B | Chapter 1

Torso

As long as I keep my eyes wide open and breathe steadily, there’s solace even in ruins. The places where footsteps have left, the junkyard of once-named objects, the shadowed side where light has turned away—all these comfort me.

Even if I go alone to places everyone hates, getting my hands and feet dirty all night, I’m okay. It’s not just self-consolation; I really am okay.

I stopped at a strange sound coming from somewhere in the dark alley. The sack tied behind me swayed heavily. The weight of the load swinging back and forth was so much that my upper body moved quietly with it. By pressing my feet firmly, I barely managed to regain my balance.

I looked in the direction of the sound. But all I could see was pitch-black void, like it was painted with dark matter, with no visible shape. All I could do was pray that the sound I heard was just a stray dog or cat crying. Hopefully, it’s not a living monster.

Even after everything became quiet, I didn’t move and waited. It’s a time when I need to be cautious to keep my life going. But no more sounds came. As I exhaled deeply and started walking again, I heard the squelching sound of water.

Sweat that had run down inside my work clothes had pooled inside my rubber boots, forming a puddle.

In this place, swept by a fierce battle, encountering a monster at an abandoned gate would only lead to a pointless death. There’s no police to guard this restricted area, and no colleagues to clean up with.

In fact, entering the gate without prior notice is illegal, but like everything else in the world, things don’t go by the book.

It all starts with tax evasion. The city hall pockets 30-40% of the work fees allocated for gate cleanup. The remaining 60-70% is outsourced to a managing company.

The managing company takes a cut of the outsourcing fee and subcontracts the rest to private companies. As for me, I’m a part-timer often called upon by a subcontractor’s office, doing the work of two people for 1.5 people’s pay.

On-site, instead of a suction device, I was given vinyl gloves, and instead of heavy machinery, a borrowed truck. Once they save on labor costs, human life becomes a joke. So I have to protect myself. Hoping there are no surviving monsters on site, I pick up pieces of dead monsters and stuff them into a sack.

I loaded the heavy sack onto a folding cart and returned to where the truck was parked. In this gate filled with the ruins of a collapsed city, there was only one light. At the center of the intersection, a billboard hanging crookedly on the exterior wall of a six-story building shone brightly.

I squeezed out my remaining strength and loaded the last sack onto the truck bed. The sack, with black blood flowing like oil, didn’t look like it contained a corpse.

It would have been better if it weren’t for the stench that seemed to come from a festering wound. But maybe my sense of smell was already numb, as I couldn’t smell it….

“Whew….”

When I took off the work gloves tied up to my elbows, the inside, soaked with sweat, turned inside out. My palm, exposed to the outside air for the first time in two hours, was wrinkled like someone who had just come from a bathhouse. The sweat-soaked fingerprints smelled like seafood steamed in salt.

I rubbed my damp forehead with the back of my hand. Just taking off the gloves made me feel a bit more alive. As I straightened my bent back, I looked up at the billboard for no reason. The guide recruitment ad from ‘Deschement’ flashed brightly in regular intervals.

Modern people are classified into three types. One, ordinary people living without any peculiar mutations or superpowers. Two, evolved humans who gained superpowers through acquired mutations, called ‘Newtype.’

Among them, outstanding Newtypes defeat gates and monsters, earning the title of ‘Sentinel.’ They’re the heroes of the present age, receiving everyone’s admiration and love.

But even Sentinels have problems. Excessive mutations become diseases and pain, and overwhelming superpowers can drive Sentinels insane, leading to rampages. In such cases, they need the help of another mutant. Someone who can calm Newtypes and stop mutations, like a prescription drug—a ‘Guide.’

‘Deschement’ is the first research center to create a grading system for Newtypes and Guides, and it manages only A-grade or higher Sentinels and Guides as an international organization. Deschement is always at the center of attention, but lately, it’s been a hot topic in every workplace.

It was due to the bad news from Deschement.

‘An A0-grade Guide has gone missing inside a gate.’ The story itself was absurd and laughable, not tragic. The problem was that the missing person was the partner of ‘Jae Chaeui.’

‘Jae Chaeui.’

He was the one who made Deschement’s central office stand tall in Seoul, and he was declared the strongest Sentinel in the world. He’s also the protagonist of the face on the billboard above my head, looking more like a work created by an SD program than a person.

The media constantly reported on Jae Chaeui’s health, daily routine, current location, and even diet, saying he was okay and still strong. But the world was gripped with fear.

The public feared Jae Chaeui might lose his sanity and rampage without a Guide to hold his leash, and they also feared the absence of Jae Chaeui might lead to some gate accident.

It’s been five noisy days like this. Deschement seemed to have given up on finding the missing person.

