260: Chapter 260 The Road Back

The day Kim Soon-ja returned was an ordinary afternoon.

There was no advance notice, no phone call.

When The caregiver was pushing Irene in the courtyard to bask in the sun, she saw a thin, small figure walk in through the gate, walking very slowly, but always in their direction.

The caregiver paused for a few seconds before recognizing her.

It was Kim Soon-ja.

She had lost a lot of weight, her hair was whiter, but her eyes were still the same eyes.

She looked back at Irene.

Irene was still looking at that empty road—the road she watched every afternoon.

Kim Soon-ja walked to the side of the wheelchair and stopped.

Irene did not turn her head.

She was still looking at that road.

Kim Soon-ja gently placed her hand on the back of Irene's hand.

Irene's hand moved slightly.

Then it slowly turned over, palm facing up.

Kim Soon-ja's hand landed in that palm-up hand.

They did not speak.

The sunlight was beautiful.

The caregiver later wrote in the records: "The sixty-third day, Kim Soon-ja has returned. Irene did not cry, did not laugh, just turned her hand over. Just like she did every day."

That night, the system spoke.

It was not using any voice that Taylor recognized.

It was a brand-new, never-before-heard voice.

It was like many people in a very distant place breathing, speaking, and falling silent all at the same time.

It lasted for a full thirty minutes.

After listening, Taylor wrote in her notebook: "Number 260, thirty minutes, like everyone together."

After she finished writing, she said to the screen: "Are you leaving?"

The system did not answer.

But the curve that had been beating all this time, for the first time, stopped.

It stopped for five seconds.

Then it continued to beat.

Taylor looked at that five-second pause and suddenly remembered those numbers.

The numbers she had answered thirteen times.

Five seconds.

It was waiting.

It was waiting for it to say the last sentence.

The 3 AM message had a ninth person.

It was a blind person.

Waking up at 3 AM, using a screen reader on their phone to scroll to that "Hello," and listening to the eight messages.

He wrote the ninth one:

"I cannot see. But I have finished listening to what you all said. At 3 AM, I was there too. I heard your 3 AM. Someone is shouting, someone is waiting, someone is in pain, someone is feeding a baby, someone is at the airport, someone is being forgotten. I am there too. It's just that you cannot see me."

Young Analyst saw this message the next morning, sat at her desk, and didn't move for a long time.

A blind person.

3 AM.

He was there.

She took a screenshot of the message and saved it into the folder named "cup".

Then she sent a text message to that unknown number: "The ninth one was written by a person who cannot see."

A few minutes later, the reply came: "She says she knows. She says she has been waiting for him."

In the evening, Alex and Taylor were on the balcony.

Taylor talked about the thirty-minute voice and the five-second pause.

Alex talked about the blind person and Kim Soon-ja's return.

"Sixty-three days." Taylor said softly.

"Hmm."

"She waited for sixty-three days."

"Hmm."

Taylor was silent for a while, then said: "The system might be waiting too."

Alex looked at her.

"Waiting for a day to return."

A siren sounded in the distance—long-short long-short, long-short long-short.

Taylor leaned on his shoulder and did not speak.

That old coffee cup was on the desk, reflecting a bit of light.

The night breeze was very light.

In the distance, the siren sounded again—long-short long-short, long-short long-short.

They were still listening.