Chapter 112

Kwon Haeju’s gaze shifted to the side of the bed. Resting there was the silver ring Nam Shin-hoo had temporarily removed. He had taken it off earlier, claiming the metal band was too uncomfortable while their bodies were tangled together.

The color of the artifact was peculiar. Beneath a crimson surface, sparse tendrils of something resembling pitch-black smoke were constantly rising and swirling together.

The ring’s color was supposed to represent the partner’s current status. That swirling, dark crimson likely reflected Kwon Haeju’s own state at this very moment.

Kwon Haeju glanced down at the matching ring adorning his own finger. It appeared completely dormant, clouded over by a thick, stagnant gray fog. Why was Nam Shin-hoo represented by such a lifeless color?

“…”

Shaking his head, Kwon Haeju forcibly dragged himself out of the deepening spiral of thought.

His obsession was reaching a critical stage. At some point, Kwon Haeju’s entire universe had begun revolving exclusively around Nam Shin-hoo, and he had become sickeningly dependent on the artifact linking them.

But could anyone really blame him? During the brief period Nam Shin-hoo had taken the ring off to bathe, that momentary lapse in signal had brought Kwon Haeju’s entire world to a violent, screeching halt, draining all color from his vision.

The same applied now. Even with Nam Shin-hoo physically lying right in front of him, the sheer anxiety of the ring being deactivated was suffocating. Carefully picking up the silver band, Kwon Haeju moved to slide it back onto its owner’s finger.

“…Hmm?”

Kwon Haeju’s eyes suddenly snagged on the status window hovering next to the artifact.

Reading another Hunter’s item stats without explicit permission was an extreme breach of etiquette. Consequently, Kwon Haeju had never once scanned Nam Shin-hoo’s ring.

Truthfully, he had simply never had the opportunity. When they first acquired the rings, he had been completely blind, and over the agonizing four years that followed, analyzing the artifact’s specific stats was the furthest thing from his mind. Because he occasionally felt Nam Shin-hoo’s emotions bleed through it and could use his own ring to track the man’s location, he had simply assumed Nam Shin-hoo’s ring possessed an identical set of abilities.

However, reading the artifact’s status window properly for the very first time revealed an entirely unexpected detail. Kwon Haeju stared intently at the fascinating line of text embedded within the ring’s description.

He finally had a vague idea why Nam Shin-hoo had been so desperately insistent on taking the ring off before trying to seduce him.

“Sensory sharing…”

A low, vibrating murmur echoed through the quiet room. It was a voice brimming with an irrepressible, wicked delight.

***

“I feel incredibly weird.”

Checking his reflection in the rearview mirror, Nam Shin-hoo smoothed down his bangs. He had honestly lost count of how many times he had nervously adjusted his hair. Ever since they stepped out of the house, an incredibly rare, suffocating tension had gripped him.

Nam Shin-hoo was a man who wouldn’t flinch even with a blade pressed directly against his throat. Yet here he was, practically vibrating with anxiety over meeting a single person. And that person was Choi Kanghyeon, of all people.

With Kwon Haeju behind the wheel, the car steadily climbed a secluded mountain road. They were en route to meet Choi Kanghyeon at a prearranged, highly isolated location.

“If you hate it that much, we can turn around right now,” Kwon Haeju offered.

“There’s absolutely no way I’d do that.”

“What a shame.”

Though he answered playfully while keeping his eyes on the winding road, the casual remark undeniably harbored genuine reluctance.

“How is Choi Kanghyeon doing? Has he changed much from before?” Nam Shin-hoo asked.

“Mmm…” Kwon Haeju deliberated for a moment before speaking. “He is probably exactly the same.”

“Yeah?”

“He remains stubbornly inflexible, entirely devoid of humor, insufferably boring, and thoroughly obnoxious.”

Kwon Haeju’s scathing assessment hadn’t changed a bit. He had despised Choi Kanghyeon from the very beginning. Undoubtedly, a significant portion of that hostility stemmed from possessive jealousy over anyone standing beside Nam Shin-hoo. However, even factoring in that intense rivalry, the two men were simply fundamentally incompatible on every conceivable level.

