Chapter 10

　　The sailors, who had pressed themselves against the wall to wait for their superior, Muhwa, to pass, slowly followed him with their eyes once he did. Number 8 faltered under the weight of their stares. Catching that subtle hesitation, Muhwa turned back. He reached out again, lifting Number 8 into his arms.

　　It was already a marvel that the Muhwa was carrying a child, but the sight of a grubby kid—who had clearly come from the pirate island—speaking to him so informally was truly a bizarre spectacle.

　　Leaving the sailors to exchange bewildered glances behind him, Muhwa stepped into his quarters. Only then did he set the child down on the bed. Feeling a sudden, inexplicable sense of disappointment, Number 8 rubbed his own arms.

　　“It’ll be very different from swimming.”

　　Letting out a short, scoff-like laugh, the man stripped off his combat uniform. Number 8 watched him, dangling his feet that couldn’t quite reach the floor.

　　His body, revealed as he stripped with disciplined efficiency, was covered in various scars. But before Number 8 could widen his eyes and inspect them one by one, the man had already changed into his duty uniform. Dressed entirely in black—just like when Number 8 had first picked him up—he fastened his tie and clipped it in place, completing a look that resembled stars shining in the night sky.

　　The moment Muhwa finished changing and turned around, he locked eyes with the child, who was staring at him in sheer awe—as if he were some breathtaking work of art.

　　Muhwa let out a soft chuckle and brushed a hand over his tie.

　　“I’d give you a button at least, but officer-issued items can’t be traded privately.”

　　“Officer? Privately?”

　　“I’ll teach you what those words mean later.”

　　Not long after, an announcement echoed through the ship, signaling their departure. Everyone had to report to their stations. Since he wasn’t just Number 8’s souvenir, Muhwa had to head to the radar room.

　　“You can stay here alone, right?”

　　Muhwa stepped up to Number 8, dropping to one knee to meet his eyes as he asked.

　　“Without wandering off?”

　　Number 8’s question was laced with a childish playfulness, coaxing a soft chuckle from Muhwa’s lips.

　　“Yeah. The exact opposite of the cave.”

　　“Okay… I’ll stay perfectly hidden.”

　　“You don’t have to go as far as hiding. The ship might rock a lot. They’ll make an announcement if it gets rough, but if you feel dizzy, it’s okay to throw up anywhere. You might lose your balance, so hold on tight to the bed railing right here.”

　　Equating the ship’s movement to something like swimming, Number 8 gave a half-hearted nod, his eyes saying, That’s nothing.

　　The man, dressed so sharply that he seemed to gleam far more than when Number 8 had first picked him up, rose to his feet. Number 8’s gaze naturally followed him upward.

　　Muhwa hesitated for a moment before brushing the thought aside. If the waves got too rough, well, he’d figure it out then. The kid had survived in a rugged, jungle-like forest; he wouldn’t get hurt that easily.

　　Just as the man set him fully onto the bed and turned to leave, Number 8 suddenly grabbed hold of him.

　　Meeting his backward glance, Number 8 tried his hardest to force a smile, but he was trembling so much that he could feel his own cheeks twitching.

　　“I-I’m scared—no, I’m not scared. But what if something happens, like I throw up, and I need you?”

　　“Need me?”

　　Number 8 nodded.

　　There were too many people here. It easily surpassed the total number of people Number 8 had seen in his entire life. Just the ones he had counted from the moment he boarded the ship to arriving in this room felt like that much. If only he knew how to count higher, he could have been more certain…

　　Who was he supposed to grab, and who was he supposed to ask them to find? It was obvious they wouldn’t understand if he told them to look for his souvenir. That was a secret strictly between him and his souvenir.

　　The man stared at him for a moment before a slow smile spread across his lips. Then, he spoke in a slow, distinct voice.

　　“Tell them to find Muhwa.”

　　Muhwa.

　　The name was so unfamiliar at first that Number 8 couldn’t even bring himself to repeat it out loud.

　　Muhwa. The man had a name. It made sense. Judging by the looks of it, he had been sailing on ships for a long time.

　　“You just have to ask them to find Lieutenant Yun Muhwa.”

　　“Yun Muhwa…?”

　　The name… Even though it was his first time hearing it, the name suited him so perfectly that it didn’t feel out of place at all. It was hard to imagine him being called anything else.

　　“Yeah. That’s my name.”

　　Yun Muhwa… Yun Muhwa… Leaving the child to mutter his name like a shiny new toy, Muhwa stepped out of the room.

　　His figure quickly vanished into the corridor, thick with the smell of fuel, swallowed by the frantic rush of the crew scrambling to their stations for departure.

　　Just as the man, Yun Muhwa, had warned, the sea was entirely different from what Number 8 had imagined.

　　As the waves grew violent, forcing the deck doors shut and all the sailors inside, Number 8 emptied his stomach once and clung desperately to the bed to keep from being tossed around.

