WeTried Translations

Translator: Coughing Baby

Editor: Coughing Baby

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◈ The Little Prince in the Ossuary

Chapter 97

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The Past & Morning in the Rain

#Past (6), Psychotherapy (2)

A fixed date, a fixed time. The woman and the boy kept meeting, and little by little it became routine for both of them. An ordinary appointment with no burden and no reason to hate it.

The woman was still Song Su-a. She had grown used to her other name. At first she thought she was just acting, but over time it stopped feeling that way. The boy never suspected her or pressed her. Their time together did not need anything artificial. In fact, she felt more at ease than when she used her real name. Whenever she met him, she could focus only on him. She could forget reality.

Their conversations had become natural too. They had taken their time getting used to each other. One spoke now and then, the other answered, and otherwise they accepted the quiet space where they simply shared each other’s presence.

The boy, Han Gyeoul, was calm and composed in everything he said. He did not curse his misfortune or cry out. That relieved the woman. At the same time, it made her sad. Gyeoul’s maturity was not natural.

That maturity kept nagging at her. Not once had Gyeoul said he was having a hard time.

Was he still hiding what he felt? How many more meetings would it take before he stopped filtering himself? She asked gently.

“Gyeoul. How have you been lately?”

The boy had been reading someone’s biography. He raised his head and looked at the psychotherapist, fingertips pressing both pages down as he blinked quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“In the early stage of adjustment to Afterlife Insurance, many subscribers report different maladaptive symptoms. For example... they struggle to decide how to treat AI in the first place. They cannot shake the thought that it is not a person, and they say they cannot stand it. Something like an obsessive symptom. The result is social avoidance inside the Virtual Reality world. It is a very common maladaptation.”

She was not making things up just to get him to open up. Her identity was false, but she really was affiliated with Afterlife Insurance. The reports she saw were more detailed than what went up to the government. The symptoms she mentioned, mild or severe, were a psychological gate every subscriber passed through at least once.

Some never got past it in the end.

She hoped the boy would not be one of them. He had already suffered enough while alive.

So she asked.

“What about you? Are you confused at all?”

“......”

He did not answer right away.

The issue she mentioned was usually easier to overcome when TOM grade and aptitude were high. But not always. The core problem was the unreal world itself.

High empathy meant deep sensitivity. He was still young enough that his sense of self might not yet be firm. Who am I? And what am I? She could not judge him by the standards of adults who had stopped asking those questions long ago.

“I’m okay.”

At last, the boy gave a short answer. It was not enough for her. How much had passed through that silence before he spoke? She hid a small sigh. He needed more time.

But the boy, sharp at reading people, did not miss it. He gave a familiar smile.

“You don’t believe me.”

“Hm? No, it’s not that...”

She stumbled a little, caught off guard. Gyeoul closed his book completely. Then he used the 「Lobby」 environment feature and made a flower bloom in midair. He chose the species and selected the color. The result was a rose in a rare shade. Holding the stem carefully around the thorns, he looked at the flower and drifted into thought for a moment.

Then he asked the psychotherapist:

“What color does this flower look like to you?”

“...It’s green.”

“Yes, green. But teacher, are we really seeing the same color right now?”

The woman froze. She could not quite grasp what he meant.

“What do you mean?”

Gyeoul recalled his life before death. In an old memory, the boy held a broken piece of green crayon and stared at it blankly.

“When I was little, I used to think about this. Even if we call it the same green, maybe each person actually sees something different. Maybe everyone is really feeling different colors, but because we grow up learning to call them all green, we assume other people see the same color we do.”

“That must have been a very difficult thing to wrestle with.”

“Yes. It was a question that never ended. The only thing I could know was what I could feel myself. Other people were always beyond that. I could never reach them. No matter how hard I tried.”

She thought she understood why he brought this up. A familiar idea, from an unfamiliar starting point.

“If there is no way for you to know the difference, does that mean AI and people are the same?”

“What matters is my own attitude... that’s what I wanted to say. People say humans are social animals. Depending on how I form relationships, the other side can be a person to me, or not. Whether it is actually a person or AI.”

“So you mean you want to decide that for yourself?”

“I do. I wasn’t a person when I was alive.”

“......”

Gyeoul quietly watched the psychotherapist’s shaken reaction. Then he apologized.

