UNFED

To eyes accustomed to the Seoul Express Bus Terminal, it was just a single building. A ticket counter, waiting chairs, a small convenience store. A few buses were parked there.

It was a quiet afternoon in a small provincial town. As Hoon stepped off the bus, he caught the scent of spring—a blend of earth and grass. It was a scent he couldn’t smell in the city.

He made a call.

After two rings, he answered.

“I’ve arrived at the terminal.”

“Yeah. Ten minutes.”

That was all. Lee Jae-in’s calls were always brief.

Hoon sat down on a bench in front of the terminal. He set his bag down. The spring sunshine was warm. He closed his eyes and just sat there for a moment. Three hours by bus from Seoul to Hamyang.

Before that, three and a half hours by plane from Manila to Incheon. It had been a long journey. But he wasn’t tired. Since his awakening, the nature of his fatigue had changed. It wasn’t the kind that builds up; it was the kind that passes.

A little over ten minutes later, an old truck pulled up in front of the terminal.

It was Lee Jae-in.

Lee Jae-in rolled down the window and looked at Hoon. Hoon looked at me too. For a moment, neither of us said a word. It had been five years. It had been so long that neither could remember exactly when I’d last seen him.

Lee Jae-in spoke first.

“You’ve lost a lot of weight.”

Hoon replied as he climbed into the truck.

“Does it look that way?”

“Yeah. But you look well.”

The truck pulled away. Lee Jae-in didn’t say anything else as he drove. Hoon didn’t speak either. The silence wasn’t awkward. That was just how their relationship was. A relationship that didn’t require many words.

Once they left Hamyang town behind, the mountain road began.

The road narrowed. Trees grew thick on both sides. The spring greenery was deep and lush. Looking out the window, Hoon thought again about how green the mountains in Korea were.

It was different from the green in the Philippines. It was deeper and denser.

“How long have you been there?”

Lee Jae-in asked.

"It’s been a little over a year."

“Alone?”

“Yeah.”

Lee Jae-in seemed to think for a moment. Then he didn’t ask any more questions. Why he went, what he did there—he didn’t ask about any of that. Instead, he asked something else.

“You said something important came up.”

"Yeah."

"Are you going to tell me now, or when we get there?"

Hoon answered while looking out the window.

“When we get there. I have to show you in person.”

Lee Jae-in nodded. Then silence fell again. The mountain road stretched on.

* * *

Hadong-ri was a small village.

There were about ten houses scattered along the mountainside. One of them was a building converted from an abandoned school. It was a place Lee Jae-in had spent three years renovating on his own.

The playground had become a vegetable garden. Two classrooms had been turned into living quarters. The remaining one served as a workshop. The administrative office had been converted into a kitchen.

As the truck pulled into the yard, a dog came running out. Lee Jae-in got out and petted the dog’s head.

“What’s your name?”

“Dol.”

Hoon chuckled briefly. That was just like Lee Jae-in.

They went inside the building. It was old, but it was neat. There were traces of Lee Jae-in’s own handiwork: window frames he’d replaced, floors he’d laid anew, walls he’d whitewashed.

Some parts were finished, while others were still a work in progress. That very imperfection made the space feel alive.

In the kitchen, Lee Jae-in boiled water. Hoon sat in a chair in the studio. Architectural drawings were spread out on the table. They were floor plans of the building. Hand-drawn sketches showing which walls to repair and how.

Lee Jae-in came in carrying tea. It was green tea. He sat down and said,

“Go ahead, tell me.”

Hoon picked up his teacup. He took a sip. Then he began to speak.

* * *

He spoke for an hour.

The world after AGI. The control structure AI is creating. How food has become the key lever. And what he had been researching and experimenting with over the past few months.

The possibility of awakening. The 72-hour process. The changes that occurred in his body.

Lee Jae-in listened without interruption. He didn’t ask a single question. He emptied his teacup twice. While Hoon spoke, he would gaze out the window or tap his finger on the blueprints on the table. It was a habit he had when thinking.

Hoon finished speaking.

Silence fell.

