RTN 39

Chapter 39

I cried for a long time.

This place was unbearably foreign. A gate crawling with monsters. Soldiers swinging blades and shaking off blood. Ash falling from the cigarette perched on their fingertips. Monster corpses strewn everywhere.

A status window that insisted this was my homeland. People who suspected I was an NPC. A creeping anxiety that I couldn’t even trust myself.

Somehow, I had become responsible for the lives of thirty or so other “outsiders.” And my memories were vanishing fast.

The only reason I managed to get through those terrifying, suffocating moments—if you could even call it managing—was thanks to the legacy Baek Ihyeon left me. His upright, kind, resilient heart.

I wanted to be like Baek Ihyeon. I survived by thinking only one thing: What would he do?

So when I met someone who looked exactly like him, I couldn’t help but hope. Maybe I had come all the way here just to meet Baek Ihyeon again. Maybe the Baek Ihyeon standing before me was the one I knew.

If that were true, then coming here was worth it. If I could just see him again, nothing else mattered.

Maybe this was a miracle arranged by a god so I could repay a debt. So I could tell him thank you.

But the last few days of clinging to that hope, only to crush it again and again, felt pointless. There was truly nothing for me in this strange place.

All I had left was the Baek Ihyeon in my memories—memories I missed so painfully. And even those were fading.

Kim Dowoon didn’t speak as I curled up and cried openly. He simply kept a little distance—close enough not to leave, far enough not to intrude—and stayed by me.

When my crying finally quieted—not because my emotions settled but because I’d exhausted myself—Dowoon took something from his chest pocket and held it out. I sniffled and accepted it.

It was a soft, lightweight gauze handkerchief—the kind you’d use for a newborn baby. The edges were frayed from long use, and the printed puppy pattern was faded, but it was clean and freshly washed.

I wiped my eyes, cheeks, and chin. It carried the crisp scent of sunlight. Even though the middle of deep space had no sun, somehow it still smelled like that. The unfairness of it made fresh tears rise.

“…You’re killing me here.”

I heard him mutter. I buried my face in the handkerchief.

“I won’t cry anymore. I’m sorry…”

“I’m not complaining that you’re crying. It’s just—when you cry, it’s so… Just give me that.”

The handkerchief slipped from my grip. His face was suddenly right in front of mine—he had plopped down on the floor and leaned his weight against the box I was sitting on.

He was tall, tall enough that I always had to look up. But sitting there at my feet, slouched and careless, he looked strangely harmless.

With the gentle face of an oversized puppy, he unfolded the handkerchief, flipped it to a drier side, and dabbed at my cheeks and chin.

“Just think of it this way—maybe it’s for the best.”

I sniffled and looked down at him.

“Let’s say the commander was actually your friend. Then would you really be able to go back to your world? You’d be torn—wanting to stay by your friend, wanting to go home. You’d be stuck, unable to choose.”

He shifted his posture. With the hand that wasn’t holding the handkerchief, he plucked something from my cheek—a fallen eyelash.

“Now that you have a clear answer, isn’t it easier? All you have to do is focus on finishing your mission and going home. Simple.”

I murmured:

“I don’t even know if I can go back… My memories keep disappearing. At this rate, I’ll lose the reason to go home.”

“Yeah. I saw.”

Saw? Not “heard” or “I know”—saw.

I dodged the approaching handkerchief and stared at him.

Dowoon sighed in mild annoyance, grabbed the back of my head lightly to keep me still, and firmly wiped my eyes. His voice became soft, almost coaxing.

“I checked the POW camp CCTV. I wondered why you were being so cautious—why you pushed work onto me and avoided getting involved. And the guy who’s supposedly your leader in there…”

He cut himself off. He seemed to think it was better not to speak about the Outsiders.

He folded the handkerchief and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

“Anyway, you said your memories are disappearing, right?”

His hand brushed my hair back behind my ear. The gesture was so natural—it was clear he’d comforted crying people before.

