RTN 42

Chapter 42

“Stop.”

The company commander finally stepped in with a low warning. His gaze brushed past Seol Ah‑yeon and settled on Kim Do‑woon. Kim Do‑woon was just about to push Seol Ah‑yeon behind him out of ingrained military instinct when it happened.

Baek Yi‑hyun gave a slight shake of his head.
Kim Do‑woon froze instantly and stepped back.
Baek Yi‑hyun’s eyes returned to Seol Ah‑yeon—permission to continue speaking.

“I heard the track works by folding space to shorten distance. Then couldn’t it also unfold space in the opposite way? If so, when the phantom is still small, we just lure it inside the warship and trap it in the track. Even if it becomes a mature form and grows huge afterward…”

Seol Ah‑yeon made a gesture with both hands as if something were pop—expanding explosively—then she finished:

“…it should still be safe.”

Silence followed.

Soon, Baek Yi‑hyun set down the pen he was holding and slowly leaned back against his chair. His gaze—tired, but still unyieldingly firm—remained fixed on Seol Ah‑yeon.

Kim Do‑woon kept his posture rigid but couldn’t help glancing sideways at her. She wasn’t slouched against the wall like earlier, but she stood with a slight tilt, putting weight on her uninjured ankle.

Her expression was fresh and unbothered. She didn’t seem to care whether her suggestion was accepted or not—she simply met Baek Yi‑hyun’s gaze with calm confidence.

Kim Do‑woon, on the other hand, felt his chest tightening.

How does she even think of things like this?

Whether it was possible or not aside, the idea itself was new. It felt like taking a solid hit.

No one in the room knew less than Seol Ah‑yeon.
Everyone here—including Kim Do‑woon—used the tracks multiple times a day, and many had fought phantoms directly.

They all had far more knowledge than her, but none had ever connected the track to the phantom.
Because of fixed ideas.

A track was transportation.
A phantom was an uncontrollable threat.
Connecting those two concepts was foreign to everyone.

But Seol Ah‑yeon was different. She had been here for less than a week. The concepts she picked up, she freely combined in her own way—and the idea of trapping a phantom with a track came from that.
But…

Kim Do‑woon studied her profile—the fearless way she kept her eyes on Baek Yi‑hyun, the clear gaze beneath long lashes that seemed to hold a sheen of water, the soft line of her cheek, the quiet vitality floating across it.

Is she not afraid?

There was only one reason she survived after making eye contact with a phantom.
The phantom hadn’t fully opened its eyes—just blinked a little.

That was the only reason she escaped alive, and even so, it must have been horrifying.
At the time, Seol Ah‑yeon was drenched in cold sweat, trembling uncontrollably, face pale as paper, barely able to speak.

After experiencing that—how could she think about capturing a phantom?
Especially now, when the situation was so grim Baek Yi‑hyun himself was considering abandoning the warship.

Suddenly, Seol Ah‑yeon looked up at him. Their eyes met.

She widened her eyes—and then smiled brightly. As if telling him not to worry.

Kim Do‑woon felt something tighten painfully in his chest.

Where did she get this attitude?
Was she simply born this way?
Or was it something inherited from “that friend” she kept mentioning?

If it was because of that friend…

Just thinking that far made his stomach churn.
He tore his gaze away from her.

The scrape of a chair leg abruptly broke the silence.

“It’ll work.”

Everyone turned toward Jang Seok‑ju, who had awkwardly risen from his seat, hands braced on the edge of the table. His eyes were half‑wild behind his silver‑rimmed glasses.

Staring into empty air with a strangely high-pitched voice, he muttered:

“Yes. That’s right. No need to modify anything. Just disengage the limiter. The fundamental property is expansion, so space will naturally grow infinitely. A gigantic storage… perfect…”

He suddenly snapped his mouth shut.
He blinked, focus returning to his eyes, and turned to Baek Yi‑hyun.

