* * *
Kang Yigeon, who had been watching silently, pulled out a bottle of pills.
He poured a few into his palm and swallowed them dry.
Seohwa exhaled in disbelief.
“You’re the one who just physically and emotionally wrecked me, so why are you the one taking meds? Now I feel like the bad guy.”
Even as he said it, Seohwa wondered if, maybe, he really was the bad guy.
Especially when he saw Kang Yigeon close his eyes, trying to steady his anxious breathing.
The IV fluid dripped steadily through the tube.
The scent of alcohol swabs filled the small infirmary.
There was silence, yet Seohwa felt overwhelmed by noise.
His ears rang.
His heartbeat pounded erratically.
Even the sound of swallowing felt unbearably loud.
Eventually, he couldn’t stand the uneasy stillness any longer.
“That’s an anti-anxiety med, right? How long have you been taking it?”
“……”
“What are you so anxious about? You’re an S-rank. What could possibly scare you?”
Kang Yigeon’s eyelids fluttered. Seohwa knew he had crossed a line, using the silence as an excuse for his rudeness.
He regretted it—but he still wanted an answer.
Why was the Northern Grand Duke, who had never shown weakness in the previous timeline, so precarious in this one?
What was the cause of the unfathomable pain in those violet eyes?
“Do you know what it feels like to be born with a void etched into your soul?”
“……”
“To have lost something—but not know what it was?”
“……”
“Something is missing, yet it grips my heart so tightly.”
“……”
“I don’t know what it is. That’s why I take them.”
Seohwa had nothing to say.
Because he had a feeling he knew exactly what Kang Yigeon had lost.
And because… if this man was as sharp as he seemed, he probably suspected it too.
So, he chose to stay silent.
As his eyes closed, true silence fell upon the room—the kind Kang Yigeon loathed.
And then.
Kang Yigeon stared at Seohwa’s closed eyes.
“You still haven’t answered my question. What kind of relationship did we have?”
“I don’t recall us ever playing rough like this.”
At that moment, a system window appeared before Kang Yigeon’s eyes.
[Mind Reading] interprets the subject’s statement.
False.
“Are you saying we weren’t physically involved?”
“We were just a Guild Leader and his loyal aide. Nothing more.”
[Mind Reading] interprets the subject’s statement.
False.
Both answers were lies.
But he couldn’t press the issue further.
He was afraid of the answer.
And he wasn’t even sure what answer he wanted.
So, he took his meds.
And when he did, Seohwa looked at him with unmistakable concern.
‘What kind of relationship did I have with him?’
‘Why am I so drawn to him?’
‘They say his nickname is “Sex Machine.” But in my experience, guys with those kinds of nicknames are usually overrated—’
‘Why did that statement enrage me so much?’
As the heavy silence deepened, so did his thoughts.
On the day of the covenant signing, Gaius Jung arrived at the Hate Organization’s base—part residence, part preparation camp for the upcoming Tier 6 Dungeon Raid—escorted by security.
‘He’s probably a lunatic in this timeline, too.’
Seohwa’s only goal was clearing the Tier 6 dungeon.
He knew little about cults and even less about Gaius Jung.
The only thing he’d heard was that the guy was obsessed with sex, which was why he joined the New Humanity Sect.
In the first timeline, their paths had barely crossed.
Back then, Gaius Jung was already a famous S-rank Covenant, a hunter who was surprisingly active despite belonging to a cult.
People found him… odd.
He even applied to join the Tier 6 Dungeon Expedition.
But since he wasn’t combat-focused—and no one could predict what a cultist might do inside a dungeon—his application was rejected.
On the day of the dungeon entry, Gaius Jung had shown up at the gate alone, without any other cult members.
It was a bright, sunny spring morning.
Brushing his silver-blue hair back, he adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses with an elegant motion, then slowly scanned the tense expedition team with his icy blue eyes.
And then—
Flop.
He sprawled out on the grass.
‘Tier 6 is definitely going to be fun! I’m so mad you didn’t choose me. I could have been a huge help! You’re all so wrong! You’ll regret this decision! If you want to leave without me, you’ll have to step over my dead body!’
A 32-year-old man—a so-called “Sex Machine”—had thrown himself onto the ground at the gate, baring his stomach as he whined in broken Korean, demanding to be taken along.