“I’m sorry. I said something strange.”

“No, no. It sounds like something bad happened to you.”

She thought it over. Depending on how you took it, his words could sound very harsh.

Did he mean there were people he did not want to treat as human?

Maybe that was just her own guilty overreaction. Still, even a calm boy could carry anger. Resentment toward people who had not treated him as a person. There was no reason for that resentment to point at her, but once, she worried it might.

Now she did not think so. His character did not seem like that.

Gyeoul smiled once more.

“Anyway, you don’t need to worry about my adjustment. There weren’t many people out there where I used to live either. My heart is more at ease now. I miss the two people I always want to see, but it’s not like I can never meet them again. They say even close siblings see each other less as they get older... I’m trying to think of this as going through that a little earlier.”

The woman tried hard to sort truth from lies in his words.

It was not easy.

#Morning in the Rain, Santa Margarita Lake

Jeffrey offered an optimistic read.

“The raindrops have gotten a lot finer. The wind has weakened too. It tormented us all night, but at least this weather has a speck of conscience. The battlefield control aircraft might go up after daybreak. Fort Roberts will probably request aerial reconnaissance too. In any case, the minimum operation time has already passed, hasn’t it?”

If the mission had gone ahead without complications, the troops would already have returned to base. Gyeoul answered:

“I hope so. Even if the baby is born safely, we still have problems.”

“Yes, well... with the Mother in that condition, the baby probably won’t be healthy either. It is hard to set up proper warming measures. Keeping the baby alive and getting them back to base won’t be easy.”

The two stood under an eave, rainwater dripping from it as they sheltered from the downpour. Gyeoul remembered the warning bulletin from the National Hurricane Center. It seemed they were in a gap between typhoons. Even a small gap like that was a precious chance for people at their limit.

Jeffrey took off his helmet and scratched irritably at his matted hair.

“Listen to us. We’re only talking about long-shot chances. It will already be a miracle if both Mother and baby survive, and now we’re hoping aerial recon launches right on time too.”

“There’s a saying in Northeast Asia. Do everything you can, then leave the rest to the sky. We did our best. I don’t think we’ll be punished for hoping for both a miracle and luck.”

“Eh, who knows. The almighty one up there has been vicious lately. Isn’t this whole world proof of that? That’s why we’re in this mess too.”

Grumbling about his lot, Jeffrey patted his pockets. He was looking for cigarettes. Most were ruined. He had thrown away a whole pack and saved a single stick. Even that needed the wet tip torn off. Then he looked for a flame. Gyeoul took out a Zippo lighter. Ting, a clear metallic click. He struck the flint and it lit at once.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Santa Maria.”

Gyeoul showed him the inside of the lid, where John Frey had engraved a line himself. Jeffrey drew deeply until the cigarette tip glowed. He read the phrase and grumbled again.

“Rangers lead the way, J.E.F. Full of pride as always. Though compared to those guys, I really am a paycheck thief, so I can’t say much.”

Out of habit, Jeffrey cupped the cigarette ember. Forest surrounded them, ridge to the east, dam to the north, but caution never hurt.

How fast he smoked was a clear measure of how badly he was burning up inside.

“Since it turned out like this, I really hope that kid makes it into this world. Then even those damned guys might get bonus points toward heaven. It’ll give their families at least a little comfort too.”

The platoon leader’s damned guys lay side by side in the nearby rain. The order to move them outside had come from Gyeoul. Every corner of the office building was heavy with damp warmth, and he worried about decomposition. He was also concerned for the weakened mother’s mental state.

Gyeoul said:

“Waiting is hard, isn’t it?”

“Hard as hell. Sure, the one giving birth has it worst, but I still risked my life out there, so I think I’ve earned a little room to complain. Hell, this already makes me scared of marriage.”

More than two hours had passed since Gyeoul returned with Hernandez’s squad. But the difficult labor White had warned about was still going on.

Even after being told to rest, several soldiers were still outside. Gyeoul called out to one familiar face.

“Elliot! Wouldn’t it be better to go in and rest? Try to catch even a short nap if you can.”

The sergeant looked exhausted, but he shook his head.

“Fireworks alone make me jumpy now. How could I sleep with those groans?”

