Chapter 231

Andy Leclair—no, 3547—had a Twibber account as well. After following a few links, Siron found it, and to his surprise, there was a new post uploaded just two days ago. It mourned the death of journalist Tessa Spencer and wished her peace.

Siron scrolled down, skimming through the account. Posts began appearing from two years ago about his repeated admissions to rehab due to drugs. The more recent the posts became, the more disorganized their content grew. From a year ago onward, there had been nothing. Likely that was when his life on the streets began.

Siron pulled the screen down once more to refresh. Incredibly, in that instant, a new post appeared.

Thanks to steady treatment after returning home, my symptoms are improving. Based on my experiences, I plan to write an article about schizophrenia and homelessness. And one day, I hope to tell the story I cannot speak of yet.

He seemed to be recovering well with medication. For something supposedly written by a schizophrenic, the post was startlingly coherent. Siron thought he could guess what that “story I cannot speak of yet” was supposed to be.

“Shouldn’t contact him, right?”

Baekgyeong frowned at Siron’s words.

“Contact him for what, to expose alpha-omega secrets? Or to bond over being fellow kidnapping victims?”

“Well, yeah, I guess it’d be weird to reach out.”

“Not impossible, but later. Once everything’s wrapped up... then.”

Would there really come a day when things were wrapped up and he could share war stories with 3547? Staring into a future that felt suffocatingly uncertain, Siron forced himself to think positively. Didn’t Rhonda Byrne say it? The Law of Attraction’s first rule: the thoughts you immerse yourself in become your reality.Writers Resources

A day will come when I’m back in front of a camera. America? Forget that—I’ll devour the whole world.

The present might be bleak, but his own future was boundless. Siron rallied his spirits with forced cheer.

That late evening, the three of them gathered in the living room and began a quiet briefing. Isaac had gone to the Eclavis restaurant but failed to gather information about Joseph Elliott, who had been with Kim Seontae. Coincidentally, the longtime staff members were absent.

Siron also shared what he had found online. He speculated that the journalist Gezar Bazelli had met for an interview was Tessa Spencer of The New York Times, and told them about the astonishing past of 3547, the man who had escaped the island alongside him. He gazed up at Isaac with eyes brimming with pride.

Isaac, not catching the meaning of that look, turned instead to Baekgyeong to hear the results of his surveillance. Baekgyeong silently mouthed, “Just praise him, idiot.” Finally grasping what he meant, Isaac narrowed his eyes and gave a slow nod.

“That 3547 was a New York Times journalist—you’ve uncovered something remarkable. Comparable to the discovery of penicillin.”

Isaac worried briefly that perhaps Siron might not understand what the “discovery of penicillin” referred to. Thankfully, Siron seemed to take the compliment in stride. He burst out with a hearty laugh, sneaking a glance at Baekgyeong to see if he was laughing too. Unfortunately, their eyes met—Baekgyeong clearly having wondered the same thing—and Siron quickly dropped his gaze with an awkwardly straight face.

“Well, maybe not that big of a discovery.”

Isaac chuckled at Siron’s belated modesty. For someone whose emotions read across his face like writing on a page, it was a wonder how he had ever managed to act.

Siron gave Isaac a scrutinizing look.

“Unexpected. I didn’t think you knew how to compliment people.”

“Do I look that cold to you?”

“Honestly... yes.”

“That’s unfortunate. I can recite a Beat Generation poem or two, you know.”

“...What? Beatbox Generation?”

Was he about to rap? Siron’s eyes flicked in confusion, and Isaac stayed silent. Watching this exchange like a comedy skit, Baekgyeong’s expression turned peculiar.

“What the fuck is this warm fuzzy conversation? Gonna make the guard dog feel left out?”

“Wow, you get butthurt over everything.”

Dodging Baekgyeong’s glare, Siron hurriedly changed the subject.

“What about Spencer’s laptop? It must have important stuff on it. Shouldn’t we find a way to get it? I’m sure her interview with Gezar is on there.”

