PAX 4

Most Nageon District residents mainly use bicycles, and even if they own cars, they are small, practical ones, so this purple Porsche must belong to someone from another city. They probably drove too fast on the highway, took a wrong turn, and came in wondering what this ghost town was all about.

With a powerful hornet-like roar, the Porsche zoomed past me, spun smoothly, and stopped sideways, blocking the road.

I slowed down, stopped, and watched the Porsche buzzing about 20 meters ahead. Although there was enough space for my bike to get past that monstrosity blocking the middle of the road, I figured it would be best to assess the situation first.

The moment I saw the man emerge as the passenger-side door opened, I was a little surprised. A stark white Adidas tracksuit set. A Marine-style buzz cut. It was a jailer from the Nageon District. I felt like I had passed by him inside the district once before.

I never imagined a jailer would step out of a car like that. I’d never seen a jailer riding in such a car, either.

The white-clad jailer looked at me for a moment and then gestured for me to take off my helmet.

I took off my helmet.

“So, it is the Pigeon.”

The white-clad jailer nodded with a smile and pointed in turn toward my bike, which was still humming faintly, and then toward the sidewalk.

“Park it over there.”

Why?

The question popped up immediately, but I decided not to voice it. Usually, young jailers dressed like that have particularly shitty personalities, so it’s best to keep your mouth shut in front of them whenever possible.

I slowly rode the bike over, parked it in a corner of the sidewalk, and got off. Though, it’s not like there was any clear standard separating the sidewalk from the road anyway.

“Get in.”

I looked at the back door the white-clad jailer had opened, then met his eyes again. We stared at each other for about two seconds.

What should I do? Actually, there’s no need to think for long. If a jailer tells you to get in, you get in.

“Oh, wait.”

The moment I got close to the car, the white-clad jailer blocked my path and reached his hands toward me. Simultaneously, I spread my arms out to both sides. Jailers habitually frisk people. Even the Pachulso staff they’ve been doing business with for a long time.

The only thing I always carry is a knife tucked into the inside of my combat boot.

The white-clad jailer, who had searched me all the way to my toes, pulled it out and held it up.

“Is this it?”

“Yes.”

“If you hid anything weird in some weird place, say so now. Don’t go stammering later when you get caught.”

He should know that I wouldn’t do something like that, but this jailer is a bit strange.

No. Actually, jailers are generally moody and just say whatever comes to mind, so it’s not like he’s particularly weird.

“There isn’t.”

The white-clad jailer took my knife and gestured toward the back seat with his chin.

The moment I leaned into the car, the pungent smell of leather hit me first. The white leather seats were so pristine that they felt burdensome. I sat down, hoping I didn’t have any dirt or dust on my pants.

A jailer wearing a black Adidas tracksuit set was sitting in the driver’s seat. While the white-clad jailer closed the door and sat in the passenger seat, the black-clad jailer turned his head toward me and stared fixedly.

“You’ve never ridden in a car like this before, have you?”

The black-clad jailer turned his head forward the moment he finished speaking and drove the car. It didn’t seem like he was looking for an answer, so I stayed quiet.

Of course, I’ve never ridden in a car like this. A purple car like this.

Both jailers sitting in the front were quiet while we drove. I thought we were heading to the Nageon District, where the Guardians’ headquarters is, but the car was driving in the opposite direction. Deep into the ruins.

Jailers’ requests are usually received either by me going to the Guardians’ headquarters or by them calling Pachulso. I have never received a request from them anywhere else. And since I’m not a Nageon District resident, the only time I interact with jailers is when receiving a request. So, this means I had never—and would never have—found myself riding in a jailer’s car going to a place other than the Guardians’ headquarters.

I began to think something was wrong, but there was nothing in particular I could do. The two in front clearly looked like the type who hate being contradicted and aren’t likely to give straight answers to questions. Just like most young jailers. So, rather than asking where we were going, it was better to keep my mouth shut and see our destination with my own eyes.

