The Hunter’s Gonna Lay Low - Chap 241
“Her sibling?”
“Yes. I only heard it in passing, so I’m not certain…”
Jang Min-jun scratched his head roughly as he replied.
“You know how it was back then. We barely had any proper equipment or personnel… and whatever we did have was reserved mainly for the Awakened. Anyway, her younger sibling got hurt… but couldn’t get proper treatment and ended up dying. Because they said the Awakened had to be taken care of first.”
“…”
A voice, speaking with a laugh that was almost like a sob, lingered in his ears.
“You know, J… You were active back then, so you remember, right? When civilians got caught up in a rift and lost limbs or were on the verge of death, do you know what happened to them?”
Jang Min-jun sighed and crossed his arms.
“Even though I don’t have any special ability to detect lies… it seems like it was true. She spoke lightly, but her expression when she said it…”
I thought she was just giving a bit of background on Lee Sa-young. Never considered it might have been her own experience. Did it sound like a made-up story? No, maybe it was too common of a story— common enough to anticipate the rest as soon as I heard it.
It’s a common story. Stories about family, relatives, close ones dying. But… his fist clenched. A chill spread down his nape. His spine grew cold. A sinister intuition surged up within him. What if all these common stories piled up?
When ordinary people gather, they become the masses.
What if the masses had gathered for Prometheus?
Cha Eui-jae pressed his temple and bit his lip. Suddenly, a question popped into his mind. A question that kept resurfacing yet remained buried— a question aimed at himself. Was it the right choice to join hands with them?
***
Bright wallpaper, a colorful floor, low bookshelves, scattered toys, and a mobile spinning from the ceiling. In what looked like a children’s playroom, Yoon Ga-eul sat alone.
Flip, flip. The pages of a notebook, about the size of an adult’s hand, turned quickly. It was worn, covered in the marks of many uses. The contents were chaotic; hastily scribbled words sprawled across pages like doodles, with some filled with nonsensical phrases. Occasionally, there were even drawings, though oddly recognizable—the monsters she’d seen in her fragmented visions. Poorly drawn, but recognizable.
‘…’
It seemed certain that the so-called Seer had witnessed a world that had met its end. The disjointed notes matched her own knowledge. Yoon Ga-eul furrowed her brow slightly, recalling the glimpses she’d had of past worlds through her own ability.
‘How did the Seer see the past…?’
Just then, there was a knock. Yoon Ga-eul closed the notebook and replied, “Yes.” The door opened, and Ga-young entered with a tray, grinning slyly.
“Time to eat~”
“Already…”
Yoon Ga-eul glanced around. There were no windows or clocks in this place. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t hold onto any sense of time. Ga-young set the tray down on the low table. A sandwich filled with vegetables and a lone glass of milk sat on the plate. Ga-young clasped her hands together.
“Not the best meal, huh? Sorry~ No one here really cares about food. For the record, I had the same thing.”
“Oh, no… this is fine. Really.”
“If you get hungry, just let me know? I could order something, like chicken or a Korean meal if you prefer.”
Nodding, Yoon Ga-eul picked up the sandwich. Ga-young glanced at the notebook resting on her lap and smiled softly.
“You were looking at that? Records left directly by the Seer.”
“Ah, yes…”
“What did you think?”
Yoon Ga-eul slowly chewed and swallowed a bite of the sandwich. It tasted sweet, as if someone had sprinkled sugar over ketchup. Her eyes, gleaming behind round glasses, had a strange intensity that made them difficult to meet directly. They reminded Yoon Ga-eul of a madwoman who used to roam her neighborhood when she was a child.
Yoon Ga-eul gathered up the lettuce that had fallen and answered.
“…There are things in it that look similar to what I saw.”
A smile formed on her lips, and Ga-young, sitting across from her, grinned.
“Really? That’s good to hear~ Does it make you believe a bit more now?”
“It’s not like I stayed because I didn’t believe…”
“Liar.”
“…”
“You stayed in this den because you wanted to do something yourself. You couldn’t bear to be powerless alone. You must have been painfully aware of your own shortcomings.”
Yoon Ga-eul slowly raised her head. In the eyes that met hers, there was no trace of humor. How many days had passed since she’d been here? The group called Prometheus was… strangely kind. Not only did they answer all her questions, but they also didn’t stop her from going anywhere, even letting her into the area where the hunters were kept. Ga-young had personally taken her there, holding her hand. Yoon Ga-eul had remained silent upon seeing a hunter, head banging repeatedly against the wall from within a cell.