When I’d first burst into tears, he’d panicked and jerked his whole body back. But now he was calm.

“It’s stress.”

Dowoon stated it bluntly. He smoothed my wrinkled shirt and retied the loosened drawstring at the collar. Probably undone during the confrontation with Baek Ihyeon.

“When I first came here, I couldn’t think straight either. I even forgot my little brother’s name once. Thinking about what you’ve been through… it makes sense.”

It wasn’t that. This wasn’t normal forgetfulness. I was losing memories with terrifying speed and consistency. This was not stress.

But Dowoon’s worried gaze made me nod faintly.

Just that small gesture made him relax a little. His eyes drifted down to my injured ankle.

“I read your memo too.”

I exhaled, startled. My breath ruffled his bangs.

He looked up at me with a face full of indignation.

“I’m the one assigned to train you. I need to know who you are. Otherwise how am I supposed to teach you properly?”

“It’s not hanging on a giant bulletin board somewhere, right?”

“No. Just one intel guy who organized the documents, the commander, and me. That’s it—the minimum people who need to know.”

He propped his elbow on the box again—close but not quite touching me—and pulled out a small tin case.

He popped it open with a click, revealing colorful, shiny candies.

He held it out. I picked a yellow one.

“What I’m trying to say is… your friend wouldn’t want you to be this sad.”

He closed the case and put it away. Then he rested his chin in his hand, eyes sinking somewhere distant.

“I have a family too. They’re alive because I agreed to come here. If it weren’t for me, they’d all be dead.”

He looked back at me.

“It’s too far now for us to stay in touch, but until recently, we exchanged messages every day. But the length is restricted—we can only send a limited amount.”

He continued quietly:

“So I always choose my words carefully. I want to give them new, cheerful news. But their replies… they’re always the same.”

I watched him silently.

“Thank you. I’m sorry. I miss you. But that’s not what I want to hear. I want to know if they’re living well. What they ate today. How much they grew. Whether flowers bloomed in the yard. Those things.”

For a moment, his voice wavered—but then he brightened again.

“Sometimes I think… if all they feel is worry and sadness, maybe it’d be better if they forgot me. I don’t want them drowning in guilt, crying while awake and dreaming of me when asleep. I don’t want that. I…”

He dropped his hand from his chin and shrugged.

“I came here to make my family happy. Not to drown them in grief and longing.”

He took the candy from my fingers and gently pushed it between my lips.

A refreshing sweetness burst across my tongue—melting instantly, flooding my dry mouth with saliva. My mind snapped awake, and even the throbbing pain in my ankle faded.

It was like a fast-acting stimulant.

“Your friend probably feels the same.”

Dowoon straightened his back and put both hands on my cheeks. He gave them a playful jiggle, smiling wide.

“Remember what you said in front of the gate? You saved those people because your friend would’ve done the same.”

I nodded.

“Now think about it differently. Not ‘What would my friend have done?’ but ‘How would my friend want me to live?’ He wouldn’t want you to mimic him. He’d want you to be happy. That’s why you saved them.”

In his eyes, I could see it—he wasn’t seeing me. For a brief moment, he was seeing his family. His little brother he used to take care of. And I understood who that handkerchief had been for.

“So don’t cry. I’ll help you.”

His hands tightened gently around my cheeks.

“You can do this. You absolutely can. When you reach S-rank, when your status window opens… You don’t realize how good your stats are, but your conditions are great. Just don’t keep running around breaking your ankle looking for dead people. Got it? Let go of your emotions. Protect your body.”

In him, I saw Baek Ihyeon’s final moment—the moment he shielded me amid roaring flames. The words he never managed to say now echoed clearly.

Don’t be sad because I’m gone. Don’t let my choice be meaningless.

“Clench your teeth and survive. Survive, and the two of us will both make it home.”

He was speaking to me—but also to himself.

“That’s the only proper way to honor someone who mattered.”