“One.”

“…Ugh, fuck, this is humiliating.”

“You got a problem? One.”

“…Rather than sacrifice myself…”

“Two.”

“…I’ll just fawn and obey…”

“One.”

“Rather than sacrifice myself.”

“Two.”

“Haa… I’ll fawn and obey.”

Han Geon-joo muttered the mental conditioning Sa-yoon was drilling into him, his voice quieter than an ant’s crawl. When Sa-yoon barked “One” again, Geon-joo, with a face that screamed he would rather be dead, recited the full phrase. After forcing this humiliating call-and-response three more times, Sa-yoon finally dismounted from Geon-joo’s back, a look of profound satisfaction on his face.

Who could have possibly predicted that he would be dragging out these old methods? These were tactics from the guild’s founding days, used to educate the Night Rats kids. This was all Han Geon-joo’s fault. Why the hell did he have to go and get on the last nerve of someone who was, until that very moment, living perfectly fine?

“The bastard’s getting cocky,” Sa-yoon muttered, as if to clearly establish the winner of the recent brawl.

The man—who, even while being beaten, had pointedly refused to promise he wouldn’t sacrifice himself—dusted himself off and rose to his feet. Caught off-guard by the sudden, absurd hazing, he looked completely dumbfounded.

“You really think this changes anything?”

“Three times a day. Dawn, noon, and night. Keep repeating it, and eventually, your thinking will change.”

“…Hyung, you’re really awful.”

“Am I worse than you? Am I, you bastard?” What the hell did I do to end up with this? He was the one who’d just turned Sa-yoon’s insides out with worry, and he still had the nerve to complain.

As Sa-yoon raised his scabbard to crack Geon-joo’s head again and start Round 2, Jae-hee, who had been watching the flow of the fight with a bored expression, grabbed his wrist to stop him. His attempt to persuade them that this was enough was pathetic.

They’re all in on it together.

Figuring as much, Sa-yoon bopped Jae-hee on the head too, a solid kkang!, before stalking over to the panting Rai.

Keong-keong!

The massive wolf wagged his tail, welcoming Sa-yoon. He buried his face in Rai’s soft fur, curling up to try and find some semblance of peace for his mind and body. This disobedient brat of a boyfriend who wouldn’t listen, and Lee Jae-hee, who was even worse, like that meddling sister-in-law in the proverb… he was done with them. He’d just go live with Rai.

Ahem.

Just as Geon-joo, unable to bear the icy chill rolling off Sa-yoon’s back any longer, gave a dry cough, Sa-yoon spoke.

“If I tell you not to die, then don’t fucking die, you bastards.”

His voice, half-lost in a sigh, was sunk so deep and heavy that it was impossible to miss the raw sincerity behind the words. The two men’s gazes snapped to him. Sa-yoon met their eyes, still stroking Rai’s fur, and gave a self-deprecating smile.

An old memory had surfaced.

“I saved one person here who was trying to die, so it’s pretty fucking impolite for you all to be thinking about it.”

“…”

“If you’re going to let someone save your life, you should at least uphold your end of the bargain.”

At his accusing tone, both men flinched simultaneously.

“Why did you…” Geon-joo started, staring at Jae-hee, his eyes half-wary, half-suspicious, as if to say, ‘You were planning to die for him too?’

Sa-yoon sighed. The reason they both flinched was similar, but different. Blatantly different.

Because one of them was obsessed with sacrificing himself for me, and the other was just obsessed with dying, period.

“…”

Lee Jae-hee was looking at him with a strange expression, as if to ask, ‘How did you know?’ Sa-yoon scoffed and tickled Rai’s chin.

You have to put on an act that’s actually believable.

He himself had been a suicide case for years. He’d had a long, long time when death was his greatest wish, his deepest craving. How could he not recognize someone who wanted to die? People who live with death carved into their chests give off a different scent, a different aura.

From the first time they met, through everything they’d been through, to this very moment, Lee Jae-hee had always carried the stench of someone who craved death. His obsessive conviction to pull down the gods had masked that death-wish to a degree, but it couldn’t hide it from Sa-yoon’s eyes. He knew now that the emotions he’d subconsciously read in Jae-hee’s gaze had always, always been aimed at death.

What could have made him that way?

He had a vague idea. Lee Jae-hee wasn’t a talkative man and was even more sparing with details about his past. But he had shared a small piece, just once, just as Sa-yoon had shared so much of his own.

