Chapter 12: A Birthday Without Celebration

“Yes, that’s correct. At 2 PM today, Team Leader Kwon I-yul of Attack Team 3, acting as the center director’s spokesperson, announced during a press interview that they would donate 10 billion won to support undernourished children, single-parent families, and vulnerable groups in conflict regions. As a result, not only has public attention once again been drawn to the achievements and contributions of Attack Team 3, but interest in Team Leader Kwon I-yul’s background is also surging nationwide. For more details, let’s hear from reporter Kim So-won.”

As the end of the year approached, the team members—already busy enough—had to attend various charity events and year-end functions hosted by major corporations, alongside political and business figures.

Park Soo-chang and Kim Seok-hwan, who disliked crowded and chaotic places, openly wore expressions as if they had bitten into something foul. Meanwhile, Choi Si-ram, who had been quietly standing beside the podium where Kwon I-yul stood, struggled in front of the cameras to somehow calm the two of them down.

Kwon I-yul displayed his eloquence, answering even trivial questions from reporters with sincerity.

“…They all just look good.”

But as always,

there was no place for me there.

For the past three years, I had accepted the team’s opinion that my very existence was shameful and disgraceful, and never once appeared in any official setting or media.

It could have been something to feel bitter about, but I simply let it pass.

Being a mere B-rank and a refugee was more than enough to make me an easy target for ridicule.

I had already gone through humiliation at Si-ram’s celebration party not long ago—who knew what kind of disgrace awaited me at a gathering filled with journalists and powerful figures?

Just imagining it made my shoulders tremble.

“…Even looks good on camera.”

Still, seeing Choi Si-ram standing on equal footing with the others, receiving the same treatment on the photo line, stirred a sense of envy within me.

No—if I were honest, I was jealous.

I stared at my own hollow, sunken eyes reflected on the TV screen, then abruptly turned my head away.

Since things had turned out this way, I decided to enjoy some freedom while the team members were away.

Beep—

“…Haa, even this takes effort.”

Back at the dorm, I tossed my coat onto the living room sofa and grabbed a glass of cold water from the fridge, gulping it down.

My Adam’s apple bobbed like a boat on waves before settling.

Wiping the droplets from my lips with the back of my hand, I stepped into the silent living room.

“You’re really strong. It’s already been two weeks, and you’re still holding on.”

I approached the large window and gently brushed my hand over the chrysanthemum that had surprisingly endured.

The soft, moist texture of the fresh petals played against my fingertips.

Honestly, when I first received it, I was sure it wouldn’t last long.

After all, no one speaks of vitality when looking at a flower already yellowing at the edges.

But perhaps my effort to say kind words to it every day had worked.

The chrysanthemum lived far longer than expected—no, it survived like a miracle.

Even the buds that hadn’t bloomed before now opened, spreading life with clarity.

Every time I saw it, my chest swelled.

This small lifeform, proving Kwon I-yul wrong before my eyes, gave me a strange kind of comfort.

“…It’s beautiful.”

As I gazed at the silky white petals, lost in thought, my empty stomach suddenly growled loudly.

I gathered my scattered emotions and wondered what to eat for lunch.

For the past three years, I had always eaten alone, preferring quiet places over crowded ones.

I put my coat back in the closet and pulled out a thick camel-colored cardigan, draping it over my shoulders.

Grabbing the card issued by the center’s legal team, I checked the date on the desk calendar.

“…Huh.”

December 13.

At that moment, a faint sigh escaped me.

Even after rubbing my eyes and checking again,

today was indeed December 13.

“…Unbelievable.”

Today—something even its owner had forgotten—

was my birthday.

I don’t know who my parents are.

I don’t know who gave birth to me, what they looked like, or anything about them.

But there’s one thing I remember clearly—

my birthday.

From infancy until just before I entered elementary school, I was raised by my grandmother.

She, whose voice I can no longer even recall, always called me “my grandchild.”

My mother, the youngest of six children, disappeared one day, returned briefly to leave me behind, and vanished again.

If it were me, I would have resented her for bringing another mouth to feed when life was already hard.

But my grandmother said nothing—she simply raised me with boundless love.

“…Well, I came out, but what now….”

They say memories before the age of six fade away, but one moment still remains vivid in my heart.

It was my grandmother celebrating my birthday despite our poverty.

She collected scrap and junk for a week, traded it at the monthly market for a hen, and prepared a birthday meal for me.

Even now, I can’t forget the taste of the chicken broth she fed me.

“Ah, food first. I should eat first.”

But that was the last time.

The morning after my sixth birthday, our home was destroyed in an attack.

The only reason I survived

was because my grandmother held me until her final breath.

So my birthday was both a day celebrating my birth,

and the day before her death anniversary.

Maybe I should bring flowers and visit her after a long time.

As a child, I couldn’t even properly hold her funeral.

So whenever I thought of her, I would bring a small flower to the riverside she loved and speak to her.

I decided to eat something simple and go out alone for the first time in a while.

The team would be away for days, and unless an emergency call came, I had nothing but time.

“Please present your ID card.”

“Here.”

“Write your departure date, time, and expected return time here.”

The scratching sound of a pen filled my ears.

I submitted the form to the center’s management office, detailing my outing.

About thirty minutes later, I was issued a temporary pass with a red button.

All ability users had to register with the center,

and in exchange for high salaries, were constantly monitored.

Tracking chips implanted in our bodies were standard.

Writing entry and exit reports every time we left was part of that system.

In short—

we were living property of the center.

“You’re all set. Don’t forget to return on time, and you’ll receive a verification call later.”

“Understood. Also, if an esper needs urgent guiding, please inform Team Leader Oh.”

“Yes, I will.”

After passing through strict surveillance, I finally got my pass.

It was only half a day of freedom,

but even that made me smile.

Click—

I stepped into the glass elevator and pressed the button.

A soft melody flowed from above.

Humming along, I stepped out as the doors opened.

It had been so long since I felt the outside air—

it was cold,

but it made me feel strangely free.

The exit resembled a waterwheel, heavily guarded.

After scanning my pass, I quickly stepped outside.

I hurried across the street just as the signal changed.

“…What exactly do you expect me to do?”