GB 92

Haero had never needed antidepressants. Even when he left Yoon Moo-hwa’s side to be alone, no, even when he was rejected by him, he felt sad, distressed, and angry, but not depressed. Rather than wavering, he immediately decided and chose the path he would take. Even if it seemed reckless and insane to others.

Anyway, as a result, aren’t they on the same ship now? Moreover, now Yoon Moo-hwa feels the same way.

… Probably.

He just said that from now on, he would act as Yoon Moo-hwa, not as Haero’s guardian. Haero still needs to figure out what Yoon Moo-hwa is.

From the beginning, Haero didn’t understand what the difference was between the two.

It’s giving him a headache.

“Hah. It’s difficult. Why separate the two? Is it because of the age difference?” Haero inadvertently said something that would have deeply troubled Yoon Moo-hwa if he had heard it.

It seemed he had no talent whatsoever in matters of emotions and romance. It was far more difficult and complicated than the medical studies that had wracked his brain for four years.

Being on the same ship didn’t mean they could meet often. Even at mealtimes, there were separate areas for the captain, the officers’ mess, and the Chief Petty Officers’ (CPO) mess used by senior non-commissioned officers. It was lucky if they ran into each other once a day.

If he had graduated from the Naval Academy, he might have been able to be together more often due to his rank, but then he might have ended up as a ‘dry navy’ officer, doing only shore duty without ever boarding a ship.

In many ways, this was the best outcome, even better than he had expected, but he didn’t know why he felt so unsatisfied and wanting. He wanted to know more about Yoon Moo-hwa, to possess him more. His greed was endless.

Would the feelings Yoon Moo-hwa spoke of be the same as the feelings he harbored for him?

Absolutely not. There’s no way they could be of the same weight. It was a bit bitter, but it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t pressure Yoon Moo-hwa, could he? They had only just barely touched. Haero tried to comfort himself, telling himself to be more generous.

Fortunately, thanks to the scheduled activities, he didn’t need to dwell on matters that wouldn’t be resolved.

He connected the communication from his room. It was to record a Q&A video about how military doctors who boarded for recruitment lived.

After briefly answering the questions, just as he was about to send the transmission, he received a call from his mentor. It was the person who was now the dean and had created a connection by doing errands for Tan Shui. Soon the communication connected, and the screen filled with the face of his mentor, wearing a benevolent smile.

―Well, Haero. It’s been a while. Have you been well?

“Yes, sir. Have you been well? Seeing your good complexion, it seems you’re doing well too. Looks like you’re suited to life on land.”

―I’m suited to anywhere. I would have done well even if thrown into the sky.

His mentor laughed good-naturedly.

He was well-liked due to his exceptionally good personality. Not only his students but also the crew members of the ships he had served on got along well with him. Even those who weren’t directly taught by him sent flowers and gifts on Teachers’ Day as if they were his students, which was understandable.

That was precisely why Haero had approached him. However, regardless of his initial impure intentions, he also held deep respect for his mentor.

―How’s life on the ship? I’m sure the theory and reality are different, aren’t they?

“It suits me well. You know how much I’ve dreamed of this path.”

Haero had desperately fought to take his mentor’s class, which was said to be difficult to get into due to intense competition. From the first day of class, he had expressed his strong desire to board a ship and gain practical experience, especially showing enthusiasm for long-term operations.

Although emergency medical units existed, they didn’t venture beyond the entrance of the gray pit. Due to scale limitations, they were too small to carry large warships or combat equipment. Thirty percent of military doctors hope to be assigned to emergency medical units, 50 percent apply for ground duty, and 20 percent board warships Aegis-class or higher for long-term operations.

That year, the situation at sea was particularly unfavorable, so there were especially few applicants.

Haero had to prepare himself for the possibility of not being selected even as he wrote down his preferred operation areas. It was his mentor who first suggested Yoon Moo-hwa’s ship to Haero.

“It’s the ship I really wanted to be on. It’s all thanks to you, sir.”

―It’s because of your hard work. What do you mean thanks to me? If anything, I was worried that I might be setting you on too difficult a path from your first long-term operation, but I’m glad. It was what they wanted as well.

