RTN 47

Chapter 47

Just as I was about to protest that it wasn’t that bad, Baek Yi‑hyeon pressed a mask over my mouth. With a soft shhk, it sealed tightly around my nose and lips.

I tensed my whole body, forcing myself to readjust to that nauseating, fishy stench. Cold sweat broke out instantly, but it didn’t feel as lethal as the first time.

“This mask is what you called a spacesuit. So don’t take it off carelessly. If it comes loose out there, who knows how the status window will choose to ‘protect’ you. It might get annoyed watching you every two seconds and decide to just pull out your brain and keep it somewhere safe.”

My eyes flew wide open as I looked up at him. Baek Yi‑hyeon added dryly:

“That was an example.”

Immediately after, he tugged the safety belt from both sides and secured it tightly behind my waist. Then he pulled another set down from above my shoulders and fastened those into the same buckle in sequence.

The belts cinched my entire body so tightly I nearly lost my breath.

I shut my eyes to focus again on breathing. Kim Do‑un’s voice sounded.

“Five seconds until launch.”

A countdown alarm followed. My chest tightened—nothing in my life had ever prepared me for this.

Without realizing it, I grasped the mask with both hands—not to pull it off, but to press it in place in case anything happened.

Then, suddenly, warmth settled over my hands. Baek Yi‑hyeon’s hand was covering them.

With his other hand, he wrapped my shoulder as if to shield it. Firm, steady, gentle pressure.

“Launch.”

As Kim Do‑un’s voice overlapped with the word, the craft burst forward like an explosion.

The violent acceleration slammed me backward—my whole body crushed painfully into Baek Yi‑hyeon’s chest. My organs felt squeezed; the pressure was enough to make my bones feel like they might crack.

Just as I thought I might die, the force suddenly dropped away like a lie. My body lurched forward with inertia—only to be caught by Baek Yi‑hyeon’s arm.

He steadied me in his embrace. I exhaled the breath I’d been holding and lifted my head.

Space. We were gliding gently through space.

A vast, unfathomable abyss filled my vision. The scale exceeded anything I could comprehend, sending primal chills through me.

It was nothing like the view through the thick windows of a massive warship. The oppressive darkness was right there, just beyond arm’s reach. The thought that this tiny recon craft was the only barrier between me and the void was terrifyingly surreal.

And yet I couldn’t look away. Entranced, overwhelmed, I stared straight ahead.

Far off at the end of the ship’s extended light wing, six or seven fighters rotated, glinting faintly. They were the direct subunit that had launched before us while Kim Do‑un was preparing the recon craft.

At the center of their formation, on the smooth surface of the light wing, sat a small black shape.

“Suh Ra‑yeon.”

My vision was suddenly covered. Baek Yi‑hyeon’s hand blocked my eyes.

“Do not look outside. If you make eye contact with a Phantom, you’ll at least faint. You already know that.”

I obediently turned my head inward. He withdrew his hand. I looked toward the cockpit at Kim Do‑un and felt along the mask to check it was sealed properly.

In the briefing, Baek Yi‑hyeon had said he would tail the Phantom closely to make sure it entered the track safely. Meaning he’d have to go outside. Meaning I would be going with him. I couldn’t be dead weight.

My heart pounded with tension. My palms, gripping Baek Yi‑hyeon, were slick with cold sweat.

Suddenly, his hand slid down from my shoulder and tapped my back gently, soothingly.

I knew he wasn’t comforting me out of emotion—he was calming me because we’d be going out together soon. And yet my heart kept leaning toward him.

Even the way he patted my back felt like a friend’s touch. Honestly, he was going to drive me insane.

“Good thing we didn’t take Model A.”

Kim Do‑un’s voice was steady and clear. Compared to my half‑dazed state—launched without warning and overwhelmed by the vastness of space—he and Baek Yi‑hyeon were painfully calm.

“The Phantom’s already producing noise. Model A wouldn’t have endured this. Definitely unusual—probably because it’s fluid‑type.”

“Location.”

“Two o’clock direction, eight hundred meters. Approaching. Phantom will enter visual range in fourteen seconds. Stand by.”

