Chapter 42

31. The Man Who Became Light (2)

"Remember...? Mr. Skeleton. I'm Jonnaen."

He demanded authentication.

It was a natural thing, but the moment I saw the authentication video, I felt a slight shock and an indescribable sense of guilt.

"The Mark Seven Halfnizer you requested, Mr. Skeleton. It's still sealed... brand new..."

I remember when I went to Jonnaen's secret meeting before the war.

He insisted on wearing a training suit one size too small, which accentuated his muscular body in a peculiar fashion.

Come to think of it, he was about 183 cm tall.

In restaurants where you had to take off your shoes, he was about 10 cm shorter, but with shoes on, he was back to 183 cm.

He probably weighed around 88 kg with all that muscle.

But that thing wasn't 18 cm, I don't think.

Once, at a pub, we stood side by side to urinate, and I glanced at his when I was drunk. I remember it wasn't particularly large...

But now, the main character who used to laugh and chat heartily among those people will never be found again.

The arm revealed in the video was as thin as if only bones remained.

That excessive emaciation seemed to be due to something other than nutritional issues.

When his once boisterous voice, which used to shout "One more bottle of soju!" could only be heard as a small, trembling whisper, it was clear something had happened.

What could have happened?

SKELTON: By any chance, Mr. Jonnaen, are you sick?

They avoided answering.

What they wanted was only a meeting with me.

I took my fingers off the keyboard for a moment and thought.

Going outside now is a very dangerous thing.

Gunfire can be heard intermittently from the north.

It means that combat and standoffs are ongoing.

There's no telling what lies beyond that.

Just a year ago, friendly soldiers who would provide information when contacted by personal identification numbers have disappeared.

I have to break through a dangerous area that has become unfamiliar, even though I know the way.

But if I just sit here and watch the erosion spread, not only I but everyone around me will die or go mad.

If I ask Woo Min-hee for help, my immediate safety is guaranteed.

But she won't leave me alone.

In the end, she will create a reason for me to leave the shelter and throw me into the jaws of death.

"......"

It's a difficult choice.

To avoid a certain death a year from now, I have to take a risk that could kill me in an hour.

But I'd rather struggle than sit and die.

Moreover, I'm confident I can control the dangers I might encounter outside.

The decision is made.

Click

It's time to go see my role model.

But the sun hasn't set yet.

With drones flying around constantly, moving during the day is a reckless act.

To pass the time until sunset, I logged into the community.

SKELTON: Does anyone remember Jonnaen?

I suddenly became curious about what the forum members thought of Jonnaen, a nostalgic user.

When I came back after a brief preparation, a few comments were already posted.

Doyourbest321: Jonnaen? That guy. He's a fraud.

RKKArA: He was a Hunter, right? Even back then, there were Awakened, right? He was a second-rate hotbar, and it's unbelievable that he pretended to be a Hunter. Honestly, if we had even one Awakened, what would we do?

Anonymous848: Hey, Jonnaen. It's been a while since I heard that name. I think he's still alive. He made a lot of money, didn't he?

Defender: I went to one of his lectures, and he was just spouting a bunch of weird stuff. What? Personal nuclear power generation? That's ridiculous.

There were no friendly opinions.

All the comments were mocking or insulting him, and no one mentioned his good points.

Even though this is the big idea of the forum, I felt a bit disappointed.

"......Jonnaen. He's actually a good person."

Jonnaen did steal content without permission.

He did use the forum to amass a huge fortune.

But wasn't his information useful?

Everyone must have gained some small pieces of information by reading his translated articles.

Moreover, whenever there was construction work, he would call professional companies and handle everything we needed.

Who could have provided such a service?

Jonnaen.

No one else but Jonnaen ever went out of their way to help others.

But reality was harsh.

No one forgave him, and no one remembered his contributions that were overshadowed by his faults.

That's why...

Our twisted hero continued to remain silent.

What did he think during those long years?

Was he preparing for a grand return?

Or was he preparing for a quiet revenge?

Neither seems likely.

Perhaps eternal passivity was the conclusion he chose.

*

I left the shelter as the sky darkened.

The current temperature is 1 degree Celsius.

The sky is filled with dark clouds.

It looks like a heavy rain or snow is about to fall.

Feeling the warmth of the hot pack attached to my heart, I quietly pedaled the bicycle.

It was pitch black outside, but I knew this road well.

By the faint outlines of the terrain illuminated by starlight, I gauged my location and descended the steep slope with minimal braking.

A stream appeared.

It's a fairly deep river.

If I ride the bicycle in, it will be deep enough to wet me above the hips.

