Chapter 101

The United States could no longer throw its weight around in Korea. It was exactly as Nam Shin-hoo had promised.

Just what exactly did you know? 

Today, of all days, the ache of missing his closest friend felt unbearably sharp.

“Transferring its jurisdiction will take a few days,” Choi Kanghyeon said, breaking the silence. “It’s not a simple matter.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kwon Haeju replied.

A faint smile graced Kwon Haeju’s lips at the news Choi Kanghyeon brought. It was an incredibly rare sight. Not once since losing Nam Shin-hoo had a smile managed to linger there.

“But why did you make such a request to the US?” Choi Kanghyeon asked.

“I figured it might be necessary. Someday, when Nam Shin-hoo-ssi returns…” Kwon Haeju’s voice trailed off, clinging to a foolish hope before he softly finished his thought. “I plan to gift it to him.”

“…Right.” Choi Kanghyeon took a seat a short distance away, privately doubting it was a gift Nam Shin-hoo would actually appreciate.

Though their business was concluded, Choi Kanghyeon remained on the rooftop. The two men sat in their respective spots, greeting the dawn as the city’s neon signs flickered out one by one. It was a silent ritual—a shared, wordless span of time spent sitting apart, each mourning the loss of Nam Shin-hoo in his own way.

This solemn vigil often stretched for hours. Sometimes, neither could bring themselves to leave, losing nearly half a day drowning in their individual thoughts.

Choi Kanghyeon’s feelings toward Kwon Haeju were remarkably complex. Resentment simmered beneath the surface, yet he couldn’t bring himself to place the blame entirely on the younger man. After all, they were comrades enduring the exact same punishment. Kwon Haeju undoubtedly felt the same profound guilt. To Kwon Haeju, Choi Kanghyeon might have been the most detestable person alive, but he was also the one who had known Nam Shin-hoo best. He was the one person who would never forget Nam Shin-hoo, even if the rest of the world moved on.

The two had folded away their mutual hostility, quietly swallowing their shared agony while keeping it hidden from each other. Consequently, they actively avoided crossing paths and kept their conversations painfully brief. Yet, whenever they did meet, parting proved difficult. Seeing the other naturally summoned the face they missed so desperately, bringing a torment too heavy to bear alone.

A faint light bled into the eastern sky. The sun chased away the dawn moon, expanding its pale domain across the horizon.

Suddenly, Kwon Haeju pushed himself up and stepped onto the building’s ledge.

“What’s wrong all of a sudden?” Choi Kanghyeon demanded.

Silence was his only answer. Kwon Haeju gripped his left hand with his right. His fingers trembled slightly as he rubbed the ring adorning his fourth finger. The metal band shimmered violently, undulating like shifting grey clouds.

A sudden wind whipped out of nowhere. The swirling atmosphere condensed, twisting into a perfect circle. A violet portal, just large enough for a single person, tore open like the gaping maw of a dungeon.

Could a dungeon entrance really spawn in a place like this? Choi Kanghyeon tensed in alarm, but Kwon Haeju merely waved him back before plunging into the portal without a second’s hesitation.

***

What am I supposed to do about this? Nam Shin-hoo gently patted the hulking man crushing him in a desperate embrace. The frantic way Haeju pressed himself against Nam Shin-hoo, burying his black hair into his chest and not allowing even a hair’s breadth of distance between them, was nothing short of pitiful.

“U-Uhm, what is going on…” a voice stammered nearby.

They were crammed onto the deck of a narrow fishing boat, surrounded by a crowd of bewildered onlookers. Nam Shin-hoo firmly pressed Kwon Haeju’s head against his shoulder to hide his face. He could feel the man’s head shuddering faintly against him in silent sobs.

“Hey, doesn’t he look like… Hunter Kwon Haeju?” one of the fishermen whispered.

“No way. Why would Hunter Kwon Haeju suddenly show up out here?”

