RTN 27

“No—no.”

His voice came out trembling. It was no joke; it wasn’t even conceivable to joke with Baek Ihyeon unless one had lost their mind. Cold sweat slid down his spine.

Baek Ihyeon’s blood-red pupils scanned him as if taking measure. Then he turned his head, grabbed a banner from the shelf and roughly hurled it into the purification tank. The liquid in the tank bubbled and spat out black foam.

All contaminants were soon removed, and the combat data stored in the tank reset; the banners surfaced, clean and shining as if new.

What should have been the squad’s work Baek Ihyeon was doing himself — all so he could communicate closely with this side.

It was overwhelming. Baek Ihyeon had taken so much trouble to oversee Seol A-yeon’s training; Kim Dowoon had no idea how he could refuse now.

A warning flashed on the purification tank’s monitor. The system had automatically paused and entered stabilization mode because throughput had exceeded its limit.

Kim Dowoon reflexively checked the clean room monitor. Contamination level 7. The drop was very slow.

He had a hunch where Baek Ihyeon had been. It was almost certain from the circumstances, though he could hardly believe it.

“I heard you said you’d block links,” Baek Ihyeon said.

Kim Dowoon stiffened his shoulders. He already knew, in general, that even the tiniest things reached Baek Ihyeon’s ears, but experiencing it firsthand was unnerving.

He had no energy to explain about lax discipline among the comrades, nor could he, in front of the battalion commander, voice complaints about a single squad. He answered weakly.

“We were just joking among ourselves. Please don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t care?” Baek Ihyeon’s voice tightened. He was already tense again. Baek Ihyeon’s voice was normally so emotionless, and now, with the noise from A-class weapon effects overlaying it, it was impossible to tell whether he was joking or serious.

Kim Dowoon chose the safest reply.

“No. I mean, it’s a trivial matter for the battalion commander. There was a minor spat in the mess; someone said something in anger. Please don’t concern yourself.”

“And the link?”

“I’ll open it.”

He answered mechanically. It would be like this anyway. Even if they declared they wouldn’t help, when things became urgent, comrades would habitually ask for a link, and Kim Dowoon would end up allowing it.

In truth, it wasn’t a domain he could decide alone. If someone requested a link, he was the only member likely to accept it. In emergencies, people often didn’t even have the mind to read messages. So he had to consider the criticism he’d get if he refused.

No matter how skilled he was, if his team ignored him he would be left behind.

It wasn’t about grand talk of “blocking links.” Regret welled up nonetheless. Normally he’d smile and let things slide even when worse happened; he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t been able to hold back in that moment.

“They said you declared it firmly in front of everyone. If you open the link now, it would look like you’re backtracking.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m not fine.”

Kim Dowoon thought he’d misheard. Baek Ihyeon continued, dryly.

“I don’t want your words and actions to become frivolous.”

Kim Dowoon blinked several times. He didn’t quite follow.

Baek Ihyeon took off his uniform coat and jacket and tossed them into the collection bin. Bloodied clothing hit the bin’s bottom with a heavy, wet thud.

“If you block the link, then block it. That will make other members more wary. Your link is not public property.”

At that, Baek Ihyeon’s brow seemed to crease for a moment.

“I think blocking is preferable. Of course, it’s your decision.”

Kim Dowoon could not understand the situation at all. That Baek Ihyeon even had an opinion about his link was shocking.

Baek Ihyeon — who commanded the front line under the emperor’s orders — should regard a single squad member’s combat style as trivial, if not nonexistent. It wasn’t something to gossip about.

“What do you think?”

“Um…” Kim Dowoon made a stupid noise, then hurriedly cleared his throat.

“Sorry. I was surprised. I didn’t expect you to consider me…”

“Of course I care about you. Do you remember the butterfly chase from long ago?”

“Yes. I remember.”

His voice cut. It was a truly dreadful memory.

