The Snow Queen

I wracked my brain. This was the time I needed to be the most composed in my life.

“The information in Ryeong’s head is incomparable to Manen’s. There are probably several pieces of information that Manen doesn’t know. Soon, there will be a major upheaval in the political landscape, so let Ryeong know that I plan to question him about various things then.”

“An upheaval in the political landscape… Hmm. Alright. I’ll relay your thoughts to the department heads. Anything else?”

“There will be an ID found in Ray’s clothes. Go to the address, search the house and store. Secure physical evidence that can confirm Ryeong’s identity. If Ray is really Ryeong, he might have recorded information related to Manen and the tattooed nobility.”

“And?”

“Gather the entire planning team by 9 a.m. We need to start counting.”

“Got it. I’m off then.”

Cooperhead quickly made way for me. This left only the two department heads, Guiger, who had slept with Ryeong. Leopard seemed unusually dazed, as if he couldn’t believe the situation.

“…Is it really Ryeong? What if he just happened to know a sorcerer named Marata and went to visit on the anniversary with a rose?”

Leopard mumbled. It was precisely this possibility that prompted me to order a search for physical evidence at the house and store. I was still consumed by disbelief.

“Well, I don’t know. But it seems to match up.”

Yes, it matched perfectly.

I recalled Ray running frantically with his cellphone in hand. I remembered how evasively he answered when I asked who he was talking to.

When Manen revealed that tracking Ryeong’s phone number led to a different person, I was reminded that the search for Ray’s cellphone number yielded nothing but empty results. The person I was dealing with was none other than Manen himself.

Everything fell into place one by one. It fit together with an almost unbelievable precision. From the sorcerer’s coat to the first time Leopard and I saw Ray, saying, “I felt like I was waiting for a tarot reading in front of a witch.” It exceeded mere coincidence and hit the bullseye.

Ray had a nonchalant personality. He was poor but had a decent job. He casually wore the sorcerer’s coat without caring about the stares of those around him. He figured it wouldn’t be a big deal even if he was mistaken for a sorcerer. I myself assumed Ray had just found a coat somewhere. This wasn’t mere carelessness; it was audacity.

What had happened at the restaurant? Looking back, it was strange how shocked Ray had been when I asked him if he was interested in Lord Wolfscott. His views on Lord Wolfscott and Manen had also surprised me with their sharpness.

Manen had said that when Ryeong expressed a need to study for consultations, he recommended some books and shared opinions. In Ray’s room, where he barely had the necessary utensils, there was an odd abundance of books, most of which were about politics and history. Cooperhead had even commented on the presence of a Chinese military strategy book.

In the painting that compared Ryeong’s appearance, Salome was depicted as a blonde woman with a pale face. Ray had a white face with blonde hair, where gender distinction was vague.

One question remained. Why? Why did he claim to be Manen’s exclusive sorcerer without taking a single penny? The amount Marata had taken from Manen was twenty million talantens. If he wanted, Ray could have amassed considerable wealth.

“…Does he simply dislike the tattooed nobility?” I recalled Ray’s strange smile. Had he been wronged by the tattooed nobility? Was it a grudge? If so, that could explain it.

What an incredible situation this was.

I had hastily concluded he was a destitute human scum based solely on appearances. Yet the opposite was true. He had been dancing above my head. Leading a gang of thousands, Guiger had been made a fool of by Ray. Ray was indeed the top student who could ace exams with just an hour of studying. I had been mocked right in front of him.

Yet disbelief still swirled in my mind. Ray is Ryeong? That timid, gloomy, powerless person? That pitiful soul whose mind had shattered?

“Perhaps…”

Leopard broke the silence.

“Ryeong didn’t approach us by accident. It’s just too strange that he chose us. He could have approached us to gather information and used hypnosis to charm us…”

“That’s nonsense.”

I didn’t even want to entertain such thoughts. Approaching us to use me? The words of love he whispered were all part of a sordid scheme?

Had this first emotion of my life been manipulated by Ryeong’s sorcery?

“Ray isn’t that kind of person.”

Leopard quietly pulled out a cigarette.

“And I clung to him. Even when he said he didn’t want me around, I kept clinging to him. I even went so far as to push him away.”

That was true. Not only had Ray danced atop my head, but he had also taken away my emotions entirely. He had controlled me thoroughly. He had alternated between presenting me heaven and hell. He had toyed with my soul.

The moment I thought he had flown away, I aimed my gun at my temple without hesitation and pulled the trigger. It would be the same in the future. A time and space without you is nothing but hell. Just a grave. I had no confidence in wading through time, recalling only you until I died. In short, you had completely trampled me.

“Anyway, Chief, it’s seven o’clock. We should eat and get started.”

Leopard stood up, brushing off the chair. I stared blankly at Ray.

He was covered in tubes and an oxygen mask, looking pale. It was my fault. It was my doing. I hated that his body was in pain. I hated it deeply. Yet now he was teetering on the brink of life and death because of me. It was a nightmare.

“Snake, pull yourself together. To be frank, if it hadn’t been for the suicide attempt, the department heads would have completely ignored your opinion and eliminated Ryeong. Your actions determine whether Ryeong lives or dies. So get up.”

Leopard slapped my shoulder. I tried to calm my mind and stood up.

I lightly kissed Ray’s cheek. I turned my back and left the hospital room. The moment the door closed, I felt something inside me dying.

First, I instructed the East Eden newspaper to break the Catacombe project story tomorrow morning. Then, I ordered the members to stage a car accident around 2 p.m. today. I told them to incinerate it beyond recognition. I planned to spin it as an accident while secretly transporting Manen.

I had already wrapped up talks with the police. Of course, they firmly believed that this operation was entirely under Lord Wolfscott’s orders. After breaking the Catacombe project story tomorrow, I planned to screen the prepared works consecutively. There would be a flood of suspicion. That was fine. One hundred tattooed nobles were ensnared in a web connected to the Catacombe project and the media. And regardless of the allegations of mysterious deaths, Manen would officially be considered a deceased person. The dead cannot wield power.

After everything was finished, it was noon.

“Got it?”

Cooperhead entered the office holding a box.

“Hmm. What is it?”

“What do you think it is? You told me to search Ryeong’s house and shop for physical evidence. As soon as I got your orders, I headed straight to Ryeong’s place. Just like you said, there was a lot of interesting stuff. There were piles of notebooks and books under Ryeong’s bed. Seems like Ryeong was the type to underline and make notes. Here, take a look at this.”

Cooperhead dropped the box onto the desk with a thud.

