Pitch darkness. Jung shuffles forward—then to the sides. Then forward again, and retracing his steps—all increasingly to no avail. It doesn’t matter which direction he goes for how long. Ultimately, he is merely wasting his time. Wasting time. Time. If Jung remembers correctly, at some time he worried about not having enough time. What is the worry about then? Why is he here? What is here exactly? It’s a question that Jung contemplates as he continues shuffling into the blanket of uncertainty.
And as he raises his eyes, Jung notices a faint twinkle—much like the flicker of a lighter. The closer Jung gets to the source, the less of a pause in between the twinkling light—then blinding rays of light forces him to shield his eyes. Even that feels like not enough as the illumination is remarkably overbearing. Never before has Jung ever experienced a phenomenon—if one wanted to call it like that—before. With each passing second, the fierce light emits brighter. But with all things in life, it comes to an end. Or rather, the lighting fades, albeit gradually.
Jung waits for his eyes to adjust to the archway-shaped light. Awe-struck, Jung unconditionally walks towards the light. The closer the tired Wulf gets to the entrance, the more Jung experiences a sense of great ease. All worries he may have—swept away in a single stroke of relief.
But the sight of a single individual—their back to Jung—makes the middle-aged stop dead in his tracks. Jung once again waits for his eyes to readjust to the luminescent glow from beyond the archway. And once the individual turns to face Jung, the old Wulf is taken back with confusion—with grief. Jung can’t believe it. There’s no way she could be here. After all these years chasing after her shadow—and his pursuit has brought him here of all places. It’s in that single moment that the fifty-year-old Jung Lee, the scourge of the Federation, the Wulf der Ruthenia, the legend who has died once and lived twice—realizes what he has always dreaded in his twilight years: Jung Lee has met his end.
Fa. There’s no mistaking that it’s her. With those emerald eyes, shoulder-length raven hair, and ever-youthful skin that leaves Jung speechless “Fa…Fa Yuriy?!” Jung stammers over each word, all the while shaking his head “are my decrepit eyes deceiving me like it has done time and time again?” Jung takes a few steps closer.
The more he looks at her, the more he is taken in by her beauty. It’s as if looking at a living memory that has been capsuled until this very moment— thirty years. Thirty years Jung waited to see her face again—and for just as long Jung feels as though he has forgotten her appearance. The longer Jung gazes at the young woman, the more it seems her radiance is enough to overpower what sorrow he may hold.
Happiness. Profound happiness. The happiest the Wulf has ever been in his life. At that moment, nothing else matters to the worn-down Wulf. Not the Wulfhere, not Li, not reciprocating Jean’s feelings, or even returning home to Frau. And yet, something nags at him. Something tugging at his heart that this isn’t right. Many distant voices that call his name—but it is merely ambiance that Jung ignores.
Fa does not move from her spot. She merely glances into the snow-white luminance behind her and looks back at Jung with those breathtaking emerald eyes of hers. “Jung… Lee,” she utters with a wry smile. To hear her voice—to hear her utter his name is enough to give Jung a heartache, “it has been some time, hasn’t it?” Her ever-soft tone gives Jung trouble clearing his increasingly dry throat. By now, he has blocked out the faint voices from behind him. The only thing that matters to the old Wulf now is Fa.
“It’s been more than just that, Fa!” Jung stammers “it’s been near—it’s been nearly thirty years,” Jung, in his moment of weakness, is powerless to let water flood his eyes. “I’ve missed you so much, Fa. I tried to accept what I held so dearly was now lost. I tried to move on and live a life in your place… for both of our sakes,” Jung says in between chokes of words, shaking his head “I never got to say a proper goodbye. I never got to apologize for what happened to you. In my blind hatred, I had dozens of men killed… boys that might’ve done nothing wrong, men who could’ve grown up and lived out lives of their own. I did it all for your sake—to give myself closure. And yet… and yet…”
Jung’s legs tremble and he falls to his knees. Droplets of tears drip to his leggings. “And yet, when that failed, I decided to plunge into the fires of battle. I hoped to be reunited with you once more. Time and time again my efforts were rebuffed by fate…” with a tearful scoff, Jung looks up at Fa “fate is more confusing than at first glance, isn’t it, Fa?”
