Less than a five-minute walk from the apartment, Lee Hyun-woo headed toward a fast-food restaurant with Angie.
The typical red sign with a yellow M drawn on it felt strangely foreign to Aslan after twelve years.
Hyun-woo stepped inside and placed an order that was both familiar and strange. There was an odd sensation as if his limbs didn’t belong to him.
But despite the strangeness, ordering was simple. After placing the simple order, he sat across from Angie.
It was an intricately woven dream. The dream evoked nostalgia in Aslan, even in its smallest details, to make him feel like he wasn’t Aslan but rather Lee Hyun-woo.
So Hyun-woo looked at the hamburger expectantly. A well-cooked patty generously covered in sauce—it was a bulgogi-flavored sauce.
Though it wasn’t his favorite burger, for Aslan, who hadn’t tasted anything for at least six years, it would be special.
Hyun-woo carefully picked up the burger and bit into the front part not wrapped in paper. The lettuce crunched under his teeth, shattering, and the pickle crumbled against his molars.
He couldn’t taste anything. Disappointed but not giving up yet, he kept chewing.
But chewing revealed no taste. Only the faint texture of the sauce, meat, and bread lingered on his tongue.
Hyun-woo sighed bitterly and closed his eyes tightly.
Equalization had many side effects. Since the purpose of magic was to maintain the subject, it was unavoidable.
Most of these side effects were life-threatening. Yet Hyun-woo abused equalization, avoiding all of them.
He’d deceive enemies by severing his own arms and deliver fatal counterattacks after taking heavy blows.
As a result, Hyun-woo, or Aslan, lost his sense of taste six years ago.
“It’s definitely a dream.”
The bitter muttering, the emotion behind those words, and the feelings swirling in Aslan’s mind encased in Hyun-woo’s shell—Angie perceived all of this.
After observing for a moment, she spoke.
“Um… it’s tangy, sweet, and delicious. The meat is good too… uh… and the bread is warm, pleasant, and soft.”
The girl, her mouth smeared with sauce, continued to describe the flavors incoherently. Drinking cola, she said it was sweet and fizzy; eating the burger, she claimed various flavors mingled together, trying hard to explain.
Listening to her description, Aslan realized the girl was making an effort for him, who had lost his sense of taste.
“Thank you.”
“No, I mean, it’s nothing. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but it’s nothing.”
Though embarrassed by her concern, it was clear to anyone that Angie cared about Aslan.
Aslan sighed belatedly, finished the hamburger, and stopped describing the food. Angie also ceased her explanation and focused on eating.
Their conversation ended, leaving silence. But soon, the silence was broken.
“So, you’ve been eating delicious things like this all along?”
“Well, sometimes…”
“Then this place must be like paradise. If there are no deities or monsters, it must be really livable.”
Aslan chuckled awkwardly at the innocent girl’s words.
“It’s not exactly like that. People still die.”
Even without deities or monsters, people still die—whether by accident or intentionally.
No human could escape death, so it was inevitable for Aslan to think of his father.
The girl mentally connected to Aslan saw the image flashing through his mind.
A man with a kind face, more resembling Aslan but with traces of Hyun-woo—instinctively, the girl realized this man was the owner of the voice she’d just heard.
“Who was that just now?”
Given how emotional and pained Aslan appeared, Angie couldn’t help but ask.
She didn’t know Aslan well. She only knew a small part of him.
She wanted to understand him better.
On the other hand, Aslan didn’t want to talk about it.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to speak—it was that once he started, he feared he wouldn’t be able to stop.
Hesitating, he sighed and asked,
“Do you want to hear?”
The girl answered honestly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know you very well.”
After finishing her burger and playing with the wrapper, the girl continued.
“I want to know about you. How you became so strong, why you’re so kind. I want to understand. So, I want to hear.”
The golden-eyed girl gazed intently at the boy who had spent 12 years wandering after falling into a game at the age of 19.
Though mentally no longer a boy, Aslan, in the form of Hyun-woo, looked down before speaking.
*
Hyun-woo’s father was a firefighter.
Hyun-woo was proud of his father, and his father took pride in his job.
When Hyun-woo, as a child, asked why his father chose firefighting, whether he wasn’t scared of fire, and how he saved people amidst flames, his father always smiled kindly and replied,
“When I enter a burning building, I think: `Ah, the only one who can save people here right now is me. It’s something only I can do.’ That’s why I do it.”
Hyun-woo countered, asking if there weren’t others who could do it too. Wasn’t he working alone?