I felt dizzy.

On top of the box was a branch of Whitebirch and a pair of bells. The Whitebirch branch looked familiar. I had seen it briefly at Ray’s house. According to Manen’s testimony, this Whitebirch branch was Ray’s magical tool.

“What about these bells?”

“Didn’t Manen say that Ryeong was holding bells when they first met? These are those bells. They’re not ordinary. Take a closer look.”

I picked up the bells and examined them. They were old, but the sound was clear. Strange characters were engraved on both sides of the bells. I could only tell that they were Chinese characters.

Cooperhead placed a file on the desk.

“And these are documents on Ryeong’s mentor, Marata. So, what do you think about the bells?”

“I can’t tell. Aside from the strange characters, they look ordinary.”

“Marata is a Japanese woman. One of the team members who searched Ryeong’s house is Japanese, so I showed them the bells and asked what the characters meant. Do you know what they said?”

“What?”

“On one side, it says (靈) which means ‘soul,’ and on the other side, (鈴), which means ‘bell.’ But the Japanese team member said that both are pronounced the same in Japanese. Do you know what that means?”

“No idea.”

“Ray (れい).”

“….”

A chill ran down my spine.

“And do you know where we found the bells?”

“Where?”

“They were hanging right on the door of the bookstore. Out in plain sight.”

How bold.

How many times had I looked at that bookstore? Every time I passed by, wondering if Ray was there, I focused on the door. I had gone in and out of that second-hand bookstore countless times, even pushing the door open myself.

Cooperhead chuckled.

“I’ve never seen that look on your face before, Chief. You look like you just saw a ghost—no, more like you saw Ryeong himself. It suits you, though, since Ryeong means ‘soul.’ I got goosebumps when I found the bells. Ryeong is no amateur when it comes to exploiting people’s weak spots. And I even went inside that house. I was just whistling, thinking, ‘Oh, blonde, not bad,’ while casually browsing the shelves. The thought hit me, and my head just went blank.”

I pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and looked over the box. The books were mostly magazines or newspapers. Ray, though poor, was the owner of a second-hand bookstore. He had gathered various materials and organized his thoughts in his own way.

“It’s like a strategic map. Look at this.”

Cooperhead opened a notebook, revealing a chart that organized relationships among nobles with arrows pointing in various directions. They were color-coded, and some names had red lines drawn through them. All of them were people Manen had assassinated.

Blue indicated those close to Manen, yellow for ambiguous relationships, green for potential recruits, and orange for enemies. There were even notes on some names with information we hadn’t uncovered yet.

I felt suffocated. The reason I had ordered Cooperhead to search Ray’s house was out of distrust. But this mountain of evidence was all pointing in one direction. There was no room for doubt anymore. I had reached a conclusion: Ray was Ryeong.

Cooperhead smoked another cigarette while flipping through the notebook. The newest-looking one contained notes related to us. Ray had even tried to investigate us. By this point, my mind had gone completely blank. Leopard’s words, “Is it really just a coincidence?” echoed in my ears. My unwavering belief was beginning to fracture beyond control.

I calmed myself and turned the pages. Ray’s handwriting was relatively messy. A few checked items caught my eye.

“Black. Black energy? Qi is sharp… Lotus is just dismissed as a thug… but I don’t think so.”

“Lotus keeps failing in handshakes with the Chief. Lotus even said it’s scary now… Honestly, I feel the same… Something doesn’t feel right.”

I kept turning the pages.

“Snake, Chief. Jaguar, maintains balance but always gets what they want. Leopard, top-notch in brutality and ferocity. Cooperhead, the only college graduate, smart… no idea of name or address. Wolfscott forgot it all… idiot.”

“Wolfscott looks down on his subordinates… but is also wary… idiot.”

“Idiot, huh.”

Cooperhead chuckled. I stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray, having smoked it down to the filter.

Anyway, with this, I was convinced that Ray hadn’t approached me by mere coincidence. Ray knew my name. He allowed me to come and go from his house. If he had intended to eliminate me, he would have done so long ago. The notes stopped at Stasoff.

Over the two hours that Cooperhead and I smoked, we went through more than a pack of cigarettes. I emptied the ashtray and lit another one.

Cooperhead muttered, “He looks down on us but remains wary…”

Looking at Ray’s notebook gave me an odd feeling. What if I had shaken hands with Manen?

Ray would have seen through everything and marked my name with a red highlighter in his list.

I felt like I had walked into a trap. Ray and I had fallen in love. At the same time, we were hunting each other. No matter which way it went, one of us was bound to get seriously hurt—this was inevitable from the start.

Cooperhead called the department heads via internal line. From tomorrow, we would officially begin operations. He suggested reviewing Ryeong’s notebook during our spare time. The department heads were tasked with controlling Ryeong, leaving me powerless.

The department heads were silent as they reviewed the notebook. Even Leopard’s face had gone pale. No one spoke; they just stared at the floor, but their thoughts were clear. They all believed we should eliminate Ryeong immediately.

A chill ran through my body at their reaction. The trap wasn’t over yet. It was a multi-layered trap. Everything around me was tightening the noose around Ray’s neck.

At that moment, the phone rang. I glanced at the clock. It was already five o’clock.

“Hmm. What is it?”

“It’s urgent. Lord Wolfscott had an accident while returning to the capital from his travels. He’s seriously injured and is being transported to the hospital.”

“…R…really…?”

I spoke in a shocked voice.

“Which hospital?”

“Therese Hospital, near the capital.”

“Transport him in secret. And don’t release this information to the press. It would cause mass chaos.”

I hung up the phone and clasped my hands together. I looked at each of the department heads before speaking.

“Lord Wolfscott has been in an accident.”

A tense silence filled the room. One by one, the department heads slowly raised their heads to look at me, their faces filled with shock and disbelief. Even Leopard looked as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

These guys had probably expected something like this, but not to such an extreme degree.

I gave a soft smile.

It was fine. I was a man of great patience. What mattered was from this point onward. The doctor was confident that Ray’s surgery would be successful. The problem was with the department heads. I had to make it clear to them what kind of man I was, so they wouldn’t dare think of betraying me. My mind was in a mess, but I decided to focus on the immediate task at hand. I couldn’t just sit idle until Ray recovered. If I did, the department heads would act on their own and kill Ray. They were certainly capable of it. I knew them too well.

The doctor had the skill to save Ray, not Four Messara. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe that sitting by Ray’s hospital bed would somehow lead to a miracle or a swift recovery. Now that it had come to this, I decided to use Ray as my driving force and take bold action.

