Chapter 63: Spring Beneath a Fading Life

— Ah, oppa. I have to go now. Teacher’s calling us to eat dinner.

“Okay. Hurry and go eat. If you’re late, you’ll get less food than the kids at the front.”

— Ahaha, what’s that supposed to mean? Oppa, I’ll tell Shinwoo-oppa to contact you later too, so answer the phone, okay?

Judging by the noise in the background, everyone seemed to be heading toward the dining hall together.

The surrounding voices grew louder and louder, and I could hear several children around Song Ahyoung’s age chattering nearby.

They were so loud that Ahyoung’s own booming farewell nearly disappeared beneath them.

“Ah, wait a second, Ahyoung-ah.”

— Yeah, oppa. What is it?

“…About this number. My phone number. Who gave it to you?”

— This number?

Hearing her voice so closely filled me with relief, but suddenly another question surfaced.

Who exactly had given her my number?

According to center regulations, leaking internal contact numbers to outsiders was a direct violation of national security law.

Espers themselves were considered state military assets.

Even the phone numbers they used were tightly controlled.

Especially this phone.

It had been registered under Kwon Yiyul’s name.

Anyone outside the center should never have known it existed.

Then who—

— The sparkly-eyed mister.

“…Sparkly-eyed?”

— You know. The guy who’s always smiling all slyly. He said he was really close to you. He told me I could call you anytime I wanted.

“…Is that true? You’re not joking?”

— Why would I lie to you? It’s true.

“…Was his name Kwon Yiyul? Kwon Yiyul.”

— Ah! Yeah! Mister Kwon Yiyul. He came to visit me two weeks ago and said, “This is your oppa’s number. Call him once you feel better.” That mister comes to the shelter really often too. He said he’s the leader of your team. Is that true?

I knew Song Ahyoung would never lie to me.

Yet I still replayed her words repeatedly in my head.

Because what she described sounded so absurdly unrealistic.

What?

Who gave what to whom?

If every word she said was true, then even after my return to the center, Kwon Yiyul had continued visiting the shelter multiple times.

Ahyoung happily explained that every time he visited, he brought gifts and practically showered the children with them.

She sounded genuinely pleased, saying he really must be someone very close to me.

Which only made me doubt my own ears even more.

April Fool’s Day was still over two months away.

So why did it feel like everyone except me had agreed to participate in some bizarre joke?

Otherwise none of this made sense.

‘It means I’m willing to play the role of a chained dog for once.’

Just like before.

Just like now.

What exactly was Kwon Yiyul thinking?

Was this another attempt to tie me more firmly to the center?

“…Ah, I don’t know anymore. This is giving me a headache.”

— Hm? Oppa, what did you just say?

“Nothing. I was just talking to myself. Anyway, you said you had to go, right? Oppa should get going too. I have plans with my teammates later.”

— Okay! Then call me again sometime later, oppa!

Kwon Yiyul acting this excessively kind unsettled me.

The heavy feeling sitting in my chest refused to disappear, like hastily swallowed cold rice lodged painfully beneath my ribs.

I thought I understood him at least somewhat by now.

Yet once again, he completely overturned my expectations.

Kwon Yiyul was someone fundamentally indifferent to anything outside his interests.

And yet he personally gave my number to a child because he thought of me?

The Kwon Yiyul I knew was not that considerate.

If he threatened the shelter residents just to remind me my weakness rested in his hands, that I could believe.

But this?

“What are you thinking… seriously?”

Desperation usually destroys self-respect.

When I was first told I was dying, the injustice of it made my entire world collapse into darkness.

Back then, I felt like I would do absolutely anything to survive.

But after enough time passed, even that feeling faded.

Life itself no longer held much meaning for me.

Perhaps because, in the grand current of fate, all humans could really do was create tiny ripples against the inevitable flow.

Unfortunately, life was never fair.

Time might be equal.

But life was not.

“So then, while working as Guides affiliated with the center, what gives the two of you a sense of fulfillment?”

