“What’s with that look? You got a problem with it?”
“Of course I do! Why are you so violent?”
“Didn’t you say you liked my violent side?”
“When did I ever say that?”
“A few days ago. When you told me you liked me.”
“I said I like you, hyung, not your damn violence. What do you take me for, a masochist?”
The pointed retort flew, a sharp correction against the blatant distortion of his confession. But Sa-yoon just smirked. Either way, it still meant he liked him, didn’t it? Feeling his mood lift at what was essentially a second confession, he observed Geon-joo’s expression. A masochist, huh. To be honest, Han Geon-joo didn’t seem to have that kind of inclination. He’d known a masochist or two in the guild, guys who actually got off on it. Whenever he had to lay down the law, there were always a few who’d beg him to hit them harder. Compared to them, Han Geon-joo was definitely no masochist. Still, there was a sense that he’d grown less resistant to the act of being hit than he was at first.
Almost like someone who’d grown accustomed to it.
Sa-yoon’s head tilted in thought.
I haven’t hit him that much, have I?
He could count on one hand the number of times he’d actually laid a hand on Han Geon-joo, which only deepened the mystery. Soon, however, he arrived at his own conclusion. Han Geon-joo wasn’t a masochist, but he certainly looked good when he cried. So good that if being tormented truly was his preference, Sa-yoon would have gladly indulged him. It was an answer completely unrelated to the question he’d been pondering.
…Wait, does that make me the sadist?
His thoughts had strayed so far he was now questioning his own proclivities. Sa-yoon let out a soft chuckle, the sharp, arrogant edge in his eyes melting into a loose warmth.
“Well, you’d better start liking it now. What can you do? I’m the boyfriend you chose.”
“…You know you have a real talent for saying the most infuriating things, right? And in case you’ve forgotten, you chose me, too.”
“And that’s why I’m letting you get away with being so insolent right now.”
“…”
Geon-joo’s mouth snapped shut in the face of such relentless generosity. A moment later, a frustrated mutter drifted through the air. Although it was just a whisper to himself, in a world where they were both S-Ranks, no private grumbling went unheard. Sa-yoon didn’t feel the need to scold him, however, and simply tapped his foot. Geon-joo, who had been staring at the ground in thought, looked back up at him.
“Is anything going to change if I tell you?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll have a better understanding of the situation. With understanding comes a broader perspective, and once you have that, you can see the size of the canvas. Knowing that is half the battle. You can start predicting what can be painted on a canvas of this size and apply those predictions to the situation.”
All that’s left is to find the puzzle piece among the potential pictures that best fits my current circumstances.
Jaehee nodded, a silent affirmation of Sa-yoon’s flatly delivered explanation. Having made his decision, a thin breath escaped Geon-joo’s lips.
“It was for a little over a year.”
“How much over?”
“It was close to double digits.”
“……?”
The scale of it suddenly skyrocketed. He was trapped in the Tower for ten years? That couldn’t be right; it created too many inconsistencies with the information he already had. When he prompted for more, Han Geon-joo told him the story without complaint. Just as Sa-yoon had once shared his own past with Geon-joo, he now confessed the truth he had kept buried.
The story Geon-joo unspooled, told with the detached air of someone recounting ancient history, was nothing short of shocking. Sa-yoon’s expression shifted with every new piece of information until he finally learned the real reason the Bone Dragon had appeared on the day of the Festival of Harmony, and he squeezed his eyes shut. But when Geon-joo got to the part about being swept up in a mass regression, forced to start all over again from the first floor after returning to the Tower, Sa-yoon’s own hand flew to the back of his neck.
It was dizzying.
It wasn’t even his own life, yet the second-hand stress was so overwhelming he felt like he was about to pass out.
“Haah…”
Sa-yoon took a long, deep breath to steady himself. Only when the turmoil in his mind began to subside did he open his eyes and truly look at Geon-joo. The eyes he had once thought were sly and fox-like now seemed impossibly innocent. No, it wasn’t that they seemed innocent—the bastard really was innocent.
Not unlike Milla, when he’d first met her as a child.
And that just made him feel worse, more irritated.
Is this bastard some kind of punching bag? Why does he go around getting kidnapped here and taken for a fool there?
He glared, his eyes screaming insults, and Han Geon-joo frowned.
“If you’re going to curse me with your expression, just say it out loud.”
“I would if words would come out, but all I have are curses.”
“…This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. Why would you hide this? The only reason that pretty neck of yours is still attached is because you told me now.”
Sa-yoon clicked his tongue after his sharp rebuke. He had suspected Han Geon-joo was hiding something, but he never imagined it would be this monumental.
Well, at least one mystery is solved.
The gods’ interrogation on the day of the Festival of Harmony. The words they had used to accuse him.
‘Did you twist the balance?’
They had claimed he had twisted the balance of fate to summon a being from the future into the present. At the time, he’d scoffed, thinking the gods must be desperate to pin something on him to resort to such a ridiculous fabrication. But now he understood. The “being from the future” was the Bone Dragon that had escaped its intended appearance in the Tower, and the ones who had twisted the balance were Han Geon-joo and the System. Or, more accurately, the System, in its attempt to incite a war, had suffered some kind of error, and Han Geon-joo had been caught in the crossfire.
In a way, Han Geon-joo was a victim. A tragic victim whose decade of hard work had crumbled in an instant, forcing him to start all over again.
That was why Sa-yoon couldn’t bring up the gods’ interrogation. The kid in front of him was already carrying the weight of a past life he couldn’t even remember, blaming himself for things that weren’t his fault. If he added the story about the gods, he would probably start acting like some damned, self-flagellating sinner.
