Chapter 10 : If

The stench of death has seeped into the city—how many have died?
The rotting smell of corpses, mixed with blood, hits me through the mask.
Why does it feel so fragrant today?

I’m not a psycho or gone mad.
It’s just that, after so long, a clear goal has crystallized.
The chance to break this sh*tty world’s will, which tried to drown me in despair, fills my veins with fire.

For the first time, the sun’s warmth—unfelt—feels kind, and the city’s noise is oddly pleasing.
People caked in cyberware, barely human, or junkies sprawled on the streets like background props—they remind me of the dazzling game world I first saw long ago.

But what’s this?
My sky-high mood crashes into the abyss in an instant.
Under a shadowed bridge, in a place no one passes.
A kid, small enough to be just a boy—nothing special so far.
The problem? He’s slumped against the wall, bloodied, head down.

Are there still bastards beating people in my turf?
Fractured facial bones, burst blood vessels… a real mess.

This isn’t just a beating—he’ll be left with permanent damage.

“Not just one or two hits, huh.”

I kneel to meet his eye level.
A mismatched pair: bloodied mess and a kid.
Words that should never mix, creating a grim scene.
Worse, I recognize him.
A few days before the “Two-Day War,” I crushed some punks in an alley.
He was there, brazenly snatching a chip while I worked.

You don’t forget a kid with that kind of nerve.
I kept him in the back of my mind, but never got his name or story.

“Hey, kid, you alive?”

A faint breath, a twitching finger.
His weak gasps are pitiful.
No idea who did this, but they’ve got some balls.

This is Dokkaebi turf.
A place where kind folks get rewards, and those who teach us evil get it back tenfold.
If they’d stayed hidden, they might’ve gotten off easy.
But to get caught by me?
My luck’s good, or their luck’s sh*t.

“You, what’s your name?”
“…Ugh…”
“No strength to talk, huh?”

I pretend to rummage through my coat, opening my inventory.
I’m looking for a med—not some game relic, but one I bought from Viktor.
Safe, proven, and damn effective.
Pricey, sure, but money’s no issue.

“Here, this’ll ease the pain. I’ll hold it—breathe it in.”
“Kuh, kuh… cough, cough!”
“It’s strong stuff. Feeling clearer?”
“Krh… thanks.”
“Polite speech, kid, polite.”

This rude little sh*t.
By actual age, no one could talk down to me, but even setting that aside, the age gap’s obvious.
This is an insult to someone from the land of Eastern courtesy—unacceptable.
I flick his forehead with my middle finger.
For a second, I picture his head bursting, but I’m not killing him, and I didn’t use that much force.

“Ow, what the hell!”
“What? Courtesy injector, you brat. Your mom teach you to talk to your savior like that?”
“You… sh*t…!”
“Look at this kid, still glaring. Drop the attitude, or I’ll talk to your parents myself.”
“My mom’s in the hospital!”

Oh.

“So your mom’s in the hospital, and her son’s out picking fights?”
“I got beat up for defending her honor!”

Oof.

“F*ck… uh, what’s that about?”
“What!”
“Sorry, damn it!”

This kid’s got the worst luck.

“So… is she, uh, okay?”
“Why’s that matter to a stranger?”
“You never seen my face before?”
“What’re you… wait… the alley?”
“Good you remember. Hope you spent those chip credits well.”

Relief he recalls me.
A smirk that he owes me.
My face shifts naturally, but his darkens, heavy.

“The software I got with it was illegal… that’s why I got beat today.”

F*ck, what?
This kid’s a walking landmine.
Not my fault, but I can’t stop my body from flinching, eyes shutting.

“…Fine. Sigh… Kid, name?”
“Why do you care?”
“Two run-ins like this? Of course I’m curious.”

Once is chance, twice is fate, three times is destiny.
We’re already tangled twice personally—fate.
If we meet again, it’s destiny.
Might as well learn his name.

“…David. David Martinez.”

Wait.

“…Martinez?”
“Yeah, what’s with the stare?”
“Your mom in the hospital… her name?”

