< Episode 23. The Abandoned World (4) >
At my words, the King of Wanderers smiled faintly.
"A long time? Didn't we meet just recently?"
"That time, we only passed by each other."
Up until now, I had seen the King of Wanderers exactly three times.
The first was when Han Sooyoung and I killed the non-human Song Minwoo.
The second was when we defeated the Catastrophe of Flooding.
And this was the third…
The King of Wanderers slowly removed her mask.
As expected—she looked the same as ever.
"When were you released from prison?"
"It's been a while."
We stood facing each other in silence.
My mother and I didn't look alike at all.
No matter how you looked at her, she appeared to be in her late thirties at most.
When I was young, people often mistook her for my cousin instead.
That was back when my father was still around.
"Have you been living in Seoul?"
"I came to see someone I know, briefly."
"Ah. So that's how you just happened to get trapped in the Seoul Dome?"
"That's right."
"You've been released—so why are you wearing a prison uniform again?"
"Who knows. Maybe because I feel like atoning."
"…Atoning? You?"
"All humans are prisoners, Dokja. Everyone has their own prison."
I stared quietly at my mother.
That shameless tone of hers.
She really hadn't changed at all.
"Couldn't you at least say thank you? You'd have been in trouble without me."
…She was right. She had helped.
My mother led her faction and defeated the Northern Catastrophe.
Even if it was a relatively weak catastrophe, it was still no small feat.
Truthfully, I had believed she would manage it.
As much as I hated her, I also knew her well.
"You finally meet me again, and you don't even pretend to be happy."
"Is that really what you want?"
"A little."
[Exclusive Skill, 'Lie Detection Lv.1' has activated!]
[You have confirmed that this statement is false.]
How ridiculous.
Knowing it was a lie, yet checking anyway—that was the state I was in.
"Surviving all this… you really do have incredible survival instincts."
"Thanks to the stories you told me."
"…I knew it."
"You're probably the only child who'd visit their mother in prison just to talk about a novel they were reading."
That was true.
During all those visiting hours in prison, I had never once held a proper conversation with my mother.
I spent the entire time rambling about Ways of Survival.
And when even that grew tiresome, I stopped visiting altogether.
"Because there was nothing else to talk about."
"How could that be?"
"That novel was my entire world."
For a brief moment, fragments of the past surfaced—then faded away.
If not for Ways of Survival,
if not for the author who stubbornly kept serializing that story,
I probably wouldn't be in this world anymore.
For a teenage Kim Dokja with neither mother nor father, that story was the only comfort he had.
"A third-rate fantasy novel, at best…"
"And yet, you survived thanks to it. You should be grateful to that third-rate novel."
We stared at each other in silence.
[Constellation, 'Prisoner of the Long Night,' watches you with keen interest.]
[Constellation, 'The Secretive Plotter,' watches you with a curious gaze.]
[Constellation, 'Demon-like Judge of Fire,' watches you with sad eyes.]
I was the first to break the silence.
"What trait did you obtain? I'm guessing it's related to the story I told you."
"Do I have to tell you?"
"If you still think of me as your son."
"I wonder if you still think of me as your mother."
"A little."
[Character 'Lee Sookyung' has activated 'Lie Detection Lv.1'!]
[Lee Sookyung has confirmed that this statement is false.]
Damn it.
She already had that skill too—she really was my mother.
A faint trace of sorrow crossed her face. Whether it was acting or genuine, I had no way of knowing now.
"Do you still resent me?"
"That's not why I came."
"Your father was a bad man."
"I know."
There are certainly bad people in this world.
Some beat their wives, squander their family's wealth on illegal gambling, and threaten their family's livelihood.
So yes—my father was a bad man.
I knew it. My mother knew it. Korean law said so too.
But—
"Just because my father was a bad person doesn't make what you did right."
"There are sacrifices that must be made for a better life."
"There's no such 'law' in Korea. But there is a law that says anyone who commits murder must go to prison, no matter the reason."
"You really are good with words. Must be from reading so many novels."
"My reality felt more like a novel. Because of you."
By now, this was far from a normal conversation between mother and son.
Maybe that was why I hadn't wanted to talk in the first place.
Because I knew exactly how this would turn out.