A little further on, there's a path made by farmers stacking pebbles.

It's not easily visible due to the fast-flowing water, but there's a pile of stones at the entrance.

Using that as a marker, I entered the stream.

The wheels were only slightly submerged.

Splash!

As I was following the road, gunfire was heard.

I got off the bicycle and bypassed the road.

Climbing a small hill, I confirmed the identity of the people firing the guns.

They were pioneers.

The people who appeared and disappeared at the golf course before had built a barricade with broken cars and boards and were firing at the opposite road.

There was another group of people on the opposite side.

Probably Joo Sung-yong's gang.

That's probably the most likely option.

Passing the hill and entering the field, I confirmed their identity.

The people firing from the opposite side were not Joo Sung-yong's gang.

"Shoot! Shoot! Kill them all!"

"Hey! Dad Yong-su isn't breathing!"

"Bring some hot water! We need to disinfect!"

"When is the Pioneer Corps coming?!"

They were also ordinary neighbors.

People who might have shared the same subway, shopped at the same market, and passed each other on the street are now divided into two groups, trying to kill each other for reasons unknown even to them.

I headed straight into the darkness.

After that, there were no other threats.

The ambush points where looters might be hiding were empty, and there were no looters on the highway, which had become a vast graveyard of abandoned vehicles.

The real threat came from the sky.

Pitter-patter---

A heavy rain poured down.

Getting drenched in cold rain in 2-degree weather is a disaster that leads to death.

I entered an abandoned bus, made a fire, and put on a poncho to fight against the four enemies of moisture, heat, cold, and discomfort.

To stay awake, I swallowed a caffeine pill without water.

"......"

After the rain stopped, I got back on the bicycle and rode through the wet streets.

I arrived in Seoul just as the dawn was breaking.

This is the speed possible with a bicycle.

On foot, it would have taken three days, or even longer in the current situation.

I took out the note from my pocket and checked the contents.

[Next to the broken signal. At the stall with the sign 'FAIL,' speak to the man with glasses and say 'Jonnaen.']

On the street named after the capital of a certain country in the Middle East, the survivors were holding a makeshift market to sell goods.

Laid out on the collapsing stalls were various items: used electronics, rusty teapots, torn quilts, crumpled paper bundles, and bundles of firewood. There were no luxury items or precious metals.

Contrary to popular belief, luxury goods are still in demand.

The well-off have swept them all up.

The security situation was relatively stable, with National Assembly soldiers patrolling the market area.

I walked through the street, which smelled of people, pulling the bicycle by hand.

Bang!

Gunfire was heard from the east, not far away.

It's the territory controlled by the Legion faction.

Could a battle be starting now?

Looking around nervously, I realized I was the only one surprised on this street.

Everyone was calmly going about their business, haggling, browsing, and sometimes attempting theft.

Even the old woman selling mugwort was yawning widely.

As if the gunfire was a natural part of life.

Swallowing my surprise, I went to the stall mentioned in the note.

[FAIL]

There was a small sign written in marker on cardboard, and indeed, a thin man with glasses, whose broken lenses were taped together with glass tape, was selling computer parts.

I approached him and said in a low voice, "I'm looking for Mr. Jonnaen."

The man looked at me.

"Nickname?"

"Skeleton."

The man with glasses gestured to someone.

A man wrapped in a blanket, missing one leg, hobbled over with a crutch.

"Can you watch the store? I have to go somewhere for a bit."

The man with glasses put on a hoodie.

"Let's go."

"Yes, but is it to the east?"

Gunfire echoed from the east again.

I was startled, but the man answered calmly.

"Yes."

He led me to a residential area on the east side of the market, where uniform concrete structures formed a forest of apartments.

Beyond the apartment forest, a tower that had been half-collapsed was still collapsing.

Boom!

A fragment fell from above, causing a loud noise and a cloud of dust.

Before the dust settled,

Bang! Bang!

Two shots were fired from the apartment complex.

No doubt.

It was the gunfire I had been hearing.

As I looked at the complex with a wary expression, the man with glasses began to speak, wiping his glasses with a cloth.

"Across the street is the territory controlled by the Legion faction."

"Who are they fighting? The National Assembly faction?"

"No. They're fighting among themselves. At first, it was the stars fighting each other, but now it's the mugunghwa fighting each other. Soon, it will be the diamonds fighting each other."

"What about the National Assembly faction?"

"They're just watching. They don't need to do anything; the others are destroying themselves."

He led me to an old commercial street beyond the apartment complex.

I recognized the street.

My classmate and teammate, Gong Kyung-min, had taken us out for a treat.

