Chapter 52

Chapter 52
To be completely honest, I had never felt particularly anxious about my origins becoming public knowledge. It was not the sort of disclosure that could truly destroy me.

However, the Commander had gone to the extreme length of executing Lieutenant General Batom during a staff meeting simply to deflect scrutiny away from my background. He had also issued a strict warning forbidding anyone from bringing up my mother, Luna Moon, in discussion. Because of this protective measure, the majority of the cadets—everyone except for high-ranking officers’ children like Platon—remained completely unaware of my true roots.

Even the offspring of senior officers had exercised caution, ensuring that throughout my time at the academy, everybody operated under the Commander’s tacit instruction to assume I had simply grown up undergoing elite training, which explained my exceptional skill level. I had naturally gone along with this narrative, fulfilling their expectations without giving it much thought.

I never anticipated that Platon would escalate matters to this extreme degree.

While exposing my lack of formal early education at this exact juncture might technically work to my advantage, that reckless individual clearly gave zero thought to the long-term consequences. He had not pulled such a stunt out of personal trust; rather, completing the specific task I assigned him took absolute priority over everything else. That was the only rational explanation.

Meanwhile, the Commander’s facial expression had shifted beyond mere coldness, plunging the surrounding atmosphere into a deep freeze reminiscent of the Second Apocalypse itself. Had anyone dared to question his internal thoughts, his reply would likely have been an intent to eliminate that child, though he showed no immediate sign of acting on the impulse, allowing me to continue listening to Platon’s address.

“It has been a mere three months since Lord Haydam, who had gone missing for certain reasons in the past, returned to us,” Platon stated. “That means he has only recently begun to eat proper meals, let alone receive elite training. And yet that same Lord Haydam challenged our cadets in the training simulations—and scored two overwhelming victories. Had we failed to find Lord Haydam until now, he never would have been able to take those simulations at all. This, even though he already possesses the ability to overwhelm graduates at the age of ten.”

At last, Platon shifted his gaze away from me to address the entire hall.

“Until now, we may have been letting countless ‘Haydams’ slip through our fingers. The population of our zone continues to grow by the day, and the food shortage that must support them shows no sign of ending. All of you here are young people with healthy bodies and healthy minds—but that youth will not last forever. One day we will all grow old and weary, and it will be other children who support you in turn. Therefore, I ask that every eleven-year-old child in this zone be granted admission to the military academy. I make this request of the graduates…”

When the speech concluded, a profound stillness enveloped the production hall.

Even after Platon resumed his seat beside me with an air of quiet pride, that quietness persisted. The headmaster, scheduled to deliver the Commander’s congratulatory address next, remained frozen and sweating profusely, not daring to step forward.

Though the Commander’s smile had vanished, the intense murderous aura that previously surrounded him had lessened. He appeared deep in thought, carefully weighing his next move.

Then, unexpectedly, Lucas shattered the silence.

Clap. Clap. Clap…

Positioned in the front row, Lucas began applauding. In the midst of the hush, the sound resonated clearly, drawing every eye in his direction. He stood up slowly, ceased clapping, and addressed the room.

“I, too, make this request.”

Beside him, Bones wore an expression of utter shock, his lips moving as if muttering something akin to asking if he had lost his mind. Lucas completely ignored him, looking up toward the Commander to continue.

“To be perfectly honest, until now I believed that Lord Haydam was naturally superior to me because he had been raised in better circumstances than I was. Even when I heard that he had refused admission to the academy, calling it a waste of time, I assumed a precious young master who’d received elite training was simply looking down on the rest of us.”

While I had never concealed my refusal of admission, the revelation clearly came as news to many cadets, sparking a ripple of whispers throughout the room. Lucas paused to let the murmurs subside before speaking again.

“लेकिन looking back on it now, another thought occurred to me. What was so great about this academy—open only to the children of high-ranking officers, or those sponsored by them—that I should have resented Lord Haydam for refusing to enter it? Wasn’t that simply an inferiority complex on my part? And then another thought followed: if we had never found Lord Haydam, if he were not standing here today… we might have lost a great commander who would one day earn the respect of countless cadets.”

At some point during his speech, Lucas had turned to face me directly, continuing his address.

“I dare to say this to His Excellency the Commander. To find a single Haydam, one must raise a hundred children. As one cadet—as a child this zone has raised—I ask this of you.”

He then pivoted to address the rows of gathered cadets behind him.

“I ask the other cadets as well. Please support Cadet Platon’s graduation speech with a vigorous round of applause.”

Lucas finished his words, leaving a brief pause in the air.