Fa, whose eyes have been averted to the ground, looks back into the glowing archway once more. After a few moments she fixates Jung’s watery gaze, “there was nothing you could do. I have and will always forgive you, Jung. It hurts me more than anything that you have carried that weight with you after all these years…” Fa trails off as she breaks off her look to take in the abyss behind the broken Wulf.
“And now your journey has brought you here… and that makes me happy we could meet again, Jung… it really does,” Fa clears her throat “however…”
“However?” Jung mimics as he wipes his watery eyes with his sleeve. Fa turns to face partway at the illuminating door that separates their worlds.
“Where are you intending to go now, Jung Lee?” Fa asks, to which Jung ponders in bafflement. Jung is already here—the purgatory between the living and dead, where else could he go? Jung slowly gets to his knees with a series of grunts.
“I want to follow you into the afterlife, Fa,” the grizzled Wulf utters without hesitation with each step closer to the vibrant archway “I want to be with you again… I want to make up for all these lost years I robbed you of. There are many things I want to share with you, so many stories I wish to make you cry and laugh at. I want to by your side for an eternity, until even our spirits vanish. I have tried everything to achieve happiness… and the only way I can pursue that genuineness is with you.”
Fa does not reply. She closes her eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. She looks back at Jung not with a wry smile, but with a sense of sadness—an expression that further pulls at Jung’s heart. She opens her mouth to speak but says nothing. Her gaze drops to the floor, darting the surface of the eternal darkness as if searching for an answer.
During the spell of silence that ensues, Fa looks up at Wulf and approaches the broken man with careful steps. When she stands before him, Fa slowly extends an arm and strokes the side of Jung’s face—warm, ever so warm to the touch. Without thinking, Jung places a hand on top of hers, and their hands interlock.
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry for growing old without you, Fa,” Jung says with remorse, fresh tears stream from his eyes, and wets Fa’s caressing hand. Fa shakes her head and embraces Jung, she buries her head into his chest and tightens her grip around him. And yet—she does not cry.
“Do you hear it, Jung Lee?” Fa finally utters ”the voices that call for you… people that care deeply for you, and many more who would weep at your departure,” Fa lifts her head to interlock eyes with Jung “it is your decision—and yours alone—to decide where you want to go. Is this what you want? To leave things unfinished in the realm of the living when so many lives are at stake?” For once, Jung looks behind him, and like an inevitable crash against fierce waves, he hears them in their entirely—a legion of voices calling for his return—a return to the living. The pleas get increasingly louder and ring in his ears.
To ignore them would be akin to abandoning all those who care and respect Jung. Jung would be leaving behind those that need him in their greatest time of need. If he went on his way and turned his back on them now, it would be no more different than walking away from his pirate life all these years ago. It’d be merely dumpling his responsibilities on others. And on the other hand, Jung would have to return to a cruel and unforgiving world that has time and again robbed him of an honest life. It would be no more different than leaving Fa on that fateful day all those years ago to pursue the mutiny against captain Araki.
Upon looking back at Fa, she nods her head and lets go of the old Wulf.Jung doesn’t protest and silently watches as she takes a few backstops away from Jung. Now that she is back to standing against the archway, Jung finds the radiating illumination from the entrance makes her as angelic as before. Fa shows off another smile— rather pensive. She gently places an open-palmed hand on Jung’s chest.
“I’ve always loved you, Jung Lee… and will always continue to love you. You have the choice to return and make peace while you still can, a choice I was not given,” Fa’s hand caresses Jung’s chest, namely in the place above his heart. Jung raises one hand to wrap around hers, “go and do what you must, Jung Lee… I will wait here to guide you to realms beyond when the time comes…” and with that, Fa slips through Jung’s grasp and walks once more through the door. Without once stopping or looking back, her figure disappears and the blinding light overcomes him.
「Live for a little longer, Jung Lee. My patience for you is vast as the cosmos themselves.」
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The familiar darkness. It feels as though Jung is weightless, almost floating unlike before. The shouts are closer—more intimate, but he has a hard time making out what the source is saying.