Soldiers who had seen combat were left with aftereffects, large or small. Plenty could not sleep without medication.

The weakened mother’s screams were faint, coming only in intervals. The soldiers out in the cold wind were men who could not bear even that.

More than twenty men waited through the night, eyes open, for a birth.

Jeffrey flicked his cigarette butt, smoked down to the filter, into a puddle.

“I miss my bed. Last year, on a holiday like this, I wouldn’t have gotten out of it. I’d have slept all day. Outside the blanket is dangerous.”

“Holiday... what day is today?”

“Isn’t it Korematsu Day? You’re still not American enough.”

At that, Corporal Liberman snapped back:

“It’s just a state observance. What are you talking about, not American enough? Patriotism is what qualifies someone as a U.S. citizen.”

“Oh, suuuure.”

That pointless exchange ended, and no one kept talking. They were all exhausted. Even joking to lighten the mood felt like too much effort.

Everyone endured the passage of time in silence.

Crack! Lightning struck the hill above. Dawn was just breaking over the clouds. The hit tree glowed blue-green and flared briefly. Under rain clouds, the sparks did not last long.

Gyeoul thought:

Aerial reconnaissance may be hard to expect...

Even if the rain eased and the wind weakened, lightning could still make it difficult to launch military aircraft. There was a risk of onboard munitions exploding. It would be safer only if they were flying unarmed.

Then they heard the cry of a newborn baby.

Jeffrey, arms crossed against the cold, snapped his head up. His eyes met Gyeoul’s. Then he practically kicked the door open and rushed inside. When Gyeoul followed, medic White was lifting the newborn.

A faint smile showed on the Mother’s pale face. Jeffrey, full of joy, asked:

“Hey, Doc! Is it over? It’s over, right? It’s over!”

The medic, nerves on edge, fired back in a rapid burst.

“Ensign, please stay still. It is not over yet. The placenta and umbilical cord are still coming out. And the Mother needs to stay stable. Making noise won’t help. More importantly, what if you startle the baby? The kid is already weak. If something goes wrong, are you taking responsibility?”

“...Really? Sorry.”

The scolded Ensign shrank down quietly.

The Mother’s husband had sunk to the floor, drained. While they cut the cord and handled the placenta, he only stared blankly. He seemed too exhausted even to rejoice.

The Mother had a fever to begin with, and the medic wanted to keep the baby away from both parents. Instead of swaddling cloth, they wrapped the infant in combat fatigues and a rain poncho. It was hard to say if that would be enough. But it was the best they could do. The medic pressed them again.

“Any heat packs left? Start preparing food right now. We are not turning this baby’s birthday into the parents’ memorial day.”

At this moment, White’s authority outranked Gyeoul’s.

As everyone moved in a rush, new word came from the radio operator outside, who was setting up the antenna.

[Lieutenant. You need to come over for a moment. We made contact with the Battlefield Control Aircraft.]

“......”

Jeffrey, frozen stiff, started praying. God, next time we meet, please cut me some slack, and so on. The message had come over the platoon net, so everyone heard it. Their reaction was the same. They exhaled and leaned against whatever was nearby.

There was miracle, and there was luck.

Sometimes, there were days like this.

============================ Author’s Afterword ============================

#Childlike Innocence and Peace

After reading the comments on the last episode, the author’s childlike innocence has once again run dry.

Everyone, for some people, the chat sections may feel like noise, or they may not be enjoyable. That is a matter of personal taste.

There is nothing wrong with exchanging opinions about that. But it must not become coercion or criticism.

I have said this before. Opinions can differ.

When people raise opinions while keeping proper boundaries, everyone should approach them with respect.

Please cultivate proper childlike innocence, all of you.

#Original Illustrator

I heard that the original illustrator who had agreed to do the published edition illustrations suddenly lost their father.

The chief editor asked whether I had any illustrator in mind, but this ignorant author knows absolutely none...

If readers know any illustrators, please let me know.

#Celebrities

Sorry for all these afterword notes. I heard the cover will be drawn in a realistic style, and picking a real person with a similar image helps a lot.

So the chief editor asked me again, but once again this ignorant author did not know any celebrities...

I mean, I don’t watch TV...

I will take reader opinions on this too.

The afterword got long and the author feels like dying, so I will skip Q&A. Good night.

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