Bones, seated right beside him, let out a noise and surged to his feet, roughly tearing off the necktie that had always looked out of place on him, and began clapping loudly. The moment a faint smile touched Lucas’s lips, other graduates started rising from their chairs to join in, unleashing a massive, powerful wave of applause across the graduation hall.

I never imagined they would take things this far…

My expectation had been limited to Platon and the Commander staging a modest, convincing act. The thought that Lucas would actively intervene, or that the entire assembly would throw their collective support behind Platon’s proposal, had never crossed my mind.

None of these developments had ever occurred within the game.

Having viewed them merely as non-player characters, I had never bothered to wonder what they felt when observing me. My background and my rejection of the academy were entirely calculated moves meant solely to clear the game, devoid of any noble ideals of the sort Lucas had just voiced. Yet all these cadets were staring at me—someone whose only goal was to abandon this zone the moment the Second Apocalypse struck—and anticipating that I would eventually become their commander and lead them forward.

Then the Commander’s voice reached my ears, soft and low.

“You really do… always exceed my expectations.”

The cold look had vanished from his face. He offered me a smile, stood up from his seat, and approached the microphone. The instant his hand touched it, the applause died away instantly.

Amidst the tight silence, the Commander spoke in a level tone.

“To find a single Haydam, one must raise a hundred children, was it…”

The cadets who had stood to back Platon instantly stiffened at his words, and the sound of nervous swallowing echoed around the hall. Observing their reaction, the Commander softened his demeanor slightly and continued.

“How could I, Haydam’s father, refuse such a request? I will gladly become a father to a hundred children.”

Having addressed the cadets, he turned his attention toward the officers seated behind the graduates—most of whom still looked profoundly shaken—and delivered his final declaration.

“Starting this coming spring, once the subjugation campaign concludes, admission to the military academy will proceed via examination rather than recommendation. Eligibility will be extended to every eleven-year-old child residing in this zone. If anyone has an objection, speak now.”

Not a single officer was foolish enough to challenge him under the circumstances, and with Anton absent, no one else possessed the courage to step forward. The back of the hall remained entirely silent. Consequently, the Commander’s parting words echoed with striking force.

“That is all. Congratulations on your graduation.”

…And that brought the matter to a close.

Upon learning of the graduation speech, Anton turned pale and fled the underground bunker, leaving me behind with Shut-in Yeobo. Since Meursault was managing the cleanup operations upstairs, Yeobo and I took our time ascending after I gave him a general summary of what had transpired with Anton.

“Whoa-hey!”

Shut-in Yeobo approached with a look of pure awe.

“How do you always show up with timing this perfect? That’s insane!”

I shot him a sidelong glance.

“You’re a player who got kidnapped by an NPC? What did you think was going to happen to you, following him all the way down here?”

“You didn’t believe me earlier when I said I was being threatened, remember? And nothing actually happened, for real.”

Look at this individual.

“Be more careful. If I hadn’t already spoken to Platon about making you my adjutant, you might have been tortured today.”

That warning was no joke. Had I not arranged an escape route for Anton beforehand, Shut-in Yeobo would never have walked out of that location intact, considering that the facility served as the official specialized interrogation center of the Safe Zone.

However, the warning clearly failed to register properly, as he reacted far more intensely to an entirely different part of my statement rather than the mention of potential torture.

“Wait—so you’re actually going to make Platon your adjutant?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what about me?!”

Unbelievable. The kid was genuinely offended.

“I have no idea why you’d think I’d make someone like you my adjutant… but even if I wanted to, you couldn’t handle it.”

“Then once I’m an adult, you’ll hand the assistant position over to me?”

Hm… well, he could harbor whatever expectations he pleased regarding that matter.

“Anyway, speaking of which—you. Go to school.”

“Last time you told me to join the military, and now you’re telling me to go to school.”

“Platon requested that academy admission be made open to everyone in his graduation speech, and the Commander accepted it.”

“What changes if admission becomes open?”

“You and Taejeong will be able to enter the military academy this coming spring. The admission age is eleven, and the bodies we are currently inhabiting happen to be ten years old right now.”

I stated it quickly, immediately cutting off any potential complaints about being told to attend school.

“You’re not going to tell me you don’t want to go just because I’ve saved your life twice and now I’m asking you to go to school twice, right?”

“Huh? No, it’s fine. I’ll go to school.”

“…Are you serious?”

This kid possessed surprisingly little independent ego, whether regarding my previous instruction to join the military or my current directive about school.

“So. How much did you tell Anton?”

“How much did I tell him?”

“He called you down here to ask questions like whether I genuinely grew up in the slums, or whether I was someone he could trust—things like that, right?”

“Whoa, how did you know that? You really are smart, huh.”

