Chapter 36

Lost in confusion, Myeong-joo had countless questions to ask, but Yi-tan seemed interested only in quickening his pace. The held wrist tingled with a throbbing warmth—the sensation of harmonization energy bleeding out. It felt eerily similar to the kiss with the demonic fiend, leaving him deeply perplexed. In this manner, Myeong-joo barely managed to emerge from behind the hotel.

“What an utterly brainless fool! You little bastard, do you have any idea what day today is, fooling around like this?! Where have you been loafing around before crawling in just now?!”

The furious shouts reverberated clearly into the corridor beyond the groom’s waiting room.

Shrinking his neck, Myeong-joo strained his ears. Lee Seol-heon was in a towering rage, hurling vitriol at the younger brother who had arrived late for his own wedding. He seemed to be catching a merciless scolding. Daunted by a sibling dynamic so radically different from his own household, Myeong-joo shrank back in genuine intimidation. Pacing nervously in the hall, he took a deep breath and cautiously turned the doorknob.

Inside, the wall mirror reflected the back of Lee Seol-heon standing with hands on her hips, her expression fearsome. When Lee Yi-tan was nowhere to be seen at eye level, Myeong-joo peeked lower, only to discover him doing a one-armed push-up on the floor before his sister as disciplinary punishment.

In sheer horror, Myeong-joo rushed into the room before he could stop himself. “D-Director Lee…!”

“It seems the sergeant has finished his preparations already,” a gentle voice noted.

Though he had rushed in calling for Seol-heon, the reply came from an unexpected quarter. Turning his head, Myeong-joo saw the Princess Consort, dressed in an elegant jade-hued hanbok, smiling serenely toward him. Her son was pushed down in disciplinary punishment in the corner while her eldest daughter berated him, yet she looked as though neither matter had the slightest connection to her.

Bowing courteously, Myeong-joo offered a flustered greeting. “Ah, g-good day to you.”

Offering him a gentle smile, the Princess Consort turned toward Seol-heon with a mild sigh. “Now, Seol-heon, that is enough. The guests will be waiting. See how frantic the groom became that he came looking for him?”

“Ah…”

His face belatedly turned burning red. He should have knocked or apologized first for barging into their waiting room, only now realizing how wildly improper his behavior had looked.

Even so, Lee Seol-heon responded promptly to her mother’s words. She delivered a sharp kick with her pointed silk shoe right into Yi-tan’s flank. Supporting himself on only one hand, Yi-tan lost his balance and collapsed onto the floorboards.

Slowly unfurling his massive frame, he rose and greeted Myeong-joo with a flawless smile. Though he had evidently been holding the position for quite some time, only a few locks of hair were out of place; his handsome face showed neither flush nor strain.

“You have come, Instructor,” Yi-tan greeted warmly.

Seol-heon snapped icily, “Get yourself ready this instant.”

Ignoring his sister’s rebuke, Yi-tan merely gave Myeong-joo a playful wink before turning away. Immediately smoothing her indigo silk skirt and jacket, Seol-heon addressed Myeong-joo in a tone of impeccably gracious warmth.

“Sergeant, I apologize,” she said pleasantly. “He was pampered as the youngest, so he is utterly thoughtless.”

As though having no recollection of having just pummeled a giant who nearly scraped the ceiling, she offered her apologies with genuine pity and regret. Myeong-joo awkwardly stammered assurances that it was quite all right before barely making his escape from the room. He had ended up looking like an impatient groom urging his partner along, but staying longer was impossible anyway—Yi-tan had begun stripping off his clothes without the slightest hesitation.

After guiding Myeong-joo inside from behind the hotel, Yi-tan had stopped by the washroom to wash the soiled shirt himself. That was the sole reason for his delay, yet he had endured the scolding of both the Princess Consort and Lee Seol-heon without offering a single word of excuse.

Having returned to his own waiting room dripping wet, Myeong-joo had caught an earful from Myeong-in as well, though fortunately he was able to change into the spare shirt the Princess Consort had prepared. When tailoring the formal attire, he had wondered why they bothered ordering two identical shirts.