Yeon-yi.

Sa-yoon didn’t know if it was a single-character name or a simple nickname, but it was the name of Lee Jae-hee’s lover. The one who had died in a Gate Break. That had to be what made him this way. He could see it clearly, just by remembering the recent Gate Break. That was the only time he had ever seen Lee Jae-hee be anything other than rational.

It really made him wonder about love. What the hell was it, that it could make one person want to live, and another want to die?

It was a brutally two-sided, double-edged emotion, one that burdened you differently depending on how you interpreted and used it. So, Sa-yoon decided, if this emotion could be either a weapon or a weakness, he would wield it as a weapon.

Right here, right now.

The two men before him were the catalysts for that decision. If they were both so set on dying, then someone had to grab them by the collar and scream at them to live, right?

In the past, they had played that role for him. Now, it was time to switch. Han Geon-joo was still his weakness, yes, and his death still carried the weight of Sa-yoon’s own. But he had no intention of just sitting by and letting that happen. If Geon-joo was his weakness, and his death meant his own, then he would just have to protect him as fiercely as he protected his own life. Dying is meaningless. I have to protect him, and I have to protect myself. Sa-yoon chose to use Han Geon-joo to refine himself.

His mind, which had been pitch-black, as if coated in lacquer by the prophecy, was suddenly, brilliantly illuminated. A clear path forward appeared. He ducked his head, hiding the smile that spread across his face.

Unconditional sacrifice is something only fools do.

His past self had already done that once; he had no intention of repeating that mistake in this life. His life had already been filled with enough injustice; why should his death also be for someone else? Rather than brace for that sacrifice, it was far more useful to resolve to survive, tenaciously, with the one he loved.

From now on, Sa-yoon would abandon his habit of always assuming the worst. In any situation, he would envision only a future where he and Han Geon-joo survived together. He would get stronger, strong enough to follow the path now drawn so clearly in his mind.

Yes. That is the path I’ve chosen. So why are these two in front of me walking in the opposite direction?

“If you both want to die so badly, why bother trying to change the world? You could just go dig a hole right now and pull the coffin lid shut.”

His voice, now light and clear, was scathing. He watched Jae-hee’s expression harden, his hand still stroking Rai’s tail. He’s really something, trying to die and leave this white furball behind. Just then, Geon-joo grumbled, “You don’t have to go that far,” and moved closer, his hand gripping Sa-yoon’s shoulder. His words were impudent, but his touch was all worry.

Sa-yoon smacked him on the forehead, “Don’t get cocky,” and tried to stand, but his eyes widened as his legs gave out. Geon-joo immediately supported him so he didn’t fall, but Sa-yoon was stunned that his strength had left him so completely. This is rare.

As he was frowning, trying to figure out what was wrong, a dry laugh came from above.

“You were lying down for almost two days without moving a muscle, and then you suddenly started fighting violently. Of course your body is protesting.”

“Ah.” That was a very clear explanation. “Then it’s your fault.”

“How is this my fault?”

“You were the one spewing bullshit, so I got angry instead of focusing on recovering my strength.”

“That’s just because you’re hot-headed, hyung.”

“Oh, really?” You clearly haven’t been hit enough.

Sa-yoon shook off the hand that was holding him, preparing for another round, but Geon-joo quickly grabbed his shoulder again, saying, “I get it, I’m sorry.” Sa-yoon narrowed his eyes at him in warning, then leaned on him, turning his gaze to Lee Jae-hee. He could feel the warmth of Han Geon-joo at his back, and he could sense his executives, drawn by the noise, gathering just outside the door.

These were his people. And they were people who loved him.

“What does a prophecy even matter?”

The words came out so lightly they almost sounded dismissive. Jae-hee and Geon-joo’s eyes widened slightly, as if they never expected to hear that from him. Sa-yoon smirked at their expressions and pushed the lingering auditory hallucination from his mind.

If someone I love tries to die for me, then I’ll just have to save them. So what if it’s harder to protect than to kill? I’ve always been a master at doing the impossible. Didn’t I eventually win that grueling battle of wills with the System and activate my own trait?

If the prophecy is some absolute, unchangeable future, it can go fuck itself.

Because I am The Resistor.

For the first time, Sa-yoon felt he truly understood the meaning of his own nature.