Post Hammurabi ☆2
Yeonseong let out a long sigh as the chilly night wind brushed against him. Everything around was quiet. Across from him, in the apartment building he was staring at, lights glimmered—proof that people were active—but their lives sounded to Yeonseong like echoes from some distant, otherworldly realm.
He lowered his head and looked down. His stomach pressed against the window frame, and the blood rushed to his face. He felt dizzy. His stomach churned. Yet, strangely, this dizziness and nausea felt almost pleasant. Normally, it would be unbearable, but it was like the nodding of a drunken person's head: this pain, this pressure, provided just the right stimulation to keep his consciousness alert.
"High,"
Yeonseong muttered to himself. Surely, within a 100-meter radius, hundreds—maybe even thousands—of people lived, yet here he was, entirely alone, dangling in the dark. No one paid him any attention. Perhaps even if he jumped down, plunging dozens of meters to the concrete below, no one would notice.
Thinking that, fear surged. But it was fleeting. As he continued to hang and stare downward, his senses began to distort. At first, he was terrified of falling—terrified of the death that would follow, or the few minutes of agonizing breath he might cling to during the fall.
Yet, over time, the fear vanished. At some point, the concrete below lost all sense of reality. The more he thought, the more fear dissipated; the more he stared, the more the terror brought on by height faded. Eventually, even the situation of deciding whether to end his life or not felt like someone else's story.
Yeonseong knew this situation well.
'It was like this when I was bullied.'
If the torment becomes overwhelming… one cannot endure it without objectifying and distancing oneself from their own experience. To survive such extreme stress, Yeonseong cut off empathy for himself, separating his emotions from the situation he was in.
He had to become numb and unfeeling. Otherwise, the misery would have been unbearable.
'I see. Saying that it takes courage to die is completely wrong.'
Yeonseong realized this and let out a bitter laugh. Death here didn't require courage or resolve. He was already intoxicated by overwhelming stress, impulsively at the point where it didn't matter what he did. It was no different than being drunk. Anyone who thought that dying in such a state required "bravery" was utterly ignorant. They had no understanding of the psychology of a person suffering under extreme stress, who paralyzes their own rational faculties just to survive; they didn't realize that a suicide in such a state wasn't the product of courage or decision-making.
'If possible, it would have been better to die at school instead of in this apartment.'
If he had done it at school, the teachers and students who had ignored his bullying would, whether they liked it or not, bear some responsibility. Even if the incident was quietly covered up, at least he could have splattered his blood at the school entrance, leaving a faint stench for the children arriving the next morning.
The very thought of giving up his life in such a grotesque, almost aestheticized way was already madness, but Yeonseong didn't care. Deep down, he wanted to repay those who had tormented him, exactly as he had been treated—or worse. In his mind, he killed them repeatedly, tortured them mercilessly until no trace remained, and threw them into a trash bin.
In imagination, he enacted gruesome revenge, but if asked to actually carry it out, he could not. Hating and acting upon it to that degree wasn't something anyone could casually do.
Then… something caught his eye, moving quickly into the apartment complex. A headlight—was it a motorcycle? But it was incredibly fast. The apartment entrance had a speed bump; any vehicle moving at that speed would normally launch like a stunt jump.
Yet somehow, the headlight cleared the speed bump effortlessly.
-Screeeek!
Through parked cars, speed bumps, and assorted obstacles that should have made such speed impossible, the vehicle came with unbelievable velocity and stopped in front of Yeonseong's building. More precisely, it stopped in the corridor of the apartment where Yeonseong's unit was.
"Stay right there!"
A sharp young voice echoed in Yeonseong's ears. Huh? Could it be that this voice was addressing him? But how could that be? Yeonseong's upper body was leaning out of an 18th-floor window. And yet, the voice came through clearly. More than that, a normal person wouldn't even notice this spot from so far below. Shops just three stories up are already far removed from the awareness of most people. Yet somehow, someone had spotted the pinpoint on the 18th floor.
Startled, Yeonseong reflexively tried to pull himself back inside the window. But having leaned out for so long, dizziness hit. Blood rushed to his head, and as he tried to lift his upper body using the wall, his arms slipped. He jolted, and his body began to fall.
