Translator/Editor: TranslatingNovice

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

Join the Discord for chapter updates and important news!

Chapter 13: Laptop

The demise of a metropolis is often likened to the crash of a fuel-depleted airplane.

Even after losing power, it flies on inertia for a considerable time. But when the speed is no longer sufficient to support lift, it nosedives to the ground with a loud crash, ending in a spectacular explosion.

Seoul, too, will follow the fate of Beijing, Mumbai, Jakarta, Hong Kong.

The disappearance of the major city in the background is a painful part of my plan, but it's not an unforeseen variable.

It's just that this event occurred much sooner than expected.

The Korean government's resolve to protect the Republic of Seoul is firm, regardless of what happens.

What I must do now is not the salvation of Seoul.

That's neither my role nor something I can do.

I'm hastily trying to use cigarettes, the currency of the apocalypse.

Even if Seoul perishes, cigarettes will still hold power, but as the market shrinks, the quality and variety of goods available will also deteriorate.

What I need now is a new laptop.

A black dot appeared on the screen of my current laptop, in a particularly bothersome spot.

It's not an issue for gaming or watching videos, but it's quite annoying when browsing communities.

I have a spare laptop, but it's a gaming one.

Anyway, I prepare to go to Seoul, disposing of my cigarettes and checking the atmosphere.

"This is Skeleton. What's the status of Route 13?"

"Personal identification number confirmed. Hello, Mr. Skeleton. It's peaceful now. The entire road is secure. If you plan to pass, please do so within the next 6 hours."

I leisurely ride my bicycle towards Seoul.

On the road, a few electric vehicles move back and forth, while people are stripping parts from stalled vehicles along the roadside.

The atmosphere in Seoul, once I safely entered, is quite bright.

A reconstruction project named 'National Labor' is underway everywhere, with many people clearing stones, digging with pickaxes, and cleaning the streets.

Billboards announcing performances by singers and idols, who were previously closed for business, are prominently displayed, and public transport, including buses powered by electricity, parade the empty streets.

I hadn't paid much attention in the community, but elementary and middle schools ended their long closures and reopened.

High schools and universities are also planning to reopen next year.

Perhaps because of this.

Food distribution decreased, and the frequency and duration of power outages increased, but the citizens took even this as a sign of Seoul's rebuilding.

However, the Seoul I saw up close was markedly different from its outward appearance.

Everyone sang of hope, but beneath it lay a chilling and terrible shadow.

This shadow isn't a problem because people chose not to look too closely.

Each time I came to Seoul, I always stayed one night at the ‘International Residence,’ which also teetered ambiguously on the edge of hope and despair.

International Residence is a former lodging house, converted for accommodation purposes.

It’s old and shabby but survived the war almost unscathed, making it a decent place to stay for a day.

The owners of the International Residence are a middle-aged couple, each taking care of their respective father and mother, and have two children, about middle school age.

It was evident from my first visit that the couple's relationship is strained.

"Oppa! Please tell mother to stay inside! Just what are you trying to do? Guests are turning away because of her!"

The discord seems to stem from their parents.

The wife had brought her father, and the husband his mother. Both elders have their own issues.

The father-in-law showed symptoms of dementia due to shock, and the mother-in-law had a habit of sitting in front of the lodging house, staring embarrassingly at passersby.

The wife is usually the one nagging.

But recently, there has been a change.

The husband, who used to not respond to his wife's complaints, had run out of patience and started to fight back.

"So, should we send your mother-in-law to a senior care facility in the countryside?"

"Why not? It's a government guaranteed program."

"Then try sending your father first."

"You know Dad has dementia, right?"

"That's all the more reason to send him!"

However, the fight ended in the wife's victory.

"Whose house is this? It's not Oppa’s, right? It's bought with my father's money. How can you be so shameless when you brought nothing to the marriage?"

"......"

It does look like that.

Even to an outsider, the husband looks like a pitiful person with nothing commendable about him except his face. He would always sit listlessly at the counter, mindlessly holding a cigarette butt in his mouth, or lie on the floor, idling away.

Ever since the war began, I have never seen him work. Listening to his conversations, it seems like he didn't work even before the war started. Still, he left something for his child. A handsome face.

If the parents' parents are the cracks that split the couple's relationship, then their children are the glue that barely held and supported this precarious relationship. Especially the eldest son, a truly admirable and praiseworthy child.

