Passion Novel - Chapter 89

His brother, who spoke with a slight grimace, held onto that paper for a few more days afterward, even though he said it might be better if he couldn’t solve it, perhaps disliking the idea of not being able to complete the formula.

Back then, he didn’t know what he was designing based on it, or what was dangerous. But now, Jeong Taeui could feel his own face hardening.

His gaze was fixed on the file on the monitor, unmoving. Was it a coincidence? Or perhaps a delusion. But as his eyes traced the still incomprehensible string of characters, Jeong Taeui could be certain. He had definitely seen this content before.

“…Ha.”

Jeong Taeui raised his hand to cover his mouth. His gaze wavered unsteadily, disturbed.

If his guess, his conviction, was correct, then his uncle, McKin, and anyone else involved in this business were out of their minds. There’s a difference between leaking information and leaking secrets. This wasn’t something that should be leaked to the outside world. He didn’t know the recipient, but it was obvious what kind of place would want such an item—a place that could make good use of this data, in other words, a place that could excellently misuse it.

Jeong Taeui looked at the clock. It was almost 5 AM. Far too early to call anyone else, but he had to talk to someone now.

Jeong Taeui instinctively picked up the receiver, then remembered he was currently in Canberra. He figured it must be around 8 AM there, so he wouldn’t be waking anyone up. He rummaged through his notebook where he’d written down numbers before.

However, after a long signal, the call didn’t connect. Whether the person couldn’t answer or had left their phone behind, no matter how many times he called, he couldn’t get through.

Jeong Taeui clicked his tongue. His uncle almost never failed to answer the phone outside of regular working hours. He even started to wonder if he was intentionally not answering.

He grew anxious. But on second thought, there was no reason to be anxious. The designated time was merely for securely connecting and downloading the file without triggering security; it wasn’t the deadline to complete everything. That designated time had already passed anyway. Since there was no instruction to transmit the file immediately, he could just leave it for now and figure it out once he got in touch with someone. If worse came to worst, he could even delete it.

Once he realized this, his urgent need to contact someone immediately lessened somewhat. But in its place, an ominous unpleasantness swelled. His uncle couldn’t possibly have been unaware. If they were doing something like this together, then McKin must certainly know as well. And in the worst-case scenario—though it was a highly probable worst-case scenario—what if that formula was applied to something like a chemical weapon?

Jeong Taeui didn’t know what kind of substance’s composition formula the file contained. Perhaps because he didn’t know, his imagination ran wild in a negative direction, but he could easily guess that something traded in this manner would not be safe or easy to handle.

Jeong Taeui clicked his tongue. But sitting in front of the computer, staring at the screen and tearing at his hair wouldn’t make anything better, so he sighed and closed the window. He rubbed his tired eyes with his thumbs. Damn it. He’d wanted to quickly deal with it and get some more sleep, but now sleep was out of the question. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep.

Coming out of his room so early, much earlier than usual, was partly because he hadn’t been here for a while, but also because he thought McKin might be the first to arrive at the instructors’ office. Jeong Taeui, who had been sitting on his bed staring at his toes for a long time before this thought struck him, suddenly got up, finished getting ready to leave, and tried calling his uncle one more time just before leaving the room, but still, he didn’t answer. He had a bad feeling.

Jeong Taeui put on his shoes and looked at himself in the mirror hanging by the front door. Even to himself, his complexion looked pretty bad. He looked like a sick person. Well, he hadn’t slept properly, he’d been tormented by a madman daily, his mind and body were exhausted, and troublesome thoughts never ceased in his head—if he were still normal after all this, he wouldn’t be human.

Jeong Taeui sighed and left the room. Looking at the clock, it was still dawn. Others would slowly start waking up soon.

He climbed the stairs to the first floor. When his mind was weary, it was not good to keep his body at ease. If his body was comfortable, his thoughts would constantly chase each other. And they were not good thoughts.

