RTN 33

chapter 33

“Creepy.”

“I know, right.”

“What’s with that god’s tone? He talks like that just to piss people off…”

“Seriously.”

“I was so shocked I don’t even feel like eating.”

“Same.”

“You need to eat, though.”

Kim Do-un took a spoonful of stir-fried vegetables from his lunchbox and dropped it on top of my rice.

“Eat up. I didn’t touch it.”

“Thank you for the food.”

I scooped up a big bite of rice and veggies and shoved it into my mouth. The vegetables were crisp and deliciously spicy. My appetite came rushing back. I’d probably crave this again even after going home. With my mouth full, I mumbled:

“It’s good.”

“Looks like it. Eat a lot.”

Kim Do-un set the now-empty vegetable compartment aside and opened his drink. He was just about to take a sip, when he put it down again and looked at me.

“Why was the god disappointed in you?”

“He said, ‘Why are you doing something like this? You don’t have time for this.’ Something like that.”

“You asked him for a chance, and if you’re going to ‘do it half-assed’ he’d erase you. He also said that.”

I almost dropped my lunchbox.

“He said he’d erase me?”

“You didn’t see that?”

“There were so many messages—I must’ve missed it.”

“Well, looked like there were at least fifty.”

My heart jumped in shock. I knew the status window wasn’t fond of me, but I didn’t know it had gone as far as threatening to erase me.

I really did lose my appetite. I set the lunchbox on the bench.

“Nothing come to mind?”

“No.”

“You asked the god for a chance.”

“I’ve never done that.”

“You sure you just don’t remember?”

“Maybe the god is lying?”

“Gods don’t lie.”

“But he also said… what was it? ‘No matter how many times it repeats, you’re always the same.’ That sounded like he was talking to you.”

“That part I seriously don’t get.”

“Me neither. Anyway, I never asked for a chance.”

Kim Do-un stared down at me. I stared right back up at him.

Then he suddenly turned his head, raking his hair back with a rough motion. Just as I noticed the rims of his ears turning red beneath his messy hair, he looked back at me.

“Let’s change the training method.”

I blinked at him blankly.

“After S-class arrived, there was a test we took. A selection. They choose the person most suited for S-class implantation…”

He frowned slightly for a moment, then continued.

“Let’s just put you straight into that. We don’t have time, and if we start with basics, you’ll just bulldoze through everything again, right? But that’s not a bad thing. The team leader also said so.”

I remembered Jang Seok-joo. Even though I destroyed the measuring chamber, he seemed even more pleased. He’d looked at me like I was exciting to train, insisting there was a reason he always handled selections.

It sounded like I met his criteria. Maybe he wanted someone who didn’t get bound by rigid regulations and could use unorthodox methods.

If so, I really did fit. I didn’t know enough rules to follow them anyway. All I knew so far was that the army had good lunchboxes.

“Most of all, if the god was that disappointed, people like us can’t dare disobey. At the very least, we should show we’re trying something different. I don’t think next time will end with just a warning.”

He didn’t sound like he was explaining to me—more like he was sorting his thoughts aloud.

He fell silent again, thinking hard, then set down his drink and tore open a snack bag. The sweet smell spread.

As I closed my lunchbox, I asked:

“S-class is insanely good, so why didn’t Captain Baek take it himself, and instead wanted to choose someone else?”

“Baek—hey. Please, titles. If you call him that, I get yelled at.”

“Then why doesn’t His Great and Glorious Battalion Commander take it?”

“Don’t joke. He already has A-class. You can’t take another one. Well… it’s basically S-class, but…”

His voice trailed off. Something uneasy flickered across his eyes—something I’d never seen from him before. It looked like worry, maybe fear.

Then he lifted his gaze, as if deciding something.

“Anyway, that’s what we’ll do. We try the hardest version first, and if it’s impossible, we lower the difficulty.”

“That test is made for fully trained soldiers. Isn’t it dangerous?”

“It’s not dangerous. I’ll be in there with you.”

He offered me the snack, then noticed my untouched lunchbox and pulled it back with a scolding look.

“You’re not eating?”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Force yourself.”

“You’re not eating either…”

“You and I aren’t the same.”

I didn’t understand the difference, but I picked the lunchbox back up without arguing.

“Well, at least Lt. Kim saw that status window too.”

“What, the status window?”

He sighed, grabbing a handful of snacks.

“Yeah. It’d be scary if only you could see something like that. I always thought Coordinators were only good things.”

“That too… but I also thought no one would believe me if I told them. They’d think I’m making excuses.”

