They want to enjoy the safety of a town built on Guwon’s rules, while stripping away the very element that made that safety possible in the first place.
After Jiwoon got the medication for the kid, they could have sat down and used him as a bridge, slowly shifting some of the rules, even trying to change how Guwon approaches new people and puts them to use. It was a missed opportunity. I think only the doctor would have been capable of seeing it, given how much better he understood the way Guwon thought and operated. Gone too soon.
Guwon comes across as someone who operates on a single track: he decides something is correct and then follows it without room for divergence or exception. Not out of malice, but because “this is how it works, therefore it must be right.” He’s simply apathetic. Violence and killing are tools, nothing more, a means to an end with no emotion attached. He’s been painfully direct from the start, though the early story lets us believe otherwise for a while.
There’s also something almost childlike about him, and that’s what unsettles people the most. He speaks and acts without any concept of fear or social filter, so his words land with a weight far heavier than he intends. (They *are* terrifying, the man can kill you in a blink, but to him it’s just plain speech, unburdened by feeling.)
All of this traces back to his blank past. With no memories, he has no ordinary common sense. Everything he knows is built on survival in an apocalyptic world; his entire framework is survival instinct refined into rule.
And the rebels are remarkably short-sighted for thinking that sending one person outside as their sole source of information would be enough to prove they can manage on their own. If someone killed my family I’d want him gone too, but they’ve lived in Guwon’s shadow this whole time. It’s almost comical that nearly everything the rebellion needs to succeed was built by Guwon and the Hounds in the first place.
I still think there’s more to Jiwoon’s story than what he currently remembers.
They want to enjoy the safety of a town built on Guwon’s rules, while stripping away the very element that made that safety possible in the first place.
After Jiwoon got the medication for the kid, they could have sat down and used him as a bridge, slowly shifting some of the rules, even trying to change how Guwon approaches new people and puts them to use. It was a missed opportunity. I think only the doctor would have been capable of seeing it, given how much better he understood the way Guwon thought and operated. Gone too soon.
Guwon comes across as someone who operates on a single track: he decides something is correct and then follows it without room for divergence or exception. Not out of malice, but because “this is how it works, therefore it must be right.” He’s simply apathetic. Violence and killing are tools, nothing more, a means to an end with no emotion attached. He’s been painfully direct from the start, though the early story lets us believe otherwise for a while.
There’s also something almost childlike about him, and that’s what unsettles people the most. He speaks and acts without any concept of fear or social filter, so his words land with a weight far heavier than he intends. (They *are* terrifying, the man can kill you in a blink, but to him it’s just plain speech, unburdened by feeling.)
All of this traces back to his blank past. With no memories, he has no ordinary common sense. Everything he knows is built on survival in an apocalyptic world; his entire framework is survival instinct refined into rule.
And the rebels are remarkably short-sighted for thinking that sending one person outside as their sole source of information would be enough to prove they can manage on their own. If someone killed my family I’d want him gone too, but they’ve lived in Guwon’s shadow this whole time. It’s almost comical that nearly everything the rebellion needs to succeed was built by Guwon and the Hounds in the first place.
I still think there’s more to Jiwoon’s story than what he currently remembers.