It was the seventh day since he had gone into hiding. It seemed that playing and eating was indeed the best medicine for an incurable illness. The hemoptysis, which had been occurring at two-hour intervals as his condition worsened, had markedly decreased since his arrival at the villa. Confident that he had recovered, Sa-yoon proved to his four executives that his limbs were intact, he wasn’t dizzy, and he wasn’t coughing up blood, before finally taking a step outside. Being cooped up indoors for a week had made his body feel stiff and heavy, and he could hardly bear it any longer.

As he stepped onto the sandy beach, dry grains of sand pushed their way into his slippers. It was the price he paid for grabbing his indoor slippers instead of his outdoor ones. With an uncomfortable feeling, he lifted one foot, and a cascade of sand that had already worked its way in fell like a tiny waterfall. The slippers were dirty and not in a state to be worn again. Sensing they would have to be thrown away, Sa-yoon frowned.

Jongsik is going to nag me again.

Since coming to the villa, Jongsik had shed his titles of executive and secretary and had taken on the role of “secluded life helper,” and his nagging had increased significantly in recent days. He would lament over Sa-yoon leaving clothes lying around, chide Yen and Gyeongjin for not cleaning up after their coffee and energy drinks, and suffer from the constant trouble Chan-hee caused. The only ones who managed to escape Jongsik’s nagging were Lee Jaehee, a model of proper living, and Han Geon-joo, who had become a cleaning addict in his quest to attend to Sa-yoon’s every need.

It would be easier if he just stopped caring.

This is why sensitive people live with more stress, Sa-yoon thought, and turned his body. He was just about to head back to the villa to change his shoes.

“How out of it were you to just walk out like that?”

The moment he turned, a voice spoke up. A blanket was draped over his shoulders, and a pair of sandals was placed at his feet. It was the man he had been wondering about, who, for once, hadn’t followed him out. He had come laden with supplies. Thanks to him, Sa-yoon was spared the trouble of returning to the villa. He changed his shoes and touched the blanket.

I don’t even feel the cold. Why did he bring this?

“You’re not well. Who knows if the sea breeze might make your health worse.”

Whether he had been muttering to himself or had learned to read minds, Han Geon-joo somehow read his thoughts and answered. His health worsening from a mere sea breeze? That was even more nonsensical than claiming you could make fermented soybean blocks from red beans.

“I think you’re forgetting something, pretty boy. I’m an S-Rank hunter.”

“Yes. And I’m an S-Rank hunter, too.”

“……”

A blanket, identical to the one on Sa-yoon’s shoulders, was draped over the man who had replied so confidently.

When he acts like that, I have nothing to say.

He was so thorough, even in these useless matters. Figuring he should at least play along after all this effort, Sa-yoon held onto the blanket and turned back toward the sea. Han Geon-joo followed behind, picking up the slippers that had been on the verge of being abandoned.

As they walked side-by-side, a sea breeze blew past. The soft rustle of sand underfoot was rather pleasant. Sa-yoon gazed at the blue water and closed his eyes. He took a slow breath, the scent of the sea filling his lungs. It was strange how such simple sounds could bring such peace of mind.

For example, the steady breathing of a person, the gentle, small sounds like the ones now, the slow crash of the waves. In a life that had known little stability, Sa-yoon recalled the rare things that had brought him comfort and, with a smile, realized something.

Looking back, they were all sounds embedded in memories of the past. From a time when he was younger than sixteen.

How ironic.

Why does one part of the past break a person, while another sustains their life?

If the past was destined to become one of those two things, then he had to live in such a way that this present moment, when it became the past, would not become a weapon that destroyed him.

He had taken a long detour because he hadn’t known that. He’d never had the time to contemplate and realize such things.

Thinking about it this way, maybe I should be grateful.

It was a truth he would never have known if he had stubbornly chosen to remain alone in that dark Gate that day. By choosing a new life, Sa-yoon was now facing, one by one, the things he had failed to see, the things he had failed to confront. It felt as if, only now in his late twenties, was he finally growing up from the sixteen-year-old boy he had been.

“I’m thinking all sorts of things.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“Things you don’t need to know.”

At his light retort, Han Geon-joo let out a laugh as if to say, I figured, and led the still-blind Sa-yoon toward the water. He felt the sand begin to slope downward, and soon, cold water seeped into his sandals. It was water that held the breath of countless living things.

Taking a deep, satisfying breath, Sa-yoon released it back to the sea and slowly opened his eyes.

He felt full.

