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He grew up capturing the night sky within him.

Enduring his father’s violence, who was more often drunk than sober.

Leaving behind friends who were dying or getting hurt, or disappearing for unknown reasons.

So he grew, and continued to grow.

Was it luck?

He had a talent for martial arts, and thanks to that, he could become ‘a more equal person’ and gain just a bit more value.

How long had he lived, swinging a sword?

Blood splattered on his dark life, dried up and turned a blood-red color, eventually rotting black, blending in with the colors of his life until he felt no sense of incongruity.

Then a turning point in his life approached.

“Would you like to go to space?”

Space.

The vast night sea.

A simple question asking whether he wanted to sail through it.

To which Ivan answered.

“I will go.”

At that time, the ‘very equal person’ who proposed to him praised him, saying he had become a model for the Soviets, and that he could now stand against capitalism and imperialism. And still, they whispered promises of wealth and honor, telling him that he would be recorded in history.

But the important thing is not wealth and honor.

Young Ivan looked up at the night sky.

And he held the night sky in his heart.

It was like drinking the water of a lake brightly illuminated by the night sky.

Essentially, the night sky couldn’t be captured or contained.

Yet, Ivan lived carrying the night sky within his heart.

While looking at the sky.

While gazing at the stars.

While observing the night sea between the stars.

Thus, Ivan endured a world that was equal yet painful until the day his father finally died, unable to breathe amidst convulsions, while enduring the harsh training from instructors who told him to spread red ideology across the world.

He had lived like that.

Then an opportunity came to that life.

An opportunity to go to that night sea he had held as a child.

Even if that opportunity came with all the wealth and honor, what did it matter?

Going to space is not a process but a goal.

It’s not that one goes to space to gain wealth and honor, but rather that after going to space, wealth and honor come along…

Thus, Ivan accepted the proposal and underwent harsh training.

Training that was different from anything he’d done before.

Finally, he rode the spacecraft created by scientists and went into space.

“….”

He felt an emotion that was breathtaking.

An overwhelming sensation he had never felt in his life.

A profound emotion that would shake to the core his pitch-black life!

From that moment on, Ivan was captivated by space.

No, perhaps he had been enchanted by space since childhood.

That pitch-black.

He had become mesmerized by this vast sea filled with brilliant starlight.

So he fell in love with the sea and finally dove into it like a sailor.

Into space….

“Just as sailors bewitched by the siren’s song, those entranced are ill-fated. Hence, many scriptures whisper among the people: Do not be enchanted; keep your heart serene; retain the clarity and calm of a lake on a windless day. While keeping your heart warm, keep your head cold so that you can always view yourself objectively, thus avoiding the worst.”

Yet, how can a person’s heart act according to their will?

“Life and death do not comply with a person’s wishes, so how could emotions?”

If a person cannot feel emotions, they are not human, and if they can control them, they are also not human. What difference is there if one cannot feel emotions, compared to a stone shaped like a person? What is the difference from a mirage seen on a hot day?

That is why it is said.

“Thus, not being shaken does not mean one does not feel. A heart that does not waver neither stems from insensitivity nor resembles a diamond that cannot be broken by any steel. It is akin to a reed, unbroken by any harsh storm, standing again softly when the storm passes; this is an example to follow. Therefore, the unwavering heart does not hold its peace for long; this truly resembles flowing water that does not rot.”

Ironically, those whose hearts are firmly enchanted also remain unshaken.

Already bewitched, they cannot hold anything else; fixated on one thing, they are not swayed by others. Yet, they steadily build a stronghold and, despite fierce tempests, do not lose their shape, unyieldingly gazing at one thing.

And as this culminates in a singular madness, it manifests as the warrior Ivan.

In the Soviet Union and in America, he is known as ‘Ivan Enchanted by Space.’

And in the future before the rewind.

