Chapter 97: Chapter 97

Past (6), Psychotherapy (2)

A set date and a set time. The repeated meetings between the woman and the boy were slowly becoming routine, an everyday thing for both of them. An ordinary promise, with nothing burdensome or unpleasant about it.

The woman was still Song Soo-ah. She had grown used to her other name. At first, she thought it was an act, but gradually, it no longer felt like that. The boy neither doubted nor questioned her. There was no need to contrive anything artificial in their time together. In fact, she felt more at ease using this name than her real one. At least when meeting the boy, she could focus on him. She could forget reality.

Their conversations now flowed naturally. This was the result of spending time and growing used to each other. Occasionally, they would speak, ask questions, listen to answers, but for the rest—they simply accepted the spaces they shared.

The boy, Han Gyeo-ul, was calm and composed with every word he spoke. He didn't cry out cursing his misfortunes. The woman was relieved by this. But in another way, she was saddened. Gyeo-ul's maturity was not natural.

That maturity stirred her curiosity again and again. Not once had Gyeo-ul said that this was difficult for him.

Was he still hiding his true feelings? How many more meetings would it take for him to stop holding things back? The woman gently asked,

"Gyeo-ul. How have you been these days?"

The boy, who had been reading someone's biography, looked up at the psychotherapist. Holding down the edges of his book with his fingertips, he blinked quietly.

"When Afterlife Insurance is first applied, many new subscribers report various kinds of maladjustment. For instance... yes, they find it hard to decide how to view artificial intelligence. The idea that 'this isn't a person' won't leave them, so they just can't endure it. It's like a type of obsessive-compulsive symptom. The result is a kind of social phobia within the virtual world view. This kind of maladjustment is quite common for most people."

She didn't invent these problems just to probe him. Her identity was false, but she was genuinely a Afterlife Insurance official. The reports she saw were even more detailed than those sent to the government. The symptoms she mentioned were psychological barriers that nearly every insurance subscriber stumbled through at least once, though severity varied.

'There are even those who never manage to overcome it.'

She hoped the boy wouldn't be one of them. He had already suffered enough misfortune in life.

"How about you? Are you confused at all?"

There was no immediate answer.

The issue she mentioned was typically easier to overcome the higher one's TOM rating and aptitude, but not always. The crux was the very unreal nature of the world itself.

High empathic ability meant high sensitivity. The boy was still at an age when the self was not yet firmly established. Who am I? What am I? It was not fair to judge him by the standards of adults who've long since abandoned these questions.

"I'm fine," the boy finally said, his short reply insufficient for the woman. How many meanings had flashed through the silence before his answer? Clearly, he needed more time. The woman hid a small sigh.

But the boy, adept at reading others, did not miss it. He smiled, habitually.

"You don't believe me."

"Hm? No, it's not that..."

A little flustered, she trailed off. In front of her, Gyeo-ul closed his book completely. Then, using the environmental controls in the "lobby," he conjured a flower in midair. He chose the species and selected the color. The result was a rare-colored rose. Dodging the thorns, he held the stem and gazed at the flower, lost for a moment in thought.

Presently, the boy asked the psychotherapist,

"What color does this flower look to you?"

"Yes, it's green. But ma'am, are you and I really seeing the same color right now?"

The woman was taken aback. The meaning of the question was hard to grasp.

"What do you mean by that?"

Gyeo-ul recalled life before his passing. In an old memory, he was holding a broken green crayon stick, staring vacantly.

"When I was little, I wondered about this. Even if it's the same green, isn't it really different for each person? Maybe we all feel colors differently inside, but since we're all taught to call it 'green' as we grow up, we just think everyone sees what we see."

"That must have been tough to worry about."

"Yes. It was an endless question. All I can know for sure is what I myself can feel. Other people were always beyond that—untouchable, no matter how hard I tried."

The woman felt she understood why the boy was bringing this up. A familiar concept, yet a strange beginning.

"If there's no way to know the difference, does that mean you think artificial intelligence is the same as people?"

"What matters most is my own mindset... I guess that's what I wanted to say. People say humans are social animals, right? Depending on how I relate to someone, that person can be human to me or not, regardless of whether they're actually human or AI."

"So you want to actively decide for yourself?"

"Yes. I want to. Because, when I was alive, I wasn't treated as a person."

