Chapter Text

Part I: Babel; the City and the Tower

If you bring me out of this place, I will share every meal that I ever have with you. I will let you eat first from every dish and drink first from every cup.

When the Tigers Came Down the Mountain by Nghi Vo.

"How about we go to Jeju island together?"

The hope seemed to almost glitter in 067's eyes. The hope, for them to both—

Ah.

Then Ji-yeong tore her gaze away; she'd said something in the heat of the moment again, because how could she not?

But she shouldn't have: she had to leave, as in, make sure 067 left her, that 067 survived even if it was at the cost of Ji-yeong's life. She'd been so resolved to be cold and brought out of the room in a black-paneled pink ribbon-wrapped coffin and yet, or maybe because of that, the stupid hope kept surfacing— like the headlights of a train at the other end of a tunnel.

"Sorry."

Impossible hope was one thing— something she could deal with; it only made her sad, and sadness was, in a twisted way, preferable to nothing. Saying it out loud like that, making 067 sad— that was another. She didn't want 067 to be tortured by this all, by Ji-yeong, who was worth nothing. The woman had lost enough: she lived as if sentimentality defined her life, and in spite of it she radiated warmth. 067 deserved, more than her, to get out of here alive.

I have to make sure of it.

Sentimentality and foolishness had to be contagious (both of them served as proof), but had it flowed from Ji-yeong to 067, or was it the other way around?

"...You promised." 067 stood up, facing away from Ji-yeong. The grey velvet drawstring bag was clutched in her hand, out of her pockets, the artificial sunlight orange on her back. "That you'd do anything, to make me win."

The fear prickled in Ji-yeong chest, threatening to spill out. If 067 realised what she planned to do, she wasn't sure if she could keep up the act. How was it that that same back that had calmed her just the night before could make her so anxious now?

"Yes, I did." She forced the calm back to her features, leaning against her knees calmly, the marble bag dangling idly off her index finger, and then she looked up at the numbers: zero-six-seven. Shut the hope down, and the fear, like the smoke from the flames of hope, cooled instantly. She didn't need them; hope or fear. She spun the drawstring bag, eyes trained on 067. She needed to make sure 067 lived.

"So make sure of it."

067 turned to face her, meeting Ji-yeong's gaze. Her eyes, like that of an insistent child, as if asking for something that they couldn't have but still wanted.

Fortunately for her, there was nothing Ji-yeong had that she wouldn't give to her.

I will make sure of it: that you get out of here alive.

"Then—"

"That we both get out of here alive."

She stopped spinning the bag, confused. It made a short whirl up, clockwise, then back down, swaying a bit.

"Are you hearing yourself?" Ji-yeong made to stand, and because she was a stair higher than 067, their gazes met evenly, no neckache for once— 067's expression was clear to her, lit aflame by the orange light. "Did you hear the rules?"

"You said you'd do anything. So come up with a way we both win." Clearly foolish. Sentimental fool. Fools, the both of them.

"You're still joking around?"

Demand that I give you my life and I'll give it to you nicely, ribbon-wrapped, so don't ask this of me.

Bang! A gunshot, from nearby. A man's anguished cry.

"You knew the game would be like this, didn't you?" 067 said accusatorily. "You weren't shocked when you heard it."

Suddenly sheepish, like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar, Ji-yeong flinched, her gaze averted from 067's: "But I don't want to gamble on you."

"Gamble on me'?" A realisation seemed to click in 067's mind. Anger and some form of disbelief practically radiated off her now as she walked up to Ji-yeong and grabbed the collars of her jacket. "So you planned to sacrifice yourself for me, is that it?"

"I just—" She wanted to look away so badly, but Ji-yeong looked straight at her, because there was no lying to get out of this, "I just don't want you to die."

Something like realisation or a bone-deep weariness of having lost something seemed to paint itself on 067's features. She looked up at the timer. 5 minutes left. She exhaled a sharp breath, but she met Ji-yeong's gaze evenly.

"...I feel the same way." She repeated Ji-yeong's words in the choosing room, word-for-word.

You seemed like the only one who would come with me.

Meaning, I couldn't leave you be.

"You know you have a lot more to live for."

There are people outside who revolve around you. As for me, without you, I'll only be chased by that man's debtors at best, die in a corner, jobless, penniless, meaningless. Without you, I revolve about nothing; nothing revolves about me.

"Your mom, your little brother. I have nothing."

