“It’s exactly as I said. Currently, your error progression has entered a stabilized state, Sa-yoon-ssi. Even to my eyes, it reads as ‘Temporary Stabilization.’ Given that the adjacent numerical value is resting at 80 percent, you should be perfectly safe until the war begins.
The only caveat is the ‘temporary’ aspect—there’s no telling when that fragile balance might shatter.”
“Temporary stabilization, huh? Does it have something to do with the fact that I didn’t suffer any significant penalty after fully unleashing the True Body’s power?”
“It’s highly probable. Or perhaps, when the True Body directly descended into your flesh, it forcefully patched up a critical fissure.”
“I never even mentioned that possession, yet you already know.”
Annoying bastard, Sa-yoon scoffed internally.
Between Lee Jaehee’s maddening ability to read the heavens and his general perceptiveness, it was impossible to keep any secrets from the summoner. Acknowledging the plausible theory, Sa-yoon rested a hand over his left breast.
Ever since awakening the True Body’s abilities, the suffocating, death-like pressure and the spontaneous nosebleeds had completely vanished.
If the divine entity had genuinely rewritten something fundamental during its brief possession, Sa-yoon was willing to overlook the absolute humiliation of having his body hijacked for a ridiculous romance scene.
It had left behind something invaluable as compensation, so he could afford to be slightly magnanimous.
“In short, I don’t have to worry about dropping dead before the war. And even if the balance shatters mid-battle, I’m only at 80 percent, so it won’t trigger an immediate catastrophe.”
“Correct.”
“Then I can finally fight to my heart’s con—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Wait, why?”
Sa-yoon’s pleased smirk vanished instantly at the ruthless, immediate veto. He had just started looking forward to finally cutting loose without constantly worrying about his error progression, so why the hell was Jaehee blocking him again?
He had the right to enjoy a battle too.
For Sa-yoon—who found immense, euphoric pleasure in engaging in high-stakes combat without crushing burdens—every day since discovering his terminal error progression had been akin to agonizing asceticism. He glared dissatisfiedly at the summoner, but Jaehee merely sighed. It was the heavy sigh of a weary guardian struggling to manage a fully grown adult whose only joy in life was apocalyptic violence.
“I’m the one living in this broken body, so why do you constantly look like an exhausted parent raising a problem child?” Sa-yoon grumbled.
“Even if you’ve entered a stabilization phase, it is strictly temporary,” Jaehee explained firmly. “The more explosively you utilize your power, the faster those patched fissures will tear open again. If you want to maintain this stabilization for as long as possible, you must absolutely avoid pushing yourself to your limits. You cannot overexert yourself.”
“Uh-huh. I’ve listened to doctors tell me not to overexert myself for years, and I’ve pushed past my limits every single day since. Look at me, I’m perfectly fine.”
“You need to consider Geon-joo-ssi.”
“…”
That cowardly bastard is using my weakness against me.
Whether it was the Night Rats executives or Lee Jaehee, Sa-yoon couldn’t shake the irritating suspicion that everyone had realized Han Geon-joo was his absolute kryptonite and were now actively weaponizing it to control him.
He shot Jaehee a look that practically screamed ‘You sly prick,’ but Jaehee merely advised him to stop making his younger boyfriend cry and try to live a beautiful, peaceful life.
Sa-yoon opened his mouth to argue that he had never made Geon-joo cry, but the memory of several tear-streaked faces flashed through his mind, forcing him to snap his mouth shut.
“That punk is just a crybaby,” Sa-yoon muttered defensively.
“Yes. Of course he is.”
Jaehee offered a patronizing, entirely unconvinced nod, clearly just humoring him. Recognizing the blatant acting, Sa-yoon dropped the argument. Regardless, he was satisfied knowing he finally had a functional safety net. Checking the time, he noted they had exactly 39 hours until the Final War gate opened.
“What are your plans for the remaining time?” Jaehee asked.
“I’m going to rest.”
“I figured as much. As expected, you’ll rest… wait, um. Rest? You’re actually going to rest? Not train?” Jaehee, who had been absentmindedly summoning his beasts in resignation, blinked in sheer shock.
“Why are you so surprised?”
“I fully expected you to demand we synchronize our teamwork and run hellish combat drills for the next twenty hours straight,” Jaehee admitted.