He seems like an improved breed, selectively inheriting only the good traits from his parents – his father's looks and his mother's diligence. Or perhaps a mutation, considering he displays a deep and kind character that neither parent possesses.

‘'Ajussi, you've been coming here often lately, haven't you?'’ (Ajussi can mean middle-aged man)

‘'I've told you, I'm not an Ajussi'.’

‘'If there's more than a ten-year age gap, you're an Ajussi.'’

‘'I'm only eighteen, you know?'’

‘'Then I'll be one year old. Wah~'’

Although he has a playful side, he is far better than his sister who has middle-school syndrome or highschool-syndrome, who looks down on people as if they are chickens.

He is fourteen years old and currently attending middle school.

His grades are quite good.

He's popular and has many friends, kind of like the typical 'mom's friend's son'.

There's a line of girls who could be his girlfriend, but he's rejecting all of them.

Above all, this young guy has a pretty decent laptop

From 6 PM to 7 PM is internet time.

It's like a drug sanctioned by the country.

They open up the communication equipment and internet lines, which were shut down due to electrical and facility issues, for one hour.

Robust power support is a bonus.

So when it's internet time, Seoul becomes as quiet as a dead city.

Everyone is immersed in the world of the internet, busy dealing with their virtual worlds that they've put off.

The speed is a bit slow, but the Wi-Fi, almost no different from before the war, along with intact water utilities, is one of the main reasons I use the International Residence.

In the goshiwon (student hostel), many residents occupy their spots to catch the Wi-Fi signal, staring at their phone or laptop screens.

One guy even brought in a heavy desktop, to which the lady owner nagged.

‘'Hey, mister! That uses too much electricity!'’

‘'I took out the graphics card.'’

‘'Still, it uses a lot! Pay more! Or give me a lottery ticket or something!'’

I sat next to the owner's son and connected to the public internet on my phone.

A local-based second-hand trading site that's still operating after the war.

I could feel the breath of countless items and people.

Thousands of accounts and posts, and dozens of new posts coming up in real time, made me realize how small our community is.

Yeah, this is the internet.

I found laptops on Carrot Net.

There are more listings than I expected, mostly gaming laptops.

‘'I don't need a gaming laptop.'’

There are many listings, but nothing I want, so I sigh. Then, the owner's son, looking at my screen, asks/

“Ajussi, are you looking for a laptop?'’

‘'Yeah.'’

‘'Do you want to buy mine?'’

‘'What? Really?'’

I became thrilled to the point of grinning from ear to ear, but then quickly composed myself and asked.

‘'What about you?'’

'’I'm fine. I'm going to a school in Jeju Island.'’

‘'A school in Jeju?'’

The boy smiles and shows me the laptop screen.

A government-made flyer image file appears on the spotless, clean screen.

<'Won't You Become a Hero?'>

-National Unique Hunter Training Institute 'Guard' 27th New Student Recruitment Selection Guidelines

‘'This is?'’

The colors and design are targeted at boys and girls.

But this recruitment guideline, no doubt.

It's from the 'school' I attended.

‘'Did you graduate from middle school?'’

‘'No, I'm going to second year now.'’ (Eighth grade)

‘'So they're recruiting those without even graduating middle school now?'’

‘'What era are you talking about? These days, they even recruit elementary students.'’

‘'Really!?'’

I read the guidelines carefully.

Indeed, the entrance age has been greatly reduced.

Not middle school graduates, but anyone over 10 years old.

Are people that scarce?

But more striking than the age is the overwhelming benefits.

Most benefits are for the family, not the student themselves.

Living support, housing support, national jobs for parents and families, etc.

Sending a child to school improves the whole family's livelihood.

But in the back, the fine print is so small and numerous like bricks that it hurts my eyes.

I try to read it, but the boy closes the laptop.

“Ajussi, shall we talk on the roof?'’

‘'Talk?'’

‘'Business talk!'’

On the roof, laundry flutters in the wind and a dementia-stricken elderly man stands still like a statue. Their figure and the low sunset behind the flattened ruins from the nuclear attack give off a mystical, primitive feeling.

As the stars begin to rise on the boundary of day and night, the boy asks me.

‘'I've been curious. What do you do, Ajussi?”

‘'What do you mean?'’

‘'Every time you come here, you're loaded with stuff. You had a gun from the start. I thought you were a gangster, but it doesn't seem like that. With your good looks and still loaded with stuff in these times, I'm curious.'’

‘'What do you think I do?'’

‘'Gang member? Looter?'’