　　He waited for Muhwa’s footsteps among the steady, practiced strides echoing in the corridor, and just as he was on the verge of exhaustion, Muhwa finally appeared. He carried a white sailor-collared shirt and a cup of instant noodles. His eyes widened in surprise at the crumpled pile of blankets the moment he walked in, but a faint smile soon touched his lips when Number 8 poked his face out—covered in tears and snot—and mumbled an apology.

　　“I-I threw up… I’m sorry.”

　　“It’s okay.”

　　Answering without hesitation, Muhwa set the cup noodles and clothes on his small desk. He then pulled away the woolen blanket Number 8 had wrapped tightly around himself and shoved it into a corner. Fortunately, the kid hadn’t gotten any vomit on himself.

　　“It’s dirty…”

　　“It doesn’t matter. A lot of people get like this their first time on a ship.”

　　In severe cases, it wasn’t uncommon for someone to throw up for a straight month until their throat became inflamed. But after a month at most, they’d get used to the everyday rocking of the waves. They’d even strap themselves down at night and sleep like a log.

　　“It’ll be a bit better now.”

　　They had just reopened the deck doors, too.

　　As they approached the naval base, the rough waters gradually calmed. Muhwa peeled back the lid of the cup noodles, which he had already filled with boiling water. At the spicy, savory aroma filling the room, Number 8 looked a bit nauseous, yet his expression clearly showed his appetite had been piqued.

　　“What do you think? Can you eat?”

　　At his soft, amused question, Number 8 hesitated for a moment before nodding.

　　Muhwa handed him a spork. Number 8 emptied the cup noodles as if he were spooning up porridge. Once he finished eating, he took Muhwa’s hand, and they headed to the showers.

　　Since it wasn’t designated shower time, the room was completely empty. Muhwa showed him how to use the showerhead, told him to call out if he needed help, and nudged Number 8 inside.

　　While he waited outside, arms crossed and leaning against the door, a few sailors passed by. After he had casually returned a handful of salutes, a knock came from inside.

　　“Are you all done?”

　　“Yeah.”

　　Number 8 poked his head out, his face flushed pink from the hot water. Muhwa handed him a large towel and the fresh clothes. A moment later, the towel was tossed out first, followed by Number 8, who was now dressed in a liberty uniform meant for the most petite of the female sailors.

　　“The clothes are too stiff, it feels weird…”

　　So he grumbles when he’s embarrassed. Just like a kid.

　　Knowing how much Number 8 despised being called a kid, Muhwa kept that thought to himself. Instead, he draped the towel over the boy’s wet hair and dried it, replying, “It’s fine. It looks good on you.”

　　He wasn’t just saying that; the white sailor-collared uniform really did suit him. He had only given him the top, figuring he wouldn’t need the pants, and it turned out to be the right call. Muhwa scooped the kid up, effortlessly navigating the narrow corridor back to his quarters.

　　“What happens now?”

　　Number 8 hadn’t uttered a single word in front of the passing sailors, waiting until it was just the two of them before cautiously asking.

　　He really was a quick-witted kid. Muhwa swallowed the urge to explain that the pirate gang—the people Number 8 had believed represented all adults in the world—were heading to a detention center to stand trial, and that the kids his age would be sent to a shelter.

　　Naturally, Number 8 would also have to go to a military-run shelter. That was standard protocol. He knew he should probably tell him now, but the words wouldn’t come out. Having already disappointed the kid and made him cry his eyes out once, he didn’t want to be the awful adult who made him cry all over again.

　　“For now, we’re going to the base.”

　　Muhwa spoke in a nonchalant tone as he kept drying Number 8’s hair with the towel.

　　“Base?”

　　Number 8 let his head sway back and forth with the motion of the towel as he asked.

　　“Are we going to part ways once we get there?”

　　Number 8 asked the question as if he had already predicted the future.

　　He was right, but Muhwa only gave a faint frown before smoothing out his expression.

　　Finally, he gave his answer.

　　“Yeah.”

　　“You kept your promise… about us getting on a ship together. R-right. That makes sense.”

　　Number 8 gave up quickly. Was this a learned behavior, or was he born with it? Muhwa decided it must be learned. After all, he had seen the sheer stubbornness in the kid when he insisted he wasn’t a child.

　　And just as Muhwa suspected, Number 8 was barely managing to hide how deeply upset he was.

　　He desperately wanted to ask if they would never see each other again after this. He wanted to ask if Muhwa was doing the exact same thing the adults back on the island did, tossing him a special sweet treat just to make him give up his share of the meat.

　　A heavy, mature silence fell between them. The kind that made it hard to believe a young child was part of it. The man—the man with the wonderful, still-unfamiliar name, Muhwa, set the towel aside and turned Number 8 around by the shoulders.

　　“Look over there.”

　　Muhwa was stoic. Stoic, yet gentle. The boss, back on the island, had been stoic and cold, but Muhwa was entirely different. And that difference kept making things so hard for Number 8.

　　With a reluctant heart, Number 8 let Yun Muhwa turn him around and guide him. Muhwa sat him down on the bed and pointed out the small, round porthole window.

　　Out there was something so massive that it was hard to even comprehend a fraction of it.

　　“That’s the naval base we’re going to.”