Ji-hye did not regret what she had done.
Leaving school early without permission, running to a dangerous place, and even spending all the money she had to buy those items.
Thanks to that, she was able to confirm Jieun’s safety and provide her some help, no matter how small.
But just because she didn’t regret it didn’t mean she wasn’t scared.
Ji-hye felt awkward and frightened when dealing with adults.
Perhaps it was because the only adults she interacted with on a regular basis were the teachers at the orphanage and at school.
The orphanage teachers cared for the children, including Ji-hye and Jieun, as much as they could, but everyone living there knew they could never truly replace parents.
There were simply too many children for the teachers to care for everyone individually.
Although they had never felt a lack of money, thanks to the abundance of donations, perhaps that was why Ji-hye found it difficult to feel at ease with adults.
And if the adult in question was a “police officer”—
“Ji-hye?”
A woman whose age didn’t seem too far removed from Ji-hye’s called her name softly.
The place they were sitting in seemed like some sort of lounge.
While the space could accommodate more people, it was otherwise empty.
Was this out of consideration? Ji-hye briefly recalled the empty interrogation rooms she had seen in movies and dramas.
At least she wasn’t being treated like a criminal—yet.
She had heard that entering a restricted area was forbidden, but no one had ever told her what kind of punishment would follow.
It was only natural—schools didn’t teach such specifics.
“Ji-hye.”
The woman sitting in front of her called her name again when Ji-hye, distracted by her surroundings, didn’t respond.
“Y-yes.”
Her voice cracked slightly as she struggled to answer out of nervousness.
“You said you shared a room with Jeong Jieun, correct?”
At least, Ji-hye herself hadn’t told this woman that.
There were plenty of ways she could’ve found out, though.
It was true they shared a room, and it wouldn’t take much to confirm it through the orphanage.
“Yes.”
Knowing it was pointless to lie, Ji-hye answered truthfully.
She was simply terrified of what the next question might be.
She studied the woman’s appearance.
The person who had brought her here was a police officer, but this wasn’t a police station. It seemed to be some sort of government building.
So, was the person in front of her not a police officer? She was wearing a suit, making it hard to guess her
identity based solely on her clothing.
“Then, would it be correct to say you were quite close?”
Ji-hye opened her mouth but barely stopped herself from speaking.
What should she say to that?
But soon, she remembered again that lying would be meaningless.
As soon as Ji-hye had received the text message, she had intentionally run to that dangerous place, evading those who tried to stop her, running with all her might—
To place food and clothes into Jieun’s hands.
Would someone really go that far just because they’re close?
They say friendship is thick enough that it can’t easily be broken, but in reality, it can shatter over trivial things.
Even Jieun probably wouldn’t have found it strange if Ji-hye hadn’t shown up.
At the time, Ji-hye had acted without thinking, running recklessly, but now that she thought about it, it wasn’t an “easy decision” to make.
Even if Ji-hye denied it here, the woman would already be convinced that Ji-hye and Jieun shared a deep bond.
Above all, Ji-hye didn’t want to deny it herself.
More importantly, they weren’t just “close”; they were still close.
Her choice was to say nothing at all.
Ji-hye didn’t know much about psychological tactics or political judgments.
She only vaguely knew that it was better not to say too much in front of the police.
It might seem like a weak resistance to the other person, but she didn’t want to obediently divulge everything to someone who could harm Jieun.
Seeing Ji-hye’s silence, the woman smiled faintly and picked up a file from the table between them.
She flipped through the pages, stopping at one and briefly reading its contents.
A moment of silence lingered between them.
After nearly a minute of reviewing the document, the woman finally spoke.
“I heard you went through an unfortunate incident recently.”
Ji-hye said nothing.
“Did you hear that Jeong Jieun went to visit during that time?”
“When you were in danger, Jeong Jieun ignored the possibility of being arrested and came to help you. It couldn’t be just a normal friendship, could it? Aren’t you two practically like sisters, having grown up together?”
When Ji-hye stubbornly remained silent, the woman paused for a moment before closing the file.
She placed it back on the table and leaned forward slightly, speaking as though trying to persuade Ji-hye.
“Jeong Jieun is implicated in several charges. But for now, it’s still okay. No one’s been seriously injured or killed yet.”
The mention of “no one’s been killed yet” made Ji-hye’s heart race.
It sounded as if she was warning that such a thing could happen eventually.
“Of course, there are still other charges left to uncover. Since she fled during the investigation, some are suspicious. That’s… well, let’s just say she acted out of fear. It’s not uncommon for people her age—or your age—to think the investigation process will disadvantage them and try to run away.”
The woman rested an elbow on the table and leaned forward slightly, her expression that of someone sincerely offering advice.
