Chapter 120

Massaging his right temple, Shin-hoo let out a long, silent breath. He couldn’t exactly confess that his actual mental age hovered somewhere in his mid-forties, leaving him completely at a loss for how to counter such shamelessly warped logic. Really…

“Pfft…”

Unable to hold it back, a breathless chuckle slipped past his lips. Desperately pressing his fingers against his rising cheekbones, Shin-hoo fought to swallow the ensuing laughter.

I’m in serious trouble if I’m starting to find even this petty side of him endearing, he thought helplessly.

Tilting his head as he observed Haeju’s expression hardening even further, Shin-hoo spoke softly. “You are the most important person to me.”

Initially, his desperate prioritization of Kwon Haeju had been purely utilitarian—a necessity for securing the future. Haeju was the indispensable keystone required to clear the final quest, the sole, fleeting chance Shin-hoo had to wash away the catastrophic sins of his past life.

But at some imperceptible point, an entirely different desire had eclipsed that cold objective. He simply wanted Haeju to live a long, full life. He wanted him to be immeasurably happier than he had been in the previous timeline, completely untouched by agony or despair.

The moment Haeju had threatened to take his own life, raw, suffocating terror for the man’s safety had instantly overridden any grand concerns about the fate of the world.

Of course, Shin-hoo hadn’t abandoned his ultimate mission. He existed solely to clear the quest and rectify his past failures, and that immutable truth would dictate his future. Yet, the paradigm through which he approached that mission had fundamentally shifted. As he clawed his way toward his goal, he found himself desperately praying for Haeju’s happiness along the way—with a fervor that eclipsed even his own expectations.

Offering a tender smile at the sight of Haeju, who had been completely blindsided by the sudden confession, Shin-hoo watched the man falter.

“Pardon? What do you…”

“By the way, what were you discussing with Yoo Da-on?” Shin-hoo interrupted smoothly.

Seeing the two striking individuals sitting across from each other had caused Shin-hoo’s breath to catch momentarily, even though he knew there was zero romantic potential between them. Da-on was a remarkably bright, unapologetically honest girl, completely untainted by the darkness that stained Shin-hoo’s soul.

“I went to secure her authorization for a dungeon raid,” Haeju explained, quickly regaining his composure. “The Hyeonjeol Guild currently maintains jurisdiction over the Sand Cactus Dungeon.”

“Ah.”

The Sand Cactus Dungeon was the exact same classification of rift Shin-hoo had dived into alongside Gwan Seungya shortly after his regression. It was the very crucible where he had seized the title of the ‘Sand King’. After disclosing his cursed physical condition to Haeju, Shin-hoo had briefly mentioned the mechanics of that specific dungeon. He had written off his stunted physical growth as an incurable ailment and entirely forgotten about it, but it seemed Haeju had been meticulously hunting for a cure behind the scenes.

“Is that so? It would certainly be beneficial to pay it a visit. When are we entering?”

“I have scheduled the expedition for next week… Wait. More importantly…” Haeju cut himself off, whipping his head toward Shin-hoo. “Did you truly mean what you just said?”

His expression was a portrait of absolute shock, the intensity of his bewilderment piercing straight through his dark lenses. A heavy, desperate mixture of astonishment and fragile hope saturated his gaze.

“Keep your eyes on the road. You’re driving,” Shin-hoo deflected, deliberately avoiding a direct confirmation.

Even if it was the unvarnished truth, repeating such a raw, vulnerable sentiment twice in a row was far too embarrassing to stomach. Averting his gaze, Shin-hoo stared out the window at the sprawling cityscape unfurling beneath the overpass.

“…”

After tenaciously scrutinizing Shin-hoo’s profile for a few agonizing seconds, Haeju finally turned back to the windshield and gripped the steering wheel with both hands.

“I am going to accelerate,” he declared.

The sleek vehicle surged forward, tearing down the wide-open highway.

***

Blinking away the dregs of sleep, Shin-hoo gazed down at Haeju, who was clinging to him like a lifeline. The wretched, broken man who could only find sleep by downing toxic sedatives or knocking himself out with magical artifacts was nowhere to be found.

