coming down. If they saw that, and it made them suspicious, things could get messy fast. Sure, he could play dumb if he had to, but even so…
“Can I just ask one thing? How did you know the people who raided the house this morning were my friends? They could’ve just been random thieves.”
“What other thieves would show up around here besides your lot?”
“You never know. And I doubt you know this neighborhood well enough to say that with such confidence. These days, all sorts of drifters come and go.”
Not that he had the luxury to worry about small details right now. The man in front of him was more than enough to handle on his own. He had to focus all his attention on not letting Baek Seonghyeon catch onto anything.
“You speak like someone told you. Like someone from inside the house tipped you off.”
“What are you trying to say?”
And really—was there even any point trying to avoid giving something away?
From the look on his face, Baek Seonghyeon already seemed to suspect something. It was starting to feel like all this talk about “missed items” was just a pretense—he may have already found a crucial clue.
“After watching you for a while at the distribution site earlier, I started to get a sense of it. You’re strangely compassionate.”
“Didn’t know you had enough free time to analyze someone’s personality.”
“If that personality gets in my way, I can make time. I just can’t picture you handing Lee Rowon over to me so easily.”
“He hasn’t even shown his damn face, and you’re already getting ahead of yourself.”
“Exactly. Not even a glimpse of him. No one has seen the zombie named Lee Rowon for the past several days. And just a week ago, he was running around like the whole world belonged to him. Almost like someone sprayed him with treatment gas and snapped him out of it.”
“That so.”
“That’s why I stopped by the distribution center today. No matter how terrified the infected might be of the world, they still show up at the distribution areas. They need to eat, after all. But if he didn’t even show up there… then maybe—just maybe—someone’s feeding him somewhere.”
There it was—almost a tone of certainty. He even had his own little logic lined up. Of course, logic wasn’t evidence. He might have his suspicions, but without physical proof that Rowon was here, Young-il could deny everything and Baek Seonghyeon would have no way to prove otherwise.
But Baek Seonghyeon seemed to know his own reasoning was flimsy. A crooked smile formed on his lips, and he abruptly shifted the direction of the conversation.
“May I ask you something? Mr. Park, have you ever—say, even just once—felt like you wanted to kill yourself and turn into a zombie right away?”
“Are you still stuck in the past? We’ve had treatment gas for ages. Becoming a zombie isn’t the end anymore.”
“Watch your wording. ‘For ages’? Do you really think it’s been that long? The years we lived believing infection meant death were far longer than the short time we’ve known about the cure.”
“……”
“Have you truly never thought it? That if you turned into a zombie, at least you’d stop dreaming of nightmares? That maybe it would be easier to die and follow your family rather than keep living like this?”
Why the hell was this bastard suddenly provoking him? For a second, Young-il almost snapped—but he forced himself to stay alert. This could be bait. A strategy to make him slip up.
If he’s got the time to think about this kind of crap, must have lived a pretty cushy apocalypse—
The sarcasm burned on his tongue, but he swallowed it. The worst part was… he couldn’t fully deny it.
“So what if I have.”
“I’m not asking with any particular goal in mind. I only wanted to know if you were the same kind of person I am. The kind who can’t forget.”
“Can’t forget?”
“Did you know? Lately, a lot of survivors have been showing extreme memory deterioration. Some call it dementia. Others call it stress-induced memory disorder.”
It was the first time he’d heard of such a trend, yet somehow it sounded believable. Humans under extreme stress suffered neurological damage—that much was common knowledge. Maybe not only zombies lost their memories to escape reality.
“I envy them, honestly.”
“You envy dementia? Must be nice to have that kind of luxury.”
“You can say that. But haven’t you ever had a moment like that yourself? When it felt easier to just let everything end, instead of continuing a life trapped in nightmares?”
Without thinking, Young-il touched his neck. He remembered the rope snapping under his weight, sending him crashing to the floor. That moment of failure had been as despairing as the moments when he watched his loved ones die. Human life doesn’t snap easily. And when you can’t die, can’t forget, can’t let go… all you can do is drag that weight with you and keep walking.
“Even if you can’t let go of life or memory… there are ways to breathe easier.”
“……”
“Some say revenge is meaningless. I’ve heard that too, from people who actually carried it out. But still… a person needs a way to breathe.”
So that was it. Young-il understood. Maybe revenge wasn’t really about hatred. Maybe it was simply about survival. Because if you didn’t unleash those emotions somewhere, you’d collapse. Because even the living needed something to keep them alive.
“If you’ve gone through the same thing I have—”
“……”
“—then at the very least, don’t get in my way.”
Young-il stared at him in silence. He understood the feeling—but that didn’t mean he could agree. He himself had already killed the young man’s parents as part of his own revenge. Did he have any right to preach to someone else about theirs? Maybe not. But still—
“I’m not so sure.”
“What?”
“Is revenge really what you need to breathe again?”
Revenge doesn’t erase memory. He knew that from experience. Forgetting doesn’t free you either. He knew that from watching Rowon.
Was revenge truly what would save Baek Seonghyeon? Wasn’t it the warmth of another person—someone who could hold you and pull you back from the nightmare—that actually let people breathe again?