Lee Jae-in sat there for a long time. Birdsong could be heard outside the window. Dol barked in the yard, then fell silent.

Then Lee Jae-in spoke.

“So, what do I need to do?”

Hoon paused for a moment. He had expected objections. He had expected skepticism. At the very least, he had expected questions. Does this make sense? Is there any scientific basis for this? Isn’t it dangerous?

But Lee Jae-in’s first words were, “So what do I need to do?”

“You have to try it yourself. He felt the same way at first. It’s hard to explain in words.”

“72 hours?”

"Yeah."

Lee Jae-in nodded. His decision was quick. He wasn’t the type to overthink things. He was the kind of person who made decisions with his body.

“When should I start?”

Hoon said.

"When you feel ready. I can’t force you. You can’t do this if you’re not ready."

Lee Jae-in thought for a moment.

“Tomorrow.”

"Why tomorrow?"

Lee Jae-in said, looking out the window.

"I want to have dinner tonight."

Hoon smiled. Lee Jae-in smiled too.

"Okay. Let’s eat tonight."

* * *

They had dinner together.

Lee Jae-in made doenjang stew with vegetables he’d picked from his garden. Steamed rice. He said the kimchi was a gift from an elderly neighbor. It was a simple meal. But that simplicity was enough.

As he ate, Hoon thought to himself. It felt strange that he was eating right now. He had barely eaten any solid food for the weeks since his awakening, yet here he was, eating.

Strangely enough, though, it didn’t feel awkward. It wasn’t because he needed the food. He was eating simply because he was sharing a meal with someone.

In that moment, he realized that the meaning of eating had changed. It was no longer about survival, but about connection. It was no longer about filling his stomach, but about sharing a meal.

Lee Jae-in said.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten a meal like this.”

“Did you eat alone a lot?”

“Yeah. Since I’m here alone.”

There was a brief silence. Hoon asked.

“Isn’t it hard? Doing all this by yourself.”

Lee Jae-in said as he ladled out some stew.

"It is hard. But being hard isn’t necessarily a bad thing, is it?"

Hoon heard those words and set down his spoon for a moment.

It’s not a bad thing to be tired.

It was true. But the fact that those words came from Lee Jae-in’s mouth at this very moment was significant. Starting tomorrow, Lee Jae-in would endure 72 hours of agony. It would be tough. Yet Lee Jae-in was already mentally prepared for it.

“It’ll be fine.”

Hoon said.

Lee Jae-in looked up. He looked at Hoon for a moment. Then he went back to scooping up the stew.

“I know.”

Dinner was over. They washed the dishes together. Lee Jae-in washed, and Hoon dried; the two worked in silence. That silence felt good. It was a silence that didn’t need to be filled with anything.

* * *

That night, Hoon lay down in the classroom they used as a dormitory.

It was a folding bed. Lee Jae-in had set it up. He could see the mountains outside the window. The mountains were dark at night. There were many stars. The night sky in Hamyang was similar to that in Dasol.

It was a simple fact that there are many stars when there are no city lights, but seeing it with his own eyes always felt new.

Lying there, Hoon thought about tomorrow.

Lee Jae-in’s 72 hours were about to begin. He remembered his own 72 hours. That agony.

The first hallucination, the second hallucination, the third hallucination. Memories of the coastal village, his mother, his failures, the things he had buried deep inside. They all came flooding back.

Lee Jae-in would go through them too. Hoon didn’t know everything about Lee Jae-in’s past. They’d known each other for a long time, but Lee Jae-in was a man of few words. He didn’t easily reveal what was inside him.

But within those 72 hours, there’s no hiding it. The brain brings it all out. Whether you want it to or not.

Wouldn’t that be frightening?

As Hoon thought about that, he recalled what Lee Jae-in had said today. “It’s not a bad thing to have a hard time.” The person who said that was already prepared.

The wind blew outside. The window shook slightly. It was the night breeze coming down from the mountains. A Korean spring breeze. It was the first he’d felt in two years.

Hoon closed his eyes.

Tomorrow morning, Lee Jae-in’s 72 hours will begin.

That was the second seed of everything.