Chapter 5

　　The outside world had become a brutal place for children, but precisely because of that, they were fiercely protected. Coming from a society like that, Muhwa felt a deep sense of unease watching Number 8 constantly running around and taking risks.

　　“As a Hyung, I will—”

　　Muhwa cut himself off.

　　Even if he generously guessed Number 8 to be ten years old, calling himself hyung, a Korean term for an older brother or close older male, felt like a stretch with a twelve-year age gap.

　　“As an Ahjussi—”

　　He clamped his mouth shut again.

　　Age gap aside, twenty-two was far too young to be called “mister,” even in an era where the average human lifespan had dropped to seventy.

　　In the end, all he could manage was a heavy sigh.

　　“Never mind. I’ll go.”

　　Number 8 firmly shook his head at the hard-won concession.

　　“How can I let a sick person move around? Don’t move an inch. You can’t go wandering off and end up dead!”

　　Muhwa was a man who had endured training that required marching six miles a day with a forty-four-pound rucksack for five days straight, entirely without sleep. Being dumped into the ocean bare-bodied, without a single piece of equipment, and forced to swim all the way back to base camp was strictly routine.

　　He had been pushed to the absolute brink of death, and whenever he made it back alive, his instructors pushed him even further, violently expanding his limits. Because of that, being fussed over—being told he might die just because he had a little hole in his side—was a completely alien experience.

　　Genuinely baffled, he asked, “I’m much bigger and definitely a lot stronger than you. I should be the one protecting you, not the other way around.”

　　But Muhwa’s logic didn’t register with Number 8. If anything, the boy looked at him like he was speaking nonsense.

　　“I picked you up,” Number 8 stated, firmly asserting his ownership. “Since I picked you up, I get to do what I want. Plus, you’re the first living loot I’ve ever found. If you die, my onor will be varnished.”

　　From the mangled pronunciation of “honor” and “tarnished,” it was obvious the kid was just parroting something he’d overheard.

　　Muhwa let out a dry chuckle. “Loot is something you win in a fight. So I’m probably not loot.”

　　“…Then what are you?”

　　Muhwa calculated the time until the mothership arrived. He had given it a maximum of forty-eight hours, and since about eighteen had already passed, there were roughly thirty left. That meant the kid only had thirty hours left to believe he owned him.

　　Leaning back against the cave wall, Muhwa murmured lazily, “Call me a souvenir.”

　　It wouldn’t be hard to give the kid a few good memories during that short window. The child had saved his life, after all; playing along was the least he could do.

　　Giving in, Muhwa let Number 8 head out of the forest. Watching the boy glance back multiple times to rattle off safety warnings, it truly felt as though their roles had been reversed.

　　“Don’t go outside. No matter who comes—even if they look like a person—you absolutely, absolutely can’t come out!”

　　“Got it. So I shouldn’t come out unless it’s you.”

　　“Right! Exactly!” Number 8 clapped his hands in delight at the smart answer. “I’ll come straight back here as soon as I catch my first fish, so wait for me. You’re hungry, right? You can hold out a little longer, can’t you?”

　　His wide eyes sparkled with anticipation. Instead of saying he was fine without food, Muhwa knew exactly what the boy wanted to hear. He rubbed his stomach and played along.

　　“Yeah, I’m hungry. Really hungry. So hurry back.”

　　Muhwa clearly had no talent for acting, or maybe he just lacked sincerity. Still, it worked perfectly on Number 8.

　　Nodding vigorously, Number 8 hurriedly pushed through the foliage and stepped out onto the beach.

　　He didn’t notice the man trailing him about three hundred yards behind.

　　Number 8 dug up a hidden pit he had marked on the beach. Inside were a harpoon and a net. Grabbing them, the kid bounded toward the ocean, while Muhwa hung back in the shadows, munching on the small berries the boy had gathered.

　　Hidden in the deep shade of a tree trunk, he watched the kid’s tiny head disappear into the rolling waves before shifting his gaze to the horizon.

　　This was pirate territory. Thick fog seemed to roll in every dawn, and thinking back on it now, he realized they must have strung some sort of wire mesh near the roots of the coastal mangroves. It explained why the reconnaissance ship’s course hadn’t been easily altered.

　　Both before and after the so-called Great Flood, ships remained a crucial means of transportation. Under newly established international law, piracy was a top-tier criminal offense, and pirate crews were classified as heinous criminal syndicates. They were often heavily armed with captured weapons and frequently ran illegally modified vessels. Depending on the crew’s size, skirmishes and full-blown battles were a constant part of their lives.

　　Solidarity grew stronger when humanity shared a common enemy, and that hostility had been fiercer during the chaotic early days of the new era. Now, rehabilitated maritime criminals were returning to society, and innocent children were stepping out into the world through assimilation programs. Yet, lingering prejudices and everyday conflicts with active pirates remained major stumbling blocks. Even a young child raised by pirates would find it nearly impossible to shake off that stigma, regardless of whether they went through a rehabilitation shelter first.

　　That brand would follow them wherever they went.

　　Having finished the berries and quenched his thirst, Muhwa furrowed his brow.

　　A considerable amount of time had passed, yet the kid still hadn’t surfaced.

　　Even if the boy had treated the sea like his own backyard growing up, it was still a vast ocean brimming with endless dangers. It had swelled in volume since the Flood, becoming an expert at ravaging the land, treating destruction as a mere hobby. Before he knew it, Muhwa was sprinting into the water.

