“Do you remember…? Skeletton. It’s me, John Nae-non.”

I asked for proof.

It was the natural thing to do, but as soon as I saw the verification video, I felt a strange sense of shock mixed with inexplicable guilt.

“This is the Mk-7 Harpoonizer you requested… It’s brand new… still sealed….”

I remembered the time I went to John Nae-non’s fan meet-up before the war.

He used to wear training clothes that were a size too small, emphasizing his muscular body—a bizarre fashion choice that he stubbornly stuck to.

Come to think of it, he really was around 183 cm tall.

In restaurants where you had to take off your shoes, he lost about 10 cm, but the moment he put his shoes back on, he was right back to being 183 cm.

With all that muscle, he must’ve weighed around 88 kg.

But the 18 cm part? Not quite.

There was a time when we stood side by side at a pub’s urinal, slightly drunk, and I sneaked a glance. From what I remember, it wasn’t that impressive…

But the lively man who laughed and chatted so boldly among his people? That man was gone forever.

The arms in the video looked skeletal, as if the flesh had been stripped away, leaving only bones.

That extreme thinness didn’t seem to be caused by a lack of food. It looked like something else entirely.

The booming voice that once yelled “Another bottle of soju!” now trembled faintly, just barely loud enough to understand.

What had happened to him?

SKELTON: John Nae-non, are you… sick?

They avoided answering.

The only thing they insisted on was meeting me.

I paused, lifting my fingers from the keyboard.

Going outside right now would be extremely dangerous.

Gunfire could still be heard intermittently from the north.

It meant skirmishes and standoffs were ongoing.

What lay beyond that? No one knew.

Only a year ago, you could reach out to soldiers through personal identification codes, and they’d provide helpful intel.

But those kind and reliable soldiers were gone.

I would now have to cross dangerous areas alone, areas I once knew well but had since become foreign and uncharted.

But if I sat back and let erosion spread, not just I but everyone around me would either die or go insane.

I could ask Woo Min-hee for help, and she would guarantee my immediate safety.

But she wouldn’t leave me alone after that.

She’d find a reason to drag me out of my bunker and toss me into a death trap.

“…”

It was a tough choice.

To avoid a guaranteed death a year from now, I’d have to risk dying an hour from now.

But I’d rather struggle and fight than just sit there waiting to die.

Besides, I trusted my ability to control the risks I might encounter outside.

The decision was made.

Click.

It was time to go find my role model.

But the sun hadn’t set yet.

With drones constantly patrolling, moving in broad daylight would be suicidal.

I logged into the community to kill time until nightfall.

SKELTON: Anyone remember John Nae-non?

Suddenly, I was curious.

What did the forum users think about John Nae-non, that relic of a user?

After preparing my gear, I checked back to see a few comments had appeared.

Doyourbest321: John Nae-non? That bastard? He’s a fraud.

RKKArA: Called himself a hunter, but weren’t Awakened people already around back then? He knew he was second-rate trash and still pretended to be a hunter. Imagine if one of us had actually been Awakened. What then?

Anonymous848: Hey~ John Nae-non. Haven’t heard that name in ages. I bet he’s alive. He made a lot of money, didn’t he?

Defender: I attended one of his lectures. It was full of nonsense. Personal nuclear power plants? Does that even make sense?

Not a single positive comment.

Every opinion either mocked or insulted him.

No one brought up any of his strengths.

That’s the way the forum worked, but I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed.

“…John Nae-non. He wasn’t a bad guy.”

Sure, John Nae-non stole content without permission.

And yes, he made a fortune by exploiting the forum.

But didn’t his information prove useful?

I’m sure everyone who read his translated posts picked up a tip or two.

He even handled contractors for us.

If we needed something done, he’d call the specialists and sort it out.

Who else offered that kind of service?

No one. Only John Nae-non.

No one else ever stepped up like he did.

But reality was harsh.

No one forgave him.

No one remembered his merits, only his flaws.

Maybe that’s why…

He chose to remain silent.

What must he have been thinking all these years?

Was he preparing for some grand comeback?

Or perhaps planning a quiet revenge?

Neither seemed likely.

Maybe his ultimate conclusion was to remain an eternal bystander.

*

As dusk fell, I left the bunker.

The current temperature was 1°C.

The sky was shrouded in dark clouds.

It looked like rain or snow would pour down any moment.

Feeling the warmth of the heat pack stuck to my chest, I quietly pushed my bicycle forward.

It was pitch black outside, but I knew this road well.

The faint outlines of the terrain, illuminated only by starlight, allowed me to navigate as I descended the steep slope with minimal braking.

A stream appeared.

It was a fairly deep body of water—deep enough that if I rode my bicycle through it, the water would soak up to my waist.