Captain! Wake up! Captain! Please… don’t leave us now. Not now of all times… captain!
In response, Jung attempts to move around—but finds it rather fruitless. Even looking around or opening his eyes seems to be an impossible task. Has he wounded up in the afterlife after all? Is this a fleeting moment before dying? As frustrating as it is, Jung hears more of that oddly familiar voice—or rather, numerous voices. Ones that shout over each other. Jung wishes he could show these knuckleheads some respect, but his efforts to regain a keen awareness remain in vain.
“We have to leave the body behind, captain Jargon! His body will only slow us down!” Jargon… it’s a name that the old Wulf slowly starts to remember. The maverick that could easily whip the equally eccentric motley crew into a frenzy than even he was ever capable of.
“Don’t you dare address me with such a title! Jung… the captain is not dead yet. I just know it… Jung is still alive, I know it! I would rather die than leave his body behind!”
“His breathing and pulse have stopped! Don’t you see?! You have to accept it and leave him behind! He’s been dead ever since we wrapped his body up—it’s meaningless now! We’re just wasting time in leaving the Wulfhere!”
My breathing and heart have stopped? A baffled Jung ponders as he tries to make sense of what the hell is happening. Why would we abandon the Wulfhere? Soon after Jung hears something akin to loud firecrackers—and then his weight is thrown around. Before Jung even knows it, there is sheer coldness underneath him—cold to the touch that makes him wish for Fa’s heartfelt warmth. After that, he hears even more yelling around him. Some are closer, but others are far too faint to hear. Whatever went off makes it increasingly difficult as Jung finds himself fading in and out of consciousness.
A sensation as though his upper body is being lifted slightly up as if being cradled. “Captain!… I know you can hear me! Dammit!” Intense pain resonates across his face—which Jung believes is a slap. If Jung didn’t know any better, he would believe that not even his corpse would be able to rest in peace at a time like this. As much as he was a killer in life, the poor handling of corpses is something that he would never wish upon even his enemies.
“Captain…! Wake up! For the love of God, don’t do this to me!” Sudden wetness splashes on his face—and then several more follow suit. “Our moment was so close… our time to avenge those at Abassi will all be in vain…! I can’t… I can’t fill these goddamn shoes of yours just yet…!”
“That’s more than enough, captain Jargon! If you won’t make the decision, then I will temporarily assume command and order the fleet to withdrawal to Lübeck. This battle is lost—without leadership the fleet will be shredded. The Don be damned! I’ve all but lost faith in the Scarface coming. The Trinidad is too screened to approach it now… we should preserve as much of the fleet as we can—it’s what Jung would’ve wanted.”
It’s what I would want? Jung wonders in his head, what is it that I want exactly? As that contemplation weighs in Jung’s mind, the dark curtains over his eyes slowly open. Jung revels in a blinding light that takes a few moments for his blurry eyesight to adjust to. When his vision stabilizes, he is rather shocked to find himself seemingly not in purgatory—but the interior of the Wulfhere. Sitting over him is a teary-eyed and distraught Jargon glaring deterministically at the pirate lieutenant standing over them. When the lieutenant’s gaze shifts over to Jung, his face immediately goes pale.
“C-Captain…?!” The pirate lieutenant utters, unable to believe what he’s seeing.
“I…” Jung whispers dryly, owlishly blinking “e-evaded death—yet again? No matter how many times I try… I just can’t rest in peace, can I?” Jargon’s head slowly turns to face Jung with a mixture of horror, shock, and a greater amount of bafflement than the bystander. Jargon’s jaw practically drops as he is held in disbelief at what to say. Although Jung now experiences the pain of extravagant magnitude, he bears with it to afford a scoff “you look like… you have seen a ghost, Jargon.”
“Captain!” Jargon exclaims “this is no laughing matter, you…!” Jargon tearfully exclaims trying not to choke on his words. Jung swings an arm out toward the nearby railing and tries to bring himself to his feet, “captain, you ought to rest! You can’t go push your body too much! You got nearly shredded by shrapnel!”
