Free Web NovelI don’t particularly like pine trees.
There’s no specific reason or incident behind it.
It was something trivial, something I don’t even remember anymore, that made me dislike them, and that’s all there is to it.
If I had to name reasons, I’d say it’s the needle-like leaves that resemble thorns, the pine cones that look like grenades, the sticky, pungent resin oozing from the cracked bark—all of it just rubs me the wrong way.
In the newly reconstructed city square, they planted a pine tree at its center.
They say it was brought from Namsan.
People whispered it was a lie.
Because the area within the Four Great Gates was hit by concentrated nuclear strikes, and Namsan burned so thoroughly that nothing but ash remained.
It’s true the area was nuked.
But that doesn’t necessarily mean the kind of civilization-erasing strategic nukes we usually imagine.
The Chinese military alternated between tactical and strategic nukes.
It was a way to save on the costly strategic warheads while still sowing confusion in the South Korean government.
Everyone assumed they’d been hit by strategic nukes and clamored for more aid and supplies.
Surprisingly, not many strategic nukes actually fell on Korea.
Korea’s strategic value as a land-based bridgehead to threaten Beijing was already nullified due to North Korea being swallowed by the Rift, and Beijing itself falling into enemy hands. And as a supply base or unsinkable aircraft carrier, Korea lost priority to more critical locations like Okinawa and Taiwan.
The Chinese military’s main thrust was Taiwan. The heaviest strategic strikes were carried out in order: the U.S., Japan, Taiwan, and Australia.
The only places in Korea hit by strategic-grade nukes were Busan, Daegu, and an area right next to my bunker.
Of course, definitions vary. Some claim Seoul was struck by a quasi-strategic nuke.
I only found all this out later through documents declassified by the Chinese remnants.
You’d only know if you’ve been hit.
Anyway, when the nukes fell, all those pine trees on Namsan burned to ash.
But maybe because the blast wasn’t that strong, some trees survived. They endured the brutal double winter and the erosion and were transplanted to the new Seoul center.
I heard Hong Da-jeong was hospitalized.
They say it’s not serious, but by this point, pretending not to care would just be hypocrisy.
“She’s got health issues, right?”
I asked Defender, who was sitting next to me.
He paused in thought, then let out a shallow sigh and nodded.
“It’s not serious. Just minor. But it needs regular care.”
I looked at the pine tree absentmindedly.
“Yeah.”
I checked my phone.
There was one message.
Jeon Si-hoon: Sounds good. Where should we meet?
It’s been five years since the war started.
So much has changed already, and change hasn’t stopped.
I looked at the pine tree again.
“....”
I think I might actually like pine trees now.
I still feel uneasy about the thorn-like leaves and that distinct piney smell—but that unchanging form resonates with a small part of what I hope for.
*
Message from CrunchRoll: That bastard Jeon Si-hoon?
If anyone knows Jeon Si-hoon better than I do, it’s King of Sejong.
Objectively, my relationship with Jeon Si-hoon is temporary.
We’ve never had any deep conversations or worked side-by-side under pressure.
The only thing I can really offer is that I once helped him out of a dangerous situation. fгeewebnovёl.com
But offering help and truly knowing someone are completely different things.
Message from CrunchRoll: He wasn’t a bad guy. If he had been, I would’ve killed him myself already.
Message from CrunchRoll: He’s not exactly charming, but he was well-raised and well-educated. Stubborn as hell and rigid in his views, but at least he’s not a psycho like that IAmJesus lunatic.
Message from CrunchRoll: Still... hasn’t it been quite a while since he came back to Seoul? He’s never once tried to find that fanatic woman again.
Message from CrunchRoll: Honestly, she’s not exactly beautiful. But they did live together for months, sharing everything in those teenage years when every little thing burns into memory.
Message from CrunchRoll: I dunno. I don’t know what kind of person he is anymore.
Message from CrunchRoll: People change, you know.