A hard swallow.
A creeping tension, no reason clear.
Now that I think about it, they’re both Hispanic, and up close, they kinda look alike.
My doubts pile up, shedding the form of questions, turning into certainty.

“Gloria Martinez.”
“Haa… You tried visiting?”
“They wouldn’t let me in. No money.”

No wonder I can’t get attached to this era, this world.
It’s not about attachment.
It’s that people aren’t treated as people—by corporations, by the world.

“David Martinez. I’ll call you David. Follow me.”
“What’re you—”
“Just do it.”
“At least tell me where!”

God, this kid’s clueless.
Where else?

“To see your mom!”
“Why the hell are you going?”
“Shut up and come!”
“Help! I’m being kidnapped! This is Dokkaebi turf—!”
“I’m really taking you to the hospital!”

So suspicious.
Fair enough.
In that sense… he passes.

I let go of his arm and look down at David.
His slightly dark skin, his face like hers, comes into focus now.

“Not the big hospital on the main road.”
“How’d you…?”
“Let’s go.”

I turn and walk.
He follows silently.
I don’t blame him or her, but this situation feels like the world’s malice piled into one heap of misery.
I can’t stand watching someone crushed by this injustice, unable to fight back, dying.
Never.

I can’t figure this guy out.
No basic cyberware, using old-school relics, yet he’s got so much money he pays off the hospital’s systems like it’s nothing.
What’s weirder? Every doctor and nurse here trembles long after he passes, heads down.

I’m curious what he’s done, but I don’t need to know.
I just can’t wrap my head around what ties him to my mom for him to go this far.

“Before we go in, let me say this: cry, get mad, whatever. Just don’t blame her.”
“Who are you? Doctors quake and let you in without a word. Some rich gangster?”
“…Not entirely wrong. Just remember what I said. Let’s go.”
“Wanna say ‘why follow me in,’ but you got me in here, so…”

Opening the door, my first thought is crass: how much is this?
The place is pristine, leagues above the outside facilities, packed with expensive gear at a glance.
No way I could afford this, so the thought’s natural.

Funnily, the second thing I see, surrounded by those machines, eyes closed, is my mom, Gloria Martinez.

“Mom!”

She looks untouched, like she’d wake and greet me any second.
But the vibe from her is so cold.
Like a corpse.
Her hand’s warm, but there’s no movement.
She should at least stir, mumble in her sleep, but nothing moves except her breathing lungs.
It’s so alien.

“What’s… wrong with her…?”
“Ahem…”

He looks as awkward as the trembling doctors did in his presence.
What’s going on?
Despite her warmth, unease creeps in.
He turns, meeting my eyes, then kneels like when we met today.

“To put it simply… she’s not alive enough to call it living.”
“What… does that mean…?”

My voice shakes—I feel it.
Obvious enough for him to notice.
He knows, sighing deeply, facing me with a steady gaze.

“In other words, brain death. Everything else is fine, but… no consciousness. It’s expected.”

Anger surges toward him.
I know he’s not at fault—my head gets it.
It’s just venting.
But my heart doesn’t understand.
A head-splitting emotion seizes me in an instant.
Teeth grind, fists clench.
But, lucky for us both, I’m young but not the type to lash out at just anyone.

“You call that an explanation—”
“Don’t worry. I’ll fix it.”

…Huh?

His casual confidence makes my rising anger sink back down.
The pain in my throat from fury and sadness vanishes, replaced by disbelief.

“I’ve got a plan, but it’ll take time. Not long, though. Just wait.”

He chuckles, like he sees through my emotions, and stands, grabbing the ward’s door.

“So, stay with your mom. Say what you want, do what you need.”

Kindness.

The first kindness in a world that’s cornered me.
He says he’ll heal my mom, but she’s beyond unconscious—brain-dead.
At school, I got beat for illegal software.
With no money, the path ahead is blocked, hopeless.

In that moment, this kindness is so sweet, yet it stings my heart.
In this unbelievable situation, I throw out a question, just in case.

“Hey…”
“Hm? Oh, finally polite!?”
“Are you… my dad?”

F*ck, no, that’s not it.