Chapter 3

　　Number 8 opened his eyes, the cool air telling him it was just before dawn. The Captain and Vice Captain had their own watches, but Number 8 didn’t know how to read one, nor did he need to. He could feel the time in his bones, his body naturally attuned to the shifting hours.

　　The first thing he did was scramble over on his knees to check if the man was dead or alive.

　　Fortunately, the man looked better than he had the night before. His breathing was steadier, the tight lines of pain on his face easing into something far more relaxed. Number 8 let out a quiet breath of relief.

　　But he couldn’t let his guard down just yet. Slipping outside, Number 8 gathered a handful of herbs known to break fevers and stave off infection. They tasted absolutely vile—pure agony on his tongue compared to the sweet canned peach juice from yesterday—but he pushed through the bitterness, chewing the leaves into a medicinal paste to feed the man.

　　The taste was so sharp and pungent it felt like an icy fire had erupted in his mouth. Number 8 stuck out his round, pinkish tongue, panting like a little rabbit.

　　He was frantically fanning his mouth to cool the burn when the man’s fingers suddenly twitched.

　　Number 8 held his breath, his gaze locked on those pale, trembling eyelids.

　　What color are his eyes? he wondered.

　　The adults he lived with all had different eye colors. The oldest, the Leader’s sister, had silver eyes. She claimed they hadn’t always been that way—that they used to be golden, like honey. Believe it or not, they had turned metallic ten years ago, and her vision had steadily deteriorated until she was practically blind.

　　The Leader had brown eyes, and the Vice-Leader’s were indigo. Number 3’s eyes were mismatched—a common trait among the younger kids. One eye was brown, the other blue. Only Number 8’s eyes were a boring, uniform brown.

　　So what color are this man’s? He looked young, but he was definitely an adult. Would they be a solid color?

　　Finally, the man’s eyelids fluttered open.

　　But Number 8 didn’t get to see his eye color. At least, not right away.

　　In a flash, he was pinned beneath the man, his throat caught in a crushing grip. Number 8 was too shocked to even choke out a gasp. Conditioned to take punishments from the adults without making a peep, he simply let his limbs go limp and waited for the man to release him.

　　“Hah… hah…”

　　As the man heaved ragged breaths above him, Number 8 saw that his eyes were indeed a solid color. They were a deep, dark black, tinged with the cold blue of a night sea. It was the darkest black Number 8 had ever seen.

　　Even with his windpipe being crushed, Number 8 could only stare blankly up at him. They were mesmerizing.

　　The man stared down at him with a look of pure confusion. He didn’t seem fully lucid yet, still struggling to grasp the situation.

　　Number 8’s face was burning bright red as he suffocated, but he could hold out a little longer. For someone who free-dived into the sea every day, holding his breath like this was nothing. More than anything, he just wanted to touch him. Driven by the same instinct that took over when he found a treasure underwater—something he couldn’t bear to let go of, even with his lungs screaming and drowning seconds away—Number 8 reached up. His small fingers brushed against the man’s eyelid.

　　“Ngh.”

　　The man squeezed his eyes shut, flinching away from the sudden touch. Even so, his vice-like grip on the boy’s small neck didn’t loosen. Number 8 kept clumsily pawing at the man’s eye, even as his vision started to blur and he genuinely began to choke.

　　The hand was incredibly small. The man was startled first by the careless reach for his eye, and second by just how tiny those fingers were—a realization that ultimately saved Number 8’s life. Reason crashing back into him, the man realized he was instinctively strangling a child. He hastily let go. Only then did Number 8 grab his own throat, hacking and gasping desperately for air.

　　“What the… A kid?”

　　The man frowned. Still clutching his throat and coughing violently, Number 8 shook his head.

　　“I’m not a kid.”

　　“You’re clearly… a kid.”

　　The man’s scowl deepened. His gaze swept over Number 8’s scrawny frame and tattered clothes. Finally catching his breath, Number 8 emphasized his point.

　　“I earn my keep. That means I’m not a kid. Kids are the ones who crawl around on all fours.”

　　He said it with plenty of confidence, but the man clearly wasn’t buying it. Number 8’s pride stung. He was just as good at catching fish as any adult on this island. A man who had been lying pathetically half-dead on the beach had no right to look at him like he was some helpless little thing.

　　“Anyway.”

　　The man brushed a hand against his own cheek, looking bewildered by the crust of salt he wiped away. He rubbed his fingers together, staring at the flaky white powder before muttering in a hoarse voice.