Unlike Nam Shin-hoo, Kwon Haeju remained a highly renowned Hunter in the present day. The moment he appeared, practically everyone recognized him.

“Captain Lee,” Nam Shin-hoo called out softly.

“U-Uh… yes?”

“Please keep his arrival here a secret today. That goes for everyone else as well.”

While he couldn’t exactly erase the fact that someone had dealt with the escaped monster from the crack and saved their lives, he had to suppress any rumors involving Kwon Haeju. The fabric of his shirt was already growing damp where the man had buried his face. Nam Shin-hoo adamantly refused to let others witness the esteemed Hunter in such a vulnerable state.

“Can you do that for me?” he pressed.

“O-Of course! You’re our saviors, how could we not do at least that much? Don’t worry. I’ve known everyone here for a long time; I’ll make sure they keep their mouths shut.”

“Thank you.”

Tugging at Kwon Haeju’s arm, Nam Shin-hoo guided him to the edge of the fishing boat and leaped off without hesitation. His plan was to retreat to the nearest visible shoreline. He dragged Kwon Haeju along, their boots stepping firmly across the freezing, ice-coated surface of the sea. From the moment he appeared, Kwon Haeju had kept his head bowed, silently trailing behind Nam Shin-hoo. His only response was the vice-like grip he maintained on their intertwined hands.

They arrived at a desolate stretch of pebble-strewn coastline, sheltered by massive boulders.

“We’re here,” Nam Shin-hoo announced.

Moving beneath the dry branches of a coastal pine, he turned to face his companion. In the jagged shade, Kwon Haeju slowly lifted his head. Backlit by the morning sun, his tear-streaked eyes were terrifying. They burned a brilliant, piercing blue—ferocious and utterly intense. Nam Shin-hoo had expected to see a face crumpled in sorrow. Instead, the man was glaring at him with wide, unblinking eyes, thick tears streaming silently down his cheeks.

“I’m really late, aren’t I? I didn’t realize so much time had passed…”

Before he could finish, Kwon Haeju crashed into him, sweeping him into a bruising embrace. The sheer force sent Nam Shin-hoo staggering until his back slammed hard against the rock wall. Digging into his personal space, Kwon Haeju buried his face deep into the crook of Nam Shin-hoo’s neck. It was an incredibly rough display of affection, leaving Nam Shin-hoo momentarily confused as to whether he had sent a young Hunter out of the dungeon, or an overgrown, desperately clingy dog.

“Your face looks terrible,” Nam Shin-hoo murmured.

“You look exactly the same,” came the muffled reply.

He could barely hear Kwon Haeju’s hoarse, sunken voice. It was impossible to tell if the ragged tone was a consequence of his tears, or the crushing weight of depression accumulated over a painfully long time. Reaching out, Nam Shin-hoo gently brushed the bangs from Kwon Haeju’s forehead. Illuminated by the bright morning sun, the man’s features appeared far sharper and much fiercer than he remembered. His lips were pressed into a grim line; the playful, mischievous smile that used to dance across them was completely gone.

The vibrant, hot-blooded gaze of the young man had faded into a striking blue, taking on the dark, fathomless stillness of a midnight lake. It was the haunting look of someone who had shouldered an agonizing burden for far too long. A sharp ache pierced the corner of Nam Shin-hoo’s heart at the realization that he was the sole cause of that suffering.

I’m sorry. 

He couldn’t even bring himself to utter those simple words, or tell him that he had worked hard. The choice Nam Shin-hoo believed to be for the best had ultimately condemned the other man to the darkest chapter of his life.

“…What happened to the Epic Guild?” The only words he managed to force out were painfully stiff and entirely devoid of the concern bleeding into his chest.

“Kwon Shinju has taken over its operations. We downsized a bit to reduce the burden,” Kwon Haeju replied monotonously.