Message from CrunchRoll: Even if he’s not the person I used to know, I don’t think ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) there’s any need to condemn him for it. You and I are changing too, aren’t we? lol
If I interpret King’s words: I used to know him somewhat, but now I have no idea.
I feel similarly.
Jeon Si-hoon was rigid, single-minded, and stubborn—but he had a stronger internal compass and moral standard than most human garbage out there. freēwēbnovel.com
But the truth that’s come to light? Not so clear.
It might not be entirely factual, but it doesn’t point in a good direction either.
Jeon Si-hoon doesn’t belong to the Kang Han-min faction or the Jeju government. He’s part of a third, separate group.
When we last met, he hinted at keeping distance from Kang Han-min, but he clearly acts in concert with them.
We met in one of the buildings controlled by the Kang Han-min faction.
For whatever reason, that faction tends to restore abandoned high-rise buildings in Seoul and use them as hideouts.
Kang Han-min had done it, and so had Jeon Si-hoon, whose base was less than 100 meters from one of Kang’s buildings.
But his building was far more damaged. The internal steel frame jutted out like the bones of a dead body, and instead of an internal elevator, they used an external construction lift.
Unlike Kang Han-min, there were no guards.
Only a middle-aged man who seemed to be hired temporarily asked for my ID and operated the lift.
“Oh! Hunter Park Gyu!”
Jeon Si-hoon’s office looked like a pre-war corporate headquarters.
Clean white walls, sleek but not cheap-looking desks arranged in uniform partitions, laptops, nameplates stuck on with magnets, people typing away at their screens.
Almost no one knows what they’re doing.
They’re an independent organization, not tied to the government.
They receive supplies from the government but operate outside its control.
All I know is that Kang Han-min and his followers are active around the Paju Rift.
His supporters say he’ll seal the Paju Rift just like he did in Jeju—but we’ll see.
“Please, take a seat, Hunter Park. I was meaning to reach out, but it’s been impossible to find the time.”
Jeon Si-hoon, now fully grown and far removed from his boyish looks, maintained a consistent attitude of friendliness toward me.
But that kind of consistent friendliness—I’ve grown wary of it.
“You know Yoo Jung-woo?”
I asked in a low voice once we were alone in the meeting room.
It was a quiet question, but one with a sharp edge.
His smile cracked for just a moment. That confirmed it.
“What are you trying to say?”
He tried to force a smile again but it didn’t come out right.
“I heard someone ordered Yoo Jung-woo to transport a capsule.”
There were softer, more diplomatic ways to bring it up.
But I no longer had the patience for that.
I’d already used up my tolerance on Kang Han-min.
Of course, I had insurance.
That insurance was Kang Han-min.
I had an appointment with him.
A subordinate can’t mistreat the boss’s guest.
And I had other layers of backup too.
I entered the building alone, but outside, Defender and Cheon Young-jae and my other allies were waiting for my return.
If I didn’t come back, they’d deliver some kind of payback.
Even Awakened can only do so much inside a collapsing building.
“Hm.”
Jeon Si-hoon’s expression shifted.
He no longer wore that smile.
He puckered his lips and mumbled things I couldn’t understand, raising and lowering his eyebrows like a tic.
Eventually, his eyes settled on me.
“So are you saying I ordered Yoo Jung-woo to transport that capsule?”
I shook my head.
“That’s not important. I don’t plan to accuse you.”
“Then what?”
“I just want to know why. If there was a reason, I’d like to hear it.”
“If I didn’t do it, could we drop the subject?”
They say the younger the generation, the lower the patience.
I’ve heard it a million times, and yeah—there’s some truth to it.
But I expected this reaction.
And my response was already decided: not worth engaging.
No point talking to someone who refuses to talk.
After all, I still had Kang Han-min—my final negotiating piece, in a sense.
“If you don’t want to talk, we’ll stop.”
I looked at him.
Still showing resistance.
“Sorry, but I think I’ve already ruined the mood. Let’s wrap it up here.”
Jeon Si-hoon said nothing.
He stood up.
“Hunter Park.”
He stopped me before I could leave.
“What do you think about Seoul—no, about Korea’s current state?”