Not far ahead, there was a narrow path built from stones that farmers had stacked over time.

The entrance was obscured by the fast-flowing water, but there was a stone pile that marked the way.

Using it as a guide, I entered the stream.

The water barely submerged my tires.

Bang!

A gunshot echoed as I followed the road.

I got off my bicycle and skirted around the area.

Climbing up a small hill, I confirmed who was responsible for the gunfire.

Pioneers.

The same people who had appeared at the golf course earlier were now barricading themselves behind a heap of broken cars and wooden boards, firing towards the opposite road.

On the other side, another group had taken position.

Was it Cho Sung-yong’s group?

That seemed like the most likely possibility.

As I passed the hill and moved into the fields, I got a clearer view of them.

It wasn’t Cho Sung-yong’s people firing back.

“Shoot! Shoot! Kill every last one of those bastards!”

“Hey! Yong-su’s dad isn’t breathing!”

“Get some hot water! We need to disinfect it!”

“When is the pioneer group coming?!”

They were just ordinary people.

People who had probably once shared the same subway, shopped at the same supermarkets, and passed each other on busy streets. Now, divided into two factions, they were killing each other over reasons even they didn’t fully understand.

I pressed on through the darkness.

No further threats emerged.

The usual ambush spots where raiders might lurk were empty, and the highway—now a graveyard of abandoned vehicles—showed no signs of looters.

The real threat came from the sky.

ShaaAAAA---

Heavy rain began to pour.

In 2°C weather, getting drenched in freezing rain could mean death.

I climbed into an abandoned bus, started a fire, and wrapped myself in a poncho. There, I fought against four enemies: moisture, heat, cold, and discomfort.

To avoid dozing off, I dry-swallowed a caffeine pill.

“…”

As soon as the rain stopped, I got back on my bicycle and pedaled over the wet road.

I reached Seoul just as the dawn sun began to rise.

The speed was only possible because of the bicycle.

On foot, it would’ve taken three days—or even longer in these conditions.

I pulled out a note from my coat pocket and read its contents:

“Next to the broken signal post. Tell the man wearing glasses at the stall labeled ‘FAIL’ that you’re looking for John Nae-non.”

The street, named after the capital of some Middle Eastern country, was alive with a makeshift market run by those who had been left behind.

Broken electronics, rusted kettles, torn blankets, crumpled paper bundles, and bundles of kindling cluttered the collapsing stalls. There was no sign of luxury goods or jewelry.

Contrary to common belief, luxury goods still had demand.

It was just that those who could afford to live well had already hoarded them all.

Surprisingly, the security was relatively stable.

Soldiers of the Parliamentary Faction patrolled the market.

For the first time in a while, I walked my bicycle through streets that actually smelled like people.

Bang!

A gunshot rang out from the east.

That was Legion-controlled territory.

Was a battle about to break out?

Anxiously, I looked around, but I was the only one alarmed.

Everyone else moved about their business—haggling, browsing goods, or attempting petty theft.

Even the old woman selling mugwort yawned lazily, as if the gunfire were just another ordinary part of life.

Swallowing my surprise, I found the stall mentioned in the note.

[FAIL]

A shabby sign scrawled in marker on cardboard hung above the stall.

Beneath it sat a thin man with glasses, their cracked lenses clumsily taped together. He was selling computer parts spread across the table.

I approached and spoke in a low voice.

“I’m looking for John Nae-non.”

The man looked up at me.

“What’s your username?”

“Skeletton.”

The man gestured to someone nearby.

A man wrapped in a blanket limped over, his single leg supported by a crutch as he hobbled quickly.

“Watch the stall. I need to go somewhere.”

The man with glasses pulled up his hood.

“Let’s go.”

“Is it east?”

Another gunshot rang out from the east.

I flinched, but the man responded calmly.

“Yes.”

He led me to an apartment complex on the eastern edge of the market—a monotonous forest of concrete structures.

Beyond the apartment blocks, a towering building loomed, half-collapsed and crumbling.

Thud!

A chunk of debris fell from above, raising a cloud of dust.

Before the dust even settled—

Bang! Bang!

Two more gunshots rang out from the apartment complex.

This was definitely the source of the gunfire I’d been hearing.

Seeing the apprehension on my face, the man cleaned his glasses with a rag and began to speak.

“Across there is Legion-controlled territory.”

“Who are they fighting? The Parliamentary Faction?”

“No. They’re fighting each other. At first, it was the Stars fighting among themselves. Now it’s the Mugunghwa members. Soon enough, the Rhombus folks will fight too.”

“What’s the Parliamentary Faction doing?”

“They’re watching. Why intervene when they’ll destroy themselves anyway?”

The man led me past the apartment complex to an old, decrepit shopping street.