I had no choice. This was who I was.

And if Ray died, I would just follow him in death. Even with the department heads watching, killing myself would be easy. Simple. All I had to do was bite my tongue. Ha ha ha.

I was naturally drawn to death. That meant I wasn’t afraid of my own death either.

There was no turning back now. Ray had consistently tested me, but in the end, I was the one who had the last laugh. And it would continue that way. I would save Ray no matter what. I would make sure to keep him by my side. I could do it. I had to. Enough thinking—it was time to act.

I downed the rest of my vodka and stood up.

“Follow me. We’re all going to the hospital.”

꙳•❅*ִ

The torturer, Vieno, was sympathetic towards Whitebirch. He brought her clothes to change into and cleaned her wounds. Above all, he earnestly persuaded her, saying that if she asked, he would grant her a peaceful death.

“The king may never return. The queen will never be able to endure this. Waiting will bring no benefit to her.”

But Whitebirch shook her head to the end. Vieno said there would be no torture for the next three days. Claiming he had secretly brought them with his wife’s help, he gave Whitebirch food and clothes, tending to her.

Whitebirch thought,

.

While being tortured, she fell into wild delusions. She gritted her teeth, thinking she would take full pleasure in seeing the king tormented by the sight of her utterly broken self. But then, there was war. As Vieno had said, maybe it would be better to choose an easy death.

Whitebirch tried hard to stay calm. If the words the king had confided in her were sincere, he would regret it later. The court painter had created a portrait of Whitebirch. Knowing that one day the king would see it, Whitebirch had placed all the clues into the portrait.

The king was an exceptional warrior. His name would be remembered for a long time. But tragedies were also often spoken of for a long time. The more extreme, the more likely they would be remembered as masterpieces.

She decided to endure as long as she could. The greater her suffering, the deeper the tragedy would become. She resolved to endure to the point that people would be shocked by her persistence. She could not crumble in this manner. If things continued like this, her death would only be a minor blemish in the king’s history. In the worst case, he might even be praised for maintaining stability during his reign through her sacrifice. She could not let that happen.

They had to know. The king had to know, Levitan had to know, and the queen mother had to know. Everyone had to clearly understand what had happened between her and the king and the suffering she had endured as she faded away. It had to be recorded.

Whitebirch knew well how light people’s tongues were. The reason her curse had been exposed was due to the nurse she had trusted completely. And Vieno, not only was his tongue loose, but so were his actions. The harsh torture had been directly ordered by the king’s mother. Yet, Vieno was still kind to Whitebirch.

Slowly, Whitebirch raised her head.

“Vieno, would you like to hear my story…?”

Your Majesty, I love you.

If the words you spoke to me were false, you must at least remember me.

If you do not remember me, then I will remain in the memories of others.

That is the last thing I can do.

“You fool! What ‘last thing’ do you think you can do? Stop this nonsense, you idiot!”

I threw whatever I could grab with all my strength. The sound of something shattering rang out. Pain shot through my wrist as if it had been torn apart. In an instant, men grabbed me from all sides. Shouts erupted, followed by the sound of doors opening. Soon, a sharp pain pricked my arm. Gradually, my mind began to drift.

What ‘last thing’ could I possibly do? If I had let go of my foolishness and died peacefully, it would have been better for both of us.

In a way, I was surprised. Even in such extreme agony, I found myself intrigued. Whitebirch’s decision to tell the torturer her story had been a calculated move. This was something I hadn’t realized before. It was, in a way, a mischievous act fitting of Whitebirch’s nature. From Ray Arisa’s perspective, enduring torture alongside her, it was chilling. It was terrifying. She was like a demon.

Not that it mattered. I closed my eyes and clicked my tongue.

Let’s say Daytanz recognized Whitebirch from her portrait. Even then, why did she struggle so hard just to be remembered? Ray Arisa had no interest in seeing such private matters of others becoming fodder for public gossip.

Well, at least you achieved that one wish, you fool.

Strictly speaking, it was comedic. The incident of Whitebirch’s curse had become a popular subject, frequently adapted into dramas and films. Whitebirch was portrayed and embellished in various ways. Watching those depictions made my face burn with embarrassment. It was awkward, horrifying, and shameful.

The worst part was the love scene between Daytanz and Whitebirch in these media. On the day I went to a restaurant with Messara, that cursed scene happened to be playing on television. The sounds of moaning and “Your Majesty! You mustn’t, please… Ah!” and “Ohh, I love you…!” echoed as the actors entwined themselves naked on-screen. It was so revolting I almost threw up.

Whitebirch could never have imagined that others would ‘watch’ and enjoy such things. Back then, most stories were barely passed down through the tearful songs of bards. The advancement of science had created an unexpected dark comedy.

Even as I drifted into sleep, I couldn’t help but laugh. Someone in the distance muttered, “Why is he laughing?” The voice sounded a little like Messara’s. But as my hazy vision took in the scene, all I could see was the grim reaper mask staring at me.

I thought, as I lost consciousness.

I barely managed to open my eyes, grimacing. My body felt sluggish. It seemed they were injecting more sedatives.

I caught sight of the nurse removing the needle. It felt strange. Ironically, being shot by Snake and brought here seemed to have helped separate Ray Arisa from Whitebirch’s consciousness. Every time I thrashed about, they injected sedatives, and soon after, the calm would wash over me, easing the pain. It seemed like they were giving me morphine or some similar narcotic painkiller.

I heard men murmuring around me.

“Why does he keep acting like this? They said his wounds were healing well.”

“The patient is experiencing severe psychological distress. We’ve been administering medication, but…”

“Psychological distress? You mean to tell me you can’t hear the screams of pain he’s constantly making?”

“I don’t know. Physically, there’s no apparent issue, and all the tests show no signs of illness. And it doesn’t happen all the time. Sometimes, he’s perfectly lucid. I swear.”

“Then why does this always happen when we’re here?”

I barely opened my eyes. I could faintly make out the blurry figures of Chief Guiger and some doctors. It seemed they intended to torment me after keeping me alive.

I wondered what had happened to Lord Manen. He had likely been caught in connection with the Catacombe power plant incident. And Snake had surely been the one orchestrating this whole mess. My gut feeling had pointed toward that all along.

But the timing was terrible. Getting shot just before my meeting with Messara? What bad luck. My thoughts ended there, as I slipped back into sleep.

When I opened my eyes, Whitebirch’s escape from torture meant that Ray Arisa would also find some rest. Daytanz and Whitebirch were both twisted individuals. Caught between the two of them, I wondered why I had to suffer so much. It was absurd, agonizing, and melancholic all at once.