“True.”

He nodded and shoved a mouthful of snack into his mouth.

I sliced a rolled omelet with my spoon and added:

“It’s also a little less lonely.”

He quietly chewed his snack—crunch, crunch. He swallowed and brushed crumbs off his fingers.

A robot vacuum approached, swept up the crumbs from the floor, then stopped nearby, waiting for more to clean.

Kim Do-un brushed off crumbs from his knees.

“Now shut up and eat.”

“What do we do after this?”

“Eat first. I won’t answer anything until you finish.”

The rice felt rough like sand, but I ate quickly.

When I scraped up the very last bits of side dish, he finally poured snacks onto my lunchbox lid.

“You saw me eat it, right? Don’t get paranoid about poison or whatever—eat while you can.”

“Food from you is always safe.”

“Don’t say stuff you don’t mean. You didn’t take your medicine earlier.”

“It was a weird color. It was green.”

He clicked his tongue.

“All of it is for your own good.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I only eat with you since I came here. I only eat what you give me.”

“…God, you’re annoying.”

“If you stop eating with me, I’ll starve.”

“Stop saying weird things.”

The snack was sweet and crunchy with a corn flavor. It made me feel a little better.

“You didn’t do it? That selection thing?”

“Me? I didn’t apply.”

“Why? You’re super strong.”

He dumped the remaining crumbs straight into his mouth, then stared at me, baffled.

“Why do you keep assuming I’m strong? You haven’t seen anything.”

“Team leader Jang said if Lt. Kim isn’t there, the whole squad would get wiped out.”

“He says that kind of stuff all the time.”

“Then why didn’t you apply?”

“Just didn’t want to.”

His tone was casual, like it meant nothing.

“Just didn’t feel like it.”

“There was another one like this before, wasn’t there?”

Baek I-hyeon asked.

His eyes stayed fixed on the floating screen. The footage was from the measuring chamber—everything Seol Ah-yeon destroyed earlier today was recorded perfectly.

Past her collapsed figure, past the wrecked walls, Jang Seok-joo answered while facing Baek I-hyeon.

“If you mean Lieutenant Kim Do-un, I agree.”

It was exactly the same. The moment Seol Ah-yeon destroyed the chamber, Jang Seok-joo thought of Kim Do-un. And when she said, “There are no rules in war,” he was sure. Same type.

“When S-class was first sent, the capital designated Kim Do-un as the most suitable candidate.”

“I remember.”

Considering Kim’s background, it was surprising. But there were problems.

First: all the messages he sent to his hometown failed to deliver and bounced back. The resulting homesickness left him unable to perform at full capacity.

Second: he had zero interest in S-class.

Jang Seok-joo and Baek I-hyeon had discussed forcibly boosting Kim’s morale by giving him a sudden promotion and ordering him into S-class implantation if necessary.

But they never tried it.

The consequences would’ve been worse. Kim Do-un wanted to survive and go home. He was already fighting perfectly well—he wasn’t going to take the extra risk of becoming S-class.

So they abandoned the best candidate and tested volunteers instead. None were suitable.

But now, the one who actually ate S-class—Seol Ah-yeon—showed the exact same tendencies as Kim Do-un. A very good sign, in Jang’s opinion.

But they couldn’t just leave her alone. If Baek I-hyeon got emotionally shaken because of her, everything would collapse. His stability came before anything and anyone.

“Lieutenant Kim says basic training is inefficient for her, and asked to put her straight into the selection process. Do you approve?”

“Without killing her?”

Baek I-hyeon said, still staring at the screen. For a second, Jang didn’t understand what he meant.

Then his breath caught. His gaze dropped. Cold sweat crept down his back.

Baek’s voice came, calm and flat:

“Wasn’t this your idea?”

Jang clenched his teeth and looked up. Baek I-hyeon’s gaze locked onto his instantly, waiting.

Expressionless as always—but Jang knew he was finished. He couldn’t breathe.

He had only spoken that idea once. And Kim Do-un would never repeat it. Nobody else heard.

“I’m asking.”

Baek said slowly:

“Min Seo-rin tried to kill Seol Ah-yeon because she had her own reason. Ridiculous, but still a reason.”

His voice carried no emotion.

“But yours doesn’t make sense. If you destroy her soul and turn her into a weapon, her movements will lose precision. Why would you intentionally lower the quality of an S-class weapon?”

There was no escape.

“For you, Battalion Commander.”

Jang’s throat was dry. His voice cracked, but it was firm.

“Commander… what do you think of Seol Ah-yeon?”