So let me at least do this for you, even if it's all I can do, especially if it's all I can do—

"Jeju island. We're going there together. For the... mo-ji-to." Mo-ji-to, like she wasn't sure if she was pronouncing it right; and the sound of it made Ji-yeong want to cry, or laugh, or kiss 067, she couldn't be sure (hopefully not the last one). It seemed like 067 found it hard or awkward to continue talking and meeting Ji-yeong's gaze, but she did, as if to make sure that neither of them couldn't run away, could leave the other: "You can't go dying on me. Think of something."

It almost sounded like she was begging Ji-yeong, the desperation colouring her eyes.

So cruel.

So unreasonable.

And so terribly endearing, this person Ji-yeong had resolved herself to die for, and now...

The hope bubbled up like bubbles did in a soda pop. This time, Ji-yeong didn't force it down, letting the fierce warmth spread in her chest like a sickly disease, the way weeds grew fiercely on a cracked pavement. The solution, a flimsy one, a gamble, she'd been avoiding surfaced along with it.

"Fine. If we both get shot, it's your fault."

067 shrugged in acceptance, finally letting go of Ji-yeong's jacket collars.

"What game shall we play?"

Now they were gambling on their lives, together— maybe that was why gambling was so addicting: the image of sunrise, them drinking mojito together, in a foreign land, realising mojito wasn't all that good after all. All this, haphazardly built upon the foundations of 20 cat-eye marbles and a fever-dream of a sunrise-addled madman, or two madmen.

"Well, you said it yourself. Jeju island."

Ji-yeong walked down the last stair, bent down, making a small indent in the sandy ground with her finger. She felt silly for doing this, but the hope kept her heart in nervous trepidation.

"Okay, this is our Jeju fund. Ours, so there's no distinction between what's yours and mine."

Ji-yeong gave a start as 067 squatted and poured her marbles into the indent before Ji-yeong could untie the drawstring bag that hung loosely from her other-not-indenting hand.

How's it fair that she can do things like this with a straight face?

"You could have waited for me to explain." Pouting somewhat, Ji-yeong poured her marbles into the indent, making 20 marbles in their fund. "There. Here we go."

067 stood back up, her eyes trained on the pink staff, voice resolute for something so foolish, the way a kid would declare that their dream was to be an alien-befriending space rockstar when they grew up: "Twenty."

The pink staff was silent, but they didn't reach for their gun. As the two were fundraising for Jeju island, gunshots had been echoing about them. Ji-yeong stood up. Then she held out her hand again to 067.

067 looked at her hand, then back at her face, trying to decipher what the hell Ji-yeong wanted. It felt like Ji-yeong could read her now, or at least this expression she'd grown used to: weariness with that overlay of exasperation, the poorly hidden curiosity in her eyes, which meant plainly "what".

"Ji-yeong. That's my name."

A strange amusement flooded her heart: the timer was ticking down, and Ji-yeong was thinking about how their names would look on a ticket to Jeju island. If she had any better sense of selfishness or self-preservation (anything to do with her damned self), she would've taken the marbles and run away. The same went for 067, but her fault, Ji-yeong thought, was being far too soft for someone who pretended they were carved out of ice.

"If we're going to Jeju together we should at least know each other's names, no?"

Almost hesitantly, 067 clasped Ji-yeong's hands in hers. Timer ticking down, 20 marbles on the ground. And the two were shaking hands in mutual amusement. From the looks of it, they matched each other: two huge stupid fools. Then, as if self-conscious about it, she said slowly: "... Sae-byeok. That's my name. Kang Sae-byeok."

"Sae-byeok?" The way it tasted on her tongue, the pleasant sound. Sae-byeok, as in, the sunrise? Dawn? Daybreak? As in, the magenta, orange, pink hues, the cruel warmth? The hope that burned for a moment and faded away, the existence that brought that hope alive and burned Ji-yeong like an open flame? Then she chuckled, wondering if the world was playing another trick on her, only this time it was warm, not at all cruel.

Ji-yeong realised Sae-byeok looked almost hurt, looking away quietly, although Ji-yeong didn't know why. What, was she not proud of her name? It was such a fitting name too! Unlike Ji-yeong— what was the hanja for that? Wisdom? Bravery? It could've been anything; just plain Ji-yeong. Nothing. Eh, fitting as well!

"Why do you look like that? I'm not laughing at you, I think Sae-byeok suits you very well!"

Sae-byeok looked doubtful, eyebrows furrowing.

"I'm serious!" Ji-yeong huffed, almost tickled by the look on her face. "I was laughing at myself, because I love the sunrise, and here I am, think about Jeju island in the face of death because of someone named Sae-byeok! I think it suits you. Sae-byeok. Poetic."