‘Probably a threat…’
A threat that she’d end up there if she didn’t cooperate.
Otherwise, these people were no different from regular civilians, except for the occasional muttered prayers and their experimentation on captured hunters. Yoon Ga-eul set down her sandwich and responded.
“Does admitting that change anything?”
“Hmm~ It does change your mindset. And when your mindset changes, you can do a lot more.”
“…”
“And I like people who try to do something, anything. Those are the people who change the world.”
“Is that so.”
“Face your weakness. Who knows? You might be able to accomplish more.”
“…Why are you telling me this?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m an Awakened. Don’t you dislike Awakened people?”
“Hm, who knows. For some reason, I feel like I understand you… Guess I’m just being nosy. Ignore me if you don’t want to listen~”
With a wave, Ga-young stood up and kicked aside a stray toy. Yoon Ga-eul stared at her reflection in the glass, then shifted her gaze to Ga-young’s retreating back and asked.
“What about you?”
“Hmm?”
“Have you faced your own weakness?”
She slowly turned her head. Through the strange fervor flickering in her eyes, she looked at Yoon Ga-eul. Her lips curled up.
“Oh, yes.”
“…”
“I’ve faced it… so very desperately.”
Thud, the door closed. Yoon Ga-eul didn’t touch the glass. Instead, with a resolved expression, she opened the notebook once more.
***
“Then I’ll be going… I can’t be away for too long.”
Jang Min-jun bowed and hurriedly left the sitting room. Left alone, Cha Eui-jae leaned forward and clasped his hands together.
Once Jang Min-jun started talking, he poured out everything he’d held in. Most of it was an elaboration on the stories Ga-young had summarized, but Cha Eui-jae listened intently. The team members who wanted to provide more treatment but lacked supplies and funds, Lee Sa-young who was left to die, and Ga-young who raised her hand like a savior.
Jang Min-jun, who had been talking like a dam with a hole, cautiously asked.
“Come to think of it… is the child doing well?”
“…”
“You know, when I first heard Ga-young was with Prometheus, I thought of that child immediately, but I couldn’t find any information. I had no way of reaching J… and the other team members all said they didn’t know either.”
Jang Min-jun looked genuinely sincere in his hesitation. At the time, he probably thought sending the child with Ga-young was the best option. Better to leave the child with a colleague than to watch helplessly as they died. He likely had no ill intentions. Clearing his tightening throat, Cha Eui-jae answered.
“He’s healthy. Still a bit… fragile, though.”
“Really? Oh, thank God. Thank you, Lord. Oh…”
“…”
“Oh, I worried so much… that he might be dead or… have something terrible happened to him…”
Jang Min-jun stretched his arms toward the air, then clasped his hands together, muttering a prayer. Tears glistened in his eyes, and his reddening nose was proof of his sincerity. Cha Eui-jae stared at his face and thought.
If he had the chance to go back in time…
‘…’
Would I have chosen to stay by Lee Sa-young’s side?
‘No.’
He would’ve agonized and hesitated endlessly, but in the end, Cha Eui-jae would still have gone to the West Sea rift. Not because he was forced, but because it was his choice.
Lee Sa-young probably understood that too. He waited for so long, without any promise of his return. During that time, he must have thought it over countless times— ways to keep Cha Eui-jae by his side. And…
‘Did he think it was impossible…’
Is that why he told him not to worry, that he bore no responsibility? Because no matter what he did, Cha Eui-jae would have left anyway. Perhaps, to save at least one person who might still be alive.
This was inevitable, so there was no point in placing blame.
Cha Eui-jae pressed his throbbing temples. He could’ve just said that— no need, not feeling it, overstepping boundaries? Seriously? Anger flared up in him. Cha Eui-jae shot to his feet. He’d made it clear back then, but Lee Sa-young hadn’t listened at all.
‘Well, then I’ll just have to drill it into his head properly.’
Right at that moment, a librarian who was entering the room froze in shock. Cha Eui-jae gestured toward them.
“I’m done here, so I’ll be leaving. Could you… pass on a thank you to Nam Woo-jin’s assistant? The small one.”
“Huh? Oh, yes.”
“Let them know I appreciate it.”
Incheon. Cha Eui-jae took out his phone and called Mackerel.