Actually, he regretted it a little when he reached about the second basement floor. He should have just taken the elevator. He had to endure the throbbing pain below his waist for a long time, clinging to the railing, before he could continue climbing. By the time he finally reached the ground floor, one step at a time, cold sweat was running down his back. Damn it. I’ll be damned if I ever do that with him again. …

No, he’d probably be dragged into it again. Let me rephrase that. I’ll be damned if I ever let that guy penetrate me again.

Jeong Taeui briefly forgot his complicated thoughts and focused his resentment on Ilay. But that only lasted until he reached the ground floor. Jeong Taeui, standing at the end of the hallway where the instructors’ office was visible in the distance, paused for a moment. On days when there were early morning instructor meetings, not only instructors but also captains and Adjutants would come and go early. During the joint training period, instructor meetings were almost always held morning and evening, and today was no exception. Jeong Taeui looked at the clock.

But it was too early for people to be coming and going. It was awkward even for himself, dressed in uniform at this hour. He stood stock still in the hallway, silently staring ahead. No sign of anyone. It seemed no one had come out yet. Even if people other than instructors were mobilized for the meeting, it would still be at least another hour before they started trickling out. Though he knew the chances were slim, McKin wasn’t in the instructors’ office as he had faintly hoped, but he didn’t feel deflated.

His chest simply ached from the fact that this snapping, anxious feeling had been prolonged a little longer.

What should he do? If his guess turned out to be completely accurate, what should he do?

He hadn’t thought about it at all. There wasn’t even a glimmer of an answer. Jeong Taeui slowly took a step. He heard the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath his feet. Only the creaking of wood in the empty space. It felt strange, like entering an abandoned house deep in the forest.

Suddenly, his mood sank. Standing alone in the dimly lit hallway, with no one around.

When he reached the instructors’ office, Jeong Taeui hesitated for a moment. As he slowly opened the door, a bluish darkness lurked inside. How long had it been since he’d seen such light? It felt strange. There was no natural light in the basement floors. It was either bright light or total darkness. If he turned on a small lamp, the light would dim, but it wasn’t this bluish, dim morning light. He missed the dawn outside. He sometimes felt like he was constantly living underground. He wanted to go outside. Perhaps even more so because the time to leave was approaching.

Jeong Taeui stepped into the instructors’ office. In the empty room, without turning on the lights, he sat down at a small table arranged for visitors. And he looked out the window next to it. Of course, there were no windows on the lower floors.

The spacious structure, perfect ventilation system, and lack of anything to desire suddenly felt stiflingly oppressive. Jeong Taeui exhaled quietly and closed his eyes. In such a quiet, bluish dawn, he felt as if he could hear sounds. He suddenly thought of his brother. When was it, there was a dawn like this. His brother was sitting in a rocking chair on the veranda, silently with his eyes closed. The veranda was filled with potted plants his mother had cultivated when she was alive. None of them had bloomed. All were lush with leaves.

Jeong Taeui, who had woken up before dawn and left his room to go to the bathroom, had stopped when he found his brother like that. His brother sat as if buried among the blue, lush leaves.

‘Hyung. Didn’t you sleep?’

Jeong Taeui, with sleepy eyes, glanced at the clock and approached his brother. His brother opened his eyes, looked at Jeong Taeui, and shook his head.

‘No, I just woke up.’

‘Hmm… Aren’t you cold?’

Jeong Taeui, just woken up, rubbed his arms in the dawn air of a late autumn day.

‘A little.’

His brother replied briefly, hunching his shoulders. It was dim, so he hadn’t noticed immediately, but his brother’s lips were blue.

Jeong Taeui clicked his tongue and went back into the room to fetch a coat. He draped it over his brother’s shoulders.

‘You should at least put on some clothes. …Are you having trouble with another problem?’

Jeong Taeui squatted on the veranda threshold, looking up at his brother. His brother would sometimes sit like a doll when he had something to ponder for a while.

