How many times has the ridge changed hands? Twenty? Thirty? I’d lost count somewhere along the way.

How many more people need to die before this war ends?

What was supposed to be a quick war had dragged on, worsened by the sudden entry of enemy sympathizers. Eventually, with the arrival of reinforcements, we managed to reclaim about half of the land.

Is this the right path? Anyone who questioned this died.

Why are we fighting this war? Anyone who wondered that is now dead, too.

All that’s left are those carrying guns with no purpose, no will. We might as well have ended up in another world, devoid of humanity, far removed from morality.

Or perhaps this is hell.

I look at the rifle I picked up before I could even read.
My parents died, my last remaining sister died, and now, all I have left is this gun.

“Sister, what was my name again?”

It’s come to this, where I start seeing my sister in the gun I hold.
All I want is a bowl of white rice, piled high and drenched in meat broth.
When will the revolution begin?

Crackle!

I hear voices over the distant radio.
Listening intently is a man clad in metal, pretending to be dignified.

Now that we’ve killed off all the wise and smart, all we’re left with is a scarecrow repeating the words “Great Leader Comrade.”

We had a mindless, dim-witted commander at the top, satisfied only when we fulfilled exactly 100 of 100 orders.

Yet, we’re able to take the ridge only because we have more soldiers than the enemy has bullets.

You could interpret this as us being nothing more than numbers.

My vacant eyes land on my helmet.
It’s too precious to wonder whether it’ll actually stop a bullet.

“Listen up, all of you! Liberation is near! Move quickly!”

What liberation?
Does that even exist?

I wanted to ask, but it was too late.
I had come too far to ask such questions now.

++++++

Whoosh!

The emotions of this nameless cadet soldier drained from me in an instant.

“It’s completely different from Lee Jae.”

Whereas Lee Jae had been filled with contempt, inferiority, and blind ambition, this soldier had only emptiness and longing for his sister.

He had lost his humanity, forgotten his purpose, and now clung only to the instinct to survive. He was, in many ways, not unlike a beast.

As I delved into the cadet soldier’s psyche, the film director Kang Sang-hoon approached.

“Normally, we’d do a screen test, but given the time constraints—and how great you were during the script reading—”

He paused, as if gauging my reaction. “How about we go straight to shooting?”

I nodded.

“Of course, I’m ready.”

“Guess all that research you did is paying off. You’re clearly prepared.”

“…?”

What research was he talking about? Seeing my puzzled look, Director Kang elaborated in a knowing tone.

“Your script is too clean. You must have separate notes for your research. I’ve met actors like you before.”

He proudly stroked his beard and patted me on the shoulder.

“If you keep at it, you’ll be a great actor one day.”

“Oh… thank you, sir!”

Figuring it was a compliment, I gave him a bright smile. Satisfied, he returned to his seat.

It seemed that, given my age, people on set were making an extra effort to support me.

I glanced at the script.

“The cadet soldier’s scenes last about five minutes.”

Considering the film’s runtime, it was a significant duration for a minor character without a name. That meant the role had to carry considerable presence.

“Well then.”

I’d have to make it count.

+++++

“Action.”

With the director’s quiet cue, tension enveloped the set.

To portray the horrors of the battlefield, everyone was cautious, even about swallowing.

“So, we’re this close to their camp.”

Kim Soo-ha, played by Han Tae-geon, was the scout leader preparing an operation to reclaim Icarus Ridge. He gazed at the distant ridge.

Zoom.

Through his binoculars, he spotted the enemy troops. There weren’t many, but the elevation difference made a direct assault risky.

“Get the uniforms ready.”

In response to his command, the soldiers pulled out North Korean uniforms. On a battlefield that had changed hands so many times, supplies were never exclusive to one side.

“Once I give the signal, open fire.”

“It’s too dangerous, sir.”

“If it’s dangerous, you won’t do it?”

No one dared answer. They’d faced too many life-threatening situations.

Perhaps life had become so cheap that the danger no longer fazed them.

“I’m going.”