It was in that battle that Kim Dowoon first met Baek Ihyeon. After several exchanges, Kim Dowoon had been overly confident; Baek Ihyeon had come from Bana’s backing and his abilities had not yet proven themselves, so even as a commander he hadn’t earned trust.

In that strange situation where everyone relied not on the commander Baek Ihyeon but on a mere soldier like Kim Dowoon, the two of them — with nothing more than luck and a bit of skill — became each other’s only ally and survived near-death.

Just recalling it made Kim Dowoon afraid it would haunt his dreams.

“You and I were the only survivors of that pursuit. I owe you.”

“I was lucky.”

“If meeting you was luck, then it was luck,” Baek Ihyeon said, lowering his eyes as he unclasped his watch. The exposed skin of his wrist was reddened with abrasions — one side effect when the watch’s shield is kept near its limit.

“We had a conversation in the trench back then,” he said.

They had promised to go home together. Years had passed since. Bana, Baek Ihyeon’s home, had been wiped out, but Kim Dowoon’s hometown still existed — though mercilessly plundered by the empire, shriveled almost to extinction, its name not yet taken.

“I want to end the war,” Baek Ihyeon said, his voice low. Kim Dowoon had to hold his breath and focus.

“It’s gone on too long. Even if we win in the end, it’s as good as losing. There are no winners in this war. Even if we annihilate the enemy, our generation won’t enjoy that peace — we’ll spend our lives restoring ruins. If there is glory in this dreadful slaughter, the emperor will take it.”

He added, with obvious sarcasm: who buys eternity? (lit. “He buys eternity.”)

Kim Dowoon was a little surprised that Baek Ihyeon would say that. He dropped his gaze without realizing.

“We will end this war with Seol A-yeon.”

Kim Dowoon looked up. Their eyes met. The red tint in Baek Ihyeon’s pupils had faded, the side effects subsiding.

“You lead the way.”

Baek Ihyeon’s final words came clearly, without the usual noise.

“We can’t pull an instructor from the field now, so this is for the best. It gives me a reason to designate you as Seol A-yeon’s trainer.”

He tugged at the strap around his thigh and loosened it. The drug case attached to it swung in the air — empty. Whatever had been inside had been used up.

“As for your qualifications, they’ve been proven countless times; no one will object. Handling links repeatedly in the field is not easy.”

He was now simply dressed in a basic combat suit that reached his neck, pants, and boots — all black as if forged metal.

“And anyone who, without knowing their place, throws your background in your face will be more of an enemy than the real enemy. If you take charge of Seol A-yeon’s training and naturally step back to the rear, I’ll sort out the situation. So follow orders.”

For a moment Kim Dowoon thought he had misheard.

“What do you mean?”

“This is an escalation of the unfair treatment you’ve been receiving. I will intervene.”

He found it hard to breathe. He had been tangled in many troublesome incidents because of his origin, but he’d managed to deal with them by keeping his head down.

For Baek Ihyeon to intervene personally meant the matter was serious. Yesterday’s scuffle in the mess wouldn’t be enough; in the worst case, one of his comrades might try to kill him.

Killing someone from a colony was common — not even a crime. It was just that Kim Dowoon’s skill had spared him from that misfortune.

And he believed that would continue. After all, they were comrades. My skill will save you.

Those thoughts flashed hot through his mind. Not many openly disliked colony-born people outright.

What about Choi Jaehyung from yesterday in the mess? No — that guy lagged in formation, his tactical comprehension low; without Kim Dowoon he would die first.

Then Kim Minseong? Han Yuri? Or Park Junho? Blood rushed to his head and he clenched his teeth.

“Who is it?” he demanded.

“You’ve proven your worth with skill so far. Keep behaving.” Baek Ihyeon said.

“It’s my matter. I’ll handle it.”

His voice trembled with anger as he spoke more strongly.

“Just tell me one thing. Who is the instigator?”

“I will deal with it.”

Baek Ihyeon looked at him at the end of that sentence. His face had lost all color; his pupils had gone black, yet his eyes still seemed inhuman as he spoke.

“Do you need a corpse name?”