The car stopped in the wide yard of an abandoned factory.

“Get out.”

The white-clad jailer opened the door for me.

I walked with the white-clad jailer on one side and the black-clad jailer on the other. Past the yard and into the factory building.

We passed places where machines of unknown purpose were piled up, covered in moss, and continued deep inside. The dim interior smelled of rusted iron, dust, and stagnant puddles all at once.

At a dead end, the white-clad jailer opened a door. I was blinded as we stepped out of the dark interior into the suddenly bright outdoors. In the middle of the factory’s backyard stood a single steel chair.

“Sit.”

The black-clad jailer pushed my back toward it.

I walked out into the sunlight and sat on the chair. The chair, heated by the sun, was scorching hot. The white-clad jailer was nowhere to be seen, and the black-clad jailer was standing in the shade under the eaves, watching me.

I wonder if he’ll return my knife when I leave.

No, I will be able to return, right?

I had a fleeting, ominous thought, but I knew in my head that nothing ominous could possibly happen. It is a rule that no one in the Nageon District, including the jailers, touches a Pachulso Pigeon. It means that while they might talk trash to me, they cannot beat or kill me. And because the rules they created and upholding them are more important to these people than anything else, this has been followed very well so far.

That doesn’t mean I feel at ease, though. Regardless, I don’t like this situation at all.

I was sitting still, just watching the shadow of the eaves spread across the floor in front of the black-clad jailer, when a sound began to draw closer little by little.

Squeak, squeak? Chirp, chirp? A sound that seemed to be somewhere in between?

Just as I thought the sound was getting closer, something suddenly popped out from inside the open door next to the black-clad jailer.

“Whoa, is that really a Pigeon?”

A man riding a bicycle that looked like it was on the verge of falling apart shouted loudly.

What’s with that bright expression? And what is meant by “really a Pigeon”?

Even though people around here call me “Pigeon,” that doesn’t mean I am an actual animal pigeon. Yet, that man spoke as if he had just seen an actual pigeon.

I don’t know what he was so happy about, but the man smiled brightly and circled the yard widely on his bicycle. Squeak-squeak, chirp-chirp, one lap, two laps, three laps.

The squeaking and chirping sounds were coming from the worn-out bike. As if it were begging him to stop killing it.

Mixed in very quietly, the sound of unrusted metal came from the prosthetic leg that took up more than half of the man’s right leg. Underneath his short shorts, the prosthetic leg firmly fixed to his thigh was clearly visible. Below the silicone wrapping his thigh, the knee and shin parts looked like they were made of titanium.

I sat looking straight ahead, taking a quick look every time the man circled around to the front of me. Marine-style buzz cut, loose T-shirt and shorts, Converse sneakers.

His hairstyle was similar to the typical young male jailers, but judging by his attire, he isn’t one of the jailers. But given the fact that he was commanding the jailers and his facial features, which weren’t unfamiliar, perhaps….

“This is our first time meeting, right?”

The man, who had been spinning around, suddenly stopped in front of me. The bike tires, which had braked suddenly, kicked up dust.

“I’m Ahn Yutan.”

As expected.

My prediction was right. The son of Guardians leader Ahn Juik.

If you removed the purple hue from Ahn Juik’s face and also removed the traces of time, it would just be Ahn Yutan’s face; the two looked quite alike.

I had heard that Ahn Juik had a son, but this was my first time actually seeing him. I heard he was sent to Seoul when he was young and has been living there separately ever since.

Ahn Yutan reached his hand out toward my face. I pulled my head back slightly and then grabbed his hand in an awkward posture. Ahn Yutan’s hand was cold and clammy.

While shaking hands, Ahn Yutan peered into my eyes. I shook my hand limply as Ahn Yutan shook it, and I looked somewhere around his brow. It’s the place to look when it’s awkward to either avoid someone’s gaze or meet it.

“Do you know who I am?”

“I believe so.”

“Who am I?”

“Leader Ahn Juik’s son.”