“This old dog will trot it off,” Jung painfully snorts as he limps down the corridor “if I do not succumb to my wounds here, then I will be a few years off dying from space radiation. That aside, has news of my supposed death gotten out?” He asks, glancing back as the other two follow him.
“No,” Jargon states, still recovering from disbelief “I was going to relay the news once—”
“Good! Then keep it that way” Jung interjects with each painful step along the way “as long as panic has not swept the fleet, then we shall be fine.”
“What do you intend to do, captain?” Jargon asks as they pass by groups of people who glance back in astonishment. Some even stop in their tracks and follow the trio back to the bridge.
“The battle? What happened during the battle? Has there been an order to retreat?” Jung asks shooting a look at the lieutenant that was prepared to assume the responsibility “I assume Jargon took temporary command while I was out?”
“After the first torpedo hit, the Wulfhere stumbled back, and it’s likely we would’ve been finished off if not for the meteor shower intensifying,” Jargon replies, trying to assist Jung in walking. Jung, however, would not appreciate the help and brushes off his attempts. A meteor shower, huh? Jung wonders as he enters the bridge, would it be superstitious to believe that this was the work of Fa—or even God? Fate continues to bewilder the partially mummified Jung. “If we wanted to get out of this—this will likely be our last window of opportunity—the meteor shower pummeled both fleets, and I was prepared to use emergency shuttles to escape the Wulfhere—”
“A captain does not abandon his ship, Jargon” Jung interjects harshly “and I would normally say its crew wouldn’t either…” Jung stops and turns to face the line of followers behind the trio “if any of you still desire to escape the Wulfhere, I will allow it. So long as it is not me who flees, the Don wouldn’t care less about lowly henchmen saving face. And if any of you take advantage of this chaos he will not notice it in any case,” he scans the terrified faces of the men and women before him “you all deserve to live… the Wulfhere is merely a vessel, and if it goes down then all I desire is it to live on in spirit,” Jargon clears his throat and nods to the group of people.
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Some hesitate, others cast doubt on themselves. But it only takes a few moments for one to break off—then two and then a dozen. And with that, Jung unleashes a sigh of relief. “Your beauty sleep earlier must have made you soften up,” the lieutenant remarks wryly as he glances back at the ones jolting down the corridor.
“Beauty sleep,” Jung repeats with a pained snort “when you have a brush of death, it makes you more sentimental for the young ones putting their necks out for nothing. It is better to let young cowards live old and let the bold, brave idiots die young in their stead.” As Jung’s presence becomes more apparent in the bridge, he gets increasingly agitated at the constant gasps from confused onlookers as he makes his way up the flight of stairs with a series of pained grunts toward his command deck. Upon reaching the top Jung leans over the railing to examine the bridge below.
There are far fewer bridge crew than there were before. A fact that Jung finds disheartening but owes to the fact he had more or less dismissed a dozen just moments ago. He can only imagine, however, that much more likely died in the torpedo blast earlier. The aftermath of which has by now been hastily repaired by the ship’s internal auto-repair mechanisms—with a special touch by human elements, if he has to guess.
“Adrian…” Jung whispers “I don’t see him—where is he?” He turns to ask Jargon, trying to stifle his worry. Jargon thinks for a moment and sighs.
“He’s in critical condition—but the docs said he’ll live,” Jargon remarks “it’s a miracle the communications system is still operable—and I had pulled something technical enough, someone named Marco to handle it.” The fact that Adrian could very well nearly die and be easily replaced while his precious machine manages to remain unscathed remains disturbing to Jung. There is nothing about it that Jung finds a miracle. If anything it is concerning evidence that humans are vulnerable to almost everything in life.
“That is a relief to hear… as soon as the boy recovers, I want him off this ship,” Jung remarks. Jargon doesn’t appear to protest and silently nods in approval. Just as Jargon mentioned earlier, the meteor shower has expanded most considerably in size and ferocity. During and after Jung’s near-death state, combat appears to have subsided, and only brief skirmishes occur here and there among the lines.
