Chapter 5

“Don’t you get bored being in there?”

“That’s right.”

The way Huikyung didn’t deny it made him seem even more at ease. Jaekani found himself wondering if there might be some cozy refuge hidden inside that shabby little cell—something he couldn’t see. Otherwise, how could the man seem so untroubled?

Then again, Huikyung’s well-developed physique and commanding presence made it obvious that, no matter how confined he was, he wasn’t about to complain to a mere kid like Jaekani.

‘Makes sense.’

Jaekani concluded, brushing it off.

“You’re bored too, aren’t you?”

Hearing his own restlessness stated so plainly, Jaekani chose to follow Huikyung’s lead and not deny it.

“…Yes.”

That was the truth. Reflecting on it, Jaekani couldn’t deny that he’d been bored and restless enough to carry a flimsy excuse all the way to this place.

“What about friends?”

“I don’t have any.”

Jaekani wasn’t ashamed. Sure, his personality might’ve played a part, but the bigger reason was his endless workload, which left him no time to socialize with kids his age.

Sometimes, he resented his father for that.

Especially when people made comments about how little they resembled each other.

Still, having a father was better than not having one at all. That alone made it worth helping him.

“Why not? Is it because you’ve got a terrible personality?”

Wow. Really knows how to put it nicely, doesn’t he…

“Maybe that’s why you’re locked up here, because your personality’s just ‘so’ great,” Jaekani snapped back.

“How’d you know? I do tend to trust people too easily once I’ve given them my heart.”

‘He’s actually trusted someone before?’

Though he knew it was impolite, Jaekani openly looked Huikyung up and down, as if trying to measure the truth of that claim. The bars obscured most of Huikyung’s torso, but his mocking expression—wide-eyed and feigning innocence—was utterly infuriating.

“Guess I’d better keep my personality intact if I don’t want to end up like you,” Jaekani shot back.

Huikyung chuckled, a faint sound that carried through the moonlit ruins. The soft light cast sharp shadows over the bridge of his nose and the hollows of his eyes, making his expression both enigmatic and oddly disarming.

“Yeah, keep it up.”

Huikyung replied, as if daring him to try.

There was a self-deprecating edge to his words that Jaekani didn’t miss. Despite his youth, Jaekani wasn’t blind to the bitterness that often shaped people’s lives.

A world twisted by creature invasions, fragile communities that could fall apart at any moment, a government that existed only for the privileged, and Espers and Guides being taken away against their will—it was all a distorted mess.

“It’s late. I’m heading back to sleep,” Jaekani said at last.

“Goodnight, Jaekani.”

Even without stepping foot outside his ruin of a cell, Huikyung acted as though he was missing nothing. As he closed his textbook, Jaekani felt a sudden urge to tease him, to knock that infuriating nonchalance down a peg. He didn’t know why, but the desire burned as fiercely as his earlier irritation.

‘What a strange man.’

Jaekani thought. How could someone turn even neutral curiosity into a grudging affection?

“Next time, tell me what you did to end up here,” he challenged.

It was around then that Jaekani’s fascination with Huikyung began to crystalize into a determined curiosity.

He wanted to know more. Who had locked Huikyung up? What had he done? What kind of person was he? These questions filled Jaekani’s mind, their weight tugging at him even as he prepared to leave.

When he’d run to the maintenance building earlier, clutching his math book, his excitement had been barely concealed. Now, it was clear to him: he wasn’t just drawn to Huikyung’s answers; he was drawn to the man himself.

“I’ll think about it,” Huikyung replied.

Every exchange with him was like a puzzle—simple, yet not easily solved.

* * *

During the day, between school and shifts at the slaughterhouse, Jaekani couldn’t find the time or courage to visit the maintenance building. The thought of someone noticing him heading there filled him with unease.

Their village operated independently of government control, ruled solely by the decisions of the council. Laws and order were held tightly in the hands of a few, swayed by the volatile emotions of the people. Jaekani had no desire to become further marginalized in a community where he was already treated as an outsider.

But his real fear was something else entirely.

Jaekani dreaded the possibility of Huikyung being moved somewhere else if their meetings were discovered.