“Hmm, for me…”

Under painfully bright studio lights, Choi Siram answered the interviewer’s question earnestly.

Outside the massive windows, rain poured down.

But the thin stream of rainfall vanished quickly, like a late spring fox rain passing through.

The moment the rain stopped, the interviewer thanked Siram warmly.

Their kind eyes brimmed with genuine affection toward the man who seemed lovable simply by existing.

‘How exactly should I die to avoid Kwon Yiyul’s suspicion?’

While the interviewer and Siram immersed themselves in conversation, I continued contemplating the concept of a natural death.

The irony was almost laughable.

While everyone else worried about how to live each day, I spent my time desperately calculating how to die without making others suspicious.

So yes.

Life truly was unfair.

Even while breathing within the same room at the same moment, the future waiting for Choi Siram and the future waiting for me had already split apart long ago.

“Jaeyoon-ssi? Jaeyoon-ssi?”

“…Ah, yes. Sorry. Were you calling me?”

“The reporter just asked you a question…”

“Ahem. I understand you must be tired because of your workload, but could you at least focus during the interview? We’re not here because we have spare time either.”

The reporter’s once-gentle gaze sharpened.

Half-written text blinked repeatedly beside a flashing cursor on the screen.

I hurriedly apologized before answering the delayed question.

Even though my lack of focus had clearly annoyed him, the man’s eyes still carried unmistakable contempt toward refugees like me.

Observing people.

Reading emotions.

At first glance, those habits seemed pointless.

But in moments like this, they became useful survival tools.

Like a decorative extra at a banquet, I lowered myself completely so Choi Siram could shine more brightly.

Everyone inside this room wanted exactly that.

“This interview will appear in the April issue magazine feature. It won’t stand out too prominently even though it’s on the front section, so don’t feel pressured.”

“Yes, thank you. Today was really enjoyable.”

“Oh no, the honor’s ours. It’s practically impossible getting interview approval from Attack Team 3. We were worried we’d get rejected again this time too. We honestly don’t know what to do with ourselves now that you agreed so willingly.”

The interview ended beneath a strange, unplaceable disappointment.

The reporter shook Choi Siram’s hand repeatedly while thanking him again and again.

I had no idea whether my own responses would appear in the article.

Honestly, I hoped they wouldn’t.

People loved creating celebrities only so they could later drag them down.

Even a small article appearing in a magazine’s feature section would inevitably attract attention.

I only came because Siram said interviewing alone would make him nervous and asked me to stay beside him.

Then suddenly I was told I’d be interviewed too.

Considering how poorly refugees were already viewed, being a Guide from the lower districts only made me an easier target.

Which made this entire situation deeply uncomfortable.

“Jaeyoon-ssi, what’s wrong?”

“…Nothing. I just hope the parts where I spoke don’t get included in the article. I’m not really sure how to bring that up.”

“Ah, don’t worry about that. I already explained to the reporter that your portion was mostly just formal participation and asked them to exclude it. They agreed.”

“That’s a relief, then…”

Once dozens of staff members finished dismantling the equipment and quickly left the conference room, the once-crowded space became eerily empty.

Siram explained apologetically that he still had another schedule afterward, so we would have to eat lunch separately.

I nodded without complaint and entered the elevator first.

Because the interview had run late, very few people remained wandering through the center.

“Your ginger tea is ready. It’s hot, so please let it cool a little before drinking.”

“Thank you.”

The sensation of my stomach lining being scraped raw forced me to buy ginger tea to calm the nausea.

I skipped lunch entirely.

I knew I shouldn’t.

But lately, every time I ate, nausea rose immediately afterward until the inside of my throat became raw and painful.

Meanwhile, regardless of my condition, spring steadily approached.

The cherry blossom trees surrounding the center park were already beginning to prepare their buds.

Basking quietly beneath the warm sunlight, I sat alone on a bench near the plaza and let time drift past meaninglessly.

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