L*st and Death

"Anyway, HermanPlus already finalized their investment in Host Spirit. They’re the second-largest investor after CGE Cultures. You’re going to get a profit share based on their equity stake, so you’d better act well. A lot of Baekgyeong’s money went into that project."

Still dazed, Siron stared blankly at Choi Baekhee.

"The role you took—it’s a mudang, right? The production company has high hopes for you. They said you’ll gain a ton of fans after release. Personally, I think the role is bizarre... but apparently young people see it differently. Oh, while I was meddling anyway, I decided to replace the CEO with an actual content investment specialist. What kind of joke is it, putting Choi Seongmin in charge?"

Siron’s expression slowly lit up with excitement. Every word out of her mouth felt precious enough to ignite passion in him again. Almost forgetting the reason he’d come here, he caught himself and asked:

"Why... are you doing all this for me?"

Choi Baekhee looked at Siron with an expression somewhere between deep fatigue and disinterest, then slightly lifted the corner of her mouth.

"That idiot said he’s staking the rest of his life on you. So you’re going to have to take responsibility for that lunatic."

"...Excuse me?"

"Can you do that? If you can’t, disappear from Baekgyeong’s life right now. Or I’ll make sure you never come near him again."

Her voice, businesslike and emotionless, gradually hardened into steel.

"Fuck! What the hell are you saying?"

Baekgyeong’s face turned bright red. As soon as she finished, he bolted upright and started looking around for something to throw. Before he could commit full-blown patricide, Siron answered in a panic:

"I—I’ll take responsibility!"

At those words, it was like someone dumped a bucket of cold water over Baekgyeong. His rage vanished instantly.

"Really?"

"Yes. I’ll take responsibility for him."

"Ha. Hear that?"

Choi Baekhee turned to Baekgyeong, one brow raised.

"Your sweet, naive little friend says he’ll take care of a burden like you for the rest of his life. Isn’t he just pitifully innocent?"

"You psycho bitch! Don’t talk like that!"

A flash of rage crossed Choi Baekhee’s face, but she calmed herself with a deep breath and looked coldly at Siron.

"Don’t worry. You won’t have to take care of him for too long. Without surgery, he won’t even last a year. Just hold out until he’s able to leave you something in the will."

She pushed back her chair and stood up. It was the posture of someone already bored with a decision long since made. She gathered her bag and coat, stared down Baekgyeong with loathing, and walked out of the hospital room without once looking back. Siron rushed after her, but she was already gone—her car had pulled away from the front of the ward.

When Siron returned, Baekgyeong was standing at the window, staring blankly outside. He was breathing shallowly, unfocused, as if in a trance. Siron had stormed back in, ready for a fight, but the sight stopped him cold. Cautiously, he reached out and laid a hand on Baekgyeong’s back. Baekgyeong flinched and turned around.

"Oh... Siron."

"Why the fuck did you curse at your mom, you deranged, degenerate bastard?"

Baekgyeong didn’t reply. After a long pause, he said flatly:

"I have a favor to ask."

"What favor?"

"When I die, I want you to die with me."

"You’ve really lost your mind."

Baekgyeong laughed aloud.

"Then at least don’t act relieved like she did when I die."

His words stabbed Siron right in the chest, but he kept his tone deliberately scolding.

"Try living like a human being for once. And drop the twin-brother excuse already."

Siron took a step forward and grabbed Baekgyeong by the collar of his hospital gown, pulling him closer.

"I’m sorry to say this, but... I kind of like your mother. She seems like a pretty impressive person. If you hadn’t insisted on skipping the surgery, she wouldn’t have gotten so mad."

He tugged Baekgyeong’s upper body closer, cupped his cheeks in both hands, and kissed the pouty lips that still scowled at him. The guy was sulking, defeated. Siron felt the weight of what he’d declared—that he would take responsibility for this hopeless bastard for the rest of his life—and it pressed heavily on his chest.

"The movie... forget it. I don’t have to film it. Whether you get surgery or not, I’ll keep my word."

"Oh, please. Dramatic much. Cut the crap and go film it."

"You make no goddamn sense. You said I should never film Host Spirit!"

"But now we invested. You’re gonna pay me back with your body, down to the last damn cent."

Baekgyeong shoved away Siron’s hands, still cupping his cheeks, with no affection whatsoever and returned to the bed. He sat on the edge and stared out the window where cold wind blew in.

"Guess I really am a degenerate piece of shit. Thinking maybe I should get the surgery after all, just so I don’t die pathetically."

