Chapter 176: Farewell (2)

“Do you have a reason for thinking that?”

My heart pounded.

I tried hard not to hold onto false hope. Because if what he said turned out to be untrue, it would hurt too much.

The room was covered wall to wall with shifting screens.

Yehyeon continued speaking.

“It’s simple. If their survival hadn’t been guaranteed, you would never have taken Falcon’s hand.”

So he didn’t know more than that.

I thought I wasn’t hoping—but I must have, at least a little. My expression must have given me away.

The Commander didn’t seem to mind.

“You don’t trust yourself enough right now, Hilde. You’re losing your objectivity.”

“Sir?”

“Think about it carefully, Hilde. You didn’t take Falcon’s hand because you liked humans.”

My eyes widened.

His husky voice went on.

“Sure, you probably liked us more than Kyle. But your top priority was always your own kind. If you’d believed victory in war would guarantee their safety, you would’ve made humanity kneel at your feet.”

My mouth opened soundlessly.

Ah...

I couldn’t refute it.

What Yehyeon said was true.

As I recovered lost memories, I realized how deeply I had cared for my kin. Of course, I had also grown attached to Eve and the other scientists who worked with her. Their deaths devastated me. Guilt shook me to my core. I loved the world they stood on—Earth.

But my first priority had always been my own people.

It was only natural.

“...You can tell that?”

When I hesitantly asked, the Commander gave a low chuckle.

“Of course.”

He smiled that unreadable, professional smile.

“I would’ve been the same.”

I blinked several times, taken aback.

“Hildebert. You didn’t really intend to form a genuine bond of friendship with Falcon, did you?”

“Ah, no. I actually tried to kill him for real, several times, but failed each time.”

“Exactly.”

Gilbert and Yun turned to look at me.

Their startled gazes pricked like needles. It had been a while since I’d seen that expression on my mentor’s face.

It didn’t seem like such a shocking statement to me. I’d bet even he had tried it at least once himself.

He’d just stopped for political reasons.

“You joined forces with Falcon because he had something to offer you.”

I turned back to Yehyeon.

“It wasn’t just persuasion. It wasn’t just threats either. If he’d done nothing but threaten you, you would have died fighting beside Kyle to the end. But Falcon isn’t that stupid. I’m sure he promised to guarantee your people’s survival. You wouldn’t have turned your back on them for mere sweet words.”

Colton protected my kin?

I couldn’t react quickly. My mind wasn’t working the way it used to. Maybe my body hadn’t fully recovered yet, or maybe the shock of the recapture battle still lingered.

Either way, my superior’s reasoning was sound.

But if that was true, why had Kyle chosen war?

He had always been more aggressive than me, yes—but he wasn’t a war fanatic.

Besides...

“I don’t feel any trace of my kin inside the Core.”

I muttered in a husky voice.

“If they were there, I would’ve sensed them.”

“Do you remember the injection Jaeyeon gave you?”

Yehyeon asked back.

Of course I remembered—the day I reunited with Colton.

After the social gathering ended, I was about to go home, but when I opened my eyes, I was already kidnapped by Jaeyeon. She’d injected me with something unknown. That injection had unlocked the sealed sense inside me.

I had never really thought deeply about it until now.

But after Yehyeon mentioned it, I started wondering—how had such a thing even been created?

“Falcon is a meticulous man.”

The Commander’s voice pulled me back.

“No one handles things as thoroughly as he does.”

“...You mean he might have hidden my kin from me without my knowledge?”

I tried to keep my tone calm.

“That they’re living among humans inside the Core?”

“That’s only my hypothesis. But it’s not without basis...”

Yehyeon said that, then suddenly looked troubled. The faint confusion on his face made me stare at him intently.

What’s wrong?

He’d been speaking fine until now. Why stop?

“What’s the matter?”

“...I’m wondering whether I should say more.”

Hm?

“...I can’t decide how much of his story I can tell.”

Who?

I lost the thread of the conversation—apparently, I was the only one.

Gilbert and Yun already seemed to know exactly who “he” referred to.

But judging by the tone, it didn’t sound like Colton.

I tried to think—but then Yun, who’d been silent the whole time, broke in.

“Let’s stop there. He’ll roll his eyes back and go berserk again.”

That familiar low tone carried clear disapproval.

“I mean, I don’t think things could get worse, but still.”

Ah.

“Right, they couldn’t get worse. And besides, I was planning to tell Hilde about it soon anyway.”

“But it doesn’t have to be today.”