It was familiar.

I remembered being here once, dragged along by Gong Gyeong-min, my teammate back then.

“Park Gyu. How long are you gonna sulk? Those guys are just special, man. Chosen by God. Sure, before they Awakened, they were beneath our notice, but what can we do? Times have changed. Drink up! Will worrying change our shit luck?”

Now, Gong Gyeong-min was gone, and my team had fallen apart.

And that Chinese restaurant? I’d never find it again.

Bang!

Gunfire erupted ahead, snapping me out of my memories.

The eerie sound of death-laden wind brushed past my ears, followed by the crack of bullets hitting nearby.

The man and I dropped to the ground, crawling towards the nearest cover.

I spat out the muddy water that seeped into my mouth from the rain-soaked earth.

“What’s happening?”

Even the man, who had seemed indifferent to gunfire earlier, looked shaken.

Leaning against the wall, panting heavily, he tried to steady his breath.

“Fuck, I don’t know. It was fine yesterday. Seriously… living here is just hell.”

“Is it the Legion?”

“Could be civilians.”

“Why would civilians—”

“They just shoot at everything now. That’s what this neighborhood is like.”

Those with guns now regarded everything they saw as an enemy.

I thought of Rebecca, the sniper, but pushed the thought away.

Through the violence-stained streets, we finally arrived at our destination.

“This is it.”

It was a crumbling three-story mansion.

The peeling outer walls had remnants of a banner celebrating its reconstruction, now torn and fluttering sadly in the wind.

John Nae-non was waiting in the basement.

“Come this way.”

As I stepped into the basement, a few sewer rats scurried away.

The basement of the apartment was deeper than I’d imagined.

The man switched on a lantern, illuminating an endless flight of stairs as he spoke.

“This apartment was built during the military regime—a disguised command bunker prepared for war. The top is just a rotting old building, but the lower part is something special.”

It was finally time to ask.

“You said you’re John Nae-non’s subordinate. What exactly is your relationship with him?”

The man stopped.

But he didn’t stop to answer my question.

In front of us sat a cheap locker, the kind you’d see in a public bathhouse.

He opened it, and to my surprise, an unexpected item was revealed.

A radiation suit.

It was from the same company as mine, but this model was higher-grade.

He handed me one of the suits.

“I am his subordinate. Or, to put it another way—a follower.”

“A follower?”

“Yes. I’m serious. John Nae-non is an extraordinary man.”

The man’s voice lacked energy, but it didn’t sound like a lie.

As he put on the radiation suit, he muttered while gazing into the distance.

“…If America has Melon Musk, Korea has John Nae-non.”

“…Is that so?”

Did this guy just compare John Nae-non to Melon Musk, the founder of Viva! Apocalypse!?

Wasn’t that going a bit too far?

Melon Musk was a legendary con artist and businessman, amassing hundreds of trillions in wealth and global influence before he was forty.

John Nae-non, on the other hand, was just a man who got chased off the forum with a stream of curses.

Even someone like me, who was sympathetic to John Nae-non, couldn’t agree with such an absurd comparison.

“Put it on.”

“Why are you giving me this?”

“You’ll understand when we go inside.”

The man donned his radiation suit and shone the lantern across the way.

There stood a recently reinforced concrete wall, its center occupied by a tightly sealed lead door.

“John Nae-non is inside.”

I followed him past the door.

The room beyond was pitch black.

In the dimness, I could just make out a bed, where someone lay with their arm dangling lifelessly.

Strangely, there was a faint light illuminating the arm—not coming from the arm itself but from a medical device blinking beneath the bed.

The man in the radiation suit approached the bed and shook the person awake.

“Hyung-nim. Hyung-nim! Skeletton’s here. You need to get up! Hyung-nim!”

The man, teetering on the boundary between life and death, was helped to sit up.

His body was skin and bones, his face covered in red blotches that spread like a plague. His sunken eyes turned toward me.

As he tried to smile, I noticed it immediately—

There were almost no teeth left in his mouth.

“…Skeletton.”

His voice was faint, his words slurred.

I remembered him—John Nae-non.

The muscular man I’d once seen at a cheap barbecue restaurant.

That image, like so many other things, had now drifted forever into an unreachable past.

Just like the Chinese restaurant I’d never find again.

Only one question remained.

Why had this dying man sought me out?

Why did he cling so desperately to me, a relic of an outdated era?

“No.”

The answer came to me.

John Nae-non knew me.

“Professor…!!”

He had seen through the mask of Skeletton to the other me hiding behind it.

One question led to another.

When had it started?

I remembered, as if in a dream, the last fan meet-up I’d attended.

John Nae-non had tried to say something to me back then.

“Ah.”

Had it started then?