* * *

The hero froze, confusion spreading across his handsome face.

Hojin’s gaze drifted to the faint scar on the hero’s smooth jawline—a reminder of the kindness he had once shown.

“Jin Youngwoong.”

“Huh? Yeah? What’s going on?”

“I’m not… ‘Jerome.’”

Hojin cleared his throat.

Even after coughing, the unfamiliar voice of the NPC persisted.

In a low tone, he confessed, “It’s me. Hojin.”

“What?”

It was hard to believe—Hojin’s appearance, name, and voice were entirely different.

Though skeptical, the hero seemed to trust him, given the unusual quest bug.

He scrutinized Hojin with furrowed brows.

“Hojin? How did you…?”

“I came to see you.”

Making direct eye contact was always difficult for Hojin.

He struggled to meet the hero’s gaze, instead focusing on his brow or nose as he stammered nervously.

“Can we talk?”

Jin Youngwoong was the only one who had ever shown interest in Hojin—who had listened, trusted, and cared when no one else did.

Hojin believed he’d listen again, that he’d be convinced.

The hero had been a ray of light in Hojin’s dark life.

With trembling hands, Hojin reached out, hoping for his kindness once more.

But the hero’s expression darkened.

“I’d rather not… talk about it.”

Hero mumbled the words, avoiding eye contact.

His expression was unmistakably reluctant, and the response was far from what Hojin had hoped for.

Shocked, Hojin’s lips trembled slightly.

Afraid Hero might leave, as he had already turned slightly away, Hojin hurriedly grabbed his arm.

“This is important! Really, really important.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Can’t you just listen this once? Getting here wasn’t easy. I don’t even know exactly how I managed it. Technically, it shouldn’t be possible. I kept trying all sorts of things and got lucky, I guess.”

When was the last time Hojin had spoken so much at once?

It felt strange, even to himself, but he kept pushing through.

Hero, meanwhile, stared silently at the floor.

Desperate, Hojin grabbed both of Hero’s wrists and bowed his head low.

“Please… We don’t know when we’ll get another chance to talk.”

His voice quivered.

Not being a particularly persuasive person, Hojin felt he had no choice but to show his sincerity.

If Hero refused again, Hojin was even ready to kneel.

Fortunately, Hero seemed to sense Hojin’s desperation.

With a deep sigh, Hero plopped down onto the ground.

Pulling a drumstick from the basket of food he’d brought, he took a bite.

“Fine, let’s hear it. But make it quick—I don’t have much time.”

His tone made it clear: he’d only stay as long as it took to finish the drumstick.

It felt as if a timer had started, and Hojin could almost hear the ticking in his head.

“Well, uh… So…”

As someone who wasn’t good with words to begin with, the pressure made Hojin’s mind go blank.

He wanted to punch himself but worried it might make his already limited verbal abilities even worse.

Hero, still munching on the drumstick with his cheeks puffed out, looked endearingly cute.

But half the drumstick was already gone, which only added to Hojin’s panic.

He needed to focus on the core message.

Swallowing hard, Hojin finally managed to speak, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Come back.”

Hero, mid-bite, froze.

Though the words were short, they couldn’t have been clearer.

Clenching his fists, Hojin stared at Hero’s feet.

“It’s been over a month since you disappeared. Please, leave this stupid game world and come back…”

“Stupid game? You made this game, didn’t you? You said you made it for me.”

“Well, yeah, but I never thought you’d end up stuck in it.”

Hero’s expression turned unreadable as he stared at Hojin.

Unable to bear the weight of his gaze, Hojin lowered his head, biting his lip.

“I never imagined we’d end up living in separate worlds…”

Saying it out loud made the truth hit harder, sending chills down his spine.

Hero had always been from a different world—metaphorically speaking.

But back then, they’d still lived under the same sky.

That shared reality had been Hojin’s greatest comfort, the thing that kept him going even when life was tough.

Hero probably didn’t know how much it had meant to him.

Now, things were different.

Too different.

Hojin couldn’t stand it.

He had to bring Hero back to 21st-century Korea, no matter what.

He’d beg, grovel, even cling to Hero’s legs if that’s what it took.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”

Hero looked at Hojin, whose face was on the verge of tears, and casually popped the rest of the meat into his mouth.

After chewing and swallowing, he tossed the bone aside.

Before it hit the ground, the bone disintegrated into glowing dust, and little “+” signs indicating health recovery floated up around Hero.

“You’re telling me to go back to the real world?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Ha…”

Hero let out a dry laugh, adjusted his bag, and raised a hand in a mock farewell.

“Should’ve skipped this chat. I’m leaving.”

“What?”

“I’ll say this one last time, so listen carefully.”

Hero’s sunny smile was at odds with his warning tone as he walked over to Hojin.

He stopped right in front of him, leaning down so close their faces were inches apart.

Hero’s unreal beauty—his white hair, blue eyes, and perfect features—was so overwhelming that Hojin hiccupped from sheer nervousness.

Their eyes locked, and Hero’s expression suddenly darkened.

“No.”

For a moment, Hojin thought he was hallucinating.

The bright sky of the fantasy world seemed to blacken, and he imagined a bolt of lightning striking down on him.

“I don’t want to live in the same world as you.”

Behind Hero, the sky seemed to crack with ominous thunder.

The imaginary bolt felt like it struck Hojin directly, leaving him reeling.

‘Even death tomorrow wouldn’t feel this hopeless,’ Hojin thought.

His pupils trembled uncontrollably, and it felt like all the blood had drained from his body.

Somehow, he managed to lift his head and look at Hero’s stern face.

“Don’t make that hurt expression. The point isn’t that I don’t want to live with you—it’s that I don’t want to live in your world.”

A tiny sliver of relief seeped into Hojin’s chest.

His pale face regained a hint of color, but only barely.

The rest of Hero’s words still hit like a hammer.

His blunt refusal was devastating.

Unable to respond, Hojin just breathed shakily.

Hero raised an eyebrow, smirking wryly.

“Or maybe you’d like to move to this fantasy world? Though I won’t tell you how.”

“No matter how beautiful it looks… this is just a game world.”

Hero’s unusually cold demeanor was jarring.

Despite the pain, Hojin couldn’t bring himself to give up.

Pointing to a nearby field, he spoke with reddened eyes.

“Look over there. The grass all moves in the same direction, like clockwork. Does that seem alive to you?”

The yellow flowers swayed uniformly, like battery-operated toys.

Not a single one moved differently.

“There’s no real life here. You’re the only living thing. Staying here isn’t living, Hero…”

“Wow. You just don’t get it.”

Hero’s face twisted in slight irritation as he pulled something from his bag.

Hojin flinched instinctively, stepping back.

But the weapon Hero drew wasn’t a sword or a bow—it was a yellow toy hammer, complete with a little duck attached.

Hojin blinked in disbelief.

It was the Squeaky Duck Hammer, an April Fools’ event item.

Technically classified as a weapon, its attack power was so negligible—0.01—that it was practically useless.

“W-why do you have that?”

“…This is how you deal with someone who won’t listen.”

Without warning, Hero swung the hammer down on Hojin’s head.

Squeak!

“Ah!”

Unlike regular weapons, the toy hammer could actually make contact with NPCs.

It even produced little stars that spun above Hojin’s head, rendering him speechless for two seconds.

Hojin clutched his head, flustered.

“I told you. I’m not going back.”

* * *