“It’s possible, sir. Why didn’t we think of this before? Every battleship is equipped with a track. It’s basically an infinite storage facility. But we’ve never once used it th—”

Baek Yi‑hyun raised a hand and cut him off.

“If we trap a phantom in the track, will the ship still operate safely? If something goes wrong, we could become stranded in space. In that case, evacuation is the better option.”

“No issues at all. It operates independently.”

“Other risks?”

“We won’t be able to use the track anywhere else on the ship. We’ll have to walk everywhere. But is that even a problem? We’d capture a phantom—this is absolutely—”

“Lieutenant Kim Do‑woon.”

“Yes, Battalion Commander!”

Kim Do‑woon answered reflexively and stepped forward.

“The logistics officer position is vacant. For this mission, Lieutenant, you will act as replacement. Take your seat immediately.”

Kim Do‑woon blinked.

He swallowed his instinct to protest out of pure discipline, but he didn’t understand at all.

Yes, the logistics officer had been reassigned to the station outskirts just a few days ago after losing an S‑class weapon to Seol Ah‑yeon—and was probably suffering miserably right now.

But that didn’t mean he should sit in that seat.
His platoon leader was right across from him.
This was blatant insubordination in structure.

“Lieutenant Kim Do‑woon is the most skilled at piloting C‑type reconnaissance craft. Sit. We’re out of time.”

Then just assign me the recon mission… why give me the title…?

Suppressing the question, Kim Do‑woon walked to the meeting table and sat politely across from the operations officer.

The other staff officers said nothing.
Maybe they’d discussed this beforehand—but the entire situation had come up suddenly. There shouldn’t have been time.

Kim Do‑woon forced himself to focus.
He had to be alert.
No mistakes.

“Display the ship.”

At Baek Yi‑hyun’s order, the intelligence officer worked the console.

The holographic planets drifting over the table dissolved outward, replaced by an enlarged rotating image of the warship.

At the end of the elongated right wing, a small black shape clung to it.
The damn phantom.

“We’ll lure the phantom into the track. Phantoms tend to move toward densely populated areas, so all personnel will gather inside the track. To keep its attention from spreading, on-site personnel will be minimized—limited to my direct platoon.”

Baek Yi‑hyun stood, picking up a pointer.

Everyone else rose with him.
Kim Do‑woon stood instantly, and the company commanders nearby all gathered around.

He briefly thought that Seol Ah‑yeon should witness this, but he didn’t look back—he kept his eyes on Baek Yi‑hyun.

“The greatest risk right now is the phantom fully opening its eyes before it enters the track.”

Even imagining it was horrific.
If the phantom opened its eyes and crawled all over the warship, no one could look out the windows.
Navigation would slow dramatically.

They would drift helplessly in space, and if the enemy attacked then, they could do nothing.

The enemy was not human, and therefore immune to phantom effects.
The risk was entirely on their side.

Or, if the phantom finished maturing before then and became an adult—that would be equally horrifying.

A massive phantom wrapping around the warship, shifting its body freely, crawling into every narrow crevice—everyone would face a living nightmare and die helplessly.

The warship would become a tomb.

“If the phantom refuses to enter the track, I will personally stay close and mark it. Lieutenant Kim Do‑woon and I will board the recon craft, follow the right wing, and approach the phantom.”

Baek Yi‑hyun slid the pointer along the hologram from the track to the surface of the right wing, tracing a semicircle around the area where the phantom clung.

“In case I fail, the platoon will maintain distance and surround it. Make sure there are no gaps above or below, but do not provoke the phantom. Prepare for emergencies.”

The operations officer rasped:

“Battalion Commander, that arrangement doesn’t account for your safety at all.”

“If I’m not at the front, we have no chance.”

“The danger is too great.”

“In the worst-case scenario, I will grab the phantom and drop off the warship. Use that moment to retreat at full speed.”

Kim Do‑woon stared blankly at him.
Baek Yi‑hyun had never used someone’s death—especially his own—as part of a plan before.

Baek Yi‑hyun swept his gaze over everyone and said calmly:

“No objections will be accepted.”