So, he waited patiently for the sun to set. When twilight gave way to deep night, and the village retreated to their homes, Jaekani seized his chance. Clutching a handful of tallow candles and a lighter, he sprinted toward the maintenance building, the blue textbook pressed against his chest.

He ran the 30-minute journey in what felt like three.

“Huikyung,” he called, breathless.

Setting his book down carefully on the uneven ground, Jaekani took a moment to catch his breath. Instead of a formal greeting, his call of the man’s name sufficed. He crouched down, placing the candles on the dirt floor, and struck the lighter.

The soft flame danced to life, and Jaekani dripped a bit of wax onto the ground to hold one candle steady. As he worked, Huikyung observed him with a casual, almost indifferent gaze.

“Why did you run here?” Huikyung asked.

“…Huh?”

Had he really run? Now that Huikyung mentioned it, yes—he supposed he had. Jaekani wiped the sweat from his textbook cover with the palm of his hand, awkwardly realizing he hadn’t planned to run but somehow ended up doing so anyway.

It was a lot like his life. He hadn’t set out to struggle so fiercely, but here he was, surviving one day at a time. And wasn’t that how most people here lived? Not happy, but not miserable enough to stop.

“Why so many candles?”

“Because we’ve got plenty,” Jaekani replied.

Their village, for all its violence and primitiveness, had an abundance of supplies. Candles, made with tallow and a touch of beeswax, were easy to produce and not in high demand during the long, cool days of the season.

“Can I have one?”

“What would you even do with it?”

Great—he even nags when asking for favors.

“Just kidding. Hand it over.”

He had a knack for teasing, as if toying with people was second nature. Jaekani pouted, peeling a candle off the ground.

He considered extinguishing the flame before handing it over but stopped himself.

‘Does a prisoner even have matches?’

He wondered. Instead, he approached with the lit candle, feeling a sudden rush of doubt.

‘Should I be walking this close?’
‘What if he’s dangerous?’
‘What if his hand darts out and grabs me?’

But despite his hesitation, he continued forward, his steps confident even as his thoughts wavered. He crouched in front of Huikyung, holding the candle with its flame carefully turned away.

“Here.”

The flickering light illuminated the space between them, casting a soft glow that spilled through the rusty bars. It slid down the dark locks of Huikyung’s hair, across his smooth brow, and down the sharp slope of his nose and jawline.

For a brief moment, Jaekani found himself mesmerized, as if he were watching someone hold a falling star. Huikyung, seemingly oblivious to the boy’s entranced gaze, accepted the candle with a subtle motion that carried an unexpected weight.

“You’re a good kid.”

Huikyung remarked, his words light but cutting through the silence like a whisper in the wind.

“Why don’t you have any friends?”

Embarrassed, Jaekani averted his eyes and muttered.

“You can be my friend.”

He expected Huikyung to tease him, to say something like, ‘You must be really lonely if you want a prisoner as a friend.’ But instead, Huikyung nodded.

“Sure, I’ll be your friend.”

The simplicity of his response, coupled with the faint smile that played on his lips, caught Jaekani off guard.

The warmth of the candle flame brought an odd heat to Jaekani’s skin. It was early summer, yet the sensation felt strangely new—whether from the fire or something else entirely, he wasn’t sure.

“What subject today?”

Huikyung asked, pulling Jaekani from his thoughts.

“Practical skills.”

He answered, relieved to shift the conversation.

It wasn’t just hands-on work; half of it involved theory. The class covered everything from running generators to repairing engines—skills they would need before moving on to actual application.

At thirteen, Jaekani felt like he was almost a full-fledged adult, ready to shoulder his share of responsibilities. In two years, he’d officially join the ranks of the village workers. Yet, in Huikyung’s presence, he was acutely aware of how immature he still was. Perhaps it was the way Huikyung had called him a “good kid”—not patronizing, but not dismissive either. It was oddly satisfying.

‘When will I become someone like him?’ Jaekani wondered. ‘A real adult.’

Standing in the glow of the candlelight, Jaekani realized that in a world like theirs, extremes were easier to compare. And next to Huikyung, Jaekani felt like the differences were stark.