Sae-byeok looked troubled now, or maybe embarrassed, or maybe just tired, unable to meet Ji-yeong's gaze. Maybe she was troubled by the way Ji-yeong used her name like it was her favourite word—maybe it was. No, now it definitely was. Ji-yeong thought she heard a soft, mumbled "thank you", although she could've been hallucinating it. It didn't matter because it certainly seemed like Sae-byeok appreciated it, and besides Ji-yeong wholeheartedly believed Sae-byeok made the memory of daybreak and its magnificent hues pale in comparison to her.

"067, pass."

They waited in silence for a bit, their hands still clasped in each others as if they didn't know if they should let go or if they should wait for the other. Or maybe Sae-byeok thought that if she let go, she would have to leave Ji-yeong here, shot, bleeding crimson, in a pink-ribboned coffin. Which was ironic now that Ji-yeong was terrified of that, considering she'd come in determined to leave in one of them, before this mess. 1 minute left.

"I wonder if that's what the fox meant by it had done him good because of the color of the wheat fields." Ji-yeong mumbled almost feverishly. Chapter twenty-one, that stupid chapter that now made sense to her. She hoped that they would both make it out of here alive, if not for Ji-yeong's faint hope, then for Sae-byeok's, and even more urgently, desperately still, for the both of them. "Sae-byeok, huh."

"...I don't have hair the colour of gold." Sae-byeok raised an eyebrow as Ji-yeong's eyes widened in surprise. "And I'm nothing like the sunrise."

Maybe that kid at the orphanage really was... Or she could've read a book on her own. Either could be possible. But there was no rush, because they either had more time, or Ji-yeong had none at all.

"240, pass."

"What is essential is invisible to the eye." Ji-yeong laughed again, the tension leaving her body, replaced by the sheer relief, the joy, something else. Like a burst balloon, she collapsed to sit on the ground weakly, next to the 20 marbles, their Jeju fund.

Sae-byeok mumbled softly, like if she spoke any louder she'd cry: "...It is only with the heart that one can see rightly."

"You really are," Ji-yeong mumbled, feeling the wetness on her cheeks and the smile that was still stupidly present on her face, "just like the sunrise."

Sae-byeok had rubbed at her eyes multiple times with her sleeve. Then, uncharacteristically of her, she held out her hand to Ji-yeong.

"Let's go."

"Wait, our Jeju fund!"

Ji-yeong gathered some of the cold cat-eyed marbles into her hands, and then plopped them into Sae-byeok's open palm, with tiny click clacks. At first she froze. Then without warning a small laugh escaped Sae-byeok, the sound bright and warm, though soft and almost ephemeral— gone as quick as it came; Ji-yeong had the thought that she would give anything and everything if only to hear it again— how was it that she had resolved herself to die without hearing that sound?

The marbles threatened to spill out, so Sae-byeok cupped her hands together so Ji-yeong could put them in her hands. Twenty marbles. 

"...Use the bags. I'm not going back holding the marbles like this." 

"Ah, right." Ji-yeong reddened. She'd been so giddy with... something, that her brain had practically short-circuited. She picked up the two bags, which were on the ground empty, and filled one with marbles, roughly ten, more or less. Sae-byeok poured the rest into the other bag and passed it to Ji-yeong. 

"Don't lose them."

"I won't." Ji-yeong spun them around her index finger, smiling. How terrible, this sunrise of hers.

Sae-byeok sighed, but the exhaustion seemed to have eased from her features, if only slightly. Ji-yeong shrugged as the bags spun round and round her finger: "No take-backs! This is how your Jeju travel buddy is."

"Same to you."

The way the daybreak sun washed onto her and gave her hope that day she was released was only a dull memory now although she'd treasured it until today. This was like the daybreak, but better, infinitely so. The question she'd asked Sae-byeok just before in the game had an answer now, written by a shaky hand, but still an answer: Maybe it was that you only existed in relation to others, and the gears in her life had just been put into motion by this woman— 067, Pickpocket, Kang Sae-byeok, her friend. 

The feeling in her chest that did not abate with her laughter and tears meant only one thing, that she was a fool, through and through; Ji-yeong resolved to keep it bottled, because if it overflowed, she would surely combust and die and how would she protect Sae-byeok like that?

They went back to the white room where they'd both been unable to leave each other be: Where Ji-yeong had resolved herself to die for Sae-byeok's sake, if it meant that Sae-byeok could keep going, even though back then she was just 067, a bright flame that burned her through. 

Now she was Sae-byeok, the sunrise, her friend. The resolve remained, but it had melted into a liquid warmth in her chest, sickly sweet, packaged neatly next to feelings she left unnamed. Two more games. Two games left to win. Two games left till they could buy those tickets to Jeju island, have mojito, and watch the daybreak on the horizon. A little optimism hurt nobody, right?