The ceiling lights were on. It seemed to be night.

I thought, squinting. My whole body felt stiff. When I glanced down, I saw my body was tightly bound. It was likely a precaution due to my thrashing. I felt utterly defeated.

I stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. Whitebirch was no longer in her right mind, overwhelmed by the pain. At this point, her love for the king was nothing more than the remnants of madness, I was certain of it. Still, by now, I had built up a certain immunity and could remain relatively calm.

I thought about the timing of Whitebirch’s death. Historians still debated the matter. Whitebirch had died just days before the king returned to the capital. It was eerily perfect timing. Could Daytanz have had someone frame Whitebirch?

If I could, I would travel back in time and personally kill Daytanz. If I were to be born again in the next life, I would devote myself to becoming a brilliant scientist and invent a time machine. The blueprint of the palace was etched into my mind. Since it would be in the future, I could equip the time machine with special weapons and bring them back. Killing would be a piece of cake. No, it would be even better to design the time machine itself as a robot weapon. Then I could go on a rampage, smashing the palace and setting it ablaze, and finally feel the relief I craved.

I imagined chasing down Daytanz as he fled, firing Ray beams at him… the queen mother and the military nobles… watching it all unfold and laughing maniacally. It was an absurd fantasy, but that’s how desperate I had become. In the end, he was a bastard.

I tried to suppress my anger. Because of Whitebirch, I was losing my mind too. In the past, I would have just cursed, calling him a fool and an idiot. Now, I was consumed by rage, lost in ridiculous delusions. Daydreaming was something Whitebirch, trapped in the tower, often indulged in. Ray Arisa had always been indifferent and let time pass without much thought. I was never one for daydreams. But now, lost in such absurd fantasies, it was clear that my mental state had deteriorated greatly.

At that moment, I sensed something. My eyes instinctively moved to the side. For a brief moment, I thought my heart had stopped.

Three Guiger directors sat there, staring at me. It was both eerie and absurd. Snake, holding a whip, sat at the center.

Why are they here?

As soon as Snake’s whip came into view, anger surged within me. It wasn’t just because he had shot me. I could see Daytanz in Snake. That whip, the one that had torn Whitebirch apart, overlapped with the one Snake was holding.

I knew what this was—a case of taking it out on the wrong person. Snake was just following orders, loyal to Wolfscott. He had done nothing more than what I had done to him: pursue him relentlessly. Still, I couldn’t contain my fury. I glared at Snake.

Suddenly, Snake stood up, swung the door open, and stormed out. The door slammed shut with a loud bang.

I frowned. What’s with him?

It was a strange turn of fate. If I hadn’t gotten caught in the end, I might have checked into this hospital with the money Snake gave me, and perhaps I would’ve overcome Whitebirch. If that had happened, Snake would have been remembered as my benefactor. And come to think of it, that one night with Snake was also Whitebirch’s doing—a result of his antics. What was it about that damned masquerade ball that made Whitebirch drag me along and mess with me like that?

Whitebirch… I clicked my tongue.

Snake must have been dumbfounded too. How shocked must he have been when he learned Ryeong’s true identity? I hate to admit it, but the way I acted during sex was entirely different from how I usually behaved. Even Messara once commented, “Do you know how sultry you look when you’re in the middle of it?”

Come to think of it, Messara always had a knack for making those cheeky remarks—talking about my expressions, my reactions, the sounds I made when he touched me in certain places, how far something went, or even what color certain things were. He laid out every embarrassing detail short of insults. And I couldn’t deny any of it. During sex, I was definitely different. Very different.

…

Did I act like that in front of Snake too? It seemed likely. If Snake had thrown a huge check at me, it meant I must have acted lewdly. My face burned with embarrassment. A sense of utter defeat swept through my body.

Whitebirch… You really are something else.

I trembled with shame and anger.

If I am ever granted another life in the afterworld, I swear I will invent a time machine, travel back to the past, and make sure you and Daytanz pay.

Suddenly, I missed Messara. I longed for his playful voice and touch, the energy that used to envelop me so tightly.

I missed it desperately.

꙳•❅*ִ

I went into the next room and tore off my mask. I hurriedly lit a cigarette. Leopard came in and said, “Me too,” grabbing one from my pack. I took a long drag, but it didn’t calm me down.

It was the first time I had seen such a look in Ray’s eyes. I could never have imagined it. The man who was always so gloomy, lethargic, and indifferent—staring at someone with such a blazing gaze? It was pure rage. Hatred. And not just any kind—it was intense, bitter hatred.

It made sense. After all, I had shot him in the chest.

“Man, that was creepy. I never thought Redfox would look at anyone like that,” Leopard muttered.

“I’ve tortured plenty of spies, gangsters, and high-ranking officials as a head interrogator, but that kind of look? I’ve never seen anything like it. Hey, Snake, you alright?” Cooperhead said as he walked in after him, apparently restless from sitting too long.

I flicked the ashes from my cigarette out the window. The gray smoke drifted into the darkness.

It had been a month since Ray was admitted to the hospital. After waking from a coma and overcoming a critical point, his gunshot wounds were healing well. But the real issue lay elsewhere. It seemed like he was suffering from some kind of mental breakdown. He’d writhe and scream in pain at random moments. Watching him like that made me feel like I was being tortured myself.

I remember that first episode. Cooperhead and I were there. Ray suddenly started cursing, throwing his IV bag across the room, thrashing so violently that the tubes and needles tore through his skin. It was hell. Cooperhead and I held Ray down, but his strength was unreal, given his slight frame. It had to be the madness inside him.

I felt like I was being suffocated. Every time I visited, Ray was never calm. He was always twisting in pain or moaning. With all the torture I had witnessed in my career, this wasn’t normal. The doctors insisted that Ray had moments where he regained consciousness and was calm. I didn’t believe them. Today was the first time I saw him relatively peaceful, even if only for a moment.

I flicked the end of my cigarette into the air and hesitated as I reached for another one. Something occurred to me.

I lit the cigarette and took a deep drag.

Fate, huh? Tragedies that return like wind in the dark.

One thing became clear. There are no second chances in life.

This much, I understood. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t undo the mistake of shooting Ray in the chest. That couldn’t be undone. That much was certain.

A witch once predicted my love life would end in ruin. She didn’t forget to add, “Try your best anyway.” The doctors were confident that the surgery was successful. So I had hoped that, despite how bad things were now, maybe with enough effort on my part, things could eventually turn around. Even though the idea of revealing my identity to Ray seemed impossible, I tried to stay optimistic. I thought I should focus on handling the directors first.