“Haha.” Haero laughed shyly, but suddenly raised his head in a fleeting sense of déjà vu. “You say it was what they wanted?”

At that moment, his mentor’s expression wavered slightly.

―…Well, military doctors are always valuable talents, aren’t they? Especially for long-term operations. By the way, how are you doing with the after-effects of your ear surgery?

After a moment of silence, his mentor laughed good-naturedly again.

‘Something feels off…’

However, he couldn’t interrogate his mentor just because something felt strange. Haero slowly recounted his recent situation, unable to shake off the ticklish sense of déjà vu rather than uneasiness.

―Be careful because if you’re hit with sonic attacks, you might experience temporary loss of balance or tinnitus. I hear that pirates’ sonic attack technology has developed considerably these days. Always stay updated on their attack methods.

While taking in this advice, which was entirely appropriate coming from a mentor, Haero couldn’t fully concentrate due to an inexplicable itching in his palms.

Even while telling himself it was just his imagination, the fleeting expression his mentor had made kept replaying in his mind, and the sense of déjà vu wouldn’t completely disappear.

However, even if the ship’s side had wanted it, there was no explanation other than a coincidence.

But sometimes, an uneasy feeling that can’t be easily shaken off arises from things that have no apparent connection.

“Did you go to the engine room today?”

This was one of those times.

Haero tilted his head, wondering how Yoon Moo-hwa knew.

He often seemed to know exactly where Haero had been and where he was, as if looking at the palm of his hand. Just like when he asked about Haero’s past, it didn’t seem like he genuinely didn’t know, but rather like he was testing him.

“How did you know?” Haero, who would normally have simply agreed, asked back. 

Yoon Moo-hwa grinned and approached him. His large hand lightly tapped Haero’s cuff. “There’s oil here. You’ll have a hard time cleaning it.”

“Ah…”

As expected… He was probably just being oversensitive. It seemed that since this was his first long-term operation, fatigue had accumulated without him realizing it, along with everything else that had happened.

Haero rubbed his cuff with his sleeve. Yoon Moo-hwa brushed his hand away and wiped it with a wet wipe. Not that oil stains would be easily removed that way.

“Why did you go there?”

Because the chief engineer had requested antidepressants. It was rare for such a senior officer to make such a request, so Haero had gone personally and completed a brief consultation. Though it was more like a casual conversation about recent events than a consultation.

The reason was homesickness. The chief engineer’s child was born just before they set sail, which intensified his longing for land. Haero had no children and couldn’t find a single memory fragment about parents no matter how hard he searched, but he could empathize fully, having experienced staring endlessly at the sea while waiting for Yoon Moo-hwa.

Fortunately, it didn’t seem to require medication, so they concluded with just the consultation. Since he rarely had a chance to come down to the engine room, Haero had asked for a brief tour before returning.

“Because of the chief engineer’s antidepressant request.”

If they were on land, he wouldn’t be able to discuss a patient’s personal information, but this was a special space with a special group. It wasn’t a regular sailor, and he couldn’t hide the affairs of a senior officer. Haero naturally cut off the end of his sentence, then quickly added:

“I went because of a request for an antidepressant prescription. However, after consultation, the prescription was canceled, and I don’t think it’s at a level you need to worry about.”

As Haero reported stiffly as a military doctor, Yoon Moo-hwa leaned against the desk and folded his arms.

“Ah, it’s that time of year. Come to think of it.”

Only then did he realize they had entered the changing of seasons.

People suffer every time the seasons change. It was amazing that such sensitive humans survived even when glaciers melted.

Yoon Moo-hwa spoke of “that time of year” as if it were someone else’s business, as if it were something that would never happen to him. 

Watching his calm profile, Haero blurted out without thinking, “It seems there have been many separations recently, including among the sailors.”

Yoon Moo-hwa turned to look at him. He seemed to be asking, “So?” 

Haero hastily added, “I’m worried that morale might be lowering.”

“Just because of that? Everyone normally parts and reunites, some cheat on their lovers back on land, have big fights… By the time we dock, some might even get engaged. Just leave it be. You’ll get used to it too by the time this operation ends, Lieutenant.”