Sang-Jin always felt like his life was akin to a gust of wind—impossible to tether. Adventure coursed through his veins, compelling him to seize every opportunity to explore new places, far from the monotonous grind of daily routines. The rigid hierarchies and stifling rules of office life were suffocating to him. Despite his parents' repeated attempts to push him into corporate jobs, Sang-Jin never lasted more than three months before throwing in the towel and moving on.
With a razor-sharp wit and an unshakeable confidence, Sang-Jin had a magnetic charm that easily drew people to him, including romantic partners. Yet his aversion to commitment was his undoing; no relationship lasted more than six months. To Sang-Jin, life wasn't about chasing honor or recognition.
"Those are just ways humans cage themselves," he often mused. He preferred a life untethered, even if it meant facing judgmental glances from those around him.
His older brother, Mu-Yoon, stood on a path that could not have been more different. Mu-Yoon was the golden child who ticked every box on the family's list of expectations. Graduating at the top of his class from a prestigious university, moving on to law school, and now a distinguished prosecutor handling high-profile cases—Mu-Yoon seemed to embody success and justice.
But his journey was far from easy. Since his transfer to the Gwangju Prosecutor's Office, Mu-Yoon had been wrestling with a particularly thorny case: dismantling Seo Kang-pa, the most powerful criminal syndicate in the region. A month earlier, Gwangju had been shaken by what the locals called Red Wind Day, a bloody event in which Seo Kang-pa annihilated its rival, Jakdu-pa. Dozens had died, and Jin Sang-du, Jakdu-pa's leader, had disappeared without a trace.
Although Mu-Yoon had managed to arrest dozens involved, he knew the problem ran far deeper. Seo Kang-pa was a master at deception, planting evidence to frame another gang, Dongseong-pa, for the massacre. But Mu-Yoon wasn't one to give up easily. He was determined to expose Gioseong, Seo Kang-pa's elusive leader, who he suspected was also tied to the disappearance of Yun Duman, his former boss, a year earlier.
Mu-Yoon's relationship with Sang-Jin, however, was strained at best. Their differing principles often ignited heated arguments. Mu-Yoon couldn't understand why his brother squandered his life gambling and playing baduk, while Sang-Jin thought his brother took life far too seriously, consumed by ambition and blind to the joys of living.
The tension escalated when Sang-Jin remarked to a friend, Dong-Joo, "Seo Kang-pa has no idea I'm the brother of a hardheaded prosecutor. If they knew, I'd probably be dead by now."
"But still—" Dong-Joo started to object, but his words were cut short by Sang-Jin's piercing glare.
"Listen, we don't even know if we'll be alive tomorrow. What's the point of arguing about right or wrong? If there's a way to survive, take it."
Dong-Joo fell silent, Sang-Jin's words cutting through his logic.
"He's right," Dong-Joo thought.
"In times like these, pride means nothing."
The world was crumbling under a great calamity, and the systems once upheld as pillars of order were powerless. In such chaos, law, morals, and ethics felt like relics of a bygone era.
Survival is everything.
"Fine," Dong-Joo finally conceded.
"But before we get too close to Seo Kang-pa, we need to meet Professor Oh. Promise me that."
"Promise," Sang-Jin replied with a satisfied grin.
That morning, Sang-Jin resumed his job as a drone taxi driver, while Dong-Joo headed to the law office where he worked. Both knew the storm wasn't over yet. But amid the swirling chaos, they held onto one certainty: in a world constantly shifting, survival required adaptability—at any cost.
******
For the past week, Dong-Joo had been on leave, escaping the suffocating monotony of office life. However, his decision came with a price: a mountain of work now loomed over his desk like a towering peak daring him to climb it. As he stepped into the law firm that morning, the sight of the ever-growing pile of case files made his breath hitch. It felt as if he were standing before an impenetrable stone wall, each file a stone mocking his attempt to scale it.
As Dong-Joo stared at the chaos on his desk, lost in thoughts of how to tackle it all, salvation arrived in the form of a court notice. The message was brief and to the point, announcing that all hearings would be postponed until the crisis caused by the asteroid collision threat was resolved.
"Whew…" he exhaled, relief flooding through him. "At least that takes some weight off my shoulders. Still, I suppose I'd better focus on preparing for the worst."
Just as he began organizing his thoughts, a KakaoTalk notification chimed. The message was from Cheon Sang-jin, informing him of a meeting with Professor Oh at Hanbit University's laboratory at three o'clock that afternoon. The news offered a glimmer of hope but also carried a sense of urgency. Meeting an expert meant he needed to be prepared. Questions whirled through his mind, each one a puzzle piece begging to be fit into a larger, incomplete picture.
That morning, Dong-Joo didn't spend his time drafting legal arguments or reviewing contracts. Instead, he sketched out an emergency plan for his law firm, but for survival. The idea of a protection bunker became the centerpiece of his strategy. Once satisfied with his initial outline, he headed to Kim Jeong-hyeon's office, the firm's managing partner, to discuss it with both Jeong-hyeon and another colleague, Kim Soo-yeon.
"Mr. Kim," Dong-Joo began without preamble, his tone a mix of tension and urgency.
"Do you think the government's claim is true? Can they really divert the asteroid, like they've been saying?"
Jeong-hyeon leaned back in his chair with a small chuckle.
"Dong-Joo, I'm a lawyer, not an astrophysicist. If you've got questions about legal codes, I'm your guy. But asteroids?" He shrugged and glanced at Soo-yeon.
"What's your take, Counselor Kim?"
Soo-yeon, who had been quietly observing, crossed her arms, her face grim. "Based on what I've read, it seems unlikely almost impossible, actually. The government keeps trying to reassure people with optimistic speeches, but honestly, that only makes me more suspicious."
"Suspicious how?" Jeong-hyeon asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Have you heard of Zombie Republic? It's a website that frequently criticizes the government. This morning, it vanished without a trace. Furthermore, videos on NewTube that discuss the impossibility of destroying the Apophis asteroid with nuclear weapons are being removed one by one."
"That could be a government strategy to prevent mass panic," Jeong-hyeon replied, his voice calm but contemplative.
"In emergencies like this, keeping the public calm is paramount."
"Maybe," Soo-yeon countered, her tone skeptical.
"But a lot of things don't add up. For example, according to a chat group of engineering professors at the university, the 70% success rate the government announced is wildly unrealistic."
Dong-Joo pulled out his phone and showed them a screenshot of the conversation. Jeong-hyeon frowned as he examined the screen, his brows knitting together.
"On top of that," Dong-Joo continued, his voice growing more intense,
"there are rumors that elites and conglomerates have already started retreating to private protection bunkers."
Soo-yeon, who had been mostly silent until now, finally spoke up. "But what can ordinary people like us do? I've thought about fleeing overseas, but somehow, even that doesn't feel like a guarantee of safety."
Dong-Joo leaned forward, his expression resolute.
"In a situation like this, no country is truly safe. If that asteroid hits, we're all in danger. The government's announcement was a veiled confession. if their plan fails, we're doomed. There is no Plan B. They're basically telling us to survive on our own terms!"
His voice rose as his emotions spilled over, a mix of frustration and helplessness. The room seemed to grow heavier, the weight of their collective fear pressing down on them. It was as if they were staring into the abyss of an inescapable reality, knowing that no amount of legal expertise or strategic planning could truly shield them from what was to come.