Baek Yi‑hyeon detached two masks stored against the ceiling, handed one to Kim Do‑un, and affixed the other to his own face. He wore it like it was nothing.

Meanwhile, Kim Do‑un took the mask with his free hand, put it on, and immediately grimaced—but only for a second before his expression flattened. He kept his eyes on the console monitor instead of the front window.

He was clearly piloting by monitor to avoid making eye contact with the Phantom, and even a novice like me could tell it was hard. I understood why Baek Yi‑hyeon had chosen him.

“Phantom is moving. Leaving the light wing and approaching the track.”

Kim Do‑un removed his headset and pulled something like wireless earbuds from his chest pocket, placing them in his ears.

Baek Yi‑hyeon retrieved two identical devices from a small compartment and placed one in his ear and one in my left ear.

“Intercom. Basically a radio.”

It was the same comm device I had used in the measurement room before. Baek Yi‑hyeon took my left hand and guided my fingertip to press the intercom lightly.

“Press here to speak with anyone wearing one. But with the mask on, breathing destabilizes when you talk, so it takes skill. Only speak when absolutely necessary.”

After a breath, he added:

“You’re doing very well. No one has ever adapted to the mask this quickly.”

Only because you refused to let go of me until I did. This wasn’t my willpower.

But I couldn’t speak. Keeping my breathing steady inside the mask already took all my focus.

“When we reach the Phantom, I’ll hold you and wait outside. The optimal scenario is that it enters the track as is. The worst—”

“It’s gone.”

I looked up. Kim Do‑un was frantically manipulating the monitor. The displays flipped rapidly, but there was no red target anywhere.

“The Phantom is gone. Not detected on radar.”

Pale, he pressed the intercom.

“Subunit, respond. Phantom’s location—”

— Sir! Phantom is gone!

Urgent voices crackled through static. Kim Do‑un snapped commands.

“Backup crew, visual confirmation now!”

— Not visible! It just vanished!

“What the—”

That’s when it happened. The recon craft jolted heavily. Then it swayed—then suddenly dropped downward.

Kim Do‑un yanked the right lever with all his strength. With a loud clunk, the craft froze mid‑air.

Then it began shaking violently. One wrong move and it would plunge straight down.

“Damn it—!”

Kim Do‑un cursed between clenched teeth, gripping both levers as hard as he could. His knuckles went white, tendons bulging under his skin.

Beyond him, I saw something sliding along the window—something black and feathery, like wings brushing past. Cold dread ran down my spine.

“Suh Ra‑yeon.”

Baek Yi‑hyeon called my name as he unfastened my safety belt. The straps slid off my back and shoulders with a snap.

“This is the worst‑case scenario. When the Phantom does not go to the track.”

Even someone as ignorant as me understood exactly how catastrophic this was.

Everyone had warned repeatedly during the briefing how dangerous phantom‑eye contact was—but no one had mentioned a scenario where it attached itself to the recon craft.

“If its eyes meet yours, it’s dangerous—so bury your face in my chest and do not move recklessly. But keep your eyes open and check for the status window whenever it appears.”

His calm, almost literary tone, the rapid movements of his hands on the console, the shadow stretching across the window—none of it felt real.

“When we go out, the mask will generate a shield to protect you. You may see a faint blue glow over your body, but it’s normal. Don’t be afraid.”

He lifted me firmly. I wrapped my arms around his neck, struggling to maintain my breathing.

I couldn’t pass out. Too many lives depended on this. I could not be a hindrance. I kept breathing.

“Lieutenant Kim Do‑un, I’ll detach the Phantom from the craft.”

Beyond his shoulder, I saw the hatch on the co‑pilot’s side wrench open.

The Phantom’s wing, clinging to the outside, tore loose as the hatch moved, scattering small feathers.

One brushed my hand lightly, and I froze. Baek Yi‑hyeon patted my back once, reassuring.

Then he carried me out of the recon craft. As my arms circled his broad shoulders, a faint, pale‑blue film shimmered over us like a thin curtain and vanished.

“Lieutenant, return to the warship immediately. Think only of your own safety.”