We knew too well how to hurt each other—and what wounds would be reopened.
"You know why I came, right?"
"Who knows."
"We can both see through lies, so let's stop playing dumb."
My mother smiled faintly.
"You know Prisoner No. 406, the old lady? Lend her to me."
"…Wouldn't it be better to take an incarnation with Jeon Woochi as their sponsor? I have plenty of capable incarnations."
"Jeon Woochi is your right-hand man. And that old lady will be more useful."
My mother studied me for a moment, then nodded.
"True. Given who you're up against, that makes sense. But how did you know No. 406's sponsor?"
"I can't tell you."
"So you really do have a skill that lets you see sponsors?"
Figures. There was nothing I could hide from her.
"Are you lending her to me, or not?"
"I'll lend her. On one condition."
I felt a twinge of unease.
If it was my mother, she'd propose a deal I'd never even imagined.
With a faint smile, she continued.
"Next time, introduce me to your friends too."
For a moment, I was completely speechless.
…Damn it.
She'd landed a clean hit.
Turning a bad person into an even worse one—that was something my mother was the best at in this world.
"Dokja. Look at reality properly. Just because fiction has become reality doesn't mean you should treat fiction as reality."
['The Fourth Wall' is violently shaking.]
Just a few words, and it felt like the entire world was trembling.
Now I understood.
To me, this person was the one who most forcefully reminded me of the reality I despised.
"Do you understand?"
[Stigma, 'Self-Rationalization Lv.1' has activated.]
Disgusting.
That attitude of hers—trying to act like a mother now, of all times.
Too many rivers had already been crossed to turn anything back.
[The shaking of 'The Fourth Wall' subsides.]
I couldn't take it anymore. I sprang to my feet and spoke.
"That's right. I do treat fiction like reality. You know why? Because I've lived that way my entire life."
"..."
"It might look pathetic to you. But remember this—I will never sell reality as fiction, the way you did."
With that, I pulled open the tent flap and stepped outside.
Cold air slipped into the collar of my coat. As I buttoned it and looked ahead, I saw Yoo Sangah standing there, eyes wide in surprise.
"S-Sorry… Dokja. You were taking so long, so I…"
This was awkward.
No—more than awkward…
Somehow, it was embarrassing.
"…Did you hear anything?"
Yoo Sangah bowed deeply, looking genuinely apologetic.
The small crown of her head came into view.
I let out a sigh.
"Shall we walk for a bit?"
We walked side by side along the platform at Yongsan Station.
Just earlier, the wind had been cold, but now the air brushing against my cheeks felt different, as if the temperature had changed. She couldn't have had time to wash her hair, yet a pleasant scent drifted from Yoo Sangah's loose strands.
"How's your hangover?"
"It's okay. But I heard you carried me on your back. I'm sorry. I just ended up being a burden again."
"I was just taking care of you, that's all."
We fell into a brief silence.
"You think it's strange, don't you? The way a mother and son talk to each other like that."
"That's not true."
As if.
That expression on her face said it was the strangest thing in the world.
"…Do you want to know?"
Yoo Sangah's gaze wavered for a moment.
"…If it's not rude."
I gave a faint smile.
Yeah. It was probably time to say it.
I chose my words for a moment, then let out a breath into the empty air and opened my mouth in an exaggeratedly solemn voice.
"My mother killed my father."
Strangely enough, my words sounded almost ridiculous.
Even though they came from my own mouth, it felt like I was talking about someone else's story.
"She went to prison for that crime."
I continued.
"My father… this might sound harsh, but he was someone who deserved to die. Domestic violence, gambling, loan guarantees… my mother lived getting beaten every day. There was never a day her bruises fully faded. I got hit sometimes too. Then one day, my mother made up her mind, and everything fell apart."
"Ah…"
"I thought it was pretty well known even at the company. I guess you didn't know, Yoo Sangah?"
She didn't answer.
Only then did she realize it.
That she had touched a wound she never should have touched.
"Now it feels even stranger to you, right? Legally, it was definitely wrong. But emotionally, you probably can't understand why I hate my mother for it."
"No! I might not fully understand since I'm not you, Dokja, but—"
"Honestly, you think I should forgive her, don't you?"