‘'Even with my innocent eyes, do you say that?'’

‘'A doomsday prepper?'’

The boy looks at a star and smiles faintly.

‘'You know well.'’

‘'I wanted to be a doomsday prepper too.'’

‘'Really?'’

"Why not? It's fun, isn't it? Creating your own hideout, bringing in things you like. Wasn't it fun for you?"

"I had my struggles, but it was fun. It got tough when the money ran out, though."

The boy hands me the laptop.

"I'll trade it for cigarettes. You have plenty, right?"

"Selling to kids could land me in jail, you know?"

"It's the times we live in. I'll give some to my pitiful dad who always has a cigarette butt in his mouth, and sell the rest to buy a gift for my mom before I go to school!"

I sold cigarettes to the boy.

I bought them at an exorbitantly high price compared to the market rate, but it was a satisfying deal in many ways.

When the deal was made, the dementia-stricken old man who had been standing still like a statue turned his head towards us and mumbled something, but I couldn’t hear it well.

‘'If I get into that school, I won't have to hear mom and dad fighting anymore, right? I can also send grandma and grandpa to a better place.'’

Even if I had heard the old man, I would have soon forgotten it.

The words the boy joyfully said while we were going downstairs left a much stronger impression.

He is a deeply thoughtful child.

It made me wonder how such a child could come from that kind of home.

The next day, when I am about to leave the International Residence, the restaurant area is buzzing like a festival.

Filling the restaurant aren't guests or residents, but friends of the lady owner.

The owner lady is sitting smugly in the center of the restaurant table, surrounded by other ladies.

‘'You're so lucky. My kids only hang out with gangster-like kids.'’

‘'That exam? I heard it's not easy to pass, but it seems he managed to do it?'’

‘'I heard families of students admitted to the Hunter school get more housing benefits, is that true?'’

She received a shower of compliments, envy, and jealousy, all while smiling brightly.

‘'Ah, Young-min's father. He's like an enemy, but I'm somewhat grateful to him for giving birth to such a wonderful child. You know, Young-min's father might be lazy, but his nature is inherently good, right?’

Watching a family on the brink of collapse come together more tightly than any other family due to a boy's decision, I left the residence.

The boy's laptop is very satisfying.

SKELTON: (Skeleton Newcom) A new laptop haha

There are no comments, but my post has a relatively high number of views for my standards.

Perhaps it reflects the envy and jealousy of my community colleagues.

The lady owner’s triumphant smile is copied onto my face.

It is two months later that I read the Hunter school recruitment guidelines saved on the laptop again.

By chance, I discovered a personal folder hidden by the boy.

The recruitment guidelines are with a daily schedule, photos taken with elementary school friends, photos taken with family overseas, etc., and especially many photos of an unidentified girl of the same age.

With a sense of unease, I read the latter part of the guidelines that I haven't read before.

A warning notice tucked away in the corner soon captivates my sight like fate.

-Finalists will undergo three high-level mental resonance tests, and during this process, they may be exposed to some accidents.

'...Some accidents?'

Nonsense.

That test is linked to death.

I, more than anyone, know it well.

It's a trial of death.

A filtering process for those not chosen by God.

When I go back to Seoul, I first visit the International Residence.

It’s ominous from the start.

The old woman who always used to guard the front of the store is nowhere to be seen.

With growing anxiety, I enter the store.

As expected, the owner has changed.

‘'What’s going on? Do you have any questions?'’

"Well, the previous owner..."

Just then, an old man passes by the store on the street. Dressed in worn-out clothes and looking unwashed, like a dying dog, he resembles the old man who used to live in this house, despite the deep darkness.

"Don't go. Don't go. Don't go~"

The old man mumbles to himself, staggering unsteadily as if walking on an unfamiliar street.

In the darkness of the street beyond, a slender girl is smoking cigarettes, mingling with a group of delinquents. She too resembles the sister of the boy who lived in that house.

Our eyes meet briefly, and the girl turns her gaze away, clearly expressing her discomfort.

At that moment, I stop the question I was about to ask.

"No, it's nothing."

On the brighter side of the street, a vendor is hawking, exchanging lottery tickets for goods among the people.

I join the crowd, inquire about the price of a lottery ticket, and exchange one for two cigarettes.

After that, I didn’t visit the International Residence again.

I also don’t know anything about that family's whereabouts.

Therefore, their fate is still hopeful.

Just like my lottery ticket, whose draw has already been made but whose result I have yet to check.