“Ah…”

Relinquishing full control of the guild to Kwon Shinju and downsizing its operations could only mean one thing: Kwon Haeju’s mental state had deteriorated severely. And that, ultimately, meant it was entirely Nam Shin-hoo’s fault. Kwon Haeju’s life had grown even more arduous and unbearable than in his previous regression. In the past, he hadn’t worn such a hollow, exhausted expression until he was well into his thirties. Now, at merely twenty-eight years old, he stood before Nam Shin-hoo wearing a face far darker and more ruined than ever before.

Shifting his gaze, Nam Shin-hoo noticed the glowing quest window flashing at the edge of his vision. The success rate remained stubbornly frozen at 40%, exactly as he had last seen it. This made little sense—Kwon Haeju was undeniably vastly stronger now than the last time they had parted ways. In fact, his power had reached a level where even Nam Shin-hoo would find it difficult to casually spar against him. If his strength had surged but the success rate remained stagnant, it could only imply one terrifying truth: Kwon Haeju’s mental instability had worsened to a critical degree.

“Shall we head back?” A bitter wind swept across the beach. It carried the biting chill of early winter, slicing uncomfortably against their sea-soaked skin. “Let’s eat something delicious and get a good night’s sleep. It’s been a while since I’ve had proper Korean food.”

Kwon Haeju nodded, the toxic intensity bleeding out of his stare. Even after growing up so much, this part of him remained unchanged. He was still the same old Kwon Haeju—so easily swayed by a few tender words, his heart entirely worn on his sleeve.

“Anyway, how are we getting out of here? Since Epic downsized, you probably don’t have much spare manpower lying around. I guess I should contact Saint and ask them to send someone to…”

A sharp, stinging sensation suddenly bit into the back of Nam Shin-hoo’s neck.

“…Huh?”

“We should go back,” Kwon Haeju whispered.

All strength vanished from Nam Shin-hoo’s legs. His knees buckled, but strong arms caught him before he hit the ground. His head felt impossibly heavy, refusing to stay upright.

“It won’t harm your body. It’s just a sedative I often used when I couldn’t sleep,” the younger man assured him.

“You…”

“Let’s go. To our home.”

The world tilted dizzily on its axis. Through his rapidly blurring vision, Nam Shin-hoo caught sight of the man looking down at him. Despite his pleasant tone, Kwon Haeju wasn’t smiling at all. His chillingly calm gaze was brimming with a fierce, suffocating possessiveness.

“Everything is fine now. Because you’ve returned to me. And now…”

Nam Shin-hoo’s heavy eyelids finally fluttered shut.

“I will never watch you walk away from me again.”

The brilliant morning sun faded into absolute black.

***

Passing out was becoming an unfortunate habit. Granted, he hadn’t fainted this time—he had been forcefully drugged to sleep—but he had honestly lost count of how many times he had lost consciousness against his will.

Slowly opening his eyes, Nam Shin-hoo found himself staring up at a painfully familiar ceiling. A soft, wordless melody drifted through the room; it was the same instrumental piece Kwon Haeju used to listen to back when he had lost the use of his eyes. Letting the tranquil rhythm wash over him, Nam Shin-hoo quickly inspected his wrists. Thankfully, he wasn’t tied to the bed.

He totally got me. 

Kwon Haeju had acted so docile that he had carelessly lowered his guard. He mentally cursed his past self for being naive enough to think the man would never do anything to harm him, or that they could just sit down and catch up over a warm meal like old times. There was no room to misunderstand the suffocating look pouring down on him right before he lost consciousness. Those brilliant blue eyes had held absolutely nothing else—they were filled solely, obsessively, with Nam Shin-hoo.

“Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Nam Shin-hoo rasped, sluggishly pushing himself into a sitting position.

His limbs still felt incredibly weak, a testament to just how potent the sedative had been. For a drug to completely knock out an S-Rank Hunter, its chemical composition had to be bordering on actual poison. A cold dread settled in his stomach as he remembered Kwon Haeju casually mentioning that he used such dangerous substances just to force himself to sleep.