“…It’s a miracle you even managed to clear it and get out.”
To spend ten years fighting your way to the top, only to have it all erased and be forced to start over… most people would have given up. He knew Geon-joo was persistent, but this was a level of tenacity that defied belief. The remark, caught somewhere between admiration and an exhausted sigh, was met with a shrug from Geon-joo.
“It wasn’t a complete clear. The System made some adjustments.”
“After causing the whole mess, if they couldn’t even manage that, they wouldn’t be a System, they’d just be trash.”
Han Geon-joo laughed at the scathing critique. Just then, Sa-yoon felt a strange gaze on the back of his head and turned. A man with brown hair was staring intently at the two of them. Ah. Realization dawned, and Sa-yoon’s brow furrowed.
So this bastard knew from the beginning.
No wonder he’d told him to humor Geon-joo’s childish whims and had subtly taken his side. His eyes had apparently seen the whole picture. As if reading his thoughts, Lee Jaehee gave a slight shake of his head.
“It’s not as if I knew the entire story.”
“But you knew the gist of it.”
“I cannot deny that.”
His lack of even a token denial was even more infuriating. Sa-yoon recalled something Han Geon-joo had muttered during their first encounter with Noah.
He’d said he crawled his way back from death. It was clear now that he had every right to say so. In the end, they had both been put through hell because of the System.
Should I kill them or not?
He was starting to regret his choice of faction. The System of the God of Wisdom that caused the error was infuriating, and the Chief God who had bestowed upon him the True Evil of Humanity attribute was equally rage-inducing. He stood up, needing to move. When he was this angry, physical exertion was the best remedy.
As he prepared to resume his assault on the Tower, Geon-joo, sensing his murderous aura, approached him.
“It wasn’t all bad, though. I mastered Shadow Domination inside that Tower, so after time was rewound, it was much easier to obtain it again. And I became an S-Rank, too.”
That was true. Sa-yoon could feel that Geon-joo was trying to placate him, so he couldn’t bring himself to shoot down the sentiment and just nodded curtly. As he slit the throat of another monster, a similar experience flickered through his own memory.
Come to think of it, didn’t I also acquire the Single Sword Boundary Severance during the Festival of Harmony, which made it easier to obtain in the Gate of True Evil of Humanity?
Thinking back, it now made sense why Han Geon-joo’s combat sense and skills were so impressive after their reunion, even setting aside his rank. The results of his efforts had been erased when time was rewound, but the experience and mental fortitude forged over ten years of battle had remained.
In that case…
“Pretty Boy.”
A grin stretched across Sa-yoon’s lips. The voice that had been seething with anger moments ago was now unnervingly gentle, causing Geon-joo’s brow to furrow. His expression screamed with the paranoia of a terminal skeptic, a look that said, ‘What are you planning now…?’ Sa-yoon’s grin only widened in response.
“You’re right, it wasn’t all bad. It’s all in the past, and if you had to go through it, you might as well milk it for all it’s worth, don’t you think?”
“…What are you talking about?”
“What do you think? I’m saying you’ve stumbled upon a great boon, you idiot.”
The ten years of combat experience from the Tower wouldn’t be fully integrated into Geon-joo’s body yet. His mind might remember the moves, but it would be difficult for his body to keep up perfectly. And now, here he was, in a Gate where the enemies grew stronger with each ascending floor.
The same location, with plenty of time.
Wasn’t this the perfect opportunity to reawaken that decade of battle experience?
If he was going to raise him, he might as well do it right. Raise him to be second to none. To be able to chase right at his heels. So that, at the very least, he wouldn’t have to worry about him being kidnapped a second time.
By the time this plan had solidified in his mind, they had cleared up to the 75th floor. As the 76th floor began, Sa-yoon stopped Lee Jaehee, who was about to summon his beasts.
“What is it?” he asked, perplexed by the sudden halt.
Sa-yoon stepped in front of Geon-joo, who was blinking blankly at the scene.
“Pretty Boy.”
“Yes?”
“Do you want to get stronger?”
“…That’s a question I really don’t want to answer. Hyung, I’m saying this just in case, but life is a far cry from something like a shonen manga—”
Before Geon-joo could finish, Sa-yoon’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar. His eyes widened in a look of dawning horror as Sa-yoon met his gaze with a dazzling smile. It was the kind of smile others would have called beautiful, etched clearly on his lips.
“When you get a gift, you’ve got to use it. Go get ‘em, pretty boy!”
Giving his opponent no time to resist, Sa-yoon put all his strength into his arm and hurled Geon-joo into the air, straight towards a swarm of monsters.
“Fuck, not again…!”
A surprisingly satisfying curse exploded from Han Geon-joo’s lips. Wondering where he’d learned to swear with such perfect diction, Sa-yoon cheered him on as he was forced into battle.
“You’re doing great, pretty boy!”
His heartfelt encouragement was met only with more curses. Still, he was in a good mood, laughing freely. As he watched, Lee Jaehee, who had been observing the one-man struggle, finally spoke.
“I ask just in case, but was it similar to this when you entered the place called the ‘field’ before?”
“Probably?”
“……”
“What is it?”
When he turned to the silent man, Lee Jaehee was stroking Rai’s fur.
“I think I understand why you two fight.”
“……?”
“I was merely remarking that the power of fate is a wondrous thing.”
Lee Jaehee said softly. A vague sense of unease settled over Sa-yoon, and he folded his arms, his brow furrowed as he watched the spectacle.
—Kweeeeeeek!
“Why do I have to do this shit here too…!”
Regardless, the air around Geon-joo was a chaotic storm of monster shrieks and curses directed squarely at Sa-yoon.