He had loudly claimed there was an amazing restaurant here but ended up taking us to a regular-looking Chinese restaurant, which turned out to be surprisingly delicious.

"Park Gyu. How long are you going to keep being a nobody? They're just special kids. Chosen by God. Honestly, before they awakened, they were worse than the dirt under our nails. What can you do? Times have changed. Drink. Drink. Worrying won't change our doomed fate."

Now, Gong Kyung-min is gone, and my team is split.

I will never find that Chinese restaurant again.

Bang!

Gunfire, this time from the front, cut through my hazy memories.

The sound of wind, reminiscent of death, brushed past my ears, and the sound of bullets ricocheting came from behind.

The man and I fell to the ground and crawled toward the nearest cover.

Spitting out the muddy water that had forced its way into my mouth, I asked the man, "What's going on?"

The man with glasses, who seemed immune to gunfire, was visibly startled this time.

Leaning against the wall, he took deep breaths.

"Damn, I don't know. It was fine until yesterday. Really, every day is a living hell."

"Is it the Legion faction?"

"It could be civilians."

"Why would civilians?"

"They just shoot and see what happens. That's how it is here."

People with guns now show hostility to everything that passes by.

I thought of the sniper Rebecca but quickly dismissed the thought.

Intense gunfire erupted from the complex, and eventually, a tank appeared, aiming its cannon at the complex.

"......"

We passed through the violence-stained street and arrived at our destination.

"Here we are."

It was a three-story mansion, almost completely collapsed.

The building, which looked to be at least 50 years old, had a half-torn congratulatory banner for reconstruction fluttering sadly on its exterior.

Jonnaen was in the basement of this building.

"Follow me."

As we stepped into the basement, a few rats scurried out.

The basement of the apartment was deeper than I imagined.

The man turned on a flashlight and illuminated the endless stairs, then spoke.

"This apartment building was built during the military dictatorship as a disguised command bunker. The upper part is a regular apartment, but the lower part is special."

Now was the time to ask.

"I heard you're one of Mr. Jonnaen's subordinates. What exactly is your relationship?"

The man stopped.

He didn't stop to answer my question.

In front of us was a cheap locker you might see in a bathhouse.

When he opened the locker, something unexpected appeared.

A radiation protection suit.

It was from the same company as mine, but a higher model.

He handed me one of the suits.

"Yes, I am a subordinate. Or you could call me a follower?"

"A follower?"

"Yes, really. Mr. Jonnaen is an amazing person."

The man's voice lacked strength, but it didn't sound like a casual exaggeration.

As he put on the suit, he muttered, looking into the distance.

"......If there's a Melon Mask in America, there's Mr. Jonnaen in Korea."

"Is that so......?"

Is he comparing Jonnaen to the founder of Viva! Apocalypse!, Melon Mask?

Isn't that a bit of a stretch?

A great con artist and businessman who built a fortune worth tens of trillions by his 40s and had a global influence, and a man who was chased away from the forum with curses—can they be placed on the same level?

No, they can't.

Even I, who am friendly towards Jonnaen, can't agree with such an exaggerated evaluation.

"Put it on."

"Why this?"

"You'll understand when we go inside."

The man put on the suit and shone the flashlight across the room.

There was a recently reinforced concrete wall, and in the center, a lead door was tightly closed.

"Mr. Jonnaen is inside."

I followed him through the door.

The room was dark.

In the dim light, there was a bed, and someone was lying on it with their arms stretched out.

Strangely, a faint light seemed to be emanating from his arms, but it was actually coming from a treatment device flashing under the bed.

The man in the suit woke the person on the bed.

"Brother. Brother! Mr. Skeleton is here. You need to get up! Brother!"

The man, who seemed to be on the brink of life and death, was helped to sit up.

His body was nothing but bones, and his face was covered in red spots like a plague. He looked at me with sunken eyes.

When he tried to smile, I recognized him.

His mouth was almost toothless.

"......Mr. Skeleton."

He spoke with a faint voice.

I remember the muscular man I met at a cheap meat restaurant.

That image, like the Chinese restaurant I will never find again, seems to have drifted away to a place I can never return to.

Now, one question remains.

Why did this dying man seek me out?

Why did he desperately yearn for me, a relic of the old era?

"No."

The puzzle soon unraveled.

Jonnaen knew me.

"Professor......!!"

The other me hidden behind the mask of Skeleton.

One question leads to another.

When did it start?

I remembered a scene from the last secret meeting I attended, where Jonnaen seemed to want to say something to me, as if in a dream.

"Ah."

Did it start then?