UNFED

It was an emergency session.

Although a closed-door session had been requested, the media already knew about it. Cameras were set up in front of the Capitol. The public gallery was packed. Reporters who had been turned away from the chamber itself stood in clusters in the hallway, comparing notes, waiting for whatever leaked out.

The agenda was officially stated as follows:

"Public Health and Social Safety Response Measures in Light of the Rapid Spread of Groups Practicing Abnormal Dietary Restriction."

Beneath that lay the real agenda.

What should be done with these people?

No one in the chamber had asked that question of an actual non-eater. No one in the chamber, as far as anyone could tell, had ever met one.

* * *

Three people were seated at the witness stand.

First, a professor of neuroscience at Seoul National University College of Medicine. Second, the Deputy Commissioner of the Ministry of Food and Drug Safety. Third, the Director of the National Center for Mental Health.

None of the three had met the people they were about to discuss. All three had spent the past week reading reports about them.

All three had arrived that morning carrying a different version of the same uncertainty—the sense that whatever they said in the next two hours would be quoted out of context by tomorrow's news cycle, regardless of how carefully they chose their words.

The chairperson declared the hearing open.

"Today's hearing has been convened on an emergency basis to assess the current situation and discuss response measures regarding the so-called 'non-eaters'—groups claiming to abstain from food entirely—who have recently been spreading worldwide."

A murmur passed through the gallery as the chairperson finished speaking. One committee member immediately asked,

"Is this medically possible? Can a person survive without food?"

The neuroscience professor unfolded a document in front of the microphone.

"So far, this falls outside the realm of what can be explained medically. The human body primarily uses glucose as an energy source, and during prolonged fasting, it breaks down fat and muscle to compensate for energy needs. However, even in this case, complete fasting for several months or more leads to a level of physical depletion that is incompatible with survival. Yet, some of the reported cases have maintained normal physical activity without food for several months to over a year."

"Has it been confirmed that these people are actually not eating?"

"The number of cases that have undergone direct medical examinations is still limited. This is because the group refuses external examinations."

"As a group?"

"Yes. They are systematically refusing."

The committee stirred. One member raised his hand.

"Doesn't this have the characteristics of a cult? There have been groups in the past that forced extreme fasting as a matter of faith, haven't there?"

The professor replied.

"According to our investigation, there is no evidence of coercion. There have been no defections, nor have there been any cases of retaliation following attempts to leave. It appears that people join voluntarily and remain voluntarily."

Another committee member spoke up.

"But isn't this socially dangerous? If these people don't eat, the food industry will suffer. Food-related stock prices are actually plummeting. This is a matter of national economic security."

The Deputy Director of the Ministry of Food and Drug Safety took the microphone.

"The number of confirmed non-eaters domestically currently stands at around two hundred."

"Just two hundred?"

"Yes, but the global scale is difficult to assess precisely. We estimate it's somewhere between tens of thousands and several hundred thousand."

"Several hundred thousand?"

"Yes. It is difficult to determine the actual size of this group because they do not use digital networks."

The committee chair interjected.

"I believe a registration system is necessary. While choosing not to eat may be a matter of personal freedom, shouldn't they have a basic obligation to report their health status as members of society?"

A junior committee member who had stayed quiet until now leaned toward the microphone.

"With respect, Chairman, a registration requirement is not a neutral measure. It would mean every non-eater in this country has to come forward and be counted, whether or not they want to be found."

"Found by whom?"

"By the food companies losing money on this. By insurers who'll want to reclassify them. By employers who'll want to know who they're hiring. A registry doesn't just collect information.

It hands that information to whoever asks for it loudly enough."

The chairman's expression didn't change.

"That's a separate issue for a separate committee."

"It's the same issue, Chairman. It's just being asked by a different person."

No one responded to that. The hearing moved on.

The hearing room buzzed with murmurs again. Somewhere in the gallery, a single reporter was already drafting a headline that would run the next morning: a number—two hundred at home, hundreds of thousands abroad—next to a question mark large enough to sell papers.

* * *

The details of that hearing reached Gong two days later.

It had been handwritten at Yuki's communication hub in Seoul and sent over to the Philippines.

There were several sheets of paper, all densely filled with text, the handwriting growing slightly more cramped toward the end, as though whoever had transcribed it had been racing to finish before their hand gave out.

Rania brought it to Hoon.

She had read it once already on the long walk up from the relay point, and something about it had unsettled her in a way the food-stock memo hadn't.

The stock market saw them as a number that moved other numbers. The National Assembly wanted to know their names.

"Discussions on the registration system have begun."

Hoon read the papers.

"It's become a bill."

"It's still at the proposal stage. It'll take time to pass."

Hoon put the paper down.

"If it passes..."

Rania said.

"If they don't register, they'll become an illegal group. The Awakened in this country will have to either reveal their identities or go into hiding—it's one or the other."

Carlos overheard the conversation and said,

"Can we stop it?"

Hoon looked at him.

"Legally. Not eating isn't a crime. We can stop it by arguing freedom of religion and bodily autonomy. Rania's argument is correct."

Rania nodded.

"I've already contacted international human rights organizations. It's unofficial, but I've confirmed their willingness to support us. Two of them asked for documentation.

Medical records, testimonies, anything that shows this isn't coercive."

"Can you get that?"

"Slowly. Carefully. Without putting anyone's name where it shouldn't be."

Hoon looked at the two of them.

"Let's fight this through the law. Without violence."

Carlos said.

"That's possible now. While we're still few in number. Things could change if we grow."

"If things change, we'll deal with it then."

Carlos looked at Hoon. Those words sounded like a decision. Carlos said no more.

He had spent enough of his life around people who decided things to recognize the tone of a decision when he heard one, even dressed up as a sentence about the future.

He had also spent enough of his life watching decisions like that get tested sooner than anyone expected. He didn't say that either. Some things were better left to arrive on their own schedule.

That was the course they would take for now.