“Even so…”

The car began to decelerate as a secluded villa came into view, nestled deep within the isolated mountains.

“He had an incredibly difficult time,” Kwon Haeju finished quietly.

“…”

“Let us go inside.”

“Yeah.”

Hovering just beneath Kwon Haeju’s bitter admission was an unspoken, deeply profound empathy.

Choi Kanghyeon had an incredibly difficult time. Just like I did. That was exactly what he seemed to be saying.

Stepping out to open the passenger door, Kwon Haeju smoothly escorted Nam Shin-hoo out of the vehicle and into the villa. Nam Shin-hoo found the location oddly familiar, only to quickly realize this was the exact same safehouse where they had originally held the covert meeting with Bale Taylor when he first arrived from the United States.

Because this remote location had served as the Saint Guild’s designated hideout for highly sensitive, confidential meetings, they had naturally chosen it for this reunion as well.

“It’s been a long time since I was here,” Nam Shin-hoo mused.

The last time he had walked these halls, he had been carefully guiding a completely blind Kwon Haeju down the stairs. Now, the roles were entirely reversed; he was being escorted by a fully recovered Kwon Haeju walking confidently by his side.

From Nam Shin-hoo’s perspective, that memory was barely a few weeks old. Yet, to Kwon Haeju, it was an agonizingly distant fragment of the past. Briefly lost in his own sentimentality, Nam Shin-hoo scanned their surroundings. While a few minor repairs and renovations had clearly been made, the fundamental structure of the building remained perfectly preserved in his memory.

“I will open the door,” Kwon Haeju signaled, stepping forward to enter the reception room first.

The exact second the heavy door swung open, a faint, deeply familiar aura and scent washed over him. It was the unmistakable presence of the man who had stood faithfully by his side ever since he first learned how to read as a child.

“For what possible reason have you summoned me to this isolated place? And to do so with such arrogance, without even stating your busi—”

Choi Kanghyeon’s voice abruptly cut off as their eyes locked. A blinding, desperate light violently ignited within his pitch-black, lifeless pupils.

“Ah…”

A broken, incomprehensible sound slipped past Choi Kanghyeon’s lips. Immediately following it, a ragged, sobbing intake of air violently hitched in his throat.

“Shin-hoo-ya… Is it really you?”

“Yeah.”

Nam Shin-hoo stepped toward his oldest friend. As if the very bones in his legs had evaporated, Choi Kanghyeon collapsed to his knees. Reaching out, Nam Shin-hoo placed a firm hand on his slumped shoulder. The massive, drooping shoulders instantly began to heave violently. The giant of a man completely shattered, his large hands trembling uncontrollably against the floorboards.

This was the same Choi Kanghyeon who hadn’t shed a single tear even when surrounded by the slaughtered corpses of his friends upon his initial awakening. Now, he was utterly, devastatingly broken. His raw grief was so profound and overwhelming that Nam Shin-hoo couldn’t even formulate a simple word of comfort.

Watching the man silently weep for a long time, completely overwhelmed by his tears, Nam Shin-hoo bit down hard on his own lip.

Viscerally witnessing the sheer magnitude of the agonizing guilt and crippling isolation Choi Kanghyeon had been forced to endure entirely alone—despite having done absolutely nothing wrong—made Nam Shin-hoo bite back his own desperate urge to cry.

Choi Kanghyeon finally managed to force his trembling voice past his lips.

“During the time you were gone…”

Swallowing a wet sob, he forced himself to continue.

“Exactly as you predicted, many incredibly powerful Hunters have emerged in Korea. There is absolutely no one left on this earth who dares to underestimate our nation, and no faction remaining that possesses the strength to oppose us.”

The puddle of tears staining the floorboards beneath his bowed head grew steadily darker.

“I protected the Saint Guild. I ensured that… the legacy we built together didn’t disappear, and that every trace of your existence was meticulously preserved. I survived, and I recruited new blood. I raised every single guild member to be so thoroughly capable that you would never need to worry about them.”

This wasn’t an update. It was a confession.