But now, I just wanted to throw everything away and end it all. Every time Ray thrashed against his restraints, the ropes swinging loosely, it felt like pieces of my flesh were being torn off and nails were driven into my body. Life wasn’t worth living.

Not long ago, on the way back from work, I passed by Ray’s house on 42nd Street with Leopard. It was bittersweet. The sight of it tore at my chest in ways I couldn’t explain. Yellow tape surrounded the door, and the room inside was a wreck. Memories of the time I had spent with Ray in that place flashed before my eyes. Those were precious moments—the first time I had experienced love. I had sneered at his doll eyes, angrily knocked on his unyielding door, and tumbled with him in bed, consumed with desire.

All of that had been reduced to ruins. It was all shattered into pieces. If Leopard hadn’t been there, I would have cleaned up the room myself.

It was these hands. I was the one who destroyed everything about him, down to the last piece. I had dragged an already lonely and miserable man into a deeper abyss. The thought of it sent shivers down my spine. It wasn’t what I had intended. But the result was terrifyingly, overwhelmingly disastrous.

I kept feeling like I was caught in a trap. It was as if I had run straight into a well-laid, sturdy trap set by someone. I had driven Ray to ruin, and in doing so, I had also thrown myself headlong into destruction. Love, shattered to pieces, and torn memories scattered into the air as I plunged into darkness.

It was horrific. I had lived my 29 years driven by instinct like a storm, without once regretting it. But now, it felt as though that very storm had pushed me to this breaking point.

Is that why? Is that why things turned out this way? Did God throw Ray into my life for this purpose?

Is that why we’ve ended up like this?

Could Ray have been a sacrifice? Did God demand Ray as an offering?

I had achieved everything so successfully that even the managers couldn’t talk about Ray anymore. Everything went smoothly, almost as if I was possessed. But Ray ended up like this.

Is this it?

, God is saying, “I will grant you glorious power, but in exchange, you must offer the one you love”? Is that what this all meant? If so, then God can go to hell.

If, truly, the power I hold in my hands came at the cost of Ray, then I would sell my soul to the devil to fight against God.

I don’t know. It was all a maze. If Ray wasn’t the sacrifice, then was this God’s punishment for me?

I’ve been a villain since birth. I won’t deny that. My philosophy was that knowing your place helps you be a better villain.

and

were perfect examples. They were villains too, but they arrogantly thought they were chosen by God, and that arrogance led to their downfall. In that sense, I was a thoroughly committed villain.

But even if this was punishment, this wasn’t right. If God wanted to punish me, God should be torturing me, not Ray. Why must someone so unfortunate suffer instead?

Then again, maybe that’s why it was so effective. Because of Ray’s suffering, I was experiencing immense agony. Even on my deathbed, I’d likely mutter, “Well, it’s about time,” without much emotion. If I were being tortured, I’d probably mock the torturer with, “You call that skill? Want me to teach you a few tricks?” If I were thrown into hell, I’d likely be excited, challenging one demon after another to boxing matches. That’s who I am.

Whether it was a trap, a sacrifice, or punishment, if the goal was to torment

, then it was a resounding success. I had been lifted to the peak of happiness, only to be cast down into the depths of despair. If I hadn’t tasted such joy, I wouldn’t have felt the pain. It was a masterful performance. A grand symphony that would make Beethoven weep. Bravo! Now go to hell.

At this point, nothing else mattered. I only wished for Ray’s pain to end.

“There’s something strange,” Copperhead suddenly said.

“What is it?”

“Do you remember what

said?”

“Which part?”

“Ryeong said that he wouldn’t live much longer and left, remember? Do you think he foresaw this? Ryeong has some terrifying abilities, so maybe he knew his own death was coming.”

Copperhead glanced at my face and fell silent.

That could never happen. After interrogating

several times, we learned that Ray only displayed his abilities toward Manen and was no different from a regular person in all other respects. Ray had even known about his mental issues and scheduled himself for a hospital visit. As for the claim that he wouldn’t live long, it seemed more like an excuse to break up with Manen than a real prediction.

There was nothing physically wrong with him—that much I was certain. I had even arranged for him to undergo a special examination before, which Ray had casually brushed off as a routine checkup. But it wasn’t. It was a highly detailed medical scan, and it had come back clear.

I threw my cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. Then, putting my mask back on, I returned to Ray’s hospital room. Ray stared blankly at the ceiling without reacting. Once again, I felt the pain of my flesh being torn apart.

A nurse entered the room and administered a sedative to Ray. He sniffled slightly, the kind of absentminded behavior that was typical of him. Soon, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

He was still as beautiful as ever. After so long bedridden, most people would be swollen and unrecognizable, but Ray was the same. It only added to his eerie presence. The managers said he was terrifying, like a different species disguised in human form.

“Redfox still looks so pretty. No wonder our Chief can’t let him go,” Leopard muttered.

“Can’t let him go,” huh?

Of course. Even now, if Ray left, I would unhesitatingly choose death. Without him, I couldn’t exist. Over the past month, I had endured unspeakable torment. The urge to end it all had crossed my mind more than once. The only thing keeping me going was Ray’s survival.

If God used Ray Arisa as a tool to punish

, then it was a brilliant choice.

In any case, much had happened.

was still suffering in the underground torture chamber. Just thinking of him made my blood boil. Ray’s poverty and misery were all because of Manen. He had worked Ray to the bone for ten years without paying him a cent, all while rising to the position of

. And yet, the nerve to talk about “daring to stand up to a Lotus”! After seeing how he shrank back after revealing Ray’s whereabouts, it was clear that even Manen had a tiny shred of a conscience.

The corruption he was involved in exceeded anything we had uncovered. It was truly staggering. In the art of hiding one’s dirt, he far surpassed

. Thanks to him, we obtained a treasure trove of information, which we fed to the media and police through

, creating one explosive scandal after another. Now, no one dared to side with Manen. In fact, everyone was scrambling to distance themselves from him.

had been reduced to a vegetable. Right before leaving for

with Ray, I gave the cue. The security team accompanying

was entirely under my control. They skillfully destroyed his spine and neck, making it look like an accident. Now, all he could do was roll his eyes. When I visited him in the hospital, he glared at me with eyes that reminded me of Ray’s beams, which was quite amusing.

