chapter -12 The final plan

Seon bought the animal skin and, after washing it multiple times, carefully cut it into the shape of a leather pouch similar to the ones he had seen before. Hiding it beneath his shirt, he returned to the orphanage and waited for the right moment. When the time came, he crawled through the air duct, maneuvering through the narrow space until he reached the dean's office. Moving hastily, he took hold of the leather pouch, which weighed around ten pounds, and stuffed it into his shirt, replacing it with the animal skin. To secure it, he tied the strings of his pants tightly around his waist before retracing his steps through the duct.

Back in the sleeping quarters, Seon feigned sleep while waiting for an opportunity. As expected, later that night, several children were separated and moved to the side prayer hall, leaving behind only those whose names were on the disposal list—including him.

Time passed slowly, and Seon's nerves stretched thin as he listened to the muffled sounds outside the door. Then came the unmistakable crash of something breaking. Alarmed, he crept toward the window and peeked outside. His heart clenched at the sight of a dozen men engaged in a heated argument. These were the same people he had often seen lingering near the orphanage. They shouted something before heading toward a van, where they retrieved large cans of kerosene. After loading the van, most of them drove away, leaving only two large, bulky men with the dean.

Seon's breath hitched as he saw them approaching his direction. He hurried back to his bed and lay still just as the door creaked open. Heavy footsteps entered the room, followed by the sharp, unmistakable scent of kerosene. The men moved methodically, dousing the children in the flammable liquid before turning to leave. The door clicked shut and locked behind them.

The moment they were gone, Seon shot up. Frantically, he ran around the room, shaking the other children, trying to wake them. But no matter how hard he pushed or shouted, they remained in their eerie, unnatural slumber. Tears welled in his eyes as panic threatened to overtake him, but he forced himself to remain calm.

Determined, he rushed to the youngest child in the room, lifting the small body onto his back. With all his strength, he stacked the beds to create enough height to reach the air vent. Climbing up, he pushed the child into the narrow opening, stuffing him inside the duct before.

With all his strength, Seon pushed the child further into the duct, ensuring he was safely inside. As he climbed down, he grabbed the bundle he had prepared earlier—filled with several clothes, food, money, and the leather pouch. Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself back up into the duct, kicking the stacked beds down behind him to erase any trace of his escape.

Crawling through the narrow passage, he dragged the lean child along, his hands and knees scraping painfully against the rough metal. His head bumped against the surface more than once, but he forced himself to move forward, ignoring the stinging pain. Suddenly, a loud wail echoed through the orphanage, followed by the acrid scent of burning wood and flesh. Thick smoke began to fill the duct, making it harder to breathe.

Seon coughed violently, his vision blurring as tears and snot ran down his face. His lungs burned, but he kept crawling, forcing himself forward. Just as he neared the exit, a deafening explosion shook the entire structure. The duct trembled under the force, threatening to collapse. Panic surged through him, but he gritted his teeth and dragged himself and the unconscious child forward.

At last, he reached the end of the vent. With trembling arms, he pushed the child out first, then climbed down after him. Slinging the frail body onto his back, along with his bundle, he ran—his legs wobbling, his chest heaving. He didn't stop until he reached the quieter parts of the city, avoiding crowded streets and prying eyes.

Upon spotting an unfinished construction site, he darted inside, throwing his bundle to the side before carefully laying the child down. Gasping for breath, he crouched beside him, his fingers shaking as he gently shook the boy's shoulder.

"Wake up," Seon pleaded, his voice hoarse. But there was no response.

His heart pounded. He slapped the child's face lightly at first, then harder. "Wake up!" His voice cracked.

Still, nothing.

Then, as his gaze fell upon the boy's small, lifeless body, his breath caught in his throat. The child's skin had turned an eerie shade of blue—just like the ones who had perished before.

A strangled cry tore from Seon's throat. He wailed, his body wracked with despair, shaking the boy desperately, refusing to accept the truth. But the child didn't move.

Hours passed. As the sky lightened with the first traces of dawn, Seon's expression turned hollow. His face, once contorted in grief, was now devoid of emotion. Without a word, he lifted the child onto his back and walked toward the mountainside road.

There, with nothing but his bare hands, he started digging. The dirt scraped against his already bloodied palms, his broken nails tearing further with each clawing motion. Yet, he didn't stop. He kept digging, deeper and deeper, until a six-foot hole lay before him.

Carefully, he placed the child's body inside. Then, with quiet urgency, he covered him with soil, patting it down hastily before anyone could see.

Just as he finished, movement in the distance caught his eye—figures approaching. His pulse quickened. Without hesitation, he turned and ran.

His feet carried him toward the butcher's shop, the only place he could think of at such an early hour. The doors were still closed, but Seon didn't care. He collapsed onto the shop's steps, hugging his knees, his small frame shaking as silent sobs escaped his lips.

But his grief was short-lived.

The sound of approaching footsteps startled him. His body tensed. Instinctively, he tightened his grip around his bundle and shot up, sprinting toward the marketplace.

As he reached the mart, he spotted the familiar vegetable delivery van, just as it arrived for its usual morning drop-off. The workers busied themselves unloading crates, while the driver collected the payments.

Seon didn't hesitate. Keeping his head low, he tiptoed closer, eyes darting for an opening.

This was his only chance.