After changing into the enemy uniform, Kim Soo-ha began his approach toward the North Korean camp, each step heavy.

If he was discovered, he’d die instantly. Imagining bullets tearing through his body, he sprinted toward the camp.

Then, suddenly, he made eye contact with a boy.

“Who’s this kid?”

The boy looked down at him with empty, hollow eyes.
Even with his helmet pressed low, his face seemed somber and filled with emptiness.

Kim Soo-ha felt a moment of horror, not out of pity for the boy’s presence on the battlefield but because he saw a remorseless killing machine born of war.

Though brief, their eye contact left him shaken. He bolted, unwilling to risk a longer glance at the boy.

“What’s going on!? Is the radio busted!?” “What are you saying?” “I ran all this way, yet I’m… whew…”

Kim Soo-ha disguised his clumsy Korean accent with labored breaths.

“What’s got you running like that?”

As Kim Soo-ha stalled, his men inched closer, closing the effective firing range.

Every moment of delay worked in their favor.

‘Just a little more, just a little more.’

Then, a voice from behind him spoke.

“Does the South really have rice and meat soup?”

“Answer me, will you?”

It was the boy from earlier.

“My dream is to taste that just once.”

“What… what are you saying?”

“If you don’t know, should I ask those folks coming up from behind?”

Rattle.

Kim Soo-ha’s eyes widened in shock.

Did he know? If so, when did he find out?

‘Why isn’t he saying anything if he knows?’

If he knew it was an infiltration, if he knew the delay tactic…
why didn’t he go straight to the point and instead ask such strange questions?

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You moron, he’s a Southerner.”

The boy’s calm yet shocking words left everyone stunned.

His tone was playful, almost childlike, but the content was dead serious, causing everyone to tense up.

“So, answer me. Do they really have such food down South?”

“You…! Why won’t you give a straight answer? Tell me your affiliation!”

In the midst of this tense moment, Kim Soo-ha glanced at the boy.

Despite the chaos, the boy’s face remained curious, staring at him as if genuinely interested in the answer.

That’s when he understood.

‘Is that really what he wants to know?’

Whether they had rice and meat soup—that was the boy’s main concern. It was as if nothing else mattered.

The boy still wasn’t holding his gun. In fact, he was slowly moving away.

He knew the situation was about to change, so he was withdrawing on his own.
Without alerting anyone, oblivious to the chaos around him, he remained calm.

“You punk! Is he really from the South?! Capture him now!”

Eager to capture a Southern prisoner, eager to climb the ranks with this victory, the North Korean soldiers emerged from their hiding spots.

Click! Click!

As guns were swiftly loaded and fingers pressed against the triggers…

Ratatatatat!

Reinforcements, having approached the effective firing range, unleashed a barrage of bullets on the North Korean soldiers.

In an instant, the tide of battle shifted.

While everyone was dropping to the ground, Kim Soo-ha caught a glimpse of the boy retreating into the distance.

“Are you hurt?” “Are you alright?! Sir, you’ve got guts!”

As his allies approached with words of encouragement, Kim Soo-ha’s gaze remained fixed on the boy’s back.

Out of range for his rifle due to the cover, the boy turned back, meeting Kim Soo-ha’s eyes one last time.

His lips moved, silent but unmistakable.

Does the South really have rice and meat soup?

Watching the boy’s lips, Kim Soo-ha understood.

He’d see him again, but in the worst possible way. He knew he’d regret not killing him here.

The camera quickly shifted from the battlefield to the boy.

The cadet soldier with the steel helmet on his head held several supplies.

Items he could take because allies had died:
warm clothes, a bit of alcohol, and a few cans.

“At least I get to eat well again today.”

Pure evil had been born.

“Oho…”

Watching this, Director Kang shivered.

Yes, this was the 120% he had dreamed of.

The intensity was palpable, and he could see it shaking before his eyes.

“An incredible ferocity.”

But it was also a poison.
A nameless character was threatening to consume the film.
An unstoppable addiction had begun.