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“Mr. Death King, Mr. Gong-Ja, I’m sorry, but please let me say one thing.”
“Surprisingly, you have the right to say not just one word, but a thousand words to me, Miss Chemist. That is, assuming the other person is willing to listen. And I’m not bragging, but I’m actually a pretty generous person.”
The Chemist examined me for thirty seconds before she said, “Mr. Gong-Ja, you’re screwed. I don’t mean that in a derogatory way. I really mean it. You’re not just screwed but really, really screwed.”
“That’s too harsh.”
“Then that makes me a pickled radish[1]…”
“Huh?”
“Hmm?”
I tilted my head, and the Chemist did too. We shared a moment that transcended human cognitive ability.
As if nothing had happened, the Chemist continued. “How are you even alive in this state? I could write a thesis on your condition right now. Watch this.”
“Gyaaaaaah!”
“Do you see how easily your arm bends? It can be done very smoothly. Let’s see if it works the other way around.”
“Gyaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!”
“Yeah, your bones are crushed. You know how, when you eat a packet of instant noodles raw, the crumbs stay at the bottom of the packet? You’re in the same state as those crumbs, and...
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