Seohwa vividly recalled barely holding back Kim Tuyeon, Korea’s most notorious lunatic, from stomping him on the spot.
From the second timeline onward, that incident never happened again.
The organizers must have ensured that no one could approach the gate in advance.
“Oh…”
The Gaius Jung of this timeline reacted no differently than others upon seeing Seohwa for the first time.
“It’s disgusting.”
“Can’t stand being in the same place.”
“Can I kill that thing now?”
“Team Leader Choi Jihyung. No need to translate. I understand.”
“Don’t say my name, you fucking trash.”
“Yes, sorry.”
Seohwa sat across from Gaius Jung.
Though Gaius Jung wore a look of pure contempt, Seohwa caught a hint of interest in those icy blue eyes.
Normally, people who saw Seohwa would lose their minds with disgust and hatred, but for someone to still show curiosity—this guy really was just as crazy as the rumors said.
“No need for introductions. I will now explain the terms of the oath.”
Director Kim Eunji handed out tablets to each person.
The contents of the oath had already been reviewed and edited by the top-ranking hunters in the Organization and the Special Investigations Unit.
Seohwa quickly skimmed through it.
In summary:
- Seohwa must actively participate in the conquest of the Rank 6 Dungeon.
- Upon completion, Seohwa will receive exclusive rights to any hidden rewards.
- Immediately after, Seohwa must disappear from the world forever.
If any of these three vows were broken, the penalty would be enforced: Seohwa would lose all awakened abilities and become an ordinary, powerless human.
A standard consequence for oath violations.
“I have question.”
Gaius Jung spoke in clumsy Korean.
Because Korea dominated the hunter industry, it was common for hunters to know at least some Korean.
Yet, Gaius Jung, unlike most hunters of this generation, struggled with the language.
“Korean sentences often end in ‘SO.’ I wonder if this is because Koreans wish to purse lips small and look cute?”
“…That’s not it. Questions should be about the oath only.”
“You ended with ‘SO’ again. Do you wish for me to call you cute?”
“If there are no further questions, let’s proceed with the oath. We will verify the contents once more.”
“You are cute. It is brave of you to embrace it.”
Director Kim Eunji let out a frustrated groan and clutched her chest.
Someone from the Special Investigations Unit muttered behind them.
“Yep, he’s definitely a lunatic.”
Koreans called Gaius Jung ‘Bingbing’, meaning someone whose head spun in circles.
“I use skill now. Warning: surprise.”
A swirl of silver energy gathered on the table. It coiled like thread, quickly forming a distinct shape.
[Magna Carta].
The grand charter, guaranteed by the system itself.
But instead of a thick, old-fashioned tome, a thin digital tablet hovered in midair, resembling a fully expanded foldable smartphone.
A sleek silver keyboard suddenly materialized in front of both Gaius Jung and Seohwa.
“This trash and I will write [Magna Carta] together.”
“In Korean?”
“In Korean. I write one line, trash writes one line.”
Seohwa placed his hands on the keyboard.
It was slim and compact, yet had an oddly satisfying tactile feel.
It made a soft clicking sound—like rolling glass beads in a pocket.
As soon as Seohwa typed a line, Gaius Jung typed the exact same one below.
When he finished, Seohwa began the second sentence.
Click, click.
The only sound in the room was the rhythmic clacking of the keyboard.
Then, Kang Yigeon, who had been silent until now, sighed slightly and spoke.
“Hunter Seohwa.”
“Yes, Kang Yigeon? What is it?”
“Stop playing with the keyboard.”
“I’m not playing. I’m typing very seriously.”
“You’re deliberately making typos, aren’t you?”
“Fine, I’ll do it properly.”
“…Why are you typing the national anthem?”
“Because I love Korea. I’m a total patriot.”
“If you really love your country, hurry up and finish the oath so you can get back to training.”
“This sound is really nice. It’s like walking on a pretty pebble path. Click, click. So clear and beautiful.”
“I’ll buy you something similar later, so just focus for now.”
Seohwa’s hands froze.
“…”
Not just Seohwa—everyone in the room, including Gaius Jung, Director Kim Eunji, and Director Go Hyeyeol, turned to Kang Yigeon in complete shock.
* * *