These were the exact words Choi Kanghyeon had undoubtedly whispered a thousand times before Nam Shin-hoo’s empty gravestone. Endlessly stroking the cold, unfeeling stone monument, he must have screamed these desperate, hollow updates into the empty air, over and over again.

“I desperately wanted to be able to tell you all this with absolute pride if… if I ever saw you again.”

The desperate litany he had screamed toward an audience he believed could never hear him had finally, miraculously reached its intended master.

“You worked so hard,” Nam Shin-hoo whispered, dropping to his knees to match Choi Kanghyeon’s eye level. “I’m sorry. For leaving you all alone.”

“No. It doesn’t matter as long as you’ve returned. You’re back now, so…”

Nam Shin-hoo reached out and clasped Choi Kanghyeon’s violently trembling hands. Just as he squeezed them tightly, preparing to offer a deeper comfort…

“…”

A massive hand ruthlessly wedged itself between them. The silver ring adorning the interloper’s finger glinted sharply in the light.

“Isn’t it a bit too cruel to interrupt this conversation right now?” Nam Shin-hoo sighed.

“The floor is cold,” Kwon Haeju stated flatly.

Refusing to take no for an answer, Kwon Haeju firmly hauled Nam Shin-hoo off the floor. Watching the display, Choi Kanghyeon slowly lifted his head and hauled his massive frame upright.

Lightly scrubbing at his reddened, swollen eyes, Choi Kanghyeon shifted his gaze toward Kwon Haeju. He silently observed Nam Shin-hoo, and the younger man practically glued to his side as if it were the most natural thing in the world. After quietly studying the pair, a bitter, knowing smile touched the corners of his lips.

“It seems things turned out exactly as you predicted.”

There wasn’t a trace of hostility in his voice. Considering the violent, historically explosive rivalry between the two men, it was an incredibly subdued, remarkably gentle response. Especially with Nam Shin-hoo standing directly in front of them.

“It was the only natural outcome,” Kwon Haeju replied smoothly.

“…Right.”

Leading the way, Choi Kanghyeon guided Nam Shin-hoo into the pre-arranged reception area. Bypassing the stiff, formal chairs surrounding the conference table, they settled onto the plush leather sofas. Acting as if he owned the space, Kwon Haeju instantly claimed the seat directly beside Nam Shin-hoo.

As if still unable to process reality, Choi Kanghyeon stared at Nam Shin-hoo across the table for a long, silent moment before finally asking the inevitable question.

“How on earth have you been surviving all this time?”

“It’s a very long story. And…”

Nam Shin-hoo shot a brief, cautious glance at Kwon Haeju sitting beside him. He still hadn’t disclosed exactly where he had been or what horrific events he had survived over the past four years to the younger man either. He had simply offered a heavily sanitized explanation: the mysterious effect bound to his soul had forcibly evacuated him to a safe location, and he had simply returned after four years.

More accurately, he simply hadn’t found the right moment to explain. It wasn’t the kind of apocalyptic revelation you casually dumped on a man who looked ready to collapse into a catatonic state at any given second.

“There’s something I need to tell both of you.”

The time had finally come to reveal his side of the story. Because it was the most critical intelligence imaginable, he explicitly wanted to share it simultaneously with the two people he cherished most.

“I can’t reveal the exact, detailed specifics.”

Bound by the absolute laws of causality, explicitly discussing the timeline or the regression was strictly forbidden. However, securing their absolute cooperation moving forward required him to provide a comprehensive, broad-strokes overview of the situation.

“During the time I was gone, I was trapped in an entirely different space. You could call it an alternate dimension outside Earth, or perhaps an entirely new planet. From my perspective, I was only stranded there for a few days; it was an incredibly bizarre, heavily distorted space where reality here progressed four entire years in that short span.”

The specific elements restricted by the laws of causality were likely limited to explicit knowledge of the future and the specific mechanics of his regression. Therefore, his plan was to selectively explain everything else while entirely omitting those two critical components.

Carefully blending the actual, horrific events he had experienced in this current life with his own deduced theories, Nam Shin-hoo flawlessly wove his explanation.