Smiling, Hyun-woo’s father responded,
“Of course, there are other firefighters. But when someone is right in front of me, the only one who can save them is me, isn’t it? I can’t pass them by thinking someone else will do it.”
Hyun-woo agreed, and his father smiled.
“Son, become someone who does what they must.”
Hyun-woo never forgot those words.
He couldn’t forget them.
No son could forget the last words of the deceased.
His father passed away while saving someone at an accident site, leaving behind only a solemn portrait framed with two black ribbons.
His father passed away when Aslan was around 13 years old.
“So, that voice…”
“I don’t know much about it either. But it’s definitely not a pleasant dream.”
The subway clattered as it entered the station, its massive size moving as if alive, causing Angie to instinctively shrink back slightly.
“There’s no way someone who has already passed away would be at home.”
But Hyun-woo wished that voice truly belonged to his father.
He wished all the misfortunes he endured were merely a dream.
A childish hope born from naivety, something Hyun-woo understood well, leading him to sigh as he stepped into the open subway door.
“What is this?”
“A subway. Think of it as a carriage that travels underground.”
Angie awkwardly pronounced the Korean word and marveled. Hyun-woo seated her and sat beside her.
Despite being rush hour, the subway was noticeably empty.
Was it because time was meaningless in this dream, or due to the erosion of memories over 12 years? Hyun-woo couldn’t tell.
Only when Angie leaned closer to his shoulder did the subway finally move, vibrations trickling up from beneath their feet and through the backrests.
People silently read books or stared at their smartphones.
Gazing at the scene, Aslan quietly continued,
“My mother said only one thing after my father passed away: help others only if it doesn’t endanger your life.”
Hyun-woo understood the mental anguish his mother endured after losing her husband, having experienced it himself. Thus, understanding was natural.
So he took care, at least while on Earth.
After falling into Geladridion, Aslan spared no thought for his life. Survival was paramount, but if necessary, he used his life as a tool without hesitation.
Aware of this, Angie curiously looked at Aslan, but he silently gazed outside. Turning his gaze inward, he nodded toward the window.
“Wow.”
Pointed out by Hyun-woo was the Han River.
Countless cars traveled across the flowing river on bridges that defied medieval comprehension—a colossal structure made of steel.
Seeing this, Angie finally thought:
In Geladridion, dreams like this couldn’t even be dreamed. Here on Earth, people lived peacefully amidst towering architectural wonders.
Whereas in Geladridion…
“It’s wrong.”
Intercepting the girl’s thoughts, Hyun-woo spoke. Her dark eyes carried a different complexity compared to when they were teal.
“You see now, right? If I don’t, if I don’t prove what’s wrong… the people of Geladridion won’t know what’s amiss.”
They would simply be exploited and die pointlessly. His muttered words carried sincerity.
“If I don’t, no one else will. I’m the only one who remembers this world. If I give up the fight… Geladridion won’t change.”
Angie didn’t argue against his somber mutterings. She couldn’t. Seeing a world without deities or monsters, she believed it to be true.
“So, where are we going?”
Looking at the passing scenery, Angie asked, and Hyun-woo casually replied,
“Do you remember what I said earlier?”
“Earlier? What…”
“I mentioned having an idea, didn’t I?”
Realizing this, Angie exclaimed, “Doing the same thing you did before falling into Geladridion?”
Aslan nodded.
“The place we’re heading to is where I was right before falling into Geladridion.”
With that, Angie fell silent, quietly observing Aslan, wondering how he felt and what he thought, glancing sideways at his profile.
The clattering subway stopped. After disembarking, Hyun-woo hurried along without saying much, leading Angie somewhere.
After walking for at least ten minutes, Aslan stopped.
It was a pedestrian path surrounded by hills and mountains. Stopping in front of the railing, Hyun-woo looked down at the streets bathed in orange twilight.
There were few people, nothing unusual. Just a quiet pedestrian path. However, perched alongside a steep mountain road, it was quite high.
Even Angie, unfamiliar with Earth, paused in confusion due to the emptiness.
Noticing Angie’s puzzled expression, Aslan leaned on the railing.
“Right before falling into Geladridion, I was here. To be precise, I fell from here.”
Upon hearing this, Angie glanced down nervously. Following the mountain road, the drop was daunting.
Clearly, falling from such a height would be fatal.
Angie opened her mouth, unsure of what to say.
“Aslan…”
The boy turned into Aslan, Hyun-woo, and shook his head with a bitter smile.