　　“First of all, why am I here? I was definitely…”

　　He trailed off, snapping his mouth shut. Seeing this as the perfect opportunity to prove his worth, Number 8 puffed out his chest. Dark, bruised handprints stood out starkly on his exposed neck, and naturally, the man’s gaze dropped straight to them.

　　“Because I picked you up.”

　　The man just stared at him.

　　“Are you still gonna call me a kid now?” Number 8 boasted proudly. But he couldn’t tell if the man was even listening.

　　The man was clutching his forehead, his head bowed as he muttered something to himself. Was he crazy? That would be a problem. The Leader hated people you couldn’t reason with. If the Leader caught him, the man’s throat would be slit in a heartbeat.

　　Number 8’s face paled. As he hesitantly inched closer, the man suddenly snapped his head up.

　　“The people who were with me. Where are they?”

　　Number 8’s eyes went wide. The guy was acting like he had hidden them away or something.

　　“I couldn’t bring them with me,” Number 8 stammered. “They weren’t alive… They were already dead when I found them. I can’t bring back dead things. Just in case something bad spreads…”

　　The Leader always said that bringing corpses into the village could make everyone sick and die, so they absolutely needed his permission first. Whenever a body was hauled in, the Leader would stand there with his arms crossed, glaring, while his sister inspected it piece by piece. She used her heightened sense of smell to make up for her blindness.

　　So even if the dead people’s buttons had been much prettier than the man’s, or even if they had been carrying other precious-looking items, Number 8 wouldn’t have brought them back. If a corpse belonged to a human rather than an animal, their belongings were subject to strict inspection.

　　“Dead…?”

　　Unlike Number 8, who saw death as an everyday occurrence and thought nothing of it, the man seemed deeply shocked.

　　To Number 8, the man was clearly far weaker than he was. If he didn’t protect and care for him, the guy would surely drop dead in no time. And since he was the one who had picked him up, keeping him alive was naturally his responsibility.

　　To soothe him, Number 8 quietly recounted exactly what he had seen. The man looked rattled for a moment, but he slowly sat back down and listened intently, occasionally asking a few questions. Relieved that he had calmed down faster than expected, Number 8 let out a breath.

　　“So where is the boat?”

　　The man’s voice was incredibly handsome. Captivated by its deep tone—which sounded like a low hum on a warm summer night—Number 8 spilled everything easily.

　　“It should still be on the beach for dismantling. They rip out anything useful and siphon off any leftover fuel. They probably hauled all the cargo out yesterday, so even if you go, you’ll only find an empty shell.”

　　Worried the man might be disappointed, Number 8 fidgeted nervously. This guy was pretty tricky to deal with. Should he treat him like one of the babies? He had never met an outsider before, so he had no clue.

　　But one thing was certain: now that he was awake and moving, this man was the most beautiful thing Number 8 had seen in his entire life. Not even the sunset—which painted the sky a brilliant scarlet every evening before fading into a breathtaking pink—could compare.

　　“Do you need anything?” Number 8 asked tentatively.

　　The man stared at him in silence. The way the boy fidgeted, so desperate to win his favor, made him look exactly like an eager little puppy. And the way he got so indignant when called a kid only made him seem even more like one.

　　Still, this kid had clearly saved his life. And since he hadn’t fully grasped the situation yet—having no idea where he was or what kind of people lived here—he figured it was best to humor him.

　　After a moment of thought, the man slowly spoke.

　　“I’m curious about something else. Not items.”

　　“Yeah! Ask me anything!” Number 8 answered eagerly, desperate to prove that he was all grown up and highly useful.

　　“First of all… how old are you?”

　　What… is that all he wants to know?

　　Number 8 gave a goofy smile.

　　“Eight, or nine, or ten. That makes me an adult, right?”

　　Eight, or nine, or ten? He had never heard of someone giving their age like that, let alone that method of counting. The man frowned.

　　Afraid he might look stupid, Number 8 quickly elaborated.

　　“It’s not weird to not know your exact age! It’s not just me. Number 3 hyung doesn’t know his age either.”

　　“Number 3…?”

　　The man’s scowl deepened. Realizing how clueless he was, Number 8 grew even more excited.

　　“Yeah. I got here when Number 3 hyung was four, or five, or six. So counting from then, I must be eight, or nine, or ten.”

　　“Wait… hold on.”

　　The man rubbed his temples, his expression growing noticeably darker.

