All My Friends are Dead [Weak Hero]

Epilogue

The first post-Blight baby born in Korea without defects is celebrated across the globe, fifteen years after the Black-Out. Korea receives many congratulations from the other nations, and more funding is granted toward Blight research to further its development of a foolproof treatment plan.

The symposium, hosted by a world-class doctor and an expert consultant in the Black-Out Blight on a cold October night, is a success. There is now a seventy-two percent survival rate for young Blight victims. Several top Blight researchers take the stage, answering questions and proposing theories.

Then the main body of discussion is wrapped up, and dinner is served. Afterward, they-they who have spent nearly two decades trying to find a cure for the Blight-shed their stresses and worries and socialize, champagne flutes in their hands.

He's talking with Professor Kim from Seoul National University Hospital and Chairwoman Elise from Germany's biggest pharmaceutical company-Weiss-when she joins their small circle, murmuring polite greetings. Their eyes light up, and they welcome her into their idle talk.

"It's always good to see you, Dr. Oh," says Chairwoman Elise. "Have you been acquainted with Professor Keum yet?"

The medical world is not a huge one. He knows about her-knows that she's a Blight surgeon in the USA now.

Dr. Oh smiles at him, warmly. "Of course."

"Dr. Oh," he greets her. "It's been a long time."

"Yes, it has, hasn't it?"

"Oh, do you two know each other already?" says Professor Kim. "We'll give you two some time to catch up."

With that, he and the Chairwoman disappear into the crowd, laughing between themselves.

"Congratulations," starts Dr. Oh. "Professor Keum. You've hosted a wonderful symposium."

Professor Seongje Keum snorts softly into his champagne glass. His tastes are more suited to hard liquor. Something coarser, something less refined. "You haven't changed a bit, Nancy."

"Haven't I?" Nancy Oh laughs into her hand. "Oh, Wolf-can I still call you that?"

She's older now-they both are. He's thirty-three and she's thirty-four. Her face is sharper than he remembers, and there's actually light to her oyster-gray eyes now. Her hair-which was long and pink and messy in high school-is cropped short in a pixie cut and back to its original color: chocolate brown. She looks happier. Like she's no longer on the verge of snapping and cutting a vertical line down her wrist.

"I don't care." Seongje takes a sip. "As long as you don't cuss at me."

Nancy tilts her head. "I could hardly recognize you. I forgot you used to have black hair. It looks good on you."

Seongje harrumphs. However good it looks, he doesn't feel particularly comfortable. His hair is slicked back and tidy and he smells like cologne. He wants to drag his fingers through his hair until it's all messy and tufted and loosen his tie.

"She'd be proud of you, you know."

"Who?"

"Ms. Kim." Nancy looks up at him, almost imploringly. "She always wanted the best for us. And, well, here we are." Her shoulders sag. "Almost all of us."

Seongje wants to go home. If he looks at Nancy's small, pretty face long enough, he will see the ghostly shadow of Sam Lee flickering behind her, eyes big and wide and sad. But there's still the closing speech-the only part of this whole night he's been looking forward to. There's somebody he needs everyone to remember for the rest of their lives. To remember his aptitude, his potential, and his contribution.

Finally, the moment comes.

Nancy and all of those memories they once shared fade to the background as he takes center stage. All eyes are on him-the man who worked himself to the bone to find a cure for the incurable. The man who will resume his work again tomorrow and never stop working until the Blight is eradicated from existence.

"My friends and fellow doctors," he begins at the stand, the mic crackling for a moment. "I want to thank you all for attending tonight. We have all worked long and hard to bring about an end to the Black-Out Blight. Before we conclude tonight's symposium, I would like to briefly recall the life and legacy of the man integral in advancing our research. His name was Jake Ji, and I was beside him when he passed away. He survived fourteen days after being marked as a zero.

"Fourteen days. Not a single Blight survivor before or after him lived for that long. His body held out until the very end-a demonstration, pure and simple, of his extraordinary will to live. Had he lived, I believe that he would have become something great. In fact-I am certain. He possessed a brilliant mind and a kind personality. There are no words I could possibly say that would encompass the depth and virtue of Mr. Ji's character. Mr. Ji was an artist of incredible caliber. He had dreams, friends, and a family who loved him. He had many stories to tell, stories that I know the world would have all enjoyed, had he been allowed to tell them.

"I, alongside his family, watched the Blight-slowly, but surely-erode Mr. Ji. Throughout it all, he laughed as readily as he cried. Perhaps he, too, like the rest of us back then, hoped that death would spare him. On the day of Mr. Ji's death, the world suffered a great loss. Mr. Ji-" Seongje cleared his throat "-in the time that I knew him, was sharper than I could ever hope to be. I am a cynical man. But if he had been born just a little earlier, maybe tonight's celebration would've have happened a decade ago.

"I would like to thank Mr. Ji's family for donating his body to research. If not for Mr. Ji, I know we would not be here tonight, celebrating our successes. I cannot say I fully understood Mr. Ji, but he was a man full of surprises, even in death."

The symposium concludes.

Professor Seongje Keum receives a round of applause as he leaves the stage. Professor Seongje Keum says goodbye to Dr. Nancy Oh, Professor Kim, Chairwoman Elise, and many of his other colleagues, most of which he has met only briefly. Professor Seongje Keum leaves the hotel and heads straight to his car.

Inside, Wolf Keum pulls out a fifteen-year-old copy of Hop Magazine from the glove box.

It's the twenty-sixth today.