‘No. I just feel like I can hear sounds if I sit here.’

His brother, wearing the coat, leaned back in the chair. The rocking chair swayed a couple of times then stopped. Jeong Taeui tilted his head. His brother closed his eyes again, his lips sealed, as if listening intently to something. Jeong Taeui watched his brother for a moment, then, feeling sleepy and needing to use the bathroom, he stood up. And he turned away, accustomed by now to his brother who sometimes spoke incomprehensible things. Perhaps his brother felt this way then. In the quiet, blue darkness of dawn, his brother seemed to want to hear unheard sounds.

Suddenly, he missed his brother. Although they weren’t particularly close, and he rarely even thought about his brother in everyday life, at this moment, Jeong Taeui wanted to see him. Even a single word from him would be good. Jeong Taeui slowly opened his eyes. The dark dawn was still before him. But it was brighter than a moment ago. The blue light was gradually fading, and objects were regaining their true colors. His uncle’s desk came into view. Neatly organized enough to indicate its owner’s absence, the desk revealed nothing of his owner’s personality. He couldn’t tell what kind of books he liked, whether he was sloppy or meticulous, just from that desk.

Sitting alone in silence, lost in thought, thinking of his uncle naturally led him to think of his brother too. This was because, before Jeong Taeui came here, his uncle used to talk with his father, and after his father passed away, mostly with his brother.

The two of them might have been similar. Something about them was alike. Yet, at the same time, they were vastly different.

For example, this.

His brother would never abandon Jeong Taeui. It wasn’t because he loved Jeong Taeui, or because they were family, or because he was moral. He just was. His not abandoning Jeong Taeui was too natural, without reason or cause. No matter the situation, he wouldn’t even think of the word ‘abandon.’ This was a little different from the fact that Jeong Taeui wouldn’t abandon his brother. In a difficult situation, if options arose, Jeong Taeui would agonize. He would eventually choose not to abandon his brother, but his brother was not like that.

His uncle, if he had to be compared, was more like Jeong Taeui. However, in terms of results, his uncle was also different from Jeong Taeui.

His uncle could turn his back on someone he cared for, even if that person was sad and struggling. His uncle was the kind of person who could do things that person didn’t want for what he himself desired.

“Uncle, he seems smart, but he’s not…”

Jeong Taeui whispered, like a sigh.

He knew. Even if he ended up struggling because of his uncle, he ultimately couldn’t hate him.

Jeong Taeui clicked his tongue bitterly and closed his eyes again.

Then it happened. He thought he heard a sound.

Jeong Taeui opened his eyes.

A sound was approaching. Footsteps coming from a distance. The old wooden floor faintly creaked. The heavy sound of footsteps was neither slow nor fast.

Jeong Taeui looked at the instructors’ office door.

Perhaps it was a Adjutant who had come out early, or maybe a staff member who had come up to get some fresh air.

The footsteps gradually drew closer. The sound passed the entrance, then passed the office. Jeong Taeui stared intently at the door until the sound stopped in front of the instructors’ office.

Finally, the door opened. The man beyond the door hesitated, seeing Jeong Taeui sitting alone in the dimly lit instructors’ office. Jeong Taeui’s seat was backlit, so the man seemed to be trying to discern who was sitting there. Jeong Taeui could clearly recognize the man who was looking at him with a slight frown.

It was McKin.

The person he had hoped for had arrived. He had wondered what the chances were of McKin being the first to come to the instructors’ office by chance, but it seemed he, like Jeong Taeui, hadn’t had a long, sweet sleep.

McKin, who recognized Jeong Taeui only after entering the instructors’ office, raised an eyebrow slightly. Then he went to his seat and sat down.

“You’re out early. Instructor Riegrow doesn’t seem to be out yet.”

McKin’s voice was lower than usual. Jeong Taeui nodded silently, though he wouldn’t be visible from behind the partition. It would be even more difficult if Riegrow were here.