TGCBGA 09

If something’s lacking, it should be fixed.

“Ghost, congratulations on making it back alive.”

As soon as Kang Jin-hoo took off his gas mask, the dust and dirt clinging to his body scattered into the air. His face was gaunt, his clothes were torn to shreds, and bloodstains covered him from head to toe.

His superior glanced briefly at his missing right arm, then pulled up Kang Jin-hoo’s record.
“The platoon… completely wiped out, huh. Well, at least you made it back alive. Where’d you leave your arm?”

The superior didn’t scold the platoon leader for returning alone. After all, life could be manufactured anytime.
In this society, they taught newly-made soldiers—children, really—“You are expendable. Prioritize survival. But if you sustain irreparable damage, end your own life.”

‘At least we managed to save that one,’ the superior thought.
He pitied the young soldiers who had died, but Kang Jin-hoo’s survival was more valuable. Jin-hoo was the only soldier who hadn’t been “discarded” since birth—someone with real, irreplaceable human experience that couldn’t be replicated synthetically.

“…We were caught in an explosion with the platoon.”
“If you’d brought it back, we could’ve reattached it… tch.”

The superior clicked his tongue, regretting the resources wasted on making new prosthetics, but Jin-hoo felt nothing.

“Go to the infirmary and get a new arm. Stay home and wait for your next assignment.”
“Yes, sir.”

Jin-hoo nodded, expressionless.
“He’s still reusable.”

A cold voice slipped through the closing door, as if evaluating a piece of equipment. It was directed at him. Jin-hoo frowned.

<Ghost, may your fallen platoon rest in peace. You’ve done well.>
<Your next mission will begin in 32 hours, 27 minutes, and 21 seconds. Please rest well in the meantime.>

The irony made Jin-hoo laugh—a machine showing more humanity than people did.

After leaving the infirmary with his new arm attached, he exited the base. The air was stuffy underground, packed with people living shoulder-to-shoulder in confined spaces. Soldiers occasionally went up to the surface to exterminate monsters and harvest resources.

“Ghost, you got a new arm? What happened?”
“Just… happened.”
“Man, it’s rare to see a soldier without any mechanical upgrades these days… Wanna grab a drink later?”
“Later.”

Squeezing past the crowd, Jin-hoo made his way home. In the center stood a massive pillar housing the artificial life incubation system known as Eve.

At that moment, a new human was born. A birthing-assist drone swiftly floated over. A label—B Sector: Food Production Zone—lit up. The newborn, carried away by the drone, would grow up managing crops in greenhouses or tending livestock.

<Welcome home, Master. Shall I prepare your meal?>
“No, I’m not hungry.”
<Understood.>

When he opened the door, the home AI greeted him. Jin-hoo washed up quickly and collapsed onto his bed.

[If you could live in the world before the fall, what would you do?]
[Run!]
[Aaargh! Save me…!]

His body was heavy, sleep elusive. His mind kept wandering. Finally, he sat up.
“Home, open Archive.”
<Yes, sir. Would you like to continue ‘Burning Youth,’ Episode 12?>
“Yeah.”

Jin-hoo was born in Sector S, where every cell-born human’s fate as a soldier was predetermined. He began training as soon as he could walk, and by age ten, he was sent to the surface.

‘That guy played a doctor in another show, and now he’s a baseball player here.’

A life destined to fight monsters from birth to death—though he was engineered not to feel pain, emotions still lingered.
At first, he’d questioned why he had to do this, denying his identity, raging against his fate. But now, he’d reached resignation.

‘That looks fun.’

He wondered what it would feel like to become someone new through a story.
If humanity no longer had to hide underground, if people could live freely under a blue sky, he wanted to become an actor.

Not a performer in propaganda films about “the cooperation between humans and AI for the survival of the new race,” but a real person living in stories that smelled of life.
He wanted to be a student, a teacher, maybe even just an ordinary office worker.

‘What a useless thought.’
A dream that could never come true.

The sound of an alarm woke Yoo Yeon-seo, who groggily sat up. He clenched and unclenched his hand, feeling the vivid sensation of flesh instead of a mechanical limb.

‘Ah, right. This is 2018.’

Life returned to his eyes. The clock read 6:30 a.m.
‘Still a while before Im Seung-hyun arrives.’

He grabbed a handful of tissues from his bedside table and brought them to his mouth.
“…Beta.”
<Yes, Master.>
“Synchronize memories.”
<Understood. Initiating random memory synchronization.>

He had to diligently absorb the main body’s memories.
After vomiting blood as a side effect, Yoo Yeon-seo fainted for an hour. When he awoke, the synchronization had yielded nothing—except another reminder of what an arrogant bastard he used to be.

“…What the hell? Is there a meal-assist robot here too?”

He hadn’t heard a sound, but breakfast was neatly set on the table. After washing the blood off, he walked into the living room and stared at the food, speechless.
“No way.”

In a house this expensive, it wouldn’t be strange to have a housekeeper. It was probably something the old Yoo Yeon-seo had arranged.