As for the prosecutors, police, and other officials who had cooperated with me, believing they were following

‘s orders, they were completely panicked. Just a day before I blew the whistle on the

case, they learned that

had been dragged to the underground torture chamber and broken. They knew they could lose their heads at any moment, so it was natural that they clung to me desperately.

had no heir. His only direct blood relative was his daughter, and her husband was paralyzed. Incidentally, “Lord Wolfscott’s Transformation” was inspired by that very fact. The conservative

had always been cold toward his daughter.

So, I called them in.

“You know your father has many enemies. He had someone in mind to adopt as his heir, and we should install that person as his proxy to inherit his legacy. If we don’t, the aristocracy will tear each other apart to steal his wealth, and your lives won’t be safe either. Don’t worry. Trust me. After all, I’ve always been your loyal servant.”

They readily agreed, and I summoned the lawyer to forge the documents. Then I called

.

Harry Altonen, as the son of a weakened military family, was one of the key members, along with Stasoff, in Rilize. The Emperor of Vanity, Lord Wolfscott, favored Stasoff and Sideburns solely based on their family names, but I had my eye on Altonen. He was a rare man—smart and aware of his place.

I said to Altonen:

“Lord Wolfscott had you in mind as a backup, following Stasoff and Arisa. In case harm comes his way, he even prepared a proxy letter authorizing you to act on his behalf temporarily. As you know, military aristocrats are outnumbered by civil aristocrats. This is a critical time. Let’s join forces and do this right. We’ll support you as if you were Lord Wolfscott, with all our hearts.”

Altonen was indeed a man who knew his place. He quickly picked up on my veiled threat, furrowing his brows in brief seriousness before flashing a broad smile and offering me a handshake.

“Understood. I’ll consult and decide everything with you.”

That was Altonen’s response to me. Thus, the so-called “Transformation of Lord Wolfscott” came to a clean end.

Of course, people were shocked by the sudden tragedy(?) of Manen and Lord Wolfscott. The civil aristocrats were left in disarray, while the military aristocrats were beside themselves. With the election of the assembly just around the corner, chaos erupted.

I instructed Altonen to donate all of Manen’s assets to the public, except for the Floreat estates, working out the details with the commoners’ representative, Orchis. When eliminating political enemies, it was a long-standing custom in the kingdom to seize their assets by any means necessary. In this case, there was no need for such measures. No one intervened, and the eliminated parties willingly handed over their assets—because those who didn’t were usually killed. This was why the aristocrats had forsaken their duties for over two hundred years, instead fixating on the golden wars.

When Altonen conveyed my suggestion, Senator Fontane grovelled like he was about to wet himself. The aristocrats had no real concern for the public welfare—they must have seen this as a windfall. The next day, the newspapers were plastered with photos of Altonen and Senator Fontane smiling broadly while shaking hands. This put public sentiment squarely in my grasp.

Until now, the military aristocrats had always struggled to secure their seats through fraudulent elections. But I had killed two birds with one stone—using Manen’s wealth to serve the state while expanding the influence of the military aristocracy.

Afterward, I slipped a photo under the silver tray prepared for the Queen’s breakfast. It was the culmination of a long and meticulous process. This tidily wrapped up the matter of the Crown Princess.

By this point, even the protests had dwindled. With Manen gone, the vagrants had no reason to flood the streets since their wages were no longer being paid. The police were overjoyed, and the public welcomed the quieter streets. Once again, two birds with one stone. The suspicions cast over the twin tragedies of Manen and Lord Wolfscott lingered, but the kingdom’s history had always been steeped in mystery. Soon, this too would fade.

Though I always despised wearing that damn mask and uniform coat, I decided to keep up the costume. The Ryeong incident had instilled a certain wariness in me. We had survived Manen’s clutches only because we were scorned as mere bodyguards. It was clear that remaining unnoticed would serve our conspiratorial efforts well. The department heads agreed. They seemed ready to live the rest of their lives constantly wary of blonde handshakes.

Things were going smoothly—almost too smoothly. The plans I had been devising in my head while serving as Lord Wolfscott’s shepherd were finally coming to fruition. I had vaguely thought of doing this or that, but now I had acted decisively. I had anticipated a few surprises, but even those didn’t happen. Everything unfolded just as I had intended.

I had lived as Lord Wolfscott’s dog, but at heart, I was a commoner. Blood will tell. It was immensely satisfying to stick it to the aristocrats.

As I reread Ray’s notebook, I felt my anger simmering again as I dwelled on what Lord Wolfscott had thought of us. Donating Manen’s wealth was partly an act of revenge. Not that I disliked money—but money was merely a reward that came with my grotesque intrigues, never the goal. Lord Wolfscott and Manen, who had lost their way and met their downfall, were good examples. Even with just Floreat, I had secured enough practical gains. Now, the department heads were ready to follow my every word. Naturally—they knew who I was.

As I escorted Altonen around the banquet hall, I found it quite amusing. The young aristocrats, who had always been wary under Lord Wolfscott and Manen, strutted around arrogantly. To them, Altonen was just an upstart with a newly acquired position. The political arena had become a chaotic battleground, with factions throwing dirt at each other. They were as oblivious as ever. It looked like I’d be able to enjoy my hobby of scheming to my heart’s content for a long time. I would have been quite disappointed otherwise.

But all of this would have to wait until Ray’s issue was resolved.

It’s been a month and a half today. Ray’s seizures are getting worse. It’s unbearable just to watch him, but seeing him in so much pain fills me with despair. Today, his seizure didn’t stop until four in the morning. Only then could I finally catch my breath. My head was spinning, and I was drained of energy.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang outside, and the sky lit up. It was a night of festivities. I stared out the window at the cheers and songs rising from the streets.

Two months ago, what were we doing? We walked down the streets together beneath fireworks trailing their tails in the sky. At that moment, I was certain—the fireworks would burn forever, the music would play endlessly, and time itself would stop. That vivid sense of fulfillment had now scattered like seeds swept away by the waves.

Once again, my body temperature dropped.

How long will this last? How far will this cruel hell go? As Ray’s seizures grew worse, so did the weight of my suffering. If Ray’s illness wasn’t due to his personal afflictions, but because of the gunshot wound I inflicted…

Then I would have to kneel before him and beg for forgiveness.

I had already planned to beg Ray. I had to. I had destroyed everything about him. Seeking understanding was out of the question. I needed to bow my head and apologize unconditionally, begging for mercy. And I wanted to be forgiven. I wanted to be forgiven and start anew.

But even that desire was a luxurious fantasy. Ray’s recovery was the top priority.

Ray’s head slumped down. His hair clung to his face in a mess. I wiped his cheeks and forehead with a wet towel and tidied his hair. As I cleaned his sweat-soaked body, my heart ached when I saw the gunshot wound on his chest.

