From his toes upward, his body slowly faded until it vanished completely, and the warmth that had filled Sa-young’s arms just moments before melted away like snow. A black hand clenched at the empty air. Sa-young rubbed the forehead where their lips had last touched, then tilted his head back. A small sigh slipped out.

“Haah…”

He dragged a hand down his face.

Did Cha Uijae know?

That from this moment on, until the next time they met, Sa-young would do nothing but replay this feeling? That he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else, would hold on only by drowning in that memory and sensation?

He doesn’t. That’s why he acts like this.

His clenched fist trembled with tension. Sa-young gritted his teeth. Ever since he’d felt the presence of the living Uijae, the thirst had grown worse. Maybe it would’ve been easier never knowing of his existence. The moment he realized that a living Cha Uijae was out there, waiting, speaking, touching—every second since had been a trial.

“……”

His mind filled with one face. That crooked grin, the flushed nape and reddened ears, the neck that flinched with every kiss, the heat in his body, the arms that trembled when his waist was stroked, the rush of breath, the ever-changing cadence of sighs and heartbeat.

Proof that he was alive.

It made him restless.

The irritation surged.

Sa-young raked his hair back with a sharp, frustrated motion. His throat was dry. The thirst only deepened by the day. No shell he met back home could ever satisfy it. Only the living Cha Uijae could quench that hunger, that craving. His throat bobbed. His lips were parched.

…Fucking hell.

He’d thought he had patience. Sa-young adjusted his coat and abruptly stood up—just as the door to the closed-off chamber swung open.

“Oh? A guest again today, I see.”

The shriveled mummy of a man, Nam Woo-jin, stumbled inside. By his side, Mackerel supported him with one arm, as if in casual camaraderie, and asked with a grumble:

“You sure visit this place more than the doctor himself. Something fun in here I should know about?”

“As if.”

“Then move aside. The doctor needs to sit.”

Sa-young stepped aside with his hands still in his coat pockets. His violet gaze followed Mackerel, observing. The boy’s once-deep blue hair had faded to white, and faint scales had begun to emerge on the nape of his neck beneath the collar. He hadn’t taken off his cracked glasses—that must be his own kind of pride.

Mackerel helped Nam Woo-jin into the chair with care. Woo-jin caught his breath in rough gasps, his withered hand groping ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) for the notebook.

“What was I doing again? …Ah, did I doodle again…?”

“No. You were reading. Checking how far it’s progressed.”

“Ha… You mean how badly it’s failed.”

Woo-jin lifted his trembling hand to adjust his glasses. At some point, he had started to smell like death. It was a familiar stench. The narrow labs, the people you passed by, the heaps of corpses stacked like mountains, the ones cremated because there was nowhere left to bury them.

So it’s almost over.

Sa-young stared silently at Woo-jin. He didn’t feel pity, or regret, or relief. Either way, even if Woo-jin died, Lee Sa-young would have to remain here. Because…

Woo-jin lifted a pen with shaking fingers and asked:

“Well, then… Did you find anything? Anything worthwhile?”

“No.”

Sa-young answered curtly, heading for the door. Woo-jin smiled faintly, like he expected it.

Leaving the scratch of pen on paper behind him, Sa-young stepped out. He walked alone down the long corridor. Fewer people passed through the Seowon Guild now. No more groaning, no more pained whimpers, no more restless tossing and turning, no more screams.

The speed of Whiteout was accelerating.

And the number of people mutating was rising with it.

So, too, were the deaths from mutated humans.

Nam Woo-jin was dying.

The vaccine was still not complete.

Would Woo-jin die first, or would the vaccine be finished first?

“……”

Sa-young stopped at the worn-down entrance, battered from the passage of so many. Snow-like white ash drifted from the sky. What was once a bustling downtown was now in ruin. Between the crumbled buildings, tiny monsters skittered rapidly with soft tatata footsteps.

No voices of the living.

The end was arriving in silence.

From his pocket, he pulled out a yellow talisman, folded in half, and tore it. A swirling portal opened before his eyes. Beyond it shimmered a faintly green lawn. He stepped forward, the soft grass beneath his feet shifting the air entirely. Under the clear blue sky, blades of grass fluttered in the breeze.