I turned.
The chair was empty, but I didn’t sit.
It felt like something I should hear standing.
His resolute face and the conviction in his voice gave me that feeling.
“What kind of assessment are you asking for?”
“Just... overall. Is everything going fine or is it a total shitshow?”
“Closer to a total shitshow.”
Jeon Si-hoon lit up.
His face, cold and rigid since I mentioned Yoo Jung-woo, briefly returned to the one I remembered.
“You know the Jeju Committee, right?”
I nodded.
Jeon Si-hoon sighed and adjusted his collar.
“They happened to get power at the right time, and they turned it into actual authority. Personally, I think they’re pathetic, but I’ll admit—they’re brilliant at clinging to power through cunning.”
I kept silent.
It might be bait.
Silence is usually gold.
“They’re still playing games, aren’t they? Using that tiny bit of power to toy with the future of what’s left of our people.”
But his tone was rising. Sooner or later, I’d have to speak.
I looked at him calmly and said,
“So what is it you want to say?”
Jeon Si-hoon smiled.
I don’t claim to know him well, but that smile—meaningful and unfamiliar—told me this:
“Hunter Park. Or rather, the legendary Skelton. First slayer of a General-type. A man like you, just sitting back and doing nothing in this chaos—that’s shirking responsibility.”
“You know I’m in Room 803, right?”
“They call you Commander now, don’t they? Commander Park. You could demand more. Speak louder. You’ve earned that right. Jeju’s hero may be Kang Han-min—but Seoul’s savior is Commander Park.”
“...”
For a brief moment, I saw the face of young Jeon Si-hoon, the boy who once spoke with religious awe of Kang Han-min.
That same light shimmered in the eyes of the grown man before me.
Yes.
Respect.
Or something like it.
Longing. A mirage.
“You need to act, Commander. For all of us.”
There was real force in his voice.
A pull.
The hero of a promised age.
What man with ambition wouldn’t be tempted?
But I’m Park Gyu.
Park Gyu is also Professor. Also Skelton.
Which means—I’m already a hero.
“I like things as they are.”
“You mean to keep watching the Committee do whatever they want with power?!”
His voice echoed like a shockwave through the conference room.
He continued in a much softer tone, quieter than its aftershock.
“...I’ve also got a meeting with Kang Han-min on Friday.”
The brief light of respect in his eyes faded fast.
“Commander...”
It was replaced by unmistakable disappointment.
“...you’ve changed.”
“In what sense?”
I asked, colder than I expected from myself.
Suppressing his emotions, he answered.
“You didn’t have any official title back then, but you came into that dangerous eroded zone to save me, just because you wanted to seal the Jeju Rift.”
“That part of me hasn’t changed one bit.”
Jeon Si-hoon gave a bitter smile and shook his head.
He stood and left first.
I thought of the two pine trees standing in the square.
*
“How was it?”
Defender and Cheon Young-jae greeted me.
I could feel the gazes of Defender’s squad, hidden in the ruins and armed to the teeth.
“...Nothing happened.”
I didn’t confirm anything concrete.
Not the identity of the person who deployed the capsule. Not the goals or intentions of Jeon Si-hoon or his allies.
But I did understand something of their mindset.
I gave a subtle summary of what happened in that building to my closest comrades.
Cheon Young-jae tilted his head.
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
Defender shook his head.
“It’s a poisoned chalice.”
“Isn’t that still a good thing?”
“You want Senior Park to die?”
“No, that’s not it. But let’s be honest, those bastards are total assholes. Even the elites hate them. Maybe if we teamed up, we could create real change?”
I let them talk.
People often reveal more of their true thoughts while talking casually.
I spotted a pine tree.
This time, it was a dead one.
Withered and dried, wasting away.
And I thought—
People expect others not to change.
I wanted Jeon Si-hoon to be like a pine tree—unchanging.
But so did he.
We both wanted the other to be our pine tree.
And we both failed that expectation.
But one question remains:
Did we ever truly see each other’s pine tree?