Gyeo-ul quietly took in the psychotherapist's agitation, and then apologized.

"I'm sorry. That was a strange thing to say."

"No, no. I guess something bad happened to you."

The woman pondered. The boy's words could sound very harsh, depending on interpretation.

'Is he saying there are people he doesn't want to treat as human?'

Maybe that was just her own guilty conscience. But surely, even the calm boy must have harbored anger. Resentment towards those who hadn't treated him as human. Although there was no reason for him to direct that resentment at her, for a time, the woman had worried about it.

Now, it seemed different. The boy's nature didn't seem to harbor that.

Gyeo-ul smiled again.

"Anyway, you don't have to worry about how I'm adapting. There weren't many people outside in my old world anyway. I feel more comfortable now. There are always two people I dearly miss, but it's not like I can never see them again. Even siblings you truly care about—when you get older, you hardly see each other anymore... I'll just say I experienced that a bit earlier, that's all."

The woman tried to distinguish truth from lies in the boy's words.

It was not an easy task.

#A Morning in the Rain, Santa Margarita Lake

Jeffrey provided a hopeful observation.

"The raindrops have gotten a lot finer. The wind's eased up, too. It tormented us all night, but I guess the weather's got at least a rat's tail's worth of conscience. Once it gets lighter, the drone controller might take off. Fort Roberts will probably request aerial reconnaissance as well. In any case, the minimum operational time has already passed."

If the mission had proceeded without incident, the unit would already be back at the base. Gyeo-ul replied,

"That would be nice. Honestly, even if the baby is born safely, that's still a problem."

"Yeah... the mother's in that state, so I doubt the baby's going to be healthy. It's tough to make proper arrangements for warmth. Even just getting them to base alive won't be easy."

The two were sheltering from the rain under the eaves, where water dripped steadily. Gyeo-ul recalled the warnings from the National Typhoon Center. It seemed this was an interval between two typhoons. Even that small window was a blessing for those at their limit.

Jeffrey took off his helmet, scratching his greasy hair irritably.

"I guess we're only talking about unlikely scenarios. The fact that the mother and kid are alive is already a miracle, but here I am hoping for the good luck of a drone passover too."

"There's a saying in Northeast Asia: do everything you can, and leave the rest to the heavens. We did our best. I don't think it's a sin to hope for both miracles and luck."

"Hey, you never know. The Almighty up there's been especially vicious lately. Just look at the state of the world. That's proof enough. That's why we're all in this sorry shape."

Lamenting his lot, Jeffrey fumbled in his pockets. He was looking for a cigarette. There was only one left, salvaged from a finished pack, and even that had to have the wet tip torn off. Now he needed a light. Gyeo-ul took out a Zippo lighter. Ting—a clear metallic sound. As he flicked the flint, the flame caught easily.

"Where'd you get this?"

"I got it at Santa Maria."

Gyeo-ul showed him the inside of the lid. There was an inscription carved by John Frey. Jeffrey took a long drag, making the tip glow, and grumbled after reading the line:

"'Rangers Lead the Way, j. E. F.' Guess those guys have their pride. But compared to them, I'm just a salary thief, so I can't say much."

Jeffrey habitually shielded the flame with his hand. Though surrounded by forest, with ridges to the east and a dam to the north, it didn't hurt to be cautious.

The cigarette, burning quickly, was a marker of Jeffrey's raw nerves.

"With things as they are, I really hope that kid makes it into the world. That'll win those morons some points toward Heaven. It'll be at least some comfort to the family left behind."

The platoon leader's "morons" were lying together in the near distance, out in the rain. It was Gyeo-ul's order to move the bodies outside. The office was humid with trapped heat, risking accelerated decay. He was also concerned for the mother's weakened mental state.

"Waiting is tough, isn't it?"

"It's hell. Sure, the woman giving birth has it worst, but hey, at least I fought for my life, so I guess I'm allowed to complain a little. Actually, damn, I think I'm getting scared of marriage already."

It had been over two hours since Gyeo-ul had returned with Hernandez's squad. But Private White's warning about a difficult birth still held true.

Even after resting, some soldiers were out in the open. Gyeo-ul called out to one he recognized.

"Elliot! You should go inside and rest. Try to get some sleep if you can."

