L*st and Death

Baekgyeong had spent the last four years confined to treatment detention centers and psychiatric hospitals, completely cut off from the outside world. He had no idea what had happened to Chief Kim. The fact that the child had died—and that Baekgyeong had spat out careless words to Kim without knowing—made him sigh involuntarily. The sharp reaction from Chief Kim during their car ride, which had struck him as oddly cold at the time, finally made sense now.

As the will continued to be read aloud, Baekgyeong sat in a cloud of unease, trapped in a lingering discomfort—when suddenly, he flinched at the sensation of his phone vibrating in his pocket. An alert popped up: the phone belonging to user noname1 had powered on. Overcome with a jolt of excitement, Baekgyeong nearly shouted like a soccer fan cheering for his team’s goal—then quickly glanced around and calmed himself.

User noname1. Yoon Siron. His current location was Baggers City. The signal was coming from a building roughly halfway between Anna’s apartment and Siron’s.

A homeless support center? What the hell is this bastard doing now?

Baekgyeong hastily began typing a message to Yoon Siron. Something along the lines of Why the hell was your phone off? What the fuck are you doing?—blended with foul language that barely masked his affection—when a message from Siron came through first.

noname1noname1: “Yoon Siron, don’t you dare show up at the funeral!” – Baekgyeong, visibly agitated

(link) 4:14PM

noname1noname1: What the fuck is this article. You trying to die? LOL 4:15PM

The moment Baekgyeong saw Siron’s messages, all the rage that had been piling up inside him melted away like snow. Never did he imagine the phrase “you trying to die?” could sound so sweet. His mood softened in an instant, and Baekgyeong reread Siron’s message to decipher it.

“Yoon Siron, don’t you dare show up at the funeral!”

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Baekgyeong tapped the article link Siron had sent, and almost crushed the phone in his hand.

It was written by some entertainment journalist from a Korean media outlet—one of those bastards who had flown all the way to the U.S. to harass Baekgyeong for an interview. The article covered the controversy over whether Yoon Siron, once embroiled in a past sexual scandal, would be attending Choi Baekhee’s funeral. According to the article, when asked, Baekgyeong had responded angrily: “Why the hell would he come to the funeral?”

Fuck. This son of a bitch reporter wants to die. I was worried Siron might come and something bad would happen—how the hell did he twist my words like that?

“Fuck, why the hell would he come there?”

The nuance of what Baekgyeong had actually said could easily be misunderstood—but he, of course, remembered the conversation in a way most convenient to himself. Even so, the bubble of anger he’d worked up popped like an overinflated piece of gum. Just knowing Siron was on the other end of the phone, waiting for his message, made Baekgyeong feel merciful.

MeMe: That reporter was baiting. Don’t believe the article. 4:15PM

noname1noname1: “Baekgyeong, I saw the video, so don’t you dare try to lie!” – Yoon Siron, absolutely fucking pissed 4:16PM

MeMe: “Yoon Siron, should I just not go back to Korea?” – Baekgyeong, hopes to return to Baggers City and reunite 4:16PM

noname1noname1: Don’t make yourself look like a fucking disgrace. While I’m being nice, get your ass back to Korea. Sorry I can’t come to the funeralㅠㅠ 4:17PM

“Hey. Baekgyeong.”

Just as he was about to reply, a voice called out to him. He turned to see his older brother looking at him, face twisted in irritation. It wasn’t just his brother—all eyes were on Baekgyeong now: the lawyer, his father, and everyone else present.

“Mr. Baekgyeong, you have an additional inheritance.”

Without thinking, Baekgyeong shot to his feet. In the past, being the center of attention like this would’ve been like setting off a bomb inside him—but now that his brain was functioning normally, the dominant feeling was embarrassment. He strode toward the lawyer.

“Did you hear what it is?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll repeat it. The deceased has bequeathed you this phone, along with sincere wishes for your continued health. It apparently contains post-operative care guidance. She hoped it would help you stay well.”

Baekgyeong gave the lawyer a puzzled look. From a file drawer, the lawyer took out a phone in a wallet-style case and handed it to him. Unlike previous items, this inheritance was being handed over right here on the spot.

“...She gave this to me?”

“Yes. Please check.”

