UNFED

Viktor’s room looked different in the afternoon sunlight.

He opened the curtains. Just like at Lee Jae-in’s house. It wasn’t Hoon; Viktor opened them himself. Then he pushed the piles of books to one side. He put the empty liquor bottles into a box.

There was a sound. The sound of glass clinking. He emptied the ashtray. He opened the window. The afternoon air of Prague flowed in.

Hoon watched him. He didn’t help. Viktor wanted to do it himself.

It took twenty minutes. The room looked different. It wasn’t completely clean. But it had become a room where one could breathe.

Viktor sat down on the floor. He’d wanted to lay down something like a yoga mat, but there wasn’t one. He just sat down. There was a carpet. It was old, but soft.

Hoon sat across from him.

“Let’s start with your breathing.”

Viktor closed his eyes. He did as Hoon explained. Inhale through the nose, push the air down into the belly, and exhale slowly through the mouth. The rhythm was irregular at first.

His body was used to shallow breathing over a long period. Diaphragmatic breathing was unfamiliar to him.

“Go deeper. Your belly needs to expand.”

Viktor tried again. It was a little better.

"That’s it. Just keep going."

Hoon stepped back. He leaned against the wall. He watched Viktor.

An hour had passed. Viktor was sitting there. His expression was stiff. It wasn’t the look of concentration. It was the look of someone fighting something. It seemed like the craving for alcohol was rising.

Hoon knew that. For the first few hours, the body resists. It wasn’t so much withdrawal symptoms as it was the resistance of habit.

Viktor spoke without opening his eyes.

“My hands are shaking.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“Are you really okay?”

“It’s okay.”

Viktor closed his eyes again.

* * *

[ Viktor’s Hallucination — Part One, 14 Hours ]

It was a lecture hall.

Charles University in Prague. The place where Viktor had taught for twenty years. A semicircular, tiered lecture hall. Students were seated. It was packed. Viktor stood at the lectern.

But something was strange.

All the students were looking at their screens. Their laptops. Tablets. Smartphones. No one was looking at Viktor. Viktor was speaking. His voice was coming out. But no one was listening.

Viktor stopped.

“Everyone.”

There was no response.

"Look at this."

No one looked up.

Viktor tapped the lectern with his hand. It made a sound. Then one student looked up. He looked at Viktor. Then he looked back down at the screen.

Viktor was alone in that classroom.

He was alone in a place filled with people.

Just then, someone entered from behind. It was a man in a suit. He was wearing a tie. He was carrying a briefcase. He looked like a businessman. He walked over, looking at Viktor.

“Professor.”

Viktor looked at him.

It was the person who had first contacted him from the AI company. He couldn’t remember his name. He had given him a business card. A business card printed on thick paper. It was him.

“Have you reconsidered our proposal?”

Viktor said.

"That’s not the direction I want to go in. My research."

The man looked around the lecture hall at the students staring at the screen.

“Professor, no one is listening. Right now.”

Viktor looked at the students. He was right. No one was listening.

"It’s different when you come to us. There are people who will listen."

Viktor looked at the man.

“Even though you know which direction to write in.”

The man smiled.

“The direction is always negotiable.”

It was a lie. Viktor knew it. But in that moment, the feeling of being alone in the classroom was stronger.

So he took it.

That business card.

* * *

Viktor shouted.

Suddenly. Briefly. Then he stopped. Hoon approached him.

"Viktor."

Viktor reacted. His eyes opened halfway. He was still there. Hoon placed a hand on his shoulder. He just stood there.

Viktor muttered something. It was Czech. Hoon didn’t understand. But he knew what was in that voice. It was regret.

He knew this would come. That’s why he thought Viktor’s 72 hours wouldn’t be easy.

But Viktor closed his eyes again. He didn’t run away.

Hoon stepped back.

* * *

[ Viktor’s Hallucination — Part Two, 36 Hours ]

It was a laboratory.

Viktor was alone. It was nighttime. The monitors were on. Data filled the screens. It was Viktor’s research data. Several years’ worth of data. Brainwave recordings from the subjects. Graphs showing changes in prefrontal cortex activity.

Viktor looked at it.

But something was strange. The data was changing. In a direction Viktor hadn’t intended.

The axes had shifted. The variables had changed. The graph that had shown how humans regulate themselves had transformed into one showing how humans react to external stimuli.

Viktor tried to switch screens. The mouse wouldn’t move. The keyboard wouldn’t respond.

It just kept changing. Unstoppably.

Viktor tried to turn off the screen. He pressed the power button. It wouldn’t turn off. He tried to unplug the cord. He couldn’t reach it.

He had no choice but to sit and watch.

Watching his research change. Unstoppably.

Just then, the door opened.

Viktor turned around.

There was no one there. Only the door was open.

Through the open door, he could see the hallway. At the end of the hallway, there was a light. It was a light different from the one in the lab. A light whose color was hard to describe. Neither bright nor dark.

Viktor walked toward that light.

The lab grew distant. The screens grew distant. The changing data grew distant.

The hallway was long. It seemed endless. But he kept walking.

As he walked, the light grew closer.

When he stood before that light, Viktor realized he wasn’t hungry.

He thought about how many hours he had gone without eating. It had been thirty-six hours. Yet he wasn’t hungry.

That was strange.

And yet, it wasn’t strange.

* * *

[ 72 Hours ]

It was dawn on the third day.

Hoon had been leaning against the wall opposite Viktor, dozing off for a moment before waking up. He looked at Viktor.

Viktor’s eyes were open.

Completely. Quietly.

The dawn light of Prague was streaming in through the window. Bathed in that light, Viktor’s face looked different. His beard had grown longer. His eyes were red. But there was something in those eyes that was different from three days ago.

Hoon asked.

“How are you?”

Viktor replied after a long pause.

“It feels strange.”

“Your stomach?”

"I’m not hungry. That’s what’s strange. It’s medically impossible, but I’m experiencing it firsthand."

Hoon said.

"It’s not impossible. It just hasn’t been explained yet."

Viktor thought about that for a moment.

"We need to write an explanation."

Hoon watched.

“By hand.”

Viktor said.

“Just like you said. No digital. I have to write it by hand.”

Viktor slowly stood up. His legs were shaking. It was only natural, having been seated for three days. He held onto the wall. Then he walked over to the pile of books . He pulled out a blank notebook from somewhere. He looked for a pen. It was under the books.

He sat down on the floor. He placed the notebook on his lap. He gripped the pen.

And he began to write.

Hoon saw it. He couldn’t make out what Viktor was writing. It must have been Czech. Or English. Or mathematical formulas and symbols. But whatever it was—his first action after awakening was to write.

If Lee Jae-in’s first action after waking up was to choose a place to settle down.

Viktor’s first action after awakening was to write.

They were different. Each was accepting their awakening in their own way.

Viktor paused for a moment while writing and looked at Hoon.

“I saw my lab in a hallucination.”

Hoon listened.

“I saw the data changing. Uncontrollably. Watching that, for the first time—I truly realized how terrible it was.”

“You knew.”

“I knew, but I drowned it out with alcohol. Because if you know, you don’t have to feel it.”

There was a moment of silence.

Viktor looked at his notes again.

"This time, I’m going to write it differently. The same study. In a way that corrects what was written backwards."

And he rewrote it.

Hoon watched his back. The dawn light of Prague shone on Viktor. His tousled hair. His beard. The ballpoint pen moving across the notebook.

This was Viktor Sorel.

This was the man when the bottles were gone.