Chapter 154

Hansol stared up at the team leader standing before him without a word.

The office was dead silent—not even the hum of a fan.

And the team leader, wearing an unusually bright expression, was talking to him like nothing in the world was wrong.

"…Ah."

Hansol tilted his head and let a quiet sound drift out. The team leader scratched at his stubbly chin, glanced around the room, then tapped his own shoulder with the file folder in his hand and spoke.

"Sheesh…. Everyone's out grabbing lunch, and here you are napping at your desk? If you're gonna sleep, at least use the break room. You'll throw your neck out like this."

The team leader was rubbing his own neck for emphasis. When Hansol answered with nothing more than a faint smile, the man deflated with a huff and folded his arms.

"Anyway, I came to share some good news."

"Good news?"

"Yeah."

The team leader pulled out the chair across from him and sat down. He cleared his throat, snuck a sideways glance at Hansol's face, then spoke again with a loaded tone.

"It's about the direction for future updates. We've decided to go with strengthening our IP. How do I put it…. Everyone agreed that taking a longer view and raising the value of the content is the better play all around."

Hansol's shoulders twitched, and his eyes went wide. The team leader seemed delighted by the reaction—he leaned in eagerly and raised his voice another notch.

"What that means is—nobody's going to adjust your work or twist it into something else ever again. So take this chance and do everything you couldn't before! Whatever you want!"

Hansol opened and closed his parted lips a couple of times. Then, threading the question into a quiet breath, he asked:

"Just like that… a decision like this was possible?"

"Of course it was! Kid! Since when does good news send a polite heads-up before it drops out of the sky?"

"And the direction of the work really… won't change?"

"I just said so, didn't I? Have you ever known me to go back on my word?"

Hansol let a faint sigh escape and dropped his head. He sat in silence for a while, staring at the tips of his shoes resting against the white floor, and smiled.

A stroke of luck… huh.

The society he'd lived in. In truth, it wasn't the kind of place where procedureless windfalls could be taken at face value and brushed aside.

And the team leader was a man who understood how the industry worked. He treated it as routine when even finalized decisions shifted the moment new conditions or issues crept in. Naturally, he never made easy promises about anything.

[I just said so, didn't I? Have you ever known me to go back on my word?]

Which was exactly why it didn't take long to realize the voice in front of him wasn't something that belonged to reality.

"……"

Hansol raised his head and looked at the figure. Sentences delivered in a familiar voice, wearing the team leader's shape.

Whose desire those words were really speaking to—that much was obvious without thinking too hard.

I wanted… to engrave a certainty into myself.

Hansol glanced down at his chest, where his heart was pounding as if answering the realization. He drew a deep breath, looked up at the team leader, and smiled with a confidence that reached his eyes.

"Team leader."

"Hm?"

"If that's what you're telling me, then fine. I'll give it everything I've got."

The team leader met Hansol's gaze, tilted his head, and asked.

"You're sure you can pull it off?"

"Yes. I've got a clear sense of direction now."

Hansol answered without hesitation. Then, calling to mind the structure and principles of the world he'd built—the roadmap of the story—he raised his left hand and extended his index finger first.

"I won't let myself be shackled by what I already know anymore."

Next, what surfaced in his mind were the moments he'd spent surveying the lives of those who inhabited the continent—sketching out their journeys. The times he'd smiled with genuine delight at a character's progress, or sighed with heartache over their struggles.

Hansol paused briefly, then extended his middle finger.

"But I won't be ruled by desire alone, either—the opposite extreme."

He exhaled like he was sealing a vow. Then he folded all his outstretched fingers back in, added his thumb, and opened them again.

Three fingers stood raised in total.

"What I'm aiming for is both. The knowledge inside me and the desire I feel for these characters. I'll hold all of it together and build the best answer I can."

"I see."

The team leader nodded, stroked his chin, and narrowed his eyes with a gravity that seemed genuine—then broke into a bright grin and clapped Hansol on the shoulder.

"Well, sure! The direction sounds solid. Go for it."

That cheerful voice was the last thing he heard. Sunlight came pouring through the window and flooded the office in white, and the team leader vanished without a trace.

What remained where his figure had been, drifting down like a memento, was a single coupon.

Rustle.

Hansol reached out and picked it up. The moment the stiff paper settled into his hand, he flipped it over to check the issue number.

Number zero—as always.

The object that had drawn him into a world both familiar and foreign, and awakened an extraordinary power within him.

Brush.

Hansol felt the length of hair grazing the back of his neck and turned his head to the side.

At some point, the sky beyond the window had sunk into deep twilight.

The dark-blue atmosphere had swallowed even the city lights that once glittered like evening stars. Now it crept toward the glass like the surface of a rising tide—slow, inexorable.

"……"

Mikhail watched the scene unfold, then closed his eyes. He heard the furniture inside the office crumble and collapse. He felt the cold swallow his cheeks. He accepted, without resistance, the violent current that coiled around his body and dragged him under.