Siron’s eyes went wide in shock.

"You mean it?"

"Wouldn’t it suck to drop dead after living like this? I kinda want to stick around long enough to see your movie hit theaters..."

His words trailed off. His breathing slowed. His gaze dulled, unfocused. He went completely still, like his consciousness had been sucked out of him. Siron stared at Baekgyeong’s face, tense and breathless, waiting for even the slightest change.

Three minutes passed.

Siron began counting in his head, remembering what the doctor had said—not to let partial seizures go on for more than five minutes. The longer the silence stretched, the tighter the knot in his chest twisted. He started breathing heavily, as if trying to make up for Baekgyeong’s shallow breaths.

When the seizure passed four minutes, Siron turned his body. Just before he could press the emergency button, Baekgyeong exhaled sharply, almost like a cough.

"I have to live... Gotta live..."

Baekgyeong murmured without even grasping what he was saying. Siron let out a sigh of relief, but he knew—Baekgyeong hadn’t fully returned. The seizures were becoming more frequent, and they were lasting longer.

They couldn’t postpone surgery any longer.

Two weeks later, Baekgyeong flew to the U.S. for surgery.

The tumor in Baekgyeong’s brain was a fetus in fetu—a parasitic twin. In rare cases, one embryo absorbs the other between the second and eighth week of development, forming a growth with parts like hair, a skull, spine, and even eyes.

When the surgical team performed a craniotomy, they were chilled by what they found. Most parasitic twins consist of a few rudimentary organs or limbs—but Baekgyeong’s tumor resembled a miniature human, disturbingly complete.

The surgery was only a partial success.

They managed to remove the portion of the parasitic mass located in the left frontal lobe. But the rest of it extended into the limbic system’s core—it couldn’t be touched. In the end, the team decided to excise what they could and leave the rest intact.

As a result, the physical remains of Baekgyeong’s dead twin remained in his brain.

And after that... everything changed.

—lowercase card—

PS. I thought a lot about your devotion to Yoon Siron. Looking back, I still don’t really know what you like. I used “control” as an excuse and only did things you hated.

Siron tilted his head to the side, staring down at the card. His name was mentioned in the puzzle left behind by Baekgyeong’s mother, but nothing about it made sense.

If it said “8 years ago,” that meant 2006. Based on the phrasing—“your devotion to Yoon Siron,” and “what you like”—it seemed the answer was something Siron liked. But it had been so long, he couldn’t even guess what the “smiley face” was referring to.

"Gyeong-ah, do you know the answer? What happened between us 8 years ago?"

Siron whispered softly to the unconscious Baekgyeong. As always, there was no reply.

Baekgyeong lay curled on the narrow hospital cot, a body far too big for its tiny frame. His face looked like white porcelain—pale and cold. It was hard to believe red blood still flowed inside him.

Siron quietly leaned over and rested his cheek against Baekgyeong’s bare chest. His heartbeat was slow, but steady. Siron closed his eyes and gently laced their fingers together. Baekgyeong’s hand was cold as ice, completely limp—it didn’t feel like a living person’s.

When Siron closed his eyes, hell unfolded behind his eyelids. Torrential rain. Winds pushing him toward the cliff’s edge. Baekgyeong, lying like a wax doll, soaked in blood.

“The road’s too rough. You’ll just get in the way—wait here.”

Siron had waited endlessly for Baekgyeong to return after heading off to rescue Ian Fitzner. Eventually, unable to wait any longer, he followed in the direction Baekgyeong had gone.

He climbed the rain-slicked rocks, scanning with his flashlight, and finally found Baekgyeong unconscious, lying in a pool of blood. The chaos in his mind went dead silent.

Next thing he knew, he was radioing Isaac. Following his instructions, Siron stopped the bleeding, then slung Baekgyeong onto his back. He didn’t think—just moved. He’d reached some strange state beyond pain, pushing himself until Isaac finally found them.

If he hadn’t found Baekgyeong... and if Isaac hadn’t found him... they never would’ve heard that heartbeat again.

Siron closed his eyes and focused on the sound of Baekgyeong’s pulse. He exhaled carefully, as if terrified it might stop.

Just then, the door behind him burst open. Siron flinched and turned around.

“3543. That one showing any signs of waking up yet?”

The man had a red nose veined with blood, a squat build, and a hairy chest and arms. He stared down at Baekgyeong, who looked like a corpse.

He’d introduced himself as Dermot—one of the homeless men Siron had escaped the island with.

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