As he was about to sit down, the door lock beeped. A neatly dressed Im Seung-hyun entered, greeting him awkwardly.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Perfect timing. Have you eaten?”
“Huh? N-no, not yet…”
“Then join me.”

Im Seung-hyun looked shocked. Why? Eating together was a good thing, wasn’t it? Yoo Yeon-seo gestured with his chopsticks.
“C-communal meal?”
“Yeah. There’s enough for both of us.”
“I-I’ll serve you instead—”
“Sit down.”

Though flustered, Seung-hyun obeyed, and Yoo Yeon-seo even scooped rice for him personally.

“You seem surprised. So, you know my memory’s messed up, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was I that much of a jerk before?”
“Yes, you w— uh, no, sir!”

Yoo Yeon-seo chuckled. The man’s nervousness was both amusing and pitiful. If he worked for Ju-seong Group, he was probably an elite—yet here he was, babysitting a spoiled third-generation heir.

The clinking of dishes filled the air.
“You’re from the Strategic Planning Division, right? Who assigned you to me?”
“The executive director himself.”
“My brother?”
“Yes. He ordered me to assist you to the best of my ability.”

Yoo Yeon-seo stopped eating and stared at him. Sensing it was an evaluation, Seung-hyun straightened up.
“So how much should I trust you?”
Seung-hyun swallowed hard.
“You don’t have to. I’ll earn it through my work.”
“Hmm. Fair enough.”
“Just think of me as another manager, sir. Use me however you find convenient.”

Yoo Yeon-seo raised an eyebrow. Use him? What am I, a slave owner?
“Use you? You talk like people are tools… Anyway, fine. You were hired by my brother, but you’ll work for me, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’d make more sense if you were my manager directly… but I guess that Ju-seong Group name carries more weight.”

Muttering mostly to himself, he resumed eating. Still, it puzzled him—why assign someone from the main group to him? The agency would’ve given him a new manager anyway.

“Do you report my activities to my brother?”
“No, sir. He didn’t impose any such condition.”

Yoo Yeon-seo frowned. Wasn’t this surveillance? Maybe concern? Or was it just to keep him out of trouble? The last seemed more plausible.

“I think he’s just worried because of your memory issues.”
Quick-witted, Seung-hyun had read his discomfort.
“Has my brother always looked after me like that?”
“Yes, sir. Everyone in the company knows how devoted the executive director and vice-chairman are to you.”
“Really?”

Alright. No more doubts. Let’s just assume we’re a close family—it’s simpler that way.

Stretching, Yoo Yeon-seo concluded that his brother’s care probably stemmed from witnessing their mother’s accident up close.
“Okay. If we’re done eating, let’s head out.”
“Where to, sir?”
“My agency.”

.

“Amnesia? Aftereffects of the accident?”
“Something like that. I remember bits and pieces, but not much.”

Han Jong-oh, CEO of Halo Media, stared at Yoo Yeon-seo with disbelief. Normally, Yoo Yeon-seo addressed him informally, but now he was using honorifics—something was off.

“I see. Still, I’m glad you’re safe.”

Even if Yoo Yeon-seo was a pain and impossible to manage, Han was soft-hearted. If he’d died, Han would’ve felt guilty—though mostly because Ju-seong Group would’ve destroyed the company in retaliation.

“So, why’d you come here? Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“I’m not here to work right away. I want an acting teacher.”
“What?”

Han jumped to his feet.
“Why so shocked? You know my acting’s awful. I saw the articles roasting me.”
“S-so you’re seriously going to take lessons?”
“If I’m lacking, I should fix it.”

Self-awareness? From Yoo Yeon-seo? The same man who never admitted a single flaw now wanted to improve? Nearly dying really must’ve changed him.

“Are you really Yoo Yeon-seo?”
“If I’m not, then who’s the guy sitting in front of you?”

Though startled, Yoo Yeon-seo kept a straight face. Han awkwardly scratched his head.
“So, are you going to find me a teacher or not?”
“Huh? Oh—yeah, of course. If you’re serious, I’ll get you the best one.”

Han was dazed, but the thought excited him—if Yoo Yeon-seo truly turned over a new leaf and shed his reputation for terrible acting, it could be huge.
Even hopeless projects came alive the moment Yoo Yeon-seo joined, backed by the Ju-seong Group’s power. If he gained actual talent on top of that? Jackpot.

“I’ll find you a really good coach.”
“I’m counting on you, Director Han.”

He’s… counting on me? The guy who used to sneer at everyone? Han’s chest swelled with emotion. Maybe near-death experiences really did change people. No more PR disasters. No more damage control.

“Wait—what’s this call from Director Park…”

But the moment he picked up, his optimism shattered.
“…Yeon-seo, what’s this news article?”

“Actor Yoo Yeon-seo visits bereaved family after manager’s death—‘Buy a foreign car with my brother’s life insurance payout,’ shocking remark.”

“Unbothered by manager’s death, Yoo Yeon-seo visits victim’s family and insults them again.”