Outside the window, brilliant fireworks lit up the darkness like blooming roses. Songs echoed, drums and flutes followed. Only this hospital room was enveloped in a tearful silence. It felt desolate and bitter. The happiness of two months ago seemed like a midsummer night’s dream. Under the night sky of that festival, wrapped in Ray’s auburn hair, I had briefly felt like we were the only two beings in the universe. And then I realized—he had taken everything from me.

Suddenly, a voice whispered in my ear:

“If you’re going to use a metaphor, Galatea would be more fitting.”

Galatea.

In the festival, Pygmalion prayed to Aphrodite. He asked her to turn his sculpture into a living person. When Pygmalion returned home, the first thing he did was kiss the statue. And at some point, the cold lips of the sculpture began to warm with human breath and life. Finally, she opened her eyes.

I stared at Ray. He was as pale as a statue. I leaned in and kissed his cold lips. Nothing changed.

꙳•❅*ִ

These days, I was biting down on a gag. It seemed I had bitten my tongue during a seizure. It couldn’t have been the work of the harsh Whitebirch—it was definitely something Ray Arisa had done. The idea that I, a coward, would attempt suicide didn’t make sense. I must have bitten my tongue by accident.

At night, whenever I regained consciousness, without fail, the grim reaper’s mask would be glaring at me. At first, I didn’t mind it, but lately, I couldn’t understand it. Usually, there were two of them, sometimes three, standing guard in pairs. Every time I saw them, I was startled. It was terrifying enough from a distance, but sharing a confined space with them was utterly unnerving.

Why were they like that, those people? Was it because I was a sorcerer? Were they watching me in case I suddenly rose up and flew off to another dimension? If I could do that, I would have beaten up Whitebirch first.

I grumbled to myself and closed my eyes. The torture had become so extreme that I couldn’t keep my head straight anymore. The intensity was unimaginable, as if someone had ordered it. As far as I could tell, it had been going on for about two months now.

Get a grip, Ray Arisa. It’s just a hallucination. It’s all over now.

No matter how much I muttered to myself, it was useless. The mere thought of the torturous device for young girls that was to come made my skin crawl. Daytanz was a bastard who deserved to be torn apart. After leaving Whitebirch in that state, he lived another fifty years, well-fed and content. What a bastard. I didn’t usually like cursing, but when it came to Daytanz, I could throw out as many as I wanted.

What infuriated me even more was that he had the audacity to be praised as some kind of national hero, admired for his glorious reign. In that sense, Whitebirch had been clever. In dramas and films about the “Snow Queen,” Daytanz was always depicted as an indecisive mama’s boy. What did he care if his reputation was tarnished by 22nd-century people when he’d been dead for six hundred years?

In the end, it was me who was suffering.

I frowned. The gag was irritating. The smallest things made me rage.

You can’t be like this, Ray Arisa.

I sank deep into thought. I had to overcome Whitebirch and escape from Guiger somehow. The future seemed bleak. If I’d known it would come to this, I wouldn’t have made a contract with Lord Manen. If I hadn’t, I could have turned the Guiger captains glaring at me into frogs in an instant and fled.

But the contract wouldn’t be broken even if Lord Manen died. In this situation, even if I somehow overcame Whitebirch, there was a good chance Guiger would capture me and torture me to death.

I decided to think about Messara instead. I was already depressed enough because of Whitebirch. I remembered the times Messara and I exchanged stories in the hospital.

What was I thinking, telling him those stories?

The tale was sometimes a vision I saw in my dreams. When I was younger, I thought I was a deformed child, because I could see Whitebirch’s decayed face overlapping with mine. After I grew older and realized my situation, I looked up records about Whitebirch and Daytanz. The anger I felt then was indescribable. It was after that dream that I started having those visions.

Specifically, it began after I read that Whitebirch’s portrait was kept in Daytanz’s study. Daytanz was said to always lock himself in his study after his work was done. My visions must have been born from that record—a form of delusion or vicarious satisfaction.

In the dream, Daytanz was drinking in front of Whitebirch’s portrait. He muttered, “If only I could see you once every ten years for just ten minutes… even for a moment…” His entire being radiated sorrow. He looked so old—clearly, he had suffered terribly because of Whitebirch for a long time. He was a living corpse. I felt immensely satisfied.

If what I saw in the dream was real, all Daytanz had left were fleeting memories, conjured up through Whitebirch’s portrait and their brief, short-lived moments together. And he would be crushed by the overwhelming guilt for the rest of his life.

But that couldn’t be true.

It had only been two times. Could Daytanz have yearned for Whitebirch all those years after just two meetings? I didn’t think so. I sneered at myself for taking satisfaction in such a delusion.

Still, I occasionally wondered. If that situation were true, how had Daytanz lived those fifty years? Back then, wars between nations were fierce, and Daytanz was a king. He probably couldn’t even take his own life as he pleased. If he truly wanted to see Whitebirch once every ten years for even a fleeting moment, it must have been an extraordinary love.

After killing the person he loved, he probably lived carefreely, only to later realize the truth. He would have realized that the foundation of his stable reign was built on the blood of the person he loved. The thought must have made him feel dizzy.

I didn’t usually indulge in such fantasies, but this one was enjoyable. I knew it. Daytanz wasn’t the type to kill himself over a woman. Choosing a burial site with only Whitebirch trees must have been a coincidence. Whitebirch trees were common in the kingdom. He probably refused to have a grand funeral just to seem noble. Besides, the very act of him staring at Whitebirch’s portrait was an insult to Whitebirch. How could he even have the nerve to look at her?

It was pathetic that I’d shared such depressing stories with Messara. I felt embarrassed just recalling his uninterested reaction.

The story I had told Messara was a variation of the dream. I thought it would be a more vicious revenge if JeongRyeong appeared before Daytanz every ten years for ten minutes, just as Daytanz wished. JeongRyeong was indifferent to humans. She would appear before Daytanz with that cold, indifferent expression, having completely forgotten him, just as she appeared in his memory every ten years for ten minutes. It would be a brilliant revenge.

Brilliant, indeed.

I had intended to think about Messara, but here I was again, getting caught up in this nonsense.

I stared blankly at the ceiling. What was Messara doing now? How angry would he be that I had broken my promise? It seemed that we were never meant to be. Given my current situation, captured by Guiger, my chances of survival were slim.