“Even I wouldn’t do that right before a war. We have absolutely no idea how much we’ll suffer in there or what kind of apocalyptic hellscape we’ll be fighting in. It’s common sense to stockpile as much stamina as possible before entering. And besides…”
“…And besides?”
Despite the prompt, Sa-yoon couldn’t finish the sentence. Fearing that voicing his thoughts might jinx them and invite disaster, he swallowed the ominous premonition and waved his hand dismissively.
“Anyway, that’s the plan. Get a high-end suite from those Association bastards and get some proper rest. I’ll contact you about five hours before the gate opens… If there’s anywhere you need to go before we enter, go. If there’s anyone you want to see, see them.”
“Ah.”
Though Sa-yoon had tried to veil his meaning, Jaehee instantly caught the underlying sentiment and let out a soft exhale. The summoner fell into a brief, contemplative silence before a hauntingly fragile, entirely uncharacteristic smile touched his lips as he stroked Rai’s fur.
“I suppose I should go see Yeon-i before we leave.”
“Suit yourself.”
Jaehee would likely spend the night holding a vigil where his deceased lover rested. Knowing the summoner’s personality, it was impossible for him to actually sleep there. Factoring in the overnight visit and the necessary recovery sleep afterward, contacting him five hours prior was the perfect window.
Tossing a casual wave to signal the end of their business, Sa-yoon turned to find Geon-joo.
It’s a war.
He was desperately clinging to the vague, optimistic hope that nothing catastrophic would happen, that they would fight flawlessly and seize absolute victory, but a war was still a war. It meant anything could happen, and no disaster would be considered ‘abnormal.’
For instance…
Ugh, fuck. I need to stop thinking about ominous shit.
He had mentally prepared himself, but now that the war was practically breathing down their necks, the suffocating weight of reality was finally crashing down. Annoyed by his uncharacteristic cowardice, Sa-yoon roughly ruffled his own hair, took a deep breath, and grasped the doorknob to the lounge where Geon-joo was waiting.
Don’t worry about anything. Just rest for now. If I stick to him until I’m sick of him, these fucking intrusive thoughts might quiet down.
“Pretty boy, let’s go home.”
Throwing the door open, Sa-yoon announced their departure. Geon-joo, who had been sitting on the sofa, immediately shot up, offering a soft, welcoming smile. When Sa-yoon relayed his plan to spend their remaining time resting, Geon-joo mirrored Jaehee’s earlier reaction, his eyes widening in profound shock. Seeing everyone react with identical disbelief made Sa-yoon briefly reflect on whether his past lifestyle had been genuinely problematic.
Sa-yoon mentioned they’d be staying in a luxury suite he had extorted from Lee Han. Geon-joo grabbed his hand, humming thoughtfully. When Sa-yoon asked what was wrong, Geon-joo hesitated for a moment before dropping a completely unexpected bombshell.
“Do you want to go meet my parents together?”
“…What?”
It sounded so utterly insane that Sa-yoon assumed it was an auditory hallucination. He asked if he had misheard, but Geon-joo kindly and firmly reiterated his request. Sa-yoon blinked rapidly, genuinely baffled as to why he would ever need to meet the man’s parents. Honestly, just hearing Geon-joo bring up his parents was shocking in itself.
Based on the background check Gyeongjin had conducted long ago, Sa-yoon knew Geon-joo had a strained relationship with his family. However, considering Geon-joo hadn’t contacted them a single time over such an extended period, Sa-yoon had naturally assumed they were completely estranged or disowned. To find out that wasn’t the case was baffling.
Isn’t this bastard a little too emotionally detached?
Recalling that Geon-joo had once casually brought up marriage, the guy clearly wasn’t entirely devoid of familial sentiment, but he was undeniably a terrible, unfilial son. Sa-yoon’s shock gradually morphed into a judging, accusatory squint.
Reading the real-time emotional shift perfectly, Geon-joo chuckled, “It’s not like I’m asking because I have some profound emotional attachment to them or anything. It’s just… they’ve definitely seen the news by now, and I figured it’s only right to at least say hello before heading off to a war. And since we’re going, I’d rather rest at my own place. Not the Swallow building or some sterile hotel, just my home.”