Though he had been reluctant at first, the week of rest at the villa had restored enough of his energy to face whatever was to come.

If that was the case, it was time to fulfill his duty.

“Geon-joo-ya.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s go back.”

“…What?”

At the sudden declaration of their return, he looked as if he’d been slapped. And at that exact moment, as if on cue, an alarm like a ringing in the ears engulfed the area. Beeep. The sharp, mechanical sound was not something only Sa-yoon could hear. Han Geon-joo flinched, clutching his ears. The same sound echoed from the villa, and even from the sea itself.

It was as if an alarm was sounding for the entire world.

The phenomenon pointed to only one truth.

A system update.

That, too, meant only one thing. Immediately after, Han Geon-joo’s phone began to vibrate violently, emitting the sound of a disaster alert. With a hardened expression, he took out his phone. A gasp-like exclamation escaped his lips.

“…An SSS-Rank Gate just appeared at Seomyeon Station.”

It hadn’t been long since SS+-Ranks were revealed to the world, and already the next level had appeared.

The world was sprinting toward its destruction. It was time to sever the current that had begun to rush forward. Sa-yoon, without a trace of agitation, nodded and turned back to the villa.

“Are you going to clear it?” a worried voice asked from behind. Sa-yoon let out a soft laugh and shot Geon-joo a cheerful glance.

“Who else is going to do it?”

He had taken a few days off, but he was still in Korea. He was a Korean Awoken, born and raised in this country, where his parents’ graves lay.

He couldn’t very well be the one to push such a country toward its ruin.

He picked up his pace and threw open the villa door. Inside, the executives of Night Rat were already packing their things without needing to be told. Sa-yoon checked the adjacent villa where the guild members were staying, which was now just as quietly subdued, and spoke.

“That was enough of a rest, right?”

“Honestly, not really,” Yen, the troublemaker, quipped.

“You were the one resting, hyung-nim. I was working,” Gyeongjin added.

He ignored them. His gaze shifted to Jaehee. The man, understanding what Sa-yoon wanted, gave a hollow laugh and dismissed all his summons.

“I don’t know about ‘enough,’ but it seems it’s time to move.”

He was right.

It was time to go back. He held out his hand to Gyeongjin, a silent demand for his phone. With a string of frustrated sighs, Gyeongjin reluctantly handed it over. Just as he took it and was about to check his missed calls, Bzzz, Bzzz, the phone rang. The caller ID, which he hadn’t bothered to change, still read ‘President.’ It was Min-cheol.

“For a man who stepped down from his position, he’s certainly diligent.”

With the President’s seat suddenly vacant, Yi-han had temporarily delegated his guild duties to his vice-master and had taken over as the interim President. Min-cheol had only stepped back from the front lines; behind the scenes, he was surely busy cleaning up after Yi-han and dealing with the consequences of his own past actions. Guessing the reason for the call, Sa-yoon answered without hesitation.

—I assume you’ve heard the news.

No ‘hello,’ no formal greetings, just straight to the point. Taking his silence as confirmation, the former President let out a small groan and lowered his voice.

—I know this is a shameless request, but please, just this once, help us. If you don’t want to, you can hide your identity as much as you like. Just please, stop this one Gate.

Min-cheol’s voice, which hadn’t trembled even during the press conference, was now shaking with unconcealed anxiety. Sa-yoon remained silent, accepting a neatly organized report from Gyeongjin detailing all the incidents that had occurred during his absence. So much had happened in the mere week he had been gone.

How are they supposed to stand on their own two feet like this?

He couldn’t be the one to clean up every mess. Sa-yoon clicked his tongue and spoke.

“Tell Noah to stop cleaning up other people’s messes and focus on clearing SS+-Rank Gates. They’ve been pushed around enough. If they combine their guild’s forces, they should be able to handle that much.”

—Does that mean…

“I’m going to clear it now, so stop wasting manpower and focus on evacuating the civilians.”

At his declaration, the executives reacted with a compliant look, as if they had expected it. Hearing Min-cheol ask how many people he was taking, Sa-yoon’s lips curled into a smile—the kind of smile Jongsik had often said resembled a gumiho’s.

“All of Night Rat.”

At his words, Gyeongjin, Yen, Chan-hee, and Jongsik’s eyes widened. Sa-yoon looked at them and, without a shred of regret, ended the call with Min-cheol, who still seemed to have more to say.

He’d tried being humanity’s worst villain; now it was time to try being its strongest hero.

If the exit was miserable, wouldn’t it be more fun to make the entrance spectacular?