A cascade of noise rang out in rapid succession.

But the commotion faded quickly.

Mikhail let his eyes drift open.

Patter. Tap-tap—

He was lying inside a tent lined with rows of bedding. Biting night air circled the tip of his nose, and a silence as fragile as a held breath lay draped over him like a blanket.

---

Meanwhile, at the same hour.

The spot where Ethan had been confined by Germain's order sat at the farthest corner of the cluster of pitched tents.

Click.

The designated time must have elapsed. The lock binding Ethan's wrists released. But Ethan stayed motionless, his head bowed deep. He showed no sign of moving from where he sat, curled in on himself.

"Hah."

Ethan repeated nothing but dead, shallow breaths. A crushing tide of helplessness flooded his mind. He hadn't done anything until now—couldn't do anything. Every thought he'd carried with such confidence had been wrong. Every single one.

"—What a mess. Senit's in bad shape too?"

"His body's way too cold—! Get more—!"

"This is strange—. Why won't his temperature come up—?"

That was when a familiar name drifted in from far away and pierced his ears. Ethan shot to his feet like he'd been burned and staggered outside.

Dozens of eyes followed his lurching steps, but the only thing Ethan was looking at was a single point.

Swoosh.

He stopped in front of the tent marked with the medical unit's insignia. The white flap swept aside, and the person who emerged was Lloyd.

"Honestly, the conditions here are abysmal. What kind of treatment do they expect to manage in a place like this…."

Lloyd was clicking his tongue at what he'd seen inside when he spotted Ethan standing directly in front of him. His eyelids twitched, and he went still.

"……"

Ethan stared at Lloyd, then moved to walk past him. But he barely made it a few steps before a hand clamped around his wrist.

Ethan turned back with a blank expression. Lloyd's eyes narrowed as he asked.

"You're here for Mikhail, aren't you?"

Ethan didn't answer one way or the other. He tried to wrench his arm free and push toward the inside of the tent.

But Lloyd only tightened his grip, locking Ethan's movement down.

"Not right now. You wouldn't be able to talk to him anyway."

"I just want to see that he's okay."

"From what I could tell, there's nothing critical on the surface. His consciousness doesn't seem to be coming back for some reason, but… they said they'll run a basic examination. If nothing turns up, it's likely exhaustion. So for now, maybe later—"

"Shut up. Move."

"Ethan!"

Ethan's arm tensed with brute force as he pressed forward. Lloyd choked down the irritation clawing up his throat, squeezed harder on the captured wrist, and spoke in a voice that cut like a warning.

"Who the hell is that attitude even for?"

"……"

"Are you actually thinking about Mikhail's well-being? Or are you just moving to make yourself feel better?"

Ethan's eyes blew wide and his breath seized in his chest. Every muscle in his body—wound tight enough to snap—went slack in a single instant.

Lloyd stared at Ethan standing there in a daze, then released his grip. A sigh escaped him, and he pushed his wet bangs back from his forehead.

Maybe it was the rain. The hair clinging to his fingertips was unusually damp and sticky.

"Hah… right. Good. You've calmed down."

"……"

"There are a few things I want to ask both of you, actually, but now doesn't seem like the time…. Either way—Mikhail, you—let's talk later."

Lloyd bit the words off like a parting shot, brushed past Ethan, and headed straight ahead.

But the composed stride lasted only a moment.

Lloyd stopped abruptly and looked back toward where Ethan stood. His gaze shifted with a trace of suspicion, confirmed Ethan still rooted to the same spot, then turned forward again.

He resumed walking.

Thud.

The sound of Lloyd's footsteps bled into the intermittent patter of fading rain and grew faint.

Before long, the only one left standing in front of the medical tent was Ethan.

"……"

His face was frozen pale. He stared at the white canvas flap for a long, vacant moment, then let his head drop.

Busy voices spilled from inside the tent.

Ethan caught a few fragments about Mikhail's condition, then dragged his body around and shuffled toward somewhere isolated.

Scrape.

He moved with no destination, feet trailing against the ground. Each time he drifted along the path, the orange glow from the makeshift lanterns dotting the camp followed him like a shadow.

"……"

How far had he walked? Ethan didn't stop until he'd reached a place where even the faintest thread of lantern light couldn't find him.

Nothing surrounded him but black air.

His head—fixed downward this whole time—tilted back by slow degrees until his eyes took in the quiet night sky.

Chirp. Chirp-chirp—

Beneath the sky where the heavy rain had finally eased, the faint song of small insects was spreading outward into the dark.

"Ah…"

Ethan's parched lips scraped against each other. That was enough to drag out the lump that had been swelling inside him, refusing to dissolve.

"I…"

The conviction that had curdled into something dark and bruised spilled out of him on a voice that cracked apart as it fell.

"I don't deserve to stand beside you. Not even a little."