Amazingly, the Kafraiya has managed to enjoy some form of success. As does Jean—and finding out she is still alive and well gives Jung a spell of relief. Given the overwhelming size of the Federation armada, their movements adapting to the situation shows have been overwhelmingly awkward at best. Either a perfect time to strike—or as Jargon suggested, the best window of opportunity to retreat.
As Jung peers closer at the main monitor—occasionally flickering and giving out due to hardware damage—it becomes apparent from what movement the Federation gives that they are not keen on withdrawing just yet. It could be they are reorganizing and biding their time for the meteor shower to subside.
“Captain, the Kafraiya sends his regards about your wellbeing—and asks what are your orders?” Marco asks “should I inform the fleet to retreat to the Cluster colonies?” Jung leans onto the railing and meticulously taps the metal bars.
Jung is interested in the idea of retreating—but thinking back on the Don’s threat and for the safety of his men, confronting the Federation in this predicament is the lesser of two evils.
“No,” Jung remarks laconically “I want everyone to press forward—seeing as we can’t do so much as harass. We can only help for two outcomes—the arrival of Li, or the Federation gets fed up and retreats with their tail between their legs—” Jung points outwardly at the flickering monitor, namely at the t-block representing the Trinidad “so long as we eliminate their flagship, it will give us hope.”
“Captain…” Jargon utters in disbelief “it’s delusional to latch onto that fantasy idea of her coming to the rescue at this point. She’s not coming.”
“After being deprived of oxygen for so long and experiencing death, I’m as delusional as they come,” Jung snorts laconically. With no further comment, Marco relays the straightforward plan to the rest of the fleet. As Jung may expect, there is some form of reluctance as ships scramble around during combat despite the meteor showers testing the collective will of the fleet’s pilots. In some cases there are close calls of large chunks of meteorites hitting their ship—but the Wulfhere’s gunners never failed in blasting asteroids into smaller chunks for the pilot to maneuver past.
And like waves crashing against vast cliffs, the Federation sternly holds their ground amid the fierce meteor shower and progressive pirate assaults. But slowly but surely, their determination was increasingly coming short—and it seems like some of their squadron commanders are feeling brave enough to counterattack.
“Confirms from Kafraiya about successfully managing to lure the southern flank away from the battle-lines further into the asteroid belt,” Marco states flatly.
“Good,” Jung nods “and what of Jean? She appears to have trouble with…” Jung stops to abruptly hunch over with one hand clenching his chest and coughs violently into the hand he clasps over his mouth—it is entirely covered in dripping crimson red. He balls the fist and slams it on the railing.Lend me more time, Fa! Jung begs in his mind, I can’t let my moment of triumph end like this!
“Captain?” Jargon asks concernedly as he takes a few steps closer to theWulf “it’s not too late to take a moment to rest…”
“The moment I sit down to relax, my soul will slip away” Jung retorts as he opens and closes his bloodied hand “Marco, order some ships on our right to reinforce Jean’s positions… the rest will push through the Trinidad’s screens.” With an aye, Marco relays the orders. Jung grips the railing with both hairs with bated breath, observing as Jean’s force wage a brave tug of war with her adversaries, and observes the straggler Federation squadron in his rear undeterred by the Kafraiya’s attempts at baiting them away.
“If it were not for the asteroids blocking their lines,” Jargon surmises “we could very well be at the risk of encirclement.”
There is but a mere gap in the asteroid current that Jung decides to lunge from. Leaving behind some ships to distract the rear Federation squadron, Junge gives the order to pour through their window of opportunity. The rather uncharacteristically bunched-up Federation ships Jung encounters easily give away to confused maneuvers—an eventual rout of the Federation ships followed by the Wulfhere mercilessly cutting them down.
“Ignore the stragglers!” Jung says with a hoarse voice after another jerking cough into his hand “full knots ahead!” Before long, the Trinidad and it’s enormous screen are visible to the naked eye. The same situation as before: being right outside the immediate meteor shower, it would be impossible to use asteroids as barriers against missile barrages. By now, they were four hundred kilometers away from the Trinidad.