I suppose this is where you can tell the difference between a household with means and one without, Myeong-in had sighed as she handed him the garment.

Myeong-joo had peeled off the soaked shirt and offered no counter. Unlike their own circumstances, where stretching every penny could barely procure a single decent shirt, the wedding arranged by Lee Yi-tan’s household lacked for nothing. This grand hall was no different. He had rushed over out of worry that his mishap had delayed preparations, but it only left his heart heavier. Stepping back into the corridor with a somber expression, he braced himself; the ceremony would begin momentarily.

“Brother, where did you wander off to again?” Myeong-hui scolded, her face scrunched in a tight frown. “I told you not to go roaming around for no reason!”

“I’m sorry, truly sorry; I only meant to take a quick peek,” Myeong-joo apologized hastily, taking another stinging smack across his back from his youngest sister.

A wedding hall staff member approached, urging him to hurry as the ceremony was about to commence. With a dazed expression, Myeong-joo stood before the grand doors of the hall. Crafted not from painted plywood but carved with distinct grain from massive paulownia timber, the sheer presence of the doors intimidated him. He could not stifle a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, Myeong-in hurried Myeong-hui through the side entrance into the hall. From afar, Myeong-joo saw his aunt seated in the family section glance toward Myeong-in before glaring back at him with an unmistakable look of disapproval. Startled, Myeong-joo quickly averted his eyes.

…So this is truly happening. A real wedding.

With the man who was to stand to his left not yet arrived, Myeong-joo stood in the empty corridor, enduring the knot tightening in his stomach all alone. He wondered if he shouldn’t call it off even now. The bizarre reality of wedding his sister’s prospective husband was disorienting enough, and what had just occurred behind the hotel clung to his mind, refusing to let him go.

The memory of that massive bulk rubbing against him and the creature’s hot breath rasping in his ear rushed back, heating the nape of his neck. Clenching and unclenching his gloved hands, Myeong-joo rubbed the back of his neck as though the thought were pooled there in physical form.

“It seems I am terribly late.”

A bright, clear voice sounded beside him. Looking over, Myeong-joo found Yi-tan.

Completely forgetting what he had been brooding over, Myeong-joo could only stare blankly at him. The strikingly handsome man, his hair immaculately swept back, was walking toward him with a faint smile. The black tuxedo tailored from fine silk suited him impeccably. Myeong-joo stood mesmerized for a long moment before barely managing to tear his gaze away.

The heat he had struggled to cool flushed through his cheeks once more. Truly, this man is to become my spouse… What on earth am I to do? Carried along by momentum through every single decision until this very moment before the altar, it felt as though he had never chosen a single thing of his own will. Had he not left even the choice of a shirt and necktie to others? If that were truly so…

“My heart is pounding. How are you feeling, Instructor?” Yi-tan asked softly.

A faint, alluring fragrance of sweet osmanthus mingled with musk drifted past his nose—evidently not his usual cologne. Myeong-joo blinked. If that were truly so, perhaps stealing his sister’s husband was not his crime alone, nor was standing in this place.

Yi-tan gave a quiet chuckle. “At this rate, I fear I might make some foolish blunder.”

Myeong-joo’s throat tightened, producing a dry, raspy edge. “…You, Second Lieutenant, make a blunder?”

Slowly lifting his head, Myeong-joo looked into Yi-tan’s eyes. As though surprised by the response, Yi-tan met his gaze with a radiant grin.

“Because I am so nervous,” Yi-tan confessed. “You seem perfectly composed, Instructor; perhaps I am the only one trembling.” Sweeping his gaze slowly over Myeong-joo’s face, he added a soft sigh that carried an odd trace of regret.

Without answering, Myeong-joo turned to face forward. A staff member whispered that it was time to make their entrance. Two attendants stationed before the heavy paulownia doors grasped the brass handles and began pulling them open.

The younger man drew close beside him, close enough that their forearms brushed. Myeong-joo exerted every ounce of willpower not to flinch.