That reaction merely highlighted his lack of sense… never mind, it was not worth dwelling on.

“Anyway, knowing your personality, I doubt you kept your mouth shut or lied. Exactly how far did you go?”

“I told him everything, straight. He thought I was acting.”

That response made no sense, prompting me to press further.

“What exactly did you say?”

“That I’ve only known you for three months, and that I have no memories from before I was ten. And that the two of us met in the slums.”

Fair enough. Even I would have struggled to take those claims at face value.

“Is that everything?”

“Oh—and Anton mentioned he has a secret daughter.”

“A daughter? Don’t tell me it’s Daphne.”

“You need to stop reading novels.”

What did he mean by novels? The notion that Daphne was Anton’s biological offspring was practically established lore among players!

“He said he’d share his secret if I told him mine, and then he showed me a photo of his daughter. Well—not a photo. A portrait.”

A portrait… wait a minute.

“Was it by any chance an East Asian woman with a mole beneath her eye?”

“Yeah! That’s right. How did you know?”

So that was how it played out.

Anton must have presented Shut-in Yeobo with Luna Moon’s portrait as a test.

“Aww… so you already knew about that too?”

“Anton doesn’t have a daughter.”

“He doesn’t?”

“That portrait depicts Luna Moon.”

“Luna Moon…? That one?”

Shut-in Yeobo looked completely bewildered.

“Why would he show you Luna Moon’s picture and pretend it was his child?”

“Because you told him you’d only known me for three months. He likely wanted to display Luna Moon’s likeness to observe your reaction. He pulled the exact same trick on me.”

“He did it to you too?”

“He suddenly suspected I might be an impostor, so he had a portrait of Luna Moon commissioned and brought it to me as a ‘gift’ to see if I would recognize her.”

Mid-sentence, realization dawned on Shut-in Yeobo, and his expression shifted as he stared directly at me.

“Wait, if you haven’t been exposed as a fake, that means you passed the test, right? Whoa. How did you pretend to recognize that portrait?”

“I managed somehow.”

Something that difficult to brush off with such a casual phrase was not information Shut-in Yeobo needed in full detail. I assumed a vague reply would suffice for him to drop the subject, and true to form, he seemed reasonably satisfied with that single explanation.

“Ahh—so that’s why he was muttering earlier about how there shouldn’t exist two kids capable of acting as convincingly as you. That makes sense now.”

Yet one specific detail still refused to add up in my mind.

“But why didn’t you recognize Luna Moon’s face? You’ve played the otome game. Seeing that portrait should have made you recognize her and drawn suspicion upon yourself.”

I had naturally presumed Luna Moon’s appearance would feature prominently in the otome game Shut-in Yeobo had experienced. Assuming he simply had a poor memory for character designs, his actual response caught me completely off guard.

“You’ve seriously never played an otome game, haven’t you? Otome game protagonists don’t have distinct faces.”

Protagonists in otome games lack faces…?

“You mean they have no character models?”

“Yeah. Even when their form is visible, it’s just an illustration with long bangs obscuring the face entirely. That’s an industry standard to allow the player to fully immerse themselves.”

Having stated that, Shut-in Yeobo paused as a new thought struck him.

“Then that picture earlier must have been the actual face of the player who possessed Luna Moon.”

Those words struck me with the force of a knockout blow, causing my heart to plummet.

Because that implied a very real possibility that the individual who inhabited Luna Moon’s body was, in fact, my mother.

Yet I pushed the thought away almost instantly.

No. This is just more of his baseless speculation.

The concept that the NPC I pretended to be born to was actually my real mother was not something I could readily accept, nor was I willing to believe it without clear, undeniable evidence placed directly before my eyes.

“To Westerners, all East Asian faces look more or less identical.”

I replied as steadily as possible, keeping any trace of inner turmoil out of my tone. Shut-in Yeobo tilted his head in confusion.

“Hm? Westerners?”

“Square Soft. They probably just grabbed some random East Asian reference model when developing this game.”

“No, they didn’t.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I’m talking about the company that developed this game. It wasn’t Square Soft.”

I sat speechless for a moment before repeating my question in disbelief.

“…What are you talking about? Then who created it?”

“Apocalypse: Safety Zone 1 was developed by a Korean studio. Square Soft only acquired the rights and took over production starting with the sequels.”

“A Korean company?”

“Yeah. Salvation Project, it was called…”

“…What?”

Salvation Project.

I was well aware of that enterprise. It was the company my mother had established.

Why was that specific name coming out of Shut-in Yeobo’s mouth at this exact moment?

A wave of cognitive dissonance left me completely incapable of formulating a response, and his subsequent words hit me like a blade.

“It was a small game company my older sister used to work at.”