“No need to go to such lengths. They said it got soaked in seawater while plugged in. The circuits will have burned out. Recovery’s impossible.”

Isaac turned his eyes to Baekgyeong—a silent push to reveal what he’d gleaned all day. Baekgyeong leaned back against the stiff wooden chair, arms crossed.

“It was so quiet I thought the bugs had been found. Just occasional cleaning noises. Then, after 8 p.m., the audio waves started moving again.”

Around eight o’clock, Governor Brown entered his study with an aide. Calmly catching up on overdue paperwork, he soon asked, voice weary,

“What do you think? There’s no reason for suspension or deferral of the sentence, no grounds for pardon or clemency, is there?”

“...That’s correct.”

“Good. Then authorize the execution.”

The aide’s voice trembled faintly, while the governor betrayed no emotion as he signed the document.

After that, the sound repeated several times—papers handed over, comments added by the aide.

“So it’s decided, then. How many are there? I’ll need to arrange a large supply of drugs.”

“Drug procurement won’t be an issue. Should I issue the warrants now? Inform the press...”

“No. I hate noise. Let it be for a few days. Best to leave it quiet for now.”

The three of them listened intently to the bookmarked recording, trading significant glances. Isaac and Baekgyeong both waited for Siron to speak first. Feeling the pressure but unwilling to miss the chance to show his cleverness, Siron began.

“The governor signed off on either carrying out or postponing an execution. If there are no grounds for clemency, then it means he’s holding the criminal accountable with death. The drugs—they must be the execution drugs. And from the sounds I heard—clack, thunk, click, click—he must have put the signed papers into his desk drawer and locked it.”

Siron lifted his gaze deliberately, savoring the moment, staring into Isaac and Baekgyeong’s eyes, awaiting their reaction.

“Well, well, Yoon Siron. To make that deduction from sound alone—your reasoning rivals Mendel’s derivation of the laws of heredity.”

Baekgyeong applauded loudly, praising him, but this time Siron didn’t laugh. He’d known about the discovery of penicillin, but “Mendel’s laws of heredity” left him blank. He felt mocked, frowning hard.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“...I, I just—”

Baekgyeong’s words trailed off, then his face flushed red hot as he burst out,

“Fuck! That’s discrimination! I was just complimenting you the same as that bastard!”

Siron bit his lip, struggling not to laugh. Teasing Baekgyeong was unexpectedly delicious.

Suppressing his giggles, Siron turned away from him and circled back to the previous topic.

“But I don’t get it. Is it okay to keep official documents at home?”

Forcing down his temper, Baekgyeong offered his guess.

“Probably just working from home. Security reasons too. If it gets out that he signed an execution order, there’d be an uproar.”

Isaac, who had been silently listening, finally spoke in a low, measured tone.

“The moment a governor authorizes an execution, every move the condemned makes draws public attention. From his perspective, it’s a burden.”

Shutting off the playback device, Isaac rose to his feet.

“We’ll need to confirm those documents. I’ll go check.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“A... alone?”

Isaac looked at Siron as if the word were foreign, then nodded matter-of-factly.

He packed the necessary gear into a duffel bag. In no time he was ready, grabbing several keys off the wall—ones for the bike and yacht he had prepared for mobility.

As he opened the door, Siron followed him to the entrance. Isaac glanced back at him, stuffing his hands into his bike gloves with a look of mild puzzlement.

“You’ll be all right on your own? At least take someone to watch your back...”

Isaac slid the second glove on, using his teeth to pull it over his hand. His brow creased—struck by the oddity of being the one others worried over. Then his expression softened, amused.

Realizing he had spoken out of place, Siron felt a flush of embarrassment.

“Just get some sleep. I’ll be back before dawn.”

His tone eased into something gentler as he left his final words. Then he turned, helmet on, straddled the bike, and sped off across the road. Siron watched his taillight fade into the distance until even the red glow disappeared, only then turning back slowly.

“Shit, you scared me.”

Baekgyeong stood at the entrance without a sound, arms folded, looming over Siron.