“Of course you should go say hello, you punk. As for resting… do whatever you want. When you say ‘your place,’ do you mean your parents’ house? Or your apartment?”
“My apartment, obviously.”
“Then let’s do that.”
Considering it was their final rest before the apocalypse, it made sense that Geon-joo would prefer a familiar, comfortable space over a luxurious but foreign hotel.
Having no real complaints, Sa-yoon agreed and immediately texted Gyeongjin. He informed the executive that Lee Han’s reserved suite was now vacant, telling the Night Rats officers to use it if they wanted. Gyeongjin replied with smug satisfaction, declaring he would keep the golden intel strictly to himself.
Finding the greed highly irritating, Sa-yoon immediately texted Yen with the exact same information.
[Wow ^^ I definitely have to go. Thanks, hyung-nim~]
Yen was absolutely thrilled by the news.
Have a nightmare-inducing time together.
Mentally wishing Gyeongjin a thoroughly unpleasant, crowded stay, Sa-yoon began putting his phone away before reality suddenly caught up with him.
“Wait, does that mean… you actually want me to meet your parents?”
“Since I’m going to say hello anyway, it would be great if you greeted them too, hyung.”
“…I’m the master of the Night Rats guild.”
“I know.”
“I’m Kwon Sa-yoon.”
“…Did anyone ask?” Geon-joo blinked innocently, acting as if Sa-yoon’s sudden, dramatic self-introduction was utterly bizarre.
Sa-yoon thumped his own chest in sheer frustration. The guy was usually terrifyingly perceptive, so why was he acting like a clueless toddler right now?
“Hey, think about it,” Sa-yoon stressed. “Put yourself in their shoes. Your son, who vanished without a trace for nearly two years, suddenly returns and introduces you to his lover. But that lover is the infamous boss of a criminal syndicate. How do you think they’ll feel?”
“Why does it matter? Everyone in the world already knows we’re dating because of the official article you released, hyung.”
Proving his point, Geon-joo shoved his phone screen into Sa-yoon’s face, displaying the explosive public reaction to the article. Sa-yoon read the top-voted comment—‘Wait… was there anyone who DIDN’T know?’—and let out a heavy sigh.
That’s exactly the point! Hearing it through the news is completely different from having the criminal mastermind standing in your living room!
Sa-yoon was dying of frustration, yet Geon-joo still wore an infuriatingly blank ‘what’s the problem?’ expression. Massaging his throbbing temples, Sa-yoon ran a mental simulation of what would happen if he let Geon-joo go alone. Even if Geon-joo went solo, Sa-yoon’s name would inevitably come up thanks to the article.
If his parents asked how they met…
‘Oh, hyung kidnapped me.’
Nah, there’s no way he’d actually say that, right?
Sa-yoon shook his head vigorously and looked back at Geon-joo. Seeing the man blinking back at him with wide, unapologetically clueless eyes, a horrifying premonition washed over him.
He’d do it. He would absolutely answer exactly like that.
Even if Geon-joo managed to filter his response, Sa-yoon couldn’t trust him. Deciding he had no choice, Sa-yoon grabbed Geon-joo by the arm and dragged him out of the Association building.
“Where are we going?”
“Fuck, if we’re going to greet your parents, we need to buy a gift or something!”
“Um, you really don’t need to bring anything.”
“What kind of bullshit is that?”
The guy was treating this far too lightly, acting like it was someone else’s business. Ignoring the fundamentally flawed, unfilial nonsense, Sa-yoon slid into the driver’s seat of the car Jongsik had left on standby and gripped the steering wheel. As he mentally mapped the route to the nearest high-end department store, a heavy sigh escaped his lips, and he dropped his forehead onto the steering wheel.
“Hyung?”
“Shut up, pretty boy. I need to think.”
His mind was a tangled mess, causing the curses to slip out effortlessly. Sa-yoon tried to anticipate the inevitable barrage of parental questions, only to realize he had absolutely no acceptable answers. Resigning himself to his fate, he started the engine.
No matter what they ask, I’ll just use the ultimate ‘Haha, yes, indeed’ deflection technique.
After all, he couldn’t exactly look the parents in the eye and say: ‘I kidnapped your son, threatened him, and worked him to the bone, but then he fell in love with me and seduced me, so I just rolled with it…’