　　He, too, was familiar with the sea. But the difference between them was that Number 8 viewed the ocean as a close friend, while Muhwa saw it strictly as a massive, lethal body of saltwater.

　　He dove in swiftly. If the kid had truly disappeared out here, he wouldn’t be able to find him. It was a grim reality, but it was the truth. Still, he swam down toward the spot he remembered. And then, he found him.

　　Without releasing a single bubble, the kid was gliding through the water. He expertly dodged jellyfish that drifted like ethereal clouds, plucking seaweed that grew as tenaciously as mangroves and gathering it in his arms—like a bouquet of flowers.

　　Turning his head, the boy spotted Muhwa and offered a faint smile. He pointed a finger upward, jabbing it toward the surface repeatedly. Taking the hint, Muhwa slowly ascended.

　　Number 8 broke the surface, letting out a refreshing gasp of air.

　　“Why did you come in?”

　　At the genuine confusion in his voice, Muhwa let out a dry laugh. “Because you weren’t coming out.”

　　“Did you think I died?” Number 8’s eyes widened in surprise. “I was thrown in here before I even learned how to swim.”

　　His giggles were entirely innocent, sounding like bubbles popping against the surface.

　　“The adults dropped me off and left. Just to see if I’d survive. I learned how to swim faster than I learned how to walk.”

　　It was far too cruel a story to be considered a boast. Seeing Number 8 so proudly state a fact that was neither a flex nor a fond memory, Muhwa couldn’t bring himself to offer praise, not even out of empty politeness.

　　Leaving Muhwa behind, Number 8 glided smoothly forward. Of course, “forward” meant toward the beach by Muhwa’s standards. The kid likely considered the deeper ocean to be “forward.”

　　Swimming ahead, Number 8 suddenly changed direction.

　　“Want me to show you the ship? There should still be a little bit left.”

　　“What ship?”

　　“The abandoned one! The one you came on. That’s a new ship, right? It’s probably just an empty shell now, but I’ll still show you.”

　　Figuring it was a good opportunity to check the wreckage, Muhwa nodded.

　　Number 8 swam toward the patrol boat Muhwa had arrived on. He moved exactly like a jellyfish—completely natural in the water.

　　As they swam, Muhwa suddenly caught a sound and immediately sank beneath the surface. Number 8, having detected the noise as well, was just about to warn him to hide. Seeing that Muhwa had already vanished, Number 8 scanned the area. Up ahead, a small boat was approaching the wrecked ship, which had long been stripped of any functional value.

　　“Number 8!”

　　The person waving his arms wildly and shouting happily was Number 3. Certain that Muhwa couldn’t possibly stay underwater for long, Number 8 treaded water anxiously. Just a little more time, and it would approach his own diving limit. Number 8 had never met anyone who could hold their breath longer than he could. If the man had swum away underwater to escape, the boy needed to hide any trace of him.

　　“Number 3 hyung.” Number 8 offered an awkward smile.

　　Meanwhile, Number 3, who was on the boat with the Boss and the Boss’s sister, puffed out his chest.

　　“Look at this! I’m on a boat! They said they’re setting sail a bit early this time, and I think I’m going with them!”

　　Normally, Number 8 would have felt a sharp pang of envy, but his mind was entirely on the man hiding below, so he just gave a vague nod.

　　Disappointed by the lackluster reaction, Number 3 pouted.

　　“What’re you doing? Come up here.”

　　The children were allowed on the small boats; only the large iron ships were forbidden to them. Even so, Number 8 hesitated, staring at the boat he normally would have hopped onto in a heartbeat. Seeing this, Number 3’s eyes widened before he burst into laughter.

　　“What? Are you peeing or something?”

　　Number 8 flared up at the teasing giggles. “No, I’m not!”

　　“Then hurry up and get over here.”

　　Number 3 reached out. Number 8 cast a quick glance behind him before finally taking the hand and climbing aboard.

　　Watching them, the Boss spoke up, his voice gruff. “Empty-handed again today, I see.”

　　Number 8 flinched.

　　“I was just about to catch something… And look. I’m not empty-handed. I have seaweed.” Number 8 timidly held out his green bouquet.

　　The Boss clicked his tongue in disgust.

　　“Do you want your water rations cut? If you want to drink seawater and die, keep slacking off.”

　　There wasn’t an idiot alive who didn’t know that drinking seawater was practically suicide. At least, not on this island. What the Boss really meant was that if the kid kept this up, he would kill him.

　　As Number 8 shrank back, the Boss’s sister shoved a water bottle into his hands. The moment he took it, the Boss hoisted him up with a vicious grip. Grabbing the kid by the hair and shaking him as he dangled in the air—clutching the water bottle for dear life—the Boss snarled at him.

　　“I’ll decide whether to give you more water based on what you bring back tonight. Get your act together.”

　　Then, he carelessly tossed the boy aside.

　　Thanks to the continuously running motor, the boat had already passed the wrecked speedboat by quite a distance. Completely ignoring his stinging scalp, Number 8 checked that the water bottle was tightly sealed before frantically diving back into the sea. He swam desperately toward the wreck, his mind entirely consumed by thoughts of his loot—or rather, his souvenir.

　　What if he suffocated to death? What if he drowned?

　　He bobbed under the water, popping his head back up several times. He had lost his composure long ago. Panic made his chest tight, his breathing short and shallow. By the time he finally reached the wreck, Number 8 took a massive gulp of air and dove deep into the water.

　　And then, a firm hand scooped him up.

　　“I’m right here.”