Having spent the past few days constantly placating a Haeju who aggressively insisted on wearing the sensate rings during every intimate encounter, Shin-hoo had managed to negotiate a fifty-percent compromise. But tonight, riding some inexplicable high, Haeju had personally slipped the ring off Shin-hoo’s finger before devouring him whole.

While encounters initiated without the artifact meant Haeju would compensate by being ruthlessly, obsessively thorough, Shin-hoo secretly rejoiced in the raw, unmediated friction of their skin pressing together. Having been relentlessly ravished since early evening, his lower back and hips throbbed with a delightfully humiliating heat.

“Mmn…”

Perhaps stirred by the shifting mattress, Haeju reached out, winding his arms around Shin-hoo’s waist as he sat upright against the headboard. Rubbing his cheek affectionately against Shin-hoo’s smooth abdomen, Haeju pressed a feather-light kiss to his skin.

“Go back to sleep. I’m going to sleep, too,” Shin-hoo murmured, gently patting Haeju’s bare shoulder. His gaze drifted over the broad expanse of Haeju’s back, admiring the beautifully sculpted landscape of hard muscle.

“…”

Mumbling something completely incomprehensible through the haze of half-sleep, Haeju suddenly tightened his grip. “…Shin-hoo-hyung.”

Shin-hoo’s hand froze mid-stroke, paralyzed by the sudden honorific. It was a bizarrely electric sensation. He had assumed titles held zero significance to him, yet the moment those two syllables brushed his ears, his heart violently plummeted into his stomach. As his stroking fingers stilled, thick eyelashes fluttered against his skin, and Haeju slowly opened his eyes. Those piercing sapphire irises captured the faint ambient light.

“Are you awake?” Shin-hoo asked softly.

“Shin-hoo-hyung.”

“…”

“May I call you that?”

So this was the root cause of his foul mood all afternoon. Unable to suppress it any longer, Haeju had finally laid his petty, jealous heart bare. He must have genuinely loathed hearing Yeonho use that title, Shin-hoo realized with quiet amusement.

“You may.”

Haeju’s expression instantly relaxed beneath Shin-hoo’s tender permission.

“Hmm…”

With a single, fluid tug, Haeju dragged Shin-hoo’s seated body back down. Their bare skin slid smoothly across the tangled sheets. Slipping his hand beneath the loosely parted lapels of Shin-hoo’s robe, Haeju stroked the firm planes of his chest. Moving with agonizing deliberation, he grazed the sensitive peak of Shin-hoo’s nipple with the flat of his fingernail.

“Hah.”

The sudden, sharp friction caused the bud to instantly pebble to rigid attention. Tenaciously rolling the swollen peak between his fingers, Haeju propped himself up and buried his face into Shin-hoo’s chest, taking the hardened flesh into his mouth with a wet, scorching heat.

“Kwon Haeju…”

“You can go to sleep, hyung. Do not mind me,” Haeju purred against his skin.

As if anyone could possibly sleep through this. A delicious, terrifying shiver raced down Shin-hoo’s spine at the unfamiliar honorific and the possessive cadence of Haeju’s voice. When Shin-hoo weakly attempted to push Haeju’s head away, the man’s free hand aggressively seized his other breast, ruthlessly claiming it.

He had always assumed a man’s chest was nothing but useless, utilitarian muscle. Yet, ever since Haeju had thoroughly awakened his body, every passing touch sent electric spasms cascading down his spine. As Shin-hoo curled inward from the searing contrast of cold fingers against hot skin, Haeju ruthlessly pinned him down, lapping at him with voracious hunger, lightly scraping his teeth over the distended peak before sucking hard.

Ironically enough, Shin-hoo couldn’t summon a single ounce of genuine desire to reject such feral affection.

Reaching down, Shin-hoo cupped Haeju’s cheeks and hoisted his face upward. Slowly lifting his gaze, Haeju’s lips were slick and swollen, bruised a vibrant crimson. He languidly swept his tongue over the very teeth that had just been ravaging Shin-hoo’s flesh. His wet lips glistened obscenely beneath the moonlight. Pinned under that suffocatingly fierce, predatory stare, Shin-hoo swallowed dryly.