Yoo Sangah couldn't continue.
But there was no helping it.
The wound had already been torn open.
I spoke again when the awkward silence had almost filled the space.
"Have you heard of a book called Memoirs of an Underground Murderer? It was once a Kyobo bestseller."
A sudden book talk.
Thinking the topic had changed, Yoo Sangah brightened slightly.
"I think I've heard of it. It was a huge bestseller, right?"
"It's an essay written in prison by a woman who killed her abusive husband. Critics praised it highly at the time. They called it the Korean version of Notes from Underground in essay literature. Of course, it was completely overrated."
As she listened, Yoo Sangah's expression darkened rapidly.
She had realized it.
The topic hadn't changed at all.
"That's right. My mother wrote it."
Yoo Sangah's lips parted slightly.
"I still remember it. Reporters crowding in front of our house. Asking whether everything in that essay was true—every single question."
"..."
"I remember everything my classmates said too. That my mom was making money by selling the fact that she killed someone."
"Dokja…"
"Even relatives said it. They asked how a murderer could have the nerve to show her face in the papers."
Yoo Sangah, who had been about to say something, closed her mouth.
"It was a little hard. Because of that. No—maybe for a very long time."
"..."
"Being the child of a murderer is something you can endure. But having that turned into a story and sold—that's a different kind of problem. My life being turned into money by someone else—that's a completely different issue."
I looked up at the sky.
Even though it wasn't night yet, I could feel the distant constellations watching me more clearly than ever.
This, too, was probably becoming a story for them.
Yet not a single constellation sponsored me at this moment.
Should I consider that a relief?
I didn't know.
"Do you still think I should forgive my mother?"
I didn't expect an answer.
I hadn't said all this for understanding in the first place.
Maybe this was the most despicable kind of violence I, twisted as I was, could inflict on Yoo Sangah, who had grown up in a well-off family.
Displaying my misery at will and forcing someone else to attempt an impossible understanding.
Kind Yoo Sangah would be sad precisely because she knew such understanding was impossible.
I smiled, intoxicated by a victory I couldn't even define.
"I'm sorry. Actually, it was all a joke."
"…What?"
"It was all a lie. You totally fell for it, didn't you? Things like that don't really happen, do they? My mom and I are just an ordinary mother and son, and my dad just died in an accident when I was young—"
And then, something small and soft wrapped around my hand.
The touch was so warm that I momentarily forgot what I was about to say.
For a moment…
Just a moment, our steps stopped.
Yoo Sangah wasn't looking at me.
So I didn't look at her either.
Without facing each other, we walked on, hands clasped.
As if that alone was enough.
And strangely enough, my heart slowly began to calm.
['The Fourth Wall' trembles faintly.]
Maybe it was because it was such an overwhelmingly real warmth.
"Dokja!"
We heard our companions running toward us from the station entrance, and reflexively let go of each other's hands. Jung Heewon, who had run up first, asked,
"What is it this time, you two kissing again?"
"K-Kissing?"
"Look at Yoo Sangah's face turning red. You did, didn't you? You totally did!"
Honestly, if I knew Yoo Sangah just a little less, I might have mistaken that expression too.
"Stop teasing us. Nothing happened."
"Yeah, sure."
Jung Heewon turned to me and continued.
"Some weird old lady came looking for us. Did you call her, Dokja?"
From behind the group, an old woman with a cane stepped forward.
"Heh heh, what use is this old body anyway…"
Like the other Wanderers in my mother's group, the old woman was wearing a sky-blue prison uniform.
Prisoner No. 406.
As expected, my mother worked fast.
"Are you Kim Dokja, young man?"
"Yes, that's me."
"I've heard a lot about you from Sookyung. I look forward to working with you."
"So do I."
Sookyung was my mother's name.
Turning to the group, I said,
"She's the one I called. Let's get going."
We immediately left Yongsan Station and headed to where people had gathered. The Kings, including Yoo Joonghyuk's party, were already assembled there.
Through the [Great Hall], a pure white crystal was slowly descending from the sky, scattering brilliant light.
A [Warp Crystal].
This was the item that would transport us to the next scenario area.
< Episode 23. The Abandoned World (4) >End