“Jeong Jieun is still a minor. Resolving this situation as soon as possible might be in her best interest. Legally, it could be advantageous for her.”
“If time drags on like this—”
The woman’s voice turned cautious as she continued.
“Do you still keep in contact with anyone who’s left the orphanage? As far as I know, someone ended up in prison.”
Ji-hye knew that much.
No matter how hard the teachers tried, not every “child” grew up to be a good person.
Some grew up unable to cope with their circumstances, while others were so deeply scarred by what they’d experienced that they couldn’t think of anything else.
And above all, many failed to adapt to society after leaving the orphanage.
The resources they could take with them were extremely limited.
Although they received subsidies, it was often insufficient for true “independence.”
Most didn’t have relatives to turn to, either.
Inevitably, some ended up going down a bad path.
Ji-hye glared at the woman.
The woman’s expression didn’t change.
She simply maintained the look of someone giving heartfelt advice to someone younger—a look of a person who’d matured a few years earlier than Ji-hye.
Pretending to care, but this was a threat.
Or maybe she was simply underestimating Ji-hye.
Perhaps she was trying to manipulate Ji-hye into persuading Jieun to turn herself in.
Would Jieun do that?
Would Jieun really surrender if Ji-hye tried to convince her?
Ji-hye didn’t know.
But she didn’t want to.
For Jieun to go this far meant there was a reason for her anger.
Jieun might have a prickly personality, but she never got angry without cause.
“Please contact us here if Jeong Jieun gets in touch. We’ll do everything we can to help her,” the woman said, handing over a business card.
The card had her name and contact information written on it.
It seemed she really was with the police.
As the woman stood up, she added, “Then, let us give you a ride—”
“…This is Seoul, right?” Ji-hye interrupted.
“Pardon?”
“If it’s not too far, I can go by myself.”
The woman stared at Ji-hye in slight surprise before smiling awkwardly.
“Well, even so, we—”
“No, thank you. I’d rather not. Riding in a police car again is a bit…scary.”
The woman closed her eyes for a moment, as if considering Ji-hye’s reasoning, then nodded.
“All right. If that’s what you prefer…we can’t force you.”
Ji-hye stood up as well. Ignoring whether the woman was following her, Ji-hye walked straight out of the building.
The first thing she saw outside was a trash can, where she promptly discarded the business card.
She might regret that decision later.
The woman might genuinely have intended to help Jieun, to reduce her sentence and minimize the consequences she’d face.
But that wasn’t what Ji-hye wanted.
Ji-hye trusted Jieun—not in the way others might suspect, but completely differently.
She believed Jieun hadn’t killed anyone, hadn’t committed acts of terrorism, and might even be wrongfully accused.
It wasn’t a vague hope; Ji-hye was convinced that Jieun wasn’t the kind of person to do such things.
She believed that whatever Jieun was doing now, it was only to express her own sense of injustice.
She believed Jieun was fighting for her own version of justice.
There was no logical basis for this belief.
It was purely because Ji-hye wanted to believe it.
To an outsider, it might seem foolish.
Even Jieun herself might think it ridiculous if she heard it.
But that didn’t matter to Ji-hye.
Jieun was one of the few people Ji-hye could truly call family.
She didn’t want to imagine a world where Jieun disappeared from her side forever.
Jieun thought about this while holding the bag Ji-hye had given her, filled with food.
She didn’t feel good about it.
Maybe that’s why she left the house after setting the heavy convenience store bag down.
Because she knew how much Ji-hye must have spent on it.
It might not seem like much to others, but to Ji-hye, it was probably close to her entire savings.
Jieun knew Ji-hye liked going to the movies now and then, just as Jieun enjoyed buying and listening to music CDs.
Ji-hye also had many friends and needed money to spend time with them.
So Jieun understood how significant that money was to Ji-hye.
She also knew how terrifying it must have been for Ji-hye to run through a place surrounded by police, shouting her name.
“Where is Ji-hye now? Did the police take her away? Did she get into trouble?”
These thoughts made it impossible to feel purely happy about what Ji-hye had done.
Perhaps if Jieun hadn’t reached out for help, if she hadn’t sent that broadcast, Ji-hye wouldn’t have come.
Jieun wanted to call Ji-hye immediately, to check on her.
It was possible with one of the kids’ phones, but
James would likely oppose it.
“Jieun,” a voice called from behind.
Lost in thought, Jieun looked up at the sky before turning to see Hayoon, wearing torn and ragged clothes.
“Are you okay?” Hayoon asked hesitantly.
Jieun couldn’t answer.
She wasn’t okay.