In the time after the rewind—farther in the future, he shall be known by the nickname ‘King Slayer,’ spreading a fearsome reputation that grows ever stronger as the blood on his hands increases, and the heads he drops to the ground pile up.

He ultimately comes to be referred to as ‘Calamity.’

‘Calamity.’

A world crumbling into madness.

Countless countries collapsing, countless people scattered.

Those who once enjoyed brilliant civilizations now living, worrying for survival.

The close connections of the world severed, a world filled with violence and isolation.

Even amidst the madness of World War III, people were afraid.

Fearful of those known as calamities, they dared not touch them.

The sprout of calamity is none other than the warrior Ivan.

He who slaughtered those standing above the people in many nations, including France.

Presidents, leaders, prime ministers, kings, generals.

The one who drew lines around many necks and sent their heads rolling on the ground.

A traveler who became enchanted by space and returned home.

A warrior who roamed the world, cutting through space while having made space his home.

A name that must be mentioned when discussing the world’s strongest.

A mad superhuman.

“O warrior, O warrior. What was the gaze of the sea goddess like? Was the gaze of the vast sea’s daughter strong? Was it familiar?”

In front of that superhuman, Park Jinseong spoke.

“Licorice, licorice. Just like a flower that splits apart. When the split flower scatters in the wind like waves crashing. And just like the beauty of the eyes formed by the waves coming together, was that gaze beautiful as well? Was it brilliant enough to provoke you?”

And Ivan answered his question.

“No.”

No indeed.

The bright red flame could not compare to the twinkling of the stars.

Nor could the swirling waves compare to the calmness of the universe.

The glance of the sea goddess was not sweet at all.

Thus Ivan spoke.

So Park Jinseong asked again.

“Ivan. Have you found your mother?”

“No.”

“Ivan. Have you found the goddess?”

“No.”

“Then what is the universe?”

Ivan did not answer his question.

Instead, he grasped his sword.

A sword not properly sharpened.

Yet intact even after entering the atmosphere.

A sword he had ordered with the support of the party before advancing into space.

Used to strike down Soviets wanting to venture into space, refusing the party’s order to return to Earth.

Now, feeling the sword as one with his body, Ivan moved.

His hand moved.

Lightly, tracing a line.

And Park Jinseong’s body was torn apart.

Swish.

The sound followed belatedly after the strike.

An intense blow that seemed to slice space, returning only afterwards.

The budding calamity of the future, who could freely cut through space.

Thus Park Jinseong’s body became one, then two.

Even struck by a blow, lines were drawn, and it fell, trickling to the floor.

Thump.

Like a meat chunk spilling to the ground, its surface splatters.

But.

“If the universe is the mother, then the one within it would be the baby. If the universe is the goddess, then what’s within it would be the believer. But if it’s neither the mother nor the goddess, then what is it? What is the universe, and what the heck are you?”

Yet still, Park Jinseong’s mouth would not stop.

Even with his body cut, even with his upper body stuck to the ground, his mouth kept moving.

“Those who drift on the sea are drifters; those who stroll there are navigators; those who set course while gazing at the stars are pilgrims. Then what should one call someone who wanders aimlessly in the boundless ocean, neither drifting nor navigating, content simply with their existence?”

Crunch, crunch.

The severed body twitched.

The flowing blood twitched like slime, and chunks of flesh crumbled like grains of sand.

Then those grains began to sprout legs to move about, attempting to recombine their shaped bodies.

In the end, the fragmented pieces formed a shape again.

It was a sight much like gathering sand to create a statue.

“Ivan, Ivan. O Ivan who loves space.”

And thus, the shaman formed of insects spoke.

“O Ivan, entangled in anguish due to those seeking to destroy the beautiful garden.”

Neither serpent nor siren, yet how enchanting the words are.

“Go to America.”

The serpent made of insects whispered.

“Slice the owl of California.”

It whispered.

“For your peace, I shall offer you my help.”

Just like an evil spirit.

Sweetly.

 

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