“Captain! We shouldn’t get so close! This will be suicide!” Jargon worriedly objects.
“So long as we get through the initial barrage… we can close distance! It’s all or nothing now!” Jung utters heatedly. Three hundred fifty kilometers, they just need to push further!
“Multiple heat signatures detected! Federation firing line has launched its first salvos!” The radar technician shouts from below. Jung grits his teeth and hugs the railing for dear life.
“Evasive maneuvers! Brace for impact!” Jung shouts to the bridge. The rather abrupt jolts of the ship throws Jung to the floor and knocks a grunt out of him. With another series of pained grunts and a spit of blood oozing from the edge of his mouth, Jung works his way up the railing and witnesses in time the horror of dozens of his ships getting annihilated in one fell swoop. Already some other ships were changing trajectory and retreating towards Jean’s fleet.
“Stay on target!” Jung shouts to Marco “tell the goddamn ships to stay on the path! The more we splinter out—”
“Federation secondary and tertiary lines are moving up!” The radio technician utters panicky. Two hundred kilometers. If the follow-up firing lines assemble fast enough, it’s all over.
“All remaining ships!” Jung declares “focus fire on the Trinidad and shift trajectories toward Jean’s fleet!” To Jung’s bewilderment, the Federation firing lines are thrown into disarray—one after another the ships maneuver poorly, causing some to ram into each other or be thrown off-course. But whatever the case, it is the opportunity Jung needs. “Fire!” Jung roars as he slams a fist down on the railing “the Trinidad, the screen ships… it doesn’t matter! Fire and reel around!”
Jung’s daring fleet unleashes bursts of artillery salvos right as the pirate fleet penetrates further into the screen. The density of smoke from exploding ships and weapon platform discharges expands rapidly and envelops the two colliding fleets, thus obstructing the Wulfhere’s sensors. The only thing Jung can do is pray—pray that they cut through the Federation fleet in one piece and steer around without issue. Pray that they have hit one of their intended targets.
As Jung hangs on for dear life amid all the reckless maneuvering, the toll it has on his body makes his coughing gets increasingly severe—a fact that worries Jargon. The resurgence of extravagant pain numbs Jung’s body as he nearly slumps against the railing’s wall.
“Captain!” Jargon hurriedly rushes over to help his old Wulf “hang in there, you bastard! You’re pushing your body far too hard!”
Rather than argue the point, Jung slowly nods his nod, accepting the fact that he has mere specks of time left in him. Jung clutches Jargon by the collar and pushes Jargon closer to him. “Whatever happens,” Jung gasps “—you are the captain now.”
Jargon owlishly blinks with hesitation, and shakes his head “captain, I—”
“—Wulfhere has emerged from the smoke field,” the pilot announces below. All eyes turn to Marco, who presses the headphones against his ear with intense concentration.
“The Trinidad?” Jung asks with labored breaths, clasping onto both Jargon and the railing; his grips dig into both.
“Multiple confirmations of the Trinidad being hit…” Marco sternly states. His shoulders slump slightly, “visuals are now on screen, all projectiles that hit the Trinidad over-penetrated,” Marco says with a hint of disappointment, reading off a transcript. Behind him, footage of the Trinidad shows it capsizing to a small degree—but it dawns on Jung that the flagship is stubbornly holding out. “Damage to the Trinidad’s engine appears to be critical, they’re essentially sitting ducks—captain Jung, your next move?”
Jung lowers his head and attempts to sigh, being careful not to cause further strain on his chest. His eyelids feel increasingly heavy, and all Jung wishes to do is sleep. This battle has been taking its toll on not just his broken body, but his mental state as well. “Turning around to finish off theTrinidad would be too costly, we would lose the momentum and give the Feds ample time to make up for their shortcomings…” Jung remarks weakly, trying to keep himself steady against the railing “but the strike at the flagship wasn’t all in vain… not only did we cripple the flagship, but we also shredded a good number of screen ships…” Jung strokes his whiskered chin “we shattered the idea of Federation invincibility,” Jung declares “I’ve outwitted a Federation force ten times my size—not many could say that, not even Li,” Jung says patting Jargon on the shoulder.