Gilbert joined calmly.

“You’ve been appearing at official functions quite often lately, haven’t you?”

Jaeyeon.

I caught the thread again. The “he” Yehyeon referred to was Jaeyeon—the one who hated me for stealing Colton’s chance to die of old age. The one who despised Yehyeon just as fiercely as me.

A few days ago, Yehyeon had said he would soon tell me why Jaeyeon hated him.

Could that reason be connected to my kin?

It seemed my bad feeling was right, judging from what Yun and Gilbert said.

But Titans, Jaeyeon’s irrational hatred of Yehyeon, and Commander Yehyeon himself—how were all these things linked? I had no clue. I didn’t even understand why Jaeyeon suddenly came up at all.

Still, it was clear that Jaeyeon and the Titans were entangled in some troublesome way.

Then did that mean this man across from me had earned Jaeyeon’s hatred because of my kin?

Because of the people I brought here?

My blood turned cold.

“Yeah.”

But I missed my chance to ask.

Before I could speak, Yehyeon broke the silence again. His voice resonated through the quiet room, filled with fatigue and resignation.

“Let’s save that story for next time.”

Said like that, I couldn’t push further.

I’d have to hear about Jaeyeon another day.

I absentmindedly brushed at the small flicker of hope that had bloomed inside me—hope born from my conversation with Yehyeon.

The small, fragile hope that my kin might still be alive somewhere inside the Core.

I was afraid it might shatter—but I didn’t want to let it go.

“Some may have died of old age, of course.”

Yehyeon steered the conversation back.

“Not everyone was immortal, right?”

“Yes. They were all strong, like enhanced bodies, but not all were ageless. Only those who learned the method of servitude could control Creatures. The technique of absorbing nutrients from corpses was exclusive to those qualified to wield it.”

“You said before that only about three of you could use that—yourself included, right?”

“Ah.”

I remembered the talk on the rooftop with Yun.

I nodded slowly.

Then carefully corrected myself.

“Yes, though I can’t be certain. Back then, I only remembered two of the World Tree’s children.”

“Well, if we can’t open it, it doesn’t matter how many there are.”

“The point is—don’t lose hope, Hilde.”

Yehyeon caught the thread before it drifted away.

I pulled myself from thought and met his gaze.

“Just because you can’t feel their presence doesn’t mean they’re dead.”

His voice carried conviction.

“I think the odds of some of them being alive are far higher than the odds of them all being dead.”

His eyes were firm.

I didn’t answer for a while.

Heavy emotions swelled inside me. I didn’t try to look too closely at them. But unlike before, it wasn’t entirely dark.

It felt like moonlight spilling over a black abyss.

I mulled over his words, then slowly replied.

“Thank you.”

There were still so many questions—but...

“As you said, I’ll try to keep hope. It’s a great comfort.”

Yehyeon didn’t reply, only smiled faintly.

I quietly took in that composed, elegant smile until Gilbert finally spoke—saying the Commander had to leave soon. The usually reserved man rose from his seat, asking me to “look carefully through the footage; the Video Department might have missed something.”

Of course.

I bowed politely as the leadership exited the Video Center.

Then Yun and I began reviewing the recapture battle footage together.

***

We were dying.

“I want to go home...”

Fourth day commuting to the Center ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) after discharge.

Actually, I hadn’t gone home yesterday.

Face buried on the table, I muttered weakly,

“Please, just readmit me, sir... No, I need to be readmitted. My eyes hurt too much.”

“Quit whining and start from 35 minutes in.”

Yun raked his hair back, voice rough with fatigue.

“It’s your turn from that timestamp.”

There was irritation in his tone.

I understood. I even understood the way he flicked his half-burned cigarette onto the table. I understood him pulling another from his pocket. Honestly, it was a miracle he was only this irritated. I was irritated too.

I wanted to quit.

Even knowing how important this work was didn’t make it easier.

There were just too many videos.

And not all were in good condition—many had wild focus shifts, others were buried in dust.

“Will we really find anything by watching all of this?”

“You’d know better than me.”

“I don’t have any clue either...”

Grumbling, I still pressed play.

The merciless start of the recapture footage. 17:35 record.

18:00 record. 17:58 record. Second file, 35-minute mark, drone footage. Third, unmanned aerial footage.

Footage...

“Huh?”

Drowning in that flood of video, I raised my voice when my phone vibrated.

“Spitfire?”

God, that was a welcome sound.

I snatched up the phone.

And without missing the chance to escape, I bolted out of the Center to answer it.