Chapter 6: The Weight of What Was Never Said

‘What exactly did I do wrong?

What about me bothers you so much?

I did everything you wanted.

I never once tried to take Choi Siham’s place, never expected any affection from you, and lived as quietly as a dead mouse.

So why… why are you so desperate to make my life miserable?

Answer me.

Why?

Do you think only Choi Siham has feelings?

I hurt too.

I’m someone who gets wounded by the things you say.

I suffer too.

I’m exhausted… I feel like I’m going insane.’

“Haa… ah…”

The resentment I couldn’t dare speak out loud echoed inside my chest.

I hadn’t eaten anything in a rush, yet it felt like something heavy was lodged in my solar plexus, suffocating me.

Maybe I really was that slow to learn, because even after everything, I once again lifted a glass of champagne from the table to my lips.

Hoping it might dilute this suffocating feeling, I drank endlessly—one glass, then another.

“f*ck… f*ck, f*ck, you bastards… f*cking bastards…”

I didn’t know before, but it seemed I was the type to curse recklessly when drunk.

‘Aaaah! My leg, my leg!!’

Gunfire rang out, and before my eyes, blood and flesh scattered everywhere.

Yoon Heesung, who always scavenged scraps near the plaza junkyard or begged for food, clutched his severed leg as he collapsed onto the ground, crying tears of blood.

I lay trembling beneath the rubble of a collapsed building, my body covered in mud and ash.

I should have gone to him.

I should have reached out to the hand he was desperately extending toward me.

But my legs refused to move.

If I stepped into that battlefield filled with bullets and explosions, I would lose my legs just like him.

His voice calling out to me grew louder and louder, but all I could do was clamp my hands over my ears and scream.

A scream filled with sheer terror.

‘Hngh… sob…’

Once, a long time ago, the old man who owned the junkyard had found a projector among the discarded trash from District 1.

It must have been thrown away from a household with children, because inside was a cartoon video that had once been popular across the districts.

The old man fixed the broken projector and gathered the children who lingered near the plaza, showing us a cartoon for the first and last time.

A hero in a shining suit, wielding two guns engraved with symbolic patterns, defeating villains with trained martial arts—it was unlike anything we had ever seen.

To children like me, who had never experienced media before, it was overwhelming.

After watching it, every child in the plaza shouted that they wanted to become that hero.

‘P-please… help me… please…’

When my dearest friend, my only family, Yoon Heesung, was dying, I truly prayed to that hero.

I begged and begged.

Please, save us.

Help us.

We never chose this.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

We were just pawns in the hands of politicians.

Please, have mercy on us.

‘Ah… ah… what do I do… what do I do…’

But no matter how much I screamed, no hero came.

Through my distorted vision, I watched Heesung’s body grow cold.

I forgot how to breathe as I wailed.

Like a beast, I threw anything I could grab.

At an age when I should have been sheltered by my parents, I learned something for the first time.

That God does not exist.

That the faith of those who gathered at the fountain every day to pray was meaningless.

‘Please… please…’

God took Heesung’s legs—the legs of a boy who dreamed of becoming a runner.

He crushed the last hope of someone who had dreamed of escaping this place and becoming an athlete.

Those truly blessed by God were probably living in luxury somewhere we could never even dream of.

I wanted to smash the face of the priest who told us God loved us, even though we had been abandoned first.

‘Ah… aaah!’

Some learn despair before hope.

Some learn hatred before love.

And some learn resentment toward God before faith.

And I think… I was just unlucky enough to be one of them.

“Jaeyoon… Jaeyoon!”

“Ah… ngh…”

When I forced my heavy eyelids open, I saw Choi Siham looking down at me with concern.

I checked my dry throat, coughing lightly before trying to stand.

It felt like I had only dozed off for a moment, but the nightmare had been so vivid that my head throbbed.

As soon as I stood, my legs gave out and I collapsed again.

I couldn’t feel any strength in them.

Seeing me unable to gather myself, Siham quickly came over and supported me.

“Jaeyoon, are you okay? You look terrible. If it’s bad, let’s go to the hospital.”

“…No, it’s fine. Just a bad dream. You can let go.”

“With your face this pale, how is that fine? Stay still. I’ll take you to the bed.”

Today was one of the rare days when all members of Attack Team 3 were resting at the dorm.

Rest was just as important as missions.

“…I’m really fine.”

“You really have a talent for making people worry. You’re sweating cold, you can barely stand, and you’re saying you’re fine?”

“…I just meant it’s not serious enough for a hospital…”

“Enough. Just lie down. Where’s the thermometer…”

Siham laid me on his bed and started fussing, eventually turning the dorm upside down looking for a thermometer.

If he just let me rest, I’d recover on my own.

Why was he making such a big deal out of me being sick?

I turned toward the sunlit window, away from him as he left the room.

A sharp headache pulsed as if someone was striking my head with a hammer.

“Oh, found it. Jaeyoon, sit up for a second.”

“…Okay.”

After the incident at the party, Siham had been paying even more attention to me.

Over the past week, he handled all the department work in my place and even took on field duties I never asked him to.

But that was the problem.

His kindness never worked in my favor.

And I didn’t welcome it.

‘Useless bastard… now he’s even making someone higher-ranked do his work.’

‘Siham hyung, aren’t you overdoing it? Jaeyoon hyung, shouldn’t you at least help?’

‘Jaeyoon, how long are you going to stay like this? Do you know how many people are suffering because of you?’

Siham, already physically weak, eventually fell ill from overworking himself.

For three days straight, his fever didn’t go down, and he had to keep visiting the center’s infirmary.

And once again, the team turned their blame toward me.

I had things I could say in my defense, but I chose not to.

There was no point making things worse out of pride.

I simply nodded a few times with an emotionless face, admitting fault.

Soon enough, they ignored me and rushed to Siham’s side, worrying over him.

“No fever, at least.”

“I told you, I’m really fine. So please…”

“No. Rest here a bit. It’s almost lunchtime, so let’s go eat together.”

“…Together, as in with the others?”

“Of course. Or if they say something again, we can just go alone. I don’t want you getting stressed because of them.”

Them.

After years of suffering in this team, I still had to watch my words carefully just to say their names.

Yet Siham casually referred to them—including Kwon Iryul—as “them.”

Maybe it was because I was unwell.

Or maybe I had finally reached my limit.

Everything started to irritate me.

Suppressing the ugly jealousy rising inside me, I gently refused his offer.

Even thin porridge would sit heavy in my stomach right now.

Eating with them in the cafeteria would be worse—like swallowing mothballs.

Beep—

“Oh, I think they’re back.”

The team, who had gone out early after receiving a call from the director, returned to the dorm.

Siham told me to rest, but lying there alone in someone else’s room didn’t feel right.

So I forced myself up and leaned against the headboard.

They had gone to a funeral, and all of them were dressed in black mourning clothes.

“You’re back? I would’ve gone too if I felt better…”