‘They’re probably not alive anymore.’

It’s obvious since they haven’t found a single body yet. That’s why even that prestigious center is willing to risk losing face and put up a billboard to find a new Guide.

No qualifications or affiliations required, new Guide recruitment.

But what can I do…. I’m the only Guide here looking at that expensive billboard. What a waste of money.

As I leaned my elbow on the truck bed, my tilted view matched perfectly with the crooked billboard. They say ‘no qualifications or affiliations required,’ but they’ll first consider health, age, appearance, education, and Guide experience.

After a long interview, they’ll conduct a matching test to see how much influence I can have on Jae Chaeui.

It’s not related to me anyway. If I had any value in attempting a matching test with such a great S-grade Sentinel, I wouldn’t be picking up monster corpses at this hour. I know that.

‘I know, but….’

Still, it was hard to take my eyes off the sparkling billboard. Inside the gate, so dark that it casts no shadows, only Jae Chaeui’s perfect face shone brightly like the sun or moon. Like a sewer rat envious of fine cheese, I couldn’t help but look up….

It’s been 20 years since Jae Chaeui appeared with that terrifyingly handsome face and a near-catastrophic tidal wave.

I remember the day I first saw that face on the news screen. I was only six years old, holding a yogurt bottle with a straw, kneeling in front of the TV.

In the screen filled with blue and red bold Gothic letters like ‘East Coast Gate Collapse Accident,’ ‘Second Earthquake Warning,’ ‘Live Broadcast,’ there was Jae Chaeui walking on the sea.

The memory of that moment is still vivid as if it happened yesterday.

In fact, not just me, but everyone in this land would feel the same. Jae Chaeui’s appearance was just that shocking. He defeated the monsters pouring out of the gaping gate with his bare hands.

After that scene was broadcast live, there was no one in the world who didn’t know him. The term ‘Jae Chaeui Syndrome’ became popular.

What would it feel like to become the partner of such an inhuman Sentinel? To become the shadow of a Sentinel who has never experienced failure, defeat, or frustration, who doesn’t age or die, with perfect looks and abilities….

“…Let’s go now.”

Talking to myself without a colleague to answer, I turned my head. I covered the dirty sacks with a tarp over the truck bed and gulped down a bottle of water.

When I got into the driver’s seat, the digital clock showed it was 4 a.m. I had entered the gate around 10 p.m., so I had been working for six hours straight. At least I met today’s target early, which was good. In ten more days, I could clear all the remaining debris.

The dirty and filthy work that everyone else avoided was essential for my survival. Repeating myself, I’m okay. It’s thanks to being different from others in a very trivial way.

I’m not particularly afraid of the shattered ruins. I’m not scared of encountering monsters or being killed by them. Handling monster corpses isn’t that disgusting to me. What can I do if I’m naturally brave and have a strong stomach?

Honestly, I think this dirty and filthy work isn’t much different from a package loading and unloading part-time job. Except for the unique rotten monster smell that seeps deep into my sweat pores and doesn’t go away for ten days.

This year, I’ve earned more money from cleaning part-time jobs than as a Guide. As a Guide, all I do is have my name registered at some mercenary office, get called whenever needed, and calm down some Newtype’s mood.

Some impatient Newtypes would mock me for that. They’d say a useless Guide like me stubbornly refuses to ‘try harder,’ claiming I could earn ten times my current salary. By ‘trying harder,’ they meant having sex.

My Guide certification is marked with an E grade. It’s practically trash. Even if I do my best at Guiding, it’s only as effective as a sleeping pill or a shot of vodka. But even the incompetent have dignity they want to protect. I had one rule like that.

‘Never have sex with Newtype guys with restless groins.’

That rule has been well-kept for the past two years. Given that my financial situation has worsened since then, my dignity seems to be the biggest obstacle making my life difficult.

But if I don’t do that, I won’t be able to live in this damn world with a clear mind. Life would have no meaning. Like everything in this gate that devours my nights, pretending to be real but actually a false world, mimicking the outside world.

There’s no radio reception inside the gate, so I can’t listen to it. Instead of fun stories or songs, I slowly drove the truck that made old burping sounds, picking up the cigarette pack tossed on the passenger seat. I put a cigarette in my mouth and lit the lighter. Then I looked down at the empty cigarette pack.

“Ha….”

Cigarettes were my one and only indulgence. With prices rising every day, I’ve been smoking just one cigarette a day this month. I’ve been saving them, storing them in the freezer to prevent the taste from evaporating. But, I’m out.

After a long deliberation, I put the cigarette back into the pack. I always have to prepare for later. There will surely be a tougher day when I crave a cigarette more than today.