DP Episode 138

Episode 138

Accepting the flood of returning memories was startlingly uneventful.

It felt like waking up one day and instinctively understanding the human language and form, much like the first day Seo-joon had arrived on Earth.

The bloodshot red eyes staring at him looked ready to burst with tears. Seo-joon had expected Yeon-woo to either collapse into his arms or unleash a torrent of anger. Instead, Yeon-woo’s expression left him slightly at a loss.

It was the same face he had always known, but something about Yeon-woo’s demeanor was unfamiliar. It was as if he had grown into an adult while Seo-joon was gone.

“…”

A delicate temple, smooth and unlined, suddenly showed a strained vein. With one trembling hand covering his eyes, Yeon-woo steadied his breathing and clenched his jaw. Then, he took a step toward Seo-joon.

Seo-joon reflexively opened his arms, embracing the body that threw itself at him with crushing force.

“Never again.”

The words, tremulous with suppressed emotion, escaped through clenched teeth.

“Never leave me again, Lieutenant.”

Never again. Don’t ever do it again. The desperate intensity in Yeon-woo’s words radiated from the arms squeezing Seo-joon tight and the chest pressed against his own.

“I won’t, Yeon-woo. I was wrong.”

His calm apology seemed to loosen Yeon-woo’s grip. The moment their faces were inches apart, Yeon-woo’s expression crumbled.

“Really…”

The unfamiliar facade disappeared, replaced by the Yeon-woo Seo-joon knew so well. Tears, once barely held back, spilled freely down his cheeks.

“You’re awful, Lieutenant… So cruel! You’re the worst… You’re always so awful to me…”

Sob.

Seo-joon ran a soothing hand down Yeon-woo’s back as he collapsed into his arms, crying uncontrollably. Now, this was the Cha Yeon-woo he remembered.

“How could you do this to me? How could you come back so late? You left me alone, disappeared on your own, and made me wait so long—!”

Thud, thud.

Weak fists pounded against Seo-joon’s chest and shoulders, more noise than force.

Gently, Seo-joon cupped Yeon-woo’s tear-streaked face. He knew the struggles Yeon-woo had endured while he was gone. No excuse could justify his actions.

“I’m sorry, Yeon-woo.”

It was all he could say.

But that wasn’t enough for Yeon-woo. His tears fell harder, his sobs louder.

“You’re supposed to say you missed me!”

Hic, hic. Tears streamed like rivers down his face.

Seo-joon, at a loss, held him tighter, murmuring reassurances. Yeon-woo hadn’t cried this much when confessing his feelings or even during Seo-joon’s proposal. This was new territory.

Seo-joon had only ever wanted Yeon-woo’s safety and happiness. Yet whether he was alive or presumed dead, it seemed all he could do was make Yeon-woo cry.

“I missed you, Yeon-woo.”

His voice was steady, but the faint quiver at the end betrayed his emotion.

“I missed you so much.”

Seo-joon kissed Yeon-woo’s tear-soaked face, wiping away the streams of sorrow.

“I might have been too much of an idiot to notice anything else, but I always knew how beautiful you were. From the moment I opened my eyes, all I wanted was to see you again.”

“Don’t make me laugh…”

Yeon-woo’s voice broke into a hiccup-laden whimper.

“You’re such a liar, Lieutenant…”

Bitterness poured out, a mix of resentment and affection unique to Yeon-woo’s usual manner.

“You’re not leaving me again. Ever. I won’t let you. I’ll lock you up in a tiny room if I have to…”

“Then do it, if that’s what you want,” Seo-joon replied with a soft smile, his red-rimmed eyes curving as he laughed.

The news anchor’s voice spilled from the TV, reporting that the official declaration of the gate’s closure was imminent. Seo-joon absently stroked Yeon-woo’s back, glancing at the small countdown in the corner of the screen.

“Gate Closure D+82.”

Even now, the words seemed surreal.

The gates in Korea were gone. And somehow, he was still alive, breathing, holding the one person who had pulled him from the abyss with love alone.

✽✽✽

“No issues with cognitive function. No problems with spatial awareness.”

