CTL 1

The night air of November was exceptionally cold.

Yoongeon was staring blankly down at the space below the railing he stood upon. As it cut through the cold, dry air, a pale white smoke escaped from his lips.

It was not just the vapor formed by warm breath reacting to the cold air. The source of the hazy smoke was the thin cigarette held in his right hand. Well… perhaps a little bit of what he exhaled just from being alive and breathing was mixed in.

“……”

The face looking down was simply numb. As if it belonged to a person who could not feel any emotion at all.

An ordinary person probably would not have been able to look properly, or would have been desperately clinging to the railing in terror. Then again, it wasn’t the first floor, nor the second, but a staggering 78th floor, so that would be understandable.

But he was not like that. His gaze remained fixed downward. There was no sign of fear from Yoongeon, who stood precariously on the railing. To him, this was an extremely familiar act.

If asked what was familiar, Yoongeon could not name just one thing. Too many things were familiar.

The repeating lives were familiar, being thrown into an unfamiliar world was now familiar, and even the death he always ended up choosing was familiar. The only thing amidst all that which did not become familiar was Seohwi alone. The thought of his one and only lover’s face—the only one there would ever be—naturally made him crave a cigarette. Yoongeon brought the cigarette to his lips once more.

“Huuu….”

He exhaled the pale white cigarette smoke and suddenly looked up at the sky. He could see the moon. No, he could only see the moon.

It was a sight very different from the sky he once knew. He had thought that no matter how much time passed, at least that sky would not change, but he was wrong. Human greed and avarice had in the end changed even that sky.

Now, no matter how deep the night grew, the stars in the sky were not visible. They say it is because the ground is excessively bright. It was about time he got used to this unfamiliar scenery, yet there were still moments when he was, all of a sudden, startlingly surprised. Just like right now.

And at times like that, Yoongeon naturally craved the death that had become a habit. Because if he just took one step forward from here, he could sleep soundly for a while. That temptation was so powerful that a single misstep could make him give in. In fact, there were a few times he had died so feebly just like that.

…He was certain that he, too, had once longed for life.

Yoongeon thought, his jet-black, dead eyes gazing down at the world below his feet.

Here, he is an unfamiliar stranger. In fact, ever since that life as the great Emperor who ruled the world, he had always been a stranger. He lived adrift, unable to set down roots anywhere, and whenever he met Seohwi, he barely mustered the strength to endure for his sake. And once he confirmed that Seohwi’s—his—wings were not broken, he would invariably cut his own lifeline.

“Where are you this time.”

But this time, it was taking an unusually long time.

“Haah…. It’s hard to hold on, please come quickly….”

Yoongeon could not find him. It was always Seohwi who found Yoongeon. Without his will, Yoongeon had no means. So, if he was going to show up anyway, he wished he would hurry just a little. Because he was ready to willingly become the stepping stone for your life and die.

Thinking of his past life, present life, and the endlessly repeating cycle of reincarnation, Yoongeon furrowed his brow. This life was particularly suffocating, making it difficult to endure properly. He bit his lip and closed his eyes. He lifted his head toward the sky, but what he was actually yearning for was not the sky, but the ground. Yoongeon wanted to fall to the ground right now. He wanted that more desperately than anything else.

If I just take one more step from here, I can sink without any worries for a while.

The railing of the 78th-floor rooftop, this railing he was stepping on right now, Yoongeon always thought of it as death.

He stood upon death every day.

Worn-out arms and death had now become a habit for him.

He knew something was broken, but Yoongeon did not bother to examine it. There was no point in looking; he felt no great interest in a body that would die and rot away without lasting long anyway. What permeated his face, which seemed to hold no lingering attachments, was a profound weariness of life.