　　“Are those your names? Number 3, Number 8?”

　　“When the Leader gives us permission to board a ship, we get a name on our first voyage. It’s just not my time yet. Do you want me to give you a number, too?”

　　“Where exactly are you sailing to?”

　　He completely ignored the generous offer, choosing instead to interrogate him.

　　Number 8 sulked a little but answered obediently anyway.

　　“Once every two weeks. We go out and bring things back. Loot. When they bring it in, it gets divided up.”

　　The man was starting to get a vague idea of what this island was.

　　But he couldn’t jump to conclusions. The kid was sharp and clever, but clearly innocent by the world’s standards. He couldn’t judge the situation based solely on the boy’s words.

　　When the glaciers melted, eighty-three percent of the Earth’s surface became ocean. Terrestrial and underwater volcanoes erupted almost simultaneously shortly after. For years, the world was plunged into a terrifying darkness.

　　While humanity somehow adapted and prepared to survive in this new era, thousands of islands vanished and emerged, and the continents shrank. Collective settlements sprang up in former deserts, and unidentified populations inhabited the small patches of land left above the sea. They couldn’t all be classified as pirates.

　　But a settlement that doesn’t even give kids names?

　　The man forced his tone to be soft and gentle, careful not to scare the boy into raising his guard.

　　“So you were born here, then.”

　　“No. They said I was brought here from a ship.”

　　The boy looked a little shy as he said it. Lowering his voice, he glanced around before dropping down to a tiny whisper.

　　“The adults won’t tell us, but I think babies are born on ships…”

　　If that’s true, it’s pretty sad that I’m a little—just a tiny, tiny bit—scared of ships, Number 8 thought. Ships are where babies come from, after all.

　　A stationary boat was fine, but big ships still terrified him. The ships must have been stopped when the babies were born, right? That thought made him feel a little less guilty about his fear.

　　Even though Number 8 had just shared a crucial piece of information, the man remained silent. He must have been completely blown away that Number 8 knew such a huge secret. Feeling a surge of pride, the boy added,

　　“I’m really good at figuring things out on my own, even when the adults don’t teach me.”

　　The man couldn’t bring himself to tell the beaming kid that he had it completely wrong.

　　He swallowed a sigh.

　　These “adults” the kid kept mentioning would figure out his identity the second they saw his uniform. Even ordinary settlers would be highly vigilant, but if this was a pirate island, they would kill him on sight. Under normal circumstances, he could handle it. But right now, unarmed and severely injured, he was in deep trouble.

　　He was just about to ask more about these adults, starting with a “So—”

　　When the boy suddenly bolted upright.

　　“Ah, I—I’ve been here too long!”

　　The man probably couldn’t smell it, but Number 8 had caught the faint scent of smoke drifting from the distant village.

　　When smoke rose into the sky, it meant it was time to put out the night’s bonfires and prepare for the day. And since a ship was scheduled to set sail when the sun hit its peak today, he absolutely had to be in the village to see them off.

　　Panic washed over Number 8’s face as he scrambled around.

　　“I—I’ll be right back. I’ll bring more food when I return, so just eat what I brought for now. You have to stay put, okay?! You’re my loot. If anyone else sees you, they’ll want to steal…”

　　The boy, who had been babbling frantically, suddenly clamped his mouth shut.

　　So I’m this kid’s loot, am I?

　　Letting out a dry chuckle, the man gave a dismissive nod. At that, the boy bolted out of the cave.

　　The scorching sun beat down on the boy’s back as he emerged from the tiny cave. The man frowned for a split second at something jarring that caught his eye, but before he could get a closer look at the kid’s shoulder blades, the small figure vanished into the forest. He was incredibly fast.

　　Once the boy was completely out of sight, the man wiped a hand down his face.

　　“This is driving me insane,” he muttered.

　　He slowly scanned the inside of the cave until his eyes landed on the “food” the kid had mentioned.

　　An empty can of peaches, a thin slice of bread, and a bruised banana. Anyone could see this wasn’t an adult’s portion.

　　Did he bring me his own rations?

　　He had no appetite, but he couldn’t just ignore the kid’s sincerity. The man, who could easily survive starving for three or four days, reached out and pulled the food closer. As he carefully leaned forward, a small chip dangling alongside two dog tags glinted around his neck. The letters etched onto it spelled out: Y-U-N-M-U-H-W-A.

　　Yun Muhwa.

　　It was his name.