2. Postponement (1) Sun-woo's Brother

"Why do you think artificial hibernation is necessary for humans, Dr. Yu Hee-jae?"

I had been presenting my research to government agencies and private foundations to secure funding. The same question was always posed, and I consistently responded:

"Human hibernation is essential for long-distance space travel. Spacecraft have limited environmental conditions, such as space and resources. Therefore, artificial hibernation technology is crucial to ensure the safe flight of as many passengers as possible. Additionally, during hibernation, the body is in a state of metabolic depression, significantly reducing cellular activity that contributes to aging. Thus, hibernation could dramatically extend human lifespan."

'Space travel' and 'lifespan extension' were practical keywords for effectively promoting my research. As I repeated the presentation, my answers became more polished, yet no one was willing to support my research until I encountered the Balkama Research Foundation.

Balkama contacted me first via email. Surprisingly, they knew a lot about me: my alma mater, the progress of my research, and even updates about my former lab colleagues. They expressed great interest in my research topic. Although I wanted to believe them, something felt suspicious. Unlike other institutions, they requested an online video conference for the evaluation. I had never heard of this foundation, and details about its operations were vague, but I was in a situation where I had to grasp at any opportunity.

Nine audience members were connected to the conference, but none showed their faces. I was presenting from my home lab, wearing a lab coat, and initially, it went quite well. But then, sharp questions started coming. The English voices were immediately translated into Korean.

"Everyone knows that the goal of hibernation is space travel and lifespan extension. We didn't give Dr. Yu this opportunity just to hear that. Numerous space companies are passionately investing in this field. Many university research teams are conducting similar research. Does it make sense for you to undertake such research alone? I'm more curious about your real motivation for wanting to develop artificial hibernation technology in humans."

I was dumbfounded. The vague doubts I had about myself several times a day suddenly formed into words, leaving me bewildered. How had I convinced myself...? At least I had never lied. A few seconds of silence followed between their question and my response. I decided to be honest, not out of courage, but out of resignation.

"When I was eleven, I found my father dead in the bathtub. Since then, people I care about have continuously disappeared unexpectedly, like a jinx. Each time, it felt like I was shattering into pieces. If only there had been another way, a way to postpone life, even temporarily... I thought the answer lay in hibernation when I studied bioscience. Even if humans don't have hibernation genes, I believed artificial hibernation could be induced through pharmacological epigenetic mutations. That's my real motivation. You're already aware of my research achievements during my time in university research teams. Last year's published paper in major academic journals, conducted without animal experiments, is also something you're aware of, I presume."

I immediately regretted what I had just said. The idea of developing a hibernation drug for life postponement should have remained just a thought. Before my regret could deepen, someone else asked a question.

"But don't you think animal experiments are necessary to confirm the drug's safety before clinical trials?"

"Computer modeling technology has reached a level where it can perfectly simulate human physiological processes. Microphysiological systems, or MPS, can sufficiently replace animal experiments."

I could hear simultaneous murmuring from the audience. They probably thought of me as an incompetent person ignorant of research ethics. I felt inadequate and believed I had truly failed this time.

However, a few days after the presentation, I received an email from Balkama. They had decided to support my research. What I had grasped wasn't a straw but a lifeline, and I was overjoyed.

I signed a contract with Balkama and accelerated my research. They quickly provided everything I needed and helped maintain my modest life without worries. Even as darkness engulfed the world, causing many to lose their places, starve, rob each other, and become angry, I was able to hold onto my position.

*

I crossed the bridge, cutting through the black smoke hovering above the river, resembling a water mist. To illuminate the dark road, both high beams and emergency lights were necessary. The wipers, sensing something, automatically sprayed washer fluid, diligently cleaning the windshield. Many streetlights had lost their function, and fixing them seemed unlikely. Without sunlight for crops to grow, lighting streets wasn't deemed important. Some analyzed the decrease in traffic accidents as a paradox of darkness, but the sparse traffic suggested otherwise.

Past the bridge and following a road pocked like the surface of the moon, I reached a cluster of four-story villas tucked behind apartment buildings along the river. I remembered the awkwardness when encountering cars from the opposite direction in the alleys. Fortunately, the villa where Sun-woo and I had lived was close to the entrance. I parked my car in front of a convenience store at the entrance. Walking up the gently sloping road, I entered the familiar villa, its gray exterior paint peeling off in places. It had been over a decade since I left for university, but nothing had changed, not even the rusted mailboxes and musty smell. The only change was a facial scanner installed in the middle of the front door.

I stood in front of Sun-woo's apartment, 202. Taking a short breath, I stood before the scanner and blinked. No response. Had they moved? A belated worry crossed my mind. Impatient, I knocked on the door. The scanner clicked, suggesting someone inside was viewing me through a video phone. I moved closer to the camera to ensure my face was visible.

"Who is it?"

The voice was a man's, but not Sun-woo's.

"Hi, I'm Yu Hee-jae. I used to live upstairs."

"And?"

The terse and somewhat aggressive tone was off-putting.

"I'm here to see Sun-woo. Kim Sun-woo, who used to live here."

No response. Had they really moved? It would have been an appropriate time to do so. As I stood there, contemplating another knock, the front door suddenly swung open.

"Come in."

It was Sun-woo's brother, recognizable yet older with white hairs that weren't there before. I followed him inside. The small living room and three-room structure felt as familiar as if I had lived there until yesterday. Medical oxygen cylinders lined up in front of the closed master bedroom caught my eye. I remembered hearing from senior Jin-ah that even empty oxygen cylinders were expensive these days.

"Oh, that? My mother is ill. She can't breathe without the oxygen tanks due to pulmonary fibrosis. She's been bedridden for quite some time now. She's sleeping at the moment, so there's no need to greet her. But it's been a long time, hasn't it? You're Sun-woo's friend, right? Now that I see you, I remember."

His voice was softer than what I had heard outside. I shook his hand. Sun-woo's brother led me to a worn leather sofa with a sunken middle. Eager, I began speaking even before sitting down.

"Um... are you in touch with Sun-woo? Do you know where he is now?"