But saying so outright felt like whining to Hayoon, which she didn’t want to do.
So instead, she changed the subject.
“Let’s check what’s inside.”
No matter how she felt, Ji-hye’s effort couldn’t be wasted.
The other kids had kindly refrained from touching the bag Jieun received.
She slowly approached it, sitting in the middle of the room, and opened the plastic bag.
It was filled with all sorts of things.
Cans, instant food, even microwave rice and ramen—as if Ji-hye had grabbed anything she could lay her hands on.
I looked up at the children in silence.
Their gazes were fixed on the bag.
Without a word, I pulled out a few cup noodles.
They were bulky, so the bag immediately looked smaller once they were removed.
It wasn’t dark outside yet.
To keep moving for the rest of the day, we had to eat something.
When I pushed the noodles toward the kids, their faces lit up.
Seeing their expressions filled me with indescribable emotions.
Yeah, let’s fill our stomachs first, then figure out what to do with what’s inside.
And think about our next steps.
One thing was certain:
The smell of “real food” after so long was overwhelming.
Most people might hesitate to call a single cup of noodles “real,” but for us—
After surviving on bits of vegetables, canned ham, and tuna for several meals—this felt like a proper meal.
“Whew…”
Dahlia let out a light sigh after finishing the broth from her noodles. It was a satisfied sound.
Her face was slightly flushed, as if the taste had moved her.
“I never thought something like this could taste so good.”
“Everyone here probably feels the same,” Rose agreed.
I didn’t say it out loud, but I felt the same.
The ramen I ate after so long was delicious.
I thought I might eat through the whole stash in just a few days if I wasn’t careful.
Given how good the ramen was, I could only imagine how amazing the ready-to-eat rice or curry would taste.
But soon, the kids all set their faces firmly, as if regaining their composure.
The food we had was limited.
If we ate it all now, we might have to stretch out the remaining canned food sparingly for weeks.
Even though we could gain some energy through magic, it wasn’t possible to go without eating for days on end.
James claimed his goal was to reverse entropy, but he hadn’t succeeded yet.
The total energy our bodies could produce couldn’t exceed the energy we already had.
We didn’t know when the next call would come.
Even if we went out, there was no guarantee we’d find food.
Leaving the hideout just to search for food was dangerous.
In the end, we had to create some level of self-sufficiency here.
As if reading my mind, Delphinium spoke up.
“…Wasn’t there any cultured meat in the bag?”
I put down the noodles and opened the bag in front of me.
Would a convenience store even sell uncooked cultured meat?
Most of it would probably be ready-to-eat products.
Cultured meat that wasn’t processed would be useless for “growing.”
“Found it.”
Contrary to my doubts, Delphinium had something else in mind.
She pulled out a refrigerated product.
“What’s that?”
“It’s meant for grilling,” Delphinium said, checking the ingredients of a hamburger steak.
“It’s still raw.”
It was surprising to find something entirely uncooked in a convenience store, but maybe it had just been mixed in with the other ready-to-eat items Hayoon had grabbed.
“It might fail,” Delphinium said, her face impassive as she noticed my skepticism.
“But we have a way to try. As long as we can keep even a single cell alive, it’ll work.”
In the time I came from, cultured meat hadn’t become commercially viable yet due to its high cost.
But this world was different.
Even in a spacefaring era, direct exploration was still necessary.
When studying celestial bodies or visiting uninhabitable areas, ships needed to carry substantial food supplies.
That’s where cultured meat came in.
“Why would a convenience store have ‘usable cultured meat’ for sale? Maybe it’s for extraterrestrials,” I mused.
Just as humans admired space, some aliens admired Earth.
Wealthy alien travelers wandering the universe likely outnumbered the entirety of the human population.
“Maybe there was a fresh food section at the store,” I said, trying to find joy in the situation.
“If it works, we’ll have a sustainable source of meat?”
“Yes,” Delphinium nodded.
“But it might fail, so don’t get your hopes up.”
Giving us hope and then tempering it—it felt a bit unfair.
Still, at least we had enough food to last several days, or even weeks if rationed.
All I could do was hope that “magic” was powerful enough to make it work.
My briefly improved mood sank again as I finished eating and chatted with the kids.
Reality hadn’t changed. The future still seemed bleak.
A part of me wondered, “Should I have just given up back then?”
But still.
At least I confirmed that someone out there, in this world and beyond, still believed in me.
I thought of Ji-hye’s face.
Ji-hye smiled at me despite everything she’d gone through.
There wasn’t a hint of fear in her expression.
She had pushed through all those difficulties just to see me.
Ji-hye…
Even after everything, she didn’t fear me or avoid being involved with me.
If nothing else, that was comforting.