“I have already showered twice this evening.”

“I am aware.”

“…A third time will be exhausting. Therefore…”

You’re cleaning me up afterward. 

Leaving the unspoken demand lingering in the charged air, Shin-hoo violently yanked Haeju’s face down and captured his lips. Plunging into the kiss, Haeju’s scalding tongue immediately swept the roof of his mouth, moving with a desperate, all-consuming heat that threatened to devour Shin-hoo entirely.

***

Following the official declaration of his return and the subsequent gala, Shin-hoo’s days dissolved into a chaotic, indistinguishable blur. Hordes of opportunists crawled out of the woodwork, leveraging nonexistent past connections to gain an audience, while the unrelenting scrutiny of the press made discrete travel practically impossible.

However, amidst the pandemonium, one particular cultural shift left him profoundly bewildered.

“Support…?”

“Yes, sir. It is a gift from the citizens celebrating your return.”

Parked directly outside the dungeon perimeter was an eye-catching coffee truck flanked by vibrant, multi-colored banners. Emblazoned across the side of the vehicle was a colossal, undeniably embarrassing photograph of Shin-hoo, accompanied by a painfully cheesy slogan: [Welcoming Humanity’s Strongest, Nam Shin-hoo, Back to the Dungeons!] It radiated an overwhelming, inescapable presence.

Observing Shin-hoo’s stunned silence, the Association liaison quickly clarified. “It is a new trend that emerged during your absence, sir. We were informed that your official fan café organized this.”

“…I see.”

“You’d better get used to it, ahjussi. Hunters these days are basically A-list celebrities and mega-influencers combined,” Da-on chimed in, suddenly appearing beside him.

She flashed a dazzling wave—not at Shin-hoo, but at a remarkably disciplined brigade of fans clad in matching navy-blue jumpsuits standing quietly near her own truck. Deafening shrieks erupted the instant she acknowledged them. Showered in a chaotic chorus of ‘You’re so gorgeous!’ and ‘Unni, you’re the best!’, Da-on flashed a practiced, devastatingly cool smile.

“Adapt, ahjussi. Oh, and those over there are my kids.”

Parked directly opposite Shin-hoo’s setup was a significantly flashier, hyper-extravagant coffee truck dedicated to Da-on, plastered with her face and equally cringeworthy slogans.

Bridging the social divide between Hunters and civilians was fundamentally a positive development. Despite the terrifying chasm in power, they were all human; there was no greater triumph than fostering a society where they could peacefully coexist. Even in the dark ages, it wasn’t uncommon for elite Hunters to eclipse mainstream actors in popularity and dominate commercial endorsements. However, the organic formation of structured fan clubs and the normalization of sending ‘support trucks’ to active combat zones was an entirely unprecedented phenomenon.

Is this another byproduct of the altered timeline? Shin-hoo mused.

During the era when Shin-hoo had monopolized the absolute apex with Haeju relentlessly nipping at his heels, the Hunter ecosystem had been ruthlessly austere. Shin-hoo, Kanghyeon, and Haeju alike had absolutely despised any semblance of frivolity. They operated under the ironclad conviction that Hunters marching off to risk their lives had no business getting drunk on fame and making fatal, ego-driven errors.

But during Shin-hoo’s disappearance, Haeju had completely vanished from the public eye. Kanghyeon, the sole remaining pillar, had been suffocated by the burden of managing the guild. By sheer necessity, the overarching culture of the industry had organically mutated to reflect the vibrant, uninhibited personalities of the newly awakened S-Rank stars: Yoo Da-on and Yoo Yeonho.

“Wave to them. Your fans came all this way to see you,” Da-on coaxed.

Awkwardly, Shin-hoo raised a hand. The resulting shockwave of screaming was so deafening it made Da-on’s earlier reception sound like a whisper. Rendered completely speechless, Shin-hoo could only stare at the hysterical mob in absolute disbelief.