Receiving the phone and the certificate of inheritance from the lawyer’s assistant, Baekgyeong returned to his seat and tapped the screen. To his confusion, the phone was locked. It required a password—eleven characters, alphabet or numeric.

“A password?”

“You know it?”

“No idea.”

His older brother and father, seated beside him, looked on with interest. Baekgyeong was just as clueless as they were. His father began to impatiently call the lawyer over when Baek Sang spoke up.

“Check the case.”

Obediently, Baekgyeong unzipped the phone case. Inside were several business card–sized slips of paper—eleven in total. Each card contained a cryptic question.

— Lowercase card —

PS. This is how we found the tumor in the head of that eight-year-old devil.

— Lowercase card —

PS. It wasn’t a mistake. It was deliberate. If it weren’t for him, I’d have rotted in prison for life.

Baekgyeong went through all the other cards. Every question was aimed at some incident shared between him and his mother. He picked up the second card in the first slot and worked through it. The answer came from a horrifying incident when he was eleven—something he had done to his mother.

He couldn’t remember why exactly, but that winter, at age eleven, Baekgyeong had gone completely berserk. Wanting to provoke his mother in the cruelest way possible, the boy had taken a knife to a cherished portrait of her and her own mother—his maternal grandmother—slashed it to shreds, and tossed it into the fireplace.

The portrait had been painted by Baekgyeong’s father, Baek Kwonil, as a gift for his wife. At the time, his maternal grandmother had received a grim diagnosis: her cancer had returned and metastasized throughout her body. Knowing her daughter would grieve, she wanted to leave behind something beautiful—so she had sat as a model for the portrait, enduring unimaginable pain. To her, the portrait, painted by someone her daughter loved, was a final parting gift.

Baekgyeong’s mother had treasured that painting more than anything in the world. But her youngest son, driven mad, had mutilated it simply to make her suffer.

When Choi Baekhee found out what he’d done, she chased after him in a rage. During their scuffle on the stairs, she lost control and shoved him.

Baekgyeong remembered nothing after that. When he woke up, four days had vanished—and a woman with shiny brown skin was standing beside his bed. That was his first encounter with Dr. Kate Tigrie, the neurosurgeon who had turned him into an alpha.

So that happened, didn’t it.

Looking back now, Baekgyeong realized he’d been a child so malicious and disturbed, he might as well have been possessed. If his mother had pushed him on purpose, it would have been understandable. Imagine that—at just eleven years old, he had maliciously schemed to shatter his mother’s heart. That Baekgyeong had been a truly frightening child.

Shivering at the memory of his younger self, Baekgyeong quickly figured out the answer to the card. Before he could say it aloud, Baek Sang—reading along—spoke up.

“The answer’s lowercase ‘k.’ First initial of Kate Tigrie. You were seriously terrifying that day.”

“What about the first one? I can’t make sense of it at all. What’s the simplest way to build patience?”

But Baek Sang seemed just as stumped. Their father examined the card carefully too, but showed no sign of recognizing the answer. Shifting his posture to face Baekgyeong, Baek Sang suggested:

“Is it a riddle? If we’re talking about patience, maybe... waiting for the computer to finish updating?”

With a relaxed expression, he offered the joke. And perhaps buoyed by the mood, Baekgyeong—who normally wouldn’t even attempt this kind of [N O V E L I G H T] thing—added his own.

“I don’t know, man. For me, it’s waiting for the pizza to heat up in the microwave.”

But their brief, almost heartwarming riddle-solving session came to an end as the lawyer prepared to wrap up the reading. Baek Sang reached for his suit jacket and gestured toward the phone in Baekgyeong’s hands.

“Let’s figure it out together. Don’t try to solve it on your own.”

To Baek Sang, the riddles their mother had left behind seemed like a game—something to enjoy while reminiscing about her. But not for Baekgyeong. He saw a warning in the inheritance. The phone had been set to airplane mode as a safeguard against hacking, and password-protected to prevent unauthorized access. A message displayed at the top of the screen warned that after ten incorrect attempts, the data would be erased and the phone wiped.

What’s more, the password clues were all intensely personal, forcing Baekgyeong to rely entirely on his memories. He felt sorry for the rest of the family who may have wanted to share those memories—but he had no intention of fulfilling their expectations.

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