“Hmph. And besides, doesn’t Jeong-pil usually get along with his superiors? Isn’t he the type to flatter anyone with a rank above him?”When Taeui sneered, Yun Chang-o forced a wry smile. “Not really. He gets along broadly, up and down the chain. It’s not like he only befriends superiors, nor does he get along with all superiors automatically.”“You remember back as freshmen, when you made the drill instructor eat dirt? The one who enjoyed it most was Jeong-pil.”“Hmm…? That happened?”“Don’t you recall? The airborne drill instructor—Jo Jeong-min. Everyone hated him for his temper. You tampered with his canopy so he went rolling in the mud, remember?”At Yun Chang-o’s reminder, Taeui dredged up the long-buried memory. “Oh, right…” he murmured, then wrinkled his nose. “But Jeong-pil didn’t cheer because you humiliated the instructor—he cheered because you got whipped afterward.”Taeui curled his lip, imagining that Jeong-pil must have clapped his hands in delight.Come to think of it, it did happen. When he first entered the academy, there’d been one especially sadistic airborne instructor. Discipline always involved punishment, but he enjoyed tormenting people. Anyone who’d met him recoiled. Even cadets with no airborne training cursed him.When the cadets finally outnumbered him and avoided him everywhere, one of Taeui’s classmates got picked on so badly he ended up on psych meds—that incident sparked the cadet revolt.On the day of the drop demonstration, that instructor panicked in the helicopter. The canopy deployed, but it crackled as if on verge of tearing—and the reserve chute had been removed entirely.He pulled the ripcord in a frenzy and landed far from the target, into a muddy field slick from last night’s rain. He was covered head to toe in mud.Taeui, who’d silently witnessed that instructor’s cruelty from the sidelines, casually peeled off a strip of cellophane tape from the canopy. (He’d actually put it there the night before.)“Hey—what’s this? Looks like equipment checks weren’t thorough. No wonder it was so noisy.”When he waved the tape, the mud-caked instructor froze in stunned horror—a scene talked about ever since. (And Taeui received a memorable whipping afterward.)“We were foolish back then, doing something so dangerous,” Taeui shook his head. Though he’d repeatedly checked canopy, harness, lines, even made repairs—tampering at all was foolhardy. No wonder the supervising professor raged and disciplined him. In hindsight, Taeui felt guilty for nearly giving the instructor a brush with death.So even though the crowd cheered—and the instructor truly had been a sadist—the memory stayed messy for Taeui.“I meant to apologize if I ever ran into him again… but do you know what happened to him?”“Well, he’s been quiet ever since—as if a different person,” Yun Chang-o shrugged, then laughed recalling the event.“You were a hero back then, Taeui.”“I wasn’t aiming to be a hero. I was just angry.”Taeui waved his hand. He’d been surprised by the uproar. He’d muttered to himself, “I was mad, but you all let him run rampant until now…”“…”In retrospect, maybe his uncle was right: feigning conformity while harboring a rebellious streak. That’s no way to live in peace.Taeui resolved to stay under the radar henceforth, then finished the last spoonful on his tray.“Jeong-pil really enjoyed it, too. I mean, everyone hated that instructor, but Jeong-pil had just been singled out by him not long before, and beaten so badly he was sick all night. Your timing was perfect.”“Was it? I inadvertently avenged him, then. Damn… you’re telling me he cheered while I got whipped?!”In Taeui’s mind, the image of Jeong-pil’s delight felt real. He set down his spoon with a grumble.“No, I swear I didn’t mean to. But it did happen.” Yun Chang-o suddenly frowned, as if recalling something. He hesitated, then ventured, “By the way, since we returned from the march a few days ago, Jeong-pil’s been in a foul mood. Did you two fight?”“Jeong-pil? How many times have we fought?” Taeui laughed.“That may be, but he’s been especially down lately.”If it wasn’t you, then what? Yun Chang-o tilted his head, but Taeui just shrugged. He truly didn’t know.After their brawl back from the march, they’d had no further clashes. They avoided eye contact—no insults, no provocation—so there was nothing to fight over. He did notice, though, that Jeong-pil’s glare was more hateful than ever.