'Ah? No! I can't die like such an idiot!'
Though he had prepared for suicide, writing his note and leaning out the window, the act of death had to be his own doing. Even if he had loaded a gun and intended to shoot, he wouldn't want an accidental discharge. And if the bullet was his life itself, that was even more reason not to leave it to chance.
"Don't struggle!"
Seeing him flailing, the young man shouted. High-rise apartment windows are normally designed to prevent jumping. Yeonseong had forced open the frame and leaned his upper body through it, and if he had stayed still, he wouldn't have fallen. But pressing his stomach against the window sill for so long, the combination of pain and panic made him topple forward.
'To die so foolishly?!'
Yeonseong lamented as death approached. Soon, the cold concrete would crush him with merciless force. No doctor could save him then. All he could hope was that his life would end quickly, sparing him prolonged agony.
☆ ☆ ☆
Yeonseong closed his eyes, waiting for the acceleration of gravity and the icy touch of concrete to engulf him. But nothing happened. How much time had passed?
Cautiously, he opened his eyes. It had been far too long for it to feel like a fleeting moment—so why wasn't he falling?
The answer soon became clear.
"Phew…"
Another young man held Yeonseong's belt with one hand and gently lifted him. Yeonseong was slightly overweight, far beyond what a person could lift with one arm. And where was this young man standing?
Amazingly, he had planted his feet on the corner of the apartment's exterior wall and held Yeonseong by the belt in that precarious stance.
"Don't struggle."
Yeonseong turned to look at him, trying to assess the surroundings. The young man spoke briefly. It wasn't so much a comment as a command, and Yeonseong, twisting to keep observing the angle, barely registered that it was directed at him. Dizzy beyond compare with leaning on the window frame moments ago, Yeonseong closed his eyes. His consciousness naturally drifted away from his body.
☆ ☆ ☆
Han Segeon clicked his tongue.
Was this a target? Yeonseong, pointed out by Kenneth Yang, was being casually lifted like a shopping basket by Seohyeon, descending the apartment. Presumably, he had attempted to jump—but without Seohyeon, could he have been saved?
Doubtful. Even with Segeon's psychedelic-literature-enhanced vampire-curse-enhanced physical abilities, catching a falling child was a separate challenge. Had the boy fallen from more than ten stories, he would have been torn in half at the belt.
Yet Segeon felt no relief. Rather, he felt threatened by the overwhelming power Seohyeon displayed.
'Unpleasant.'
Seohyeon's strength was dangerous. Could Segeon confront him with his current equipment if he became an enemy? Difficult. No—impossible.
Segeon recalled Seohyeon's past exploits under the name Isaka Berghenev. Back then, Seohyeon was pursued by those seeking to seize his body for secrets of the Lyric or vampires like Tetra Anax seeking to claim a new life. Exhausted, he was preparing to monopolize global supremacy alone.
He obtained decommissioned ICBMs, intercepted Russian military coup plans, and tried to control the core of the coup organization. It was outright rebellion against humanity. No matter the threat to his life, some actions were unforgivable, and Seohyeon's deeds were among them.
Why Kim Seonghee and others accepted him remains a mystery.
'I must prepare for contingencies.'
Segeon remained wary of Seohyeon. At that moment, Seohyeon approached.
"Phew. Damn. Luckily, I got here, or he'd be dead."
Grumbling, Seohyeon set Yeonseong down. The boy, who had fainted from the fall and the sudden weight on his belt, looked like a middle schooler.
"What has Kenneth Yang done to receive such favor from a kid like this?"
"Perhaps he's the benefactor's child or relative," Segeon replied, then fell silent. He generally avoided talking to Seohyeon, but seeing him save the boy had relaxed his tension.
"Ah, damn. My pants are ruined."
Seohyeon crouched to examine his torn jeans. Though Segeon had raced over on a terrifying zero-to-60 three-second road bike, Seohyeon had chased him on foot, performing parkour and overcoming obstacles. As a result, his clothes were shredded.
'Superior physical abilities to past Judas.'
Segeon noted. Seohyeon had maneuvered obstacles with freerunning—Yamakasi, parkour—while Segeon contended with streets, traffic, and signals. In pure straight-line speed, internal combustion engines still had the edge.