“You may enter now,” the attendant murmured with a bow.

Myeong-joo took a slow, deliberate step forward. Standing at the officiant’s podium was an unfamiliar elderly gentleman dressed in full dress uniform—likely a retired general. The red carpet stretching through the hall looked less like a wedding aisle and more like a path leading straight onto a battlefield.

Myeong-joo let slip a dry chuckle before answering, “Hardly. That is not the case at all.”

Walking in lockstep beside him, Yi-tan glanced down as if wondering what that cryptic remark could mean. Myeong-joo did not turn to meet his eyes.

As the doors parted completely, a deep, commanding voice bellowed from within: “Honor guard, enter!”

At the command, a saber guard in dress uniform marched in formation, lining both sides of the crimson carpet. A few were familiar faces—likely Yi-tan’s academy classmates or immediate aides. Not one had ever exchanged a word with Myeong-joo.

“Draw swords!”

Ceremonial sabers were drawn in unison, flashing sharp, azure brilliance beneath the chandeliers.

“Present, arms!”

Raising their blades high beside their chests, the guard thrust them toward the vaulted ceiling. The clear, ringing chime of colliding steel resonated through the hall. Amidst the gasps of admiration from the crowd, Myeong-joo alone watched the spectacle with detached, vacant eyes. Beneath the chandeliers, the crossed tips of the sabers formed a glittering, elongated arch.

Guests who had been smiling in awe at the honor guard now turned their heads toward the grooms. Above the altar hung radiant floodlights mimicking the sun, their glare obscuring the features of the audience. It felt as though hundreds of eggs, each topped with a tuft of hair, were staring back at him. That surreal spectacle was the landscape of Lee Yi-tan’s—and Cha Myeong-joo’s—wedding.

Myeong-joo let out a quiet laugh. True enough—what right did a man entering marriage with nothing but the clothes on his back have to droop like this? He, of all people, had no business indulging in sentimentality. He had clung to Yi-tan like a leech for what he stood to gain; regretting it now would be absurd.

Instead, he finally gave the answer he had been withholding: “Because you cannot possibly fathom how much I am trembling.”

“Fathom what?” Yi-tan asked, leaning in.

Myeong-joo did not reply. He had no desire to confess that his fingertips were quivering so violently they might shatter into pieces. It was a matter of pride. Myeong-joo suspected that from this day forward until the day this marriage came to an end, his paltry pride would do nothing but spasm in relentless agony.

The wedding march swelled, signaling that the time had come for the two men who had sworn a century’s covenant to walk down the aisle. The calfskin shoes he wore for the first time in his life were astonishingly light and comfortable—so gentle on his feet that taking them off once the ceremony ended might bring him to tears.

When the reception began, Myeong-joo and Yi-tan opted to sit side by side for formal photographs rather than proceeding to the traditional post-wedding bowing room. The decision to forgo the traditional pyebaek ceremony stemmed from a rather absurd dilemma: between the eldest grandson of the declining head house of the Gwangsan Cha clan and the legitimate son of the royal Seoksan Lee clan, no one could agree on who ought to play the groom and who the bride.

Thanks to Lee Hui-eum, who had inaugurated the first generation of Aberrants, the elders of the Seoksan Lee clan regarded Aberrants and Harmonizers as a new lineage of humanity, begrudgingly accepting a union between two men. The problem lay with the Gwangsan Cha clan. When Myeong-joo, the eldest grandson of the lineage, was arranged to wed another man simply because he was a Harmonizer, the clan elders from the crumbling family rose up in outraged protest.

Having no desire to face those elders trembling with indignation behind their snowy-white beards, Myeong-joo had reluctantly agreed to Yi-tan’s suggestion to skip the pyebaek. Instead, they arranged for commemorative photographs, but before they could even position themselves before the camera, Yi-tan made an entirely unexpected remark.

“While the elders are not watching, we can simply pretend I am the one being married off as the bride,” Yi-tan said cheerfully.