“I don’t have the headspace to worry about him. My mind’s at capacity.” Taeui shook his head. Not joking, he half-wondered if his brain would overload and shut down.He checked his watch, feeling it was time to leave. Suddenly Yun Chang-o set down his spoon and gently gripped both of Taeui’s hands.“Huh? Why?” Taeui looked at him. Yun Chang-o hesitated, then spoke, “Jeong-pil’s been unusually upset. He seems distracted, not listening to anyone. I’m worried he might do something reckless… We’re classmates, Taeui. Don’t be too extreme.”Taeui stared at Yun Chang-o’s earnest face. He was usually over-worried, but now he was solemn.True enough, Jeong-pil did seem dangerously unsettled—yet he hadn’t picked fights. All the more strange.Taeui glanced at the ceiling, then sighed deeply.“I’m not in a position to attack anyone, Chang-o. I’m barely holding on defensively. If he doesn’t come at me first, I swear I have zero intention—none, not an ounce—of touching him.”Sometimes he felt he might collapse from exhaustion without even a chance to defend himself. A quiet remainder of training was his heartfelt wish.Yun Chang-o, reassured, smiled faintly.“Thanks, Taeui.”“Why are you thanking me?” Taeui chuckled at his classmate’s expression—and felt a bit better. Not all classmates were like Jeong-pil. Life was worth living after all.‘Fear, huh.’Kyle muttered, rubbing his chin. It was after he and Taeui had binged four horror films—Taeui’s idea, to prove Ilrey wasn’t scared of ghosts—only for Ilrey to scoff, “Why flee? Just kill it.”Taeui had thought: does that monster even conceive of 'just kill it' when it’s chasing you? He’d wisely kept quiet and said, “He must judge them too powerful. They look it.” When Ilrey replied, “Then don’t get involved,” Taeui only winced.In any case, horror movies had no effect on Ilrey. That night Taeui dreamed of being chased by ghosts and killers from five films in a row—he felt blessedly human.Before dawn, he awoke in a sweat, staggered to the kitchen, and made hot cocoa. Only then did he clear his head. Kyle—who rarely slept in—peeked into the kitchen and asked, “Already up?”Taeui recounted his nightmares and the horror-movie marathon. Kyle scratched his head. “Has he always been that way since childhood?”Damn, Kyle’s response was: “Chainsaws are cumbersome to carry.” That warped sense of fear alarmed Taeui more than any ghost. Then Kyle thoughtfully advised: “Try empathizing with the perpetrator, not the victim, in horror films.”When Ilrey said, “I rarely watch horror, but they’re fun,” Taeui was sure Ilrey’s sense of fun was fundamentally different from everyone else’s.Kyle laughed, “He said that?” Then mused, “We rarely watched movies together as kids. But judging by his personality, I doubt he ever changed.” He chuckled, “He even played with an axe as a kid—more cumbersome than a chainsaw.”Taeui silently sipped his cocoa. Sometimes these brothers’ perspectives were bizarrely off.Kyle, leaning forward, added, “I don’t scare easily either.”Taeui raised an eyebrow—Kyle too?—and Kyle shook his head. “Not in that way. I don’t fear what defies logic. Maybe I lack imagination.” He inhaled the tea’s aroma—Kyle always brewed tea at dawn.“What do you fear, then?” Taeui asked. He’d rarely seen Kyle afraid of anything—except that one time James appeared at a rare book auction when Kyle had skipped work.Kyle thought, then smiled wryly. “Loss.”“Loss?” Taeui repeated.“Yeah. Of the fears we face in daily life, that’s the greatest. Losing something precious…”Kyle set down his cup, voice quiet but tinged with sorrow. Taeui fell silent, imagining the life Kyle had lived, what he’d lost, the memories he carried.The window stood open to the damp pre-dawn air, and Taeui felt his spirits sink.After a moment, Kyle spoke softly, “Imagine Emperor Qin Shi Huang. Think of living then.”Taeui blinked, taken aback. Kyle continued, “When was that? Third century BC. Imagine a stack of books from that era burning before your eyes, turning to ash. …Just the thought sends chills down your spine, makes your head swim. It’s a terror that crawls up your neck.”Kyle shivered, shoulders trembling, and Taeui watched silently. This was Kyle: shaped by his past, carrying unspoken losses.If Kyle had lived then, he’d have been buried first, Taeui thought, swallowing his cocoa. A lump of powder caught in his throat, and he coughed several times.But…“Loss, ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) huh. That might really be it.”Taeui murmured, nodding to himself. At that moment, Ilrey strode into the kitchen, one booted foot stepping inside.'Loss?'

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