Still, I didn’t mind. Thanks to Messara, I had experienced emotions I had never felt before. I stayed up nights longing for someone, I told him I loved him, and I realized how great it felt to be loved by someone. I experienced the pleasure my eyes brought me when I was embraced by his vitality. I would never forget it. In my 27 years of life, that was enough of a blessing. In that sense, I had lived a life many times happier than Whitebirch ever had.

I frowned again. The gag was becoming unbearable. It had been tied so tightly that the area where the fabric touched was raw and painful.

Suddenly, something touched my cheek. Snake was untying the gag. I must have been moaning quite a bit. As the gag came loose, I felt like I could breathe again. I took in deep breaths, exhaling heavily. My tongue stung. I hadn’t bitten it too hard, but it still ached.

Snake gave me some water to drink. Then, he wiped my face with a towel. It was hard to bear. I hated the feeling of someone watching me. Even if it was just the eyes hidden behind the mask, it was still the same. Although his actions were meant to be considerate, I was on edge.

“Stop that.”

Snake hesitated. After standing still for a moment, he eventually left the hospital room. Another officer followed him out.

Did I act too arrogantly? Is that why they were angry?

I was scared. I regretted not staying quiet, wondering if that would have been better. Time passed, and I felt a bit anxious. A nurse came in and administered a sedative. My mind grew hazy, and I drifted back into sleep.

A few days later, Whitebirch was subjected to a girl-shaped torture device. Blood flowed from her body, soaking the floor. In front of Whitebirch stood a person dressed in black. Even in her fading consciousness, Whitebirch struggled to identify them. It was Levitan.

Four weeks had passed since the heart attack. I was being transported to Guiger headquarters, my eyes covered with a blindfold. It had been quite some time since the car started moving. Snake sat beside me.

I was still dazed. Had I overcome it? It seemed so. The hallucinations and vivid pain no longer haunted me. I had to search through the drawers of my memory to recall Whitebirch.

So, Ray Arisa had indeed said goodbye to Whitebirch. Although it still didn’t feel real, I couldn’t deny the sense of relief. It felt like a dream. I was both happy and at peace. All that was left was to forget Whitebirch. Whether I’d be able to forget was uncertain, but I planned to try.

The problem was the immediate situation. I had no idea what awaited me at Guiger headquarters.

The car came to a halt. I could hear noisy sounds from outside, possibly from a red-light district or city center.

Levitan…

If the person Whitebirch saw was indeed Levitan, then Levitan must have been the one who ordered the torture using the girl-shaped device. Perhaps he was nervous, as the king’s arrival was imminent. It was also possible that Daytanz secretly contacted Levitan to make the order.

However, records indicated that the two hadn’t gotten along well after their marriage. Maybe they both got what they deserved in the end. Levitan was quite the woman. She had smiled while watching Whitebirch die. I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Hadn’t Whitebirch cursed Levitan too?

What goes around comes around.

“Snake. About yesterday…”

Someone spoke from the front seat. It was a calm, intellectual voice. It belonged to the officer who had taken the check from Snake and passed it to me.

Something felt off. The casual, friendly tone was a stark contrast to the image I had of Guiger officers. I had imagined their voices would rumble like beasts, but instead, they sounded surprisingly normal.

“Leopard brought a hilarious picture. Did you see it? You know,

picture.”

I could hear Snake gesture, and the person in front burst into laughter. “Alright, I get it,” they said. Then, silence fell again.

The car stopped, and Snake pulled me out. Supporting me, he helped me walk for quite a while. I still had trouble moving on my own. I heard a door open, followed by a voice saying, “Take off the blindfold.”

The room was dim but clean. There were no electric chairs or torture devices like I had expected. There was a bed and even a small bathroom.

The calm voice spoke again.

“Interrogation starts tomorrow. Rest for today.”

Then they left with Snake. I was dumbfounded.

What strange people.

I looked around the room before slowly walking to the bed and lying down. I stared blankly at the ceiling.

It still felt awkward. It seemed like Whitebirch would appear at any moment just to mess with me. Fortunately, fate had granted Ray Arisa a sturdy indifference. I was glad I had made the contract with Lord Manen. Without it, I wouldn’t have been able to sever ties this cleanly.

At any rate, I decided to think about tomorrow’s matters then. I soon fell into a deep sleep.

꙳•❅*ִ

I returned to the office, drenched in sweat. I had become a hot topic among the officers lately. They were dying to know how things would turn out. It was ridiculous.

Today, Ray was discharged and transferred to the headquarters’ interrogation facility. I needed to stay composed. The officers were still wary of Ryeong. As soon as Ray’s condition improved, they demanded I fulfill my promise to extract information from Ryeong. After the interrogation, they said I could do whatever I wanted—let him live or kill him.

I accepted their demand. We were all in the same boat. One thing we shared was a strict separation of business and personal matters.

After tidying up the room and adding some items, I still felt bitter. Tomorrow, the interrogation would begin. Cooperhead and I were in charge, but if he became aggressive, that would be a problem. I had no intention of using torture, but the whole situation weighed heavily on me. Still, it was a relief that Ray’s odd symptoms had disappeared entirely after the heart attack.

Thinking back to the heart attack was horrifying. I had witnessed it up close. Ray’s heart had completely stopped and then started again. That moment crushed me. It felt like my entire body was engulfed in flames. The doctor said that if we had been any later, it could have caused brain damage. It sent chills down my spine.

Afterward, Ray recovered smoothly, returning to his usual apathetic and weak self. With that, my two months of suffering also came to an end. It had been a brutal period that I never wanted to revisit. It was hell—there was no other way to describe it.

Sipping vodka, I lost myself in thought. How could I explain my situation to him? Should I take off my mask? Then say, “I am Snake”? And after that?

I couldn’t figure it out. Boldness, lies, and bluffs were my specialties, but I couldn’t bring myself to start a conversation with Ray. It didn’t seem like it would work anyway. From the start, Ray had been sharp enough to see through me.

There was a tightness in my chest. I couldn’t think of any solution that would work for both of us. Maybe I was meant to write splatter horror screenplays instead.

The next day, Ray’s interrogation began. The sessions were set for three hours a day. My worries about Ray becoming aggressive proved unnecessary—he answered smoothly. As expected, the information in his head was far more detailed than anything in the notes.

Throughout Cooperhead’s questioning, I remained silent. Ray occasionally glanced at me, as if wondering,

It felt strange. Ray knew he had spent a night with Snake. Yet he didn’t seem particularly concerned. His calm, indifferent answers were odd. He acted just as he usually did with me, but the testimony coming out of his mouth was Ryeong’s. The whole thing felt bizarre.