Hee-min, busy reviewing the chart, placed steady hands on Seo-joon’s shoulders. Her eyes, still red and swollen from crying earlier, scanned him with meticulous care.

“You’re completely fine, Seo-joon. Look at your blood test results—you’re in perfect health. Do you even realize how flawlessly Yeon-woo brought you back to life?”

Seo-joon’s expression turned somber as he asked,.

“And Cha Yeon-woo? He’s healthy, right?”

Hee-min nodded with a reassuring smile.

“One of his ribs fractured and healed slightly shorter than before, but it doesn’t affect his daily life.”

“…A rib?”

Seo-joon’s face contorted in visible discomfort. Hee-min guided him to sit down in a chair, her tone softening.

“Do you remember anything? Yeon-woo doesn’t recall a thing.”

Seo-joon shook his head. His last memory was from the Megatower incident, where he had been laden with dozens of bombs and grenades, ready to sacrifice himself.

“…Not really.”

It felt like waking from a long, surreal dream. Flashes of Yeon-woo’s childhood, moments of him in school, surfaced in fragments. But one sensation was clear, even buried in the depths of unconsciousness: pain.

The agony of lungs collapsing, skin searing, bones grinding as if they would snap.

Seo-joon was certain now—it wasn’t his pain. It was Yeon-woo’s.

The pain Yeon-woo endured to bring him back to life, risking everything. Waiting in silence for so long with no guarantee of his return.

…It was a love he could never repay, not even with a lifetime.

✽✽✽

[Deep Pivot: Retracing the Process of Physical Reconstruction_Closing the Final 1.2% Gap]

Hee-min’s paper title flashed on the screen. It was still a working title after countless revisions.

“Director Kang.”

Song-hee tapped his shoulder lightly.

“You’ll be late for the meeting.”

Her gesture toward the clock jolted Hee-min from his focus. He hurried to his feet, realizing how much time had passed.

“Ah, just a sec.”

Quickly shedding his lab coat, he headed for the exit, only to pause mid-step and pull a glasses cloth from his pocket. After meticulously cleaning his lenses, he slipped them back on, satisfied with his clearer view. He took a deep breath.

Today’s meeting was a crucial one—a dramatic, unofficial gathering preceding South Korea’s imminent announcement of the gate’s closure.

Representatives from nations still grappling with active gates, known as “No-Name Countries,” were convening for the first time.

The grand conference hall buzzed with key officials from various sectors. Hee-min, attending as the director of South Korea’s Awakener Research Center, took his seat. A semicircular table with rows of monitors and cameras displayed the faces of international leaders in split-screen views on a massive wall-mounted screen.

At the back of the hall, in an unassuming corner, Seo-joon sat quietly with a laptop, observing the proceedings. Beside him, Yeon-woo shifted nervously.

“I’m not good at English,” Yeon-woo whispered, his unease evident.

Seo-joon leaned closer, speaking softly,

“Don’t worry. I’ll translate for you.”

He gave Yeon-woo’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

The meeting began with its usual stiff, formal atmosphere. Foreign officials largely dismissed Seo-joon and Yeon-woo’s case as an anomaly, showing skepticism about its broader applicability.

―It’s hard to take this seriously. A miracle less than 0.1% likely isn’t a solution at all…

―Do we even know what causes the gates to appear?

―This meeting isn’t about finding the cause but the solution.

―The cause doesn’t matter. What’s important is ending this crisis quickly, and that means we have no choice but to dismantle No-Names. We can’t afford distractions.

The debate spiraled in circles, achieving little. At that moment, Hee-min turned on his microphone, signaling he wished to speak.

―Go ahead.

“Hello, I’m Kang Hee-min, director of South Korea’s Awakener Research Center,” he began, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him.

“He must have something important to say,” Yeon-woo whispered.

Seo-joon nodded with a faint smile. Until now, the conversation had been unremarkable enough to skip translating, but Yeon-woo seemed genuinely curious about what Hee-min would share.

“Everyone keeps saying the cause isn’t important,” Hee-min continued, his voice steadier now as he addressed the room.

“But why do you think the cause doesn’t matter?”

The question hung in the air, drawing the full attention of the gathered officials.