“I’m getting a flurry of news from our rear ships,” Marco interjects from below, standing up abruptly and sending his chair clattering to the chair. Marco looks back at Jung with a pale voice, “they say…” he mutters attempting to clear his throat “they say there is an unidentifiable fleet of uncertain size rapidly approaching the battlefield.” From their rear? Has his worst fears come to fruition? Or perhaps it is his much-desired cavalry? Jung glances at Jargon and ponders his next move. Does Jung order all units to abandon their positions, or does he hold out a little more longer?
Jung glares at Marco, who bats his eyes registering what he hears on the headset. Before Jung knows it, Marco’s eyes sparkle lit up—and then get teary. With a gaping mouth, he tries to form words and tries to clear his throat several times. Marco looks at the rest of the bridge crew and then exchanges looks with Jung.
“The Jaguar… Hugh… the Castelforte—the Madame Scarface,” he says wiping away his wet eyes and clears his throat again “she… she has returned!” And just like that, the bridge erupts in an emotional moment of celebration.
And for Jung, it is as though crushing weight is lifted from his shoulders—as though his part of playing Atlas is over. For this reason, his increasingly and yet straining effort in maintaining the pillar crashes down on him, resulting in a state of exhaustiveness Jung has never felt before. But even with that said, Jung feels at peace. Tranquility he believed he had achieved leaving for his newfound married love. Only this time, Jung feels a greater sense of genuine reflecting the accomplishments he pulled off.
“Jargon… no, captain Jargon—” Jung says patting the man on the shoulder “—go down there and join them in this joyous occasion,” Jung says calmly. Jargon looks into Jung’s eyes with reluctance—but the young Wulf der Rouen merely nods and jolts down the flight of stairs, leaving the battered old Wulf alone.
Jung, with great pain, clutches his chest as he limps over to his leather brown chair and sits down with utmost caution. The foamy seating does much to slip Jung into a greater sense of ease notwithstanding the enormous pain he has suffered through. But it is pain he endured for his men—suffering he had been willing to take if it meant satiating his long-bruised pride.
And in Jung’s eyes, he had done just that. It did come at a cost—Jung does not doubt that. A costly one that will cause grief among his loved ones. But this is merely fate—a cruel fate, but his fortune nonetheless. This is the path he chose when he joined the pirate fleet—and even more so when he agreed to take up arms against the Federation once more. There was never truly going to be happiness for Jung no matter his choices. And though it does slightly displease the old Wulf that even here at Rouen, his monumental efforts will be used as leverage in her success—just as she did at Abassi.
And looking back on it all, it would make no difference if he lost at Abassi since everyone would have lost. Perhaps with the benefit of hindsight, Jung has looked at Abassi the wrong way—they had won, regardless if the spotlight was swept under him. What’s even more important is their—notjust Li’s nor Jung’s—victory secured the nascent Year 217 Mafia. And if it were not for Abassi, Jung would never have met and settled down with Frau and lived a short but peaceful life with Jean at his side as well.
Likewise, what could be said for Abassi could also be applied here. Jung survived Abassi, and instead of moving on, Jung dwelled on the past—the endless rabbit hole of what could’ve been, like with Fa before. And frankly, though the circumstances may not be the same, Jung would have it no other way. To leave things in Li and Jargon’s hands means Jung can rest without regret—notwithstanding he will be leaving behind Frau and Jean. But he knows the two of them will preserve. They’re strong women that can take care of themselves and their unborn child. Even then, Simon or Li will take care of them. Jung firmly believes he has nothing to worry about now.
[https://i.imgur.com/BOtTQux.png]
And now, in his last moments, Jung Lee has made peace with himself. And with that peace, he feels free from the shackles of lamentation. At that particular moment, if only for a lasting moment, Jung Lee experiences the flight of a long-caged bird fleeing its imprisonment.
“Li Chou, I leave the rest to you,” Jung Lee says softly under his breath “just as I thought, there’s no place for me at all…”
I’m sorry, Jean. I’m sorry, Frau. I’m sorry, Simon. Everyone… please forgive me.