“Oh, you’re here?”

A voice from behind a cauldron fanning the fire greeted him. As he approached, a wave of heat hit him. Hong Yesung had rolled up the sleeves and legs of his green tracksuit to his elbows and knees and tied up his hair. With gloved hands, he tossed dry firewood into the cauldron and spoke:

“Hang tight~ Let me finish this fire, and I’ll give you some sweet rice punch.”

“Don’t need it.”

“Aw, c’mon. Be a little more gentle, will you? We’re basically bound by fate, you and me.”

Sweat beaded on Hong Yesung’s forehead. Above his light brown eyes shimmered a complex golden glyph. It spun slowly, fixing its gaze on Lee Sa-young.

“So? The method I taught you—worked?”

“……”

“Oho, judging from your face, looks like it did. Pretty amazing, right?”

“How did you do it?”

“Huh? Well, your friend was going to find you either way, and this place is one I made… I just gave the connection a tiny nudge. You had something that linked you two, didn’t you?”

Grinning, Hong Yesung stood up, wiping soot from his cheek with the back of his hand. He motioned:

“Come on, let’s go to the porch.”

“I’m not planning to stay long. Just get to the point—”

“All we’ve got is time. You and me both.”

“……”

Humming to himself, Hong Yesung headed toward the tiled-roof house. Sa-young stared at his fluttering back, then slowly followed. The feel of grass underfoot and the warm breeze brushing his cheeks and hair felt unfamiliar.

It was right after Cha Uijae had appeared and vanished like lightning that Hong Yesung contacted him.

Didn’t someone come and go just now?

Maybe because, even as a shell, he was the one who’d created the Memorial Dungeon—Hong Yesung sensed something was off immediately. At the time, Sa-young didn’t have the presence of mind to lie, so he told the truth. Cha Uijae had come and gone. He appeared suddenly, then disappeared.

Knowing him, he’ll definitely come back… Alright! I’ll help you out a bit.

Help me how?

Let’s call it a special service for the guest left behind. You can trust me!

Maybe Sa-young should’ve shoved away that grinning idiot flashing a thumbs-up. He stared now at the steaming ceramic cup.

Meeting Cha Uijae was good. But the more he spoke with him, the more he touched him, the thirst only deepened. He wanted to go to him now. Stay by his side. Hold him. Devour him from head to toe, without leaving a single trace…

“…Lee Sa-young!”

Bang!

He snapped out of it at the sound of the table being slapped. Hong Yesung clicked his tongue while sipping barley tea.

“You’re completely out of it. Was it that good?”

Sa-young’s grip on the cup tightened. A fine crack ran through the ceramic. He gritted his teeth.

“…This is all your fault.”

“Well, it’s not my fault, anyway!”

Hong Yesung pouted dramatically.

“What, you losing your resolve after finally seeing him?”

“……”

“Well, too bad. You chose to stay here.”

Sa-young set the cup down. The rising steam scattered with the breeze. His dry lips moved.

“The phase where people are still mutating… it’s almost over. There’s barely any ground left to Whiteout, and no more people left to change.”

Hong Yesung nodded lightly.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Then what comes next?”

“……”

“Once the terraforming through Whiteout ends, and no humans are left alive… Is that the true end? Does the apocalypse finish in stages like that?”

Golden eyes scanned him up and down as if studying a specimen. Sa-young bit out his words.

“No matter how hard I try to remember, I can’t recall the moment of destruction. Probably because I rewound time just before the end. Like a coward, running.”

“Yeah. That’s right.”

“Then the real end… the apocalypse, what is it?”

“……”

“What’s the final phase of the end?”

“Beats me.”

Hong Yesung muttered as he stared up at the fake blue sky.

“Maybe…”

“…J! Wake up!”

A drop of cold sweat rolled down his chin. Gaeul gripped her shaking hand with the other, teeth clenched tight. The kaleidoscope of dazzling light was fading. The classroom shook. From the ceiling, ash began to fall like dust. Gaeul screamed like a cry for help.

“J!”

He turned his gaze away from the sky and replied.

“…Maybe it’s already begun.”