The private first class looked extremely fatigued, but shook his head.

"I'm on edge just hearing a firecracker. How could I sleep with all that moaning?"

For soldiers with combat experience, some degree of trauma was almost inevitable. Often, they couldn't sleep without medication.

The weakened mother's sobs were little more than faint cries, coming intermittently. The soldiers standing in the cold outside found even those sounds hard to bear.

Over twenty men were waiting for new life to be born, wide awake.

Jeffrey flicked the filter stub of his cigarette into a puddle.

"I miss my bed. This time last year, on a holiday like today, I wouldn't have gotten out from under the covers. I'd have slept all day. It's dangerous outside the blankets, you know."

"Holiday...? What day is it today?"

"It's Korematsu Day. Guess you're not fully American yet, huh?"

At this, Sergeant Liberman scolded him.

"Why do you talk about being American over federal holidays? Patriotism is what makes a citizen of this country."

After this trivial argument, the conversation waned. Everyone was exhausted. It was hard even to lighten the mood with jokes.

Everyone waited, quietly enduring time.

CRACK! A lightning bolt struck atop the hill. It was just before dawn broke through the clouds. The hit tree flared blue and burned briefly. The flame didn't last long under the rainclouds.

'Guess we can't expect aerial reconnaissance after all...'

Even if the rain eased and the wind died down, lightning would make it hard to launch military aircraft. There was always the danger that onboard munitions might explode. It was safer only if they took off unarmed.

Then, the cry of a newborn baby rang out.

Jeffrey, who had been hugging himself against the cold, lifted his head sharply. His eyes met Gyeo-ul's—and then he burst inside, practically kicking open the door. Gyeo-ul followed. Inside, doc White was holding up the newborn.

The mother's pale face was faintly smiling. Jeffrey, brimming with joy, burst out,

"Hey, doc! Is it done? It's done, right? It's done!"

Wound-up Doc snapped right back,

"Second lieutenant, please stay still for now. It's not over yet. The placenta and umbilical cord are still coming out. The mother needs rest. There's nothing good about being noisy. What if you startle the baby? The poor thing's already weak. Will you take responsibility if something goes wrong?"

The scolded second lieutenant meekly retreated.

The mother's husband had slumped to the ground, exhausted. He watched, dazed, as the cord was cut and the placenta dealt with. He seemed to have no energy left for joy.

Though the mother had had a fever, doc wanted to separate the baby from both parents. The baby was bundled, not in a blanket, but in a combat uniform and rain poncho. Who knew if this would be enough—but it was the best possible. Doc snapped again,

"Is there a warming pack left? Get a meal ready, now. We can't let the kid's birthday become a memorial day for the parents."

At this moment, white's authority far outstripped Gyeo-ul's.

As everyone bustled about, there was new communication from the radio operator, who'd been outside with the antenna.

[First lieutenant. You need to come for a moment. We got in touch with the drone controller.]

Jeffrey, frozen in place, began a prayer, promising the Lord anything if only this once things worked out. Since it was a message sent out over the platoon's channel, the other soldiers heard it too. Their reactions were all the same. With a sigh, each slumped against something for support.

There were miracles, and there was luck, too.

Once in a while, there were days . Orıginal content can be found at NovelHub(.)net

--------------------------- Author's Note ---------------------------

After last chapter's comments, the author's innocence has dried up once more.

Everyone, the chatting portions may seem like noise to some readers, or they might find them boring. That's a matter of personal impression.

There's no problem exchanging opinions about this. But such exchange must not become coercion or criticism.

As I've said before: opinions can differ.

Any opinion presented respectfully should be respected by all.

Let's all cultivate proper innocence.

I've heard that the original illustrator for the published version suffered a sudden bereavement in the family.

The editor asked if there's any illustrator I'd like personally, but this ignorant author doesn't know a single one...

If any readers know of any illustrators, please let me know.

Sorry for the lengthy notes. Apparently, the cover will be drawn in a photorealistic style, and picking a real person with a similar image can help a lot with this.

So the editor asked me again, but honestly, I don't know any celebrities either...

I don't even watch TV, for goodness' sake...ㅠㅠ

I'd like to hear reader opinions about this, too.

The notes are already long, and I feel dead, so I'll skip the Q&A tonight. Good night.

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