At dawn, the fire was out.
Sergeant Kim stood at the edge of the clearing, adjusting the strap of his old rifle.
He wasn't a ghost.
Not a memory.
Just a man who had survived too long.
Tae-Jun approached, notebook in hand.
Yul was behind him, quiet, alert.
> "You said you had a plan," Tae-Jun said.
Kim nodded, eyes scanning the trees.
> "I know a path through the rocks. There's a rescue point west of here. Not many know it still exists. We could reach it in two days."
He paused.
> "But we can't all go."
---
Silence.
Yul understood before Tae-Jun translated.
He didn't flinch.
He didn't argue.
He just looked down — hands at his sides, motionless.
Kim continued:
> "If they see him, they'll shoot first. Ask questions never. We'll both be labeled traitors.
You've got a chance, Tae-Jun. Don't throw it away."
---
Tae-Jun didn't respond.
He walked away. Sat beside Yul.
Opened the notebook. Wrote slowly, his pulse in his throat.
---
> Entry Nineteen.
I should be grateful.
A way out. A path home.
But I know what it means.
"Leave him behind."
Not in words.
In logistics. In risk. In survival math._
I used to believe I was a good soldier.
I followed orders.
But Yul never gave me any.
And still, I chose to follow him._
Now, I choose again.
---
That night, Tae-Jun spoke to Kim plainly:
> "If he doesn't go, I don't go."
Kim stared at him.
Long. Hard.
> "You'd throw away your life for him?"
Tae-Jun didn't blink.
> "He already gave me mine back."
---
The sergeant didn't argue.
But the next morning, he was gone.
No trail. No goodbye.
Just footprints in the wet grass, headed west.
---
Yul found a tin of food left near the fire. A quiet gesture.
He placed it between them.
Said nothing.
Tae-Jun smiled. Just a little.
Then took out his pen again.