* * *
“Y-Yeah. With your ability, Elgran, you can get him to the hospital faster than anyone.”
Because Ben Plaskun had to get to Haimar Eilec, no matter what.
A simple yet excruciatingly difficult truth.
“While we stand here crying, I’m going to do whatever I can to save Lus. You’re not seriously telling me your method is to just sit there and sob, right?”
So then, what should he choose to do now?
Ben handed the cloth, which had been pressing against Lus’s wounds, over to Enten and stood up.
His hand, still resting on Elgran’s shoulder, was frozen stiff, fingers numb from the cold.
Honestly, he had talked big, but deep down, he wasn’t sure if Lus would survive.
Still, there was one thing he was certain of—if Elgran cooperated, at the very least, Ruth’s condition wouldn’t worsen.
And if Elgran wanted him to live, willed him to live, maybe… maybe those feelings combined would be enough.
Ben didn’t want to waste another second here.
Sure, he’d regret it if Elgran lost control, but nowhere near as much as he’d regret losing Haimar.
And even if it was dangerous—well, they’d already danced with death countless times today.
What’s one more brush with the line between life and death?
If I’m going to die anyway, better to regret it face to face than die with regrets I couldn’t act on.
The old Ben would’ve stayed until Elgran and Lus were stable, escorted them to the hospital, made sure they were safe.
But not now. He didn’t know why, but right now, he just couldn’t.
So—he made his choice.
Elgran’s eyes followed Ben’s uncertain steps across the icy floor, but Ben didn’t care.
He turned his head slightly and added:
“Then… I’ll leave it to you.”
With that, Ben left Enten frozen in shock and headed straight for the stairs, without a second glance.
On the way, his knees buckled slightly, nearly collapsing—but he forced the last of his strength into his legs and stood tall.
His energy reserves were beyond empty, but now wasn’t the time to rest.
“…You’re going to Haimar?”
Where else would he be going?
When Ben glanced back at Elgran, something flickered across the other man’s face, and Elgran sharply turned his head away.
Then, in a trembling but firm voice, he muttered:
“Go. Hurry.”
His hand, now steadier, reached toward Lus.
Seeing that, Ben wasted no time moving his feet.
“…”
At the foot of the stairs, Ben paused on a patch of ice-free ground, resting one hand against the wall to catch his breath.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly checked the signal status.
Enten had supposedly dealt with the jamming, so the device should be working again soon.
While fiddling with his phone to check the signal, Ben suddenly felt an unpleasant, creeping sensation that made him glance back.
The area where Enten and Elgran were remained somewhat chaotic after Ben had left, but under Enten’s direction, everyone was quickly occupied again.
There wasn’t a single gaze directed at him.
Only Irina Sheril lay crumpled like a paper doll amidst the crimson-filled space.
He couldn’t see her face, hidden beneath her hair, but for some reason, Ben couldn’t shake the feeling that she was staring straight at him.
But that was impossible—she should be dead.
Could this eerie feeling be because of those incomprehensible words from Roilnia earlier?
What had she meant?
Why had Irina Sheril’s eyes locked perfectly with his?
Why did it still feel like that stare was clinging to him, refusing to let go?
Surely… she wasn’t still alive?
The thought came unbidden, but Ben shook his head to chase it away.
Harsh as it sounded, there really was no space in his head for anyone other than Haimar Eilec now.
Even thinking about whether Irina Sheril had been purely evil—well, no.
Her methods were certainly twisted, but Ben couldn’t bring himself to deny the sincerity of her love.
She longed for love, but in the end, this was how her story ended.
The bitter aftertaste clung to Ben’s mouth as he gathered his remaining strength and steadied his trembling legs.
Without leaning on the wall, he’d collapse instantly, but that wasn’t an option.
If it came to it, he’d crawl forward using every last ounce of strength left in him.
“Alright. Let’s go back.”
Resolute, Ben pushed off from the wall and took a determined step forward.
“Ben… is that you?”
An impossible voice stopped him in his tracks.
…No way.
I must’ve heard wrong.
Creak… creak…
His body frozen like stone, Ben struggled to move and slowly turned his head.
It couldn’t be… it had to be a mistake… but still, he had to check. Just check.
That’s all. Just confirm.
“You’ve always been a burden to me.”
The impossible voice gripped Ben like iron chains.
Ah. Just one sentence—just one—but it was enough to ignite a sickening certainty within him.
He was about to see something he desperately did not want to see.
“Are you being a burden to someone else now, too?”
That ashen, lifeless face… how could he ever forget?
The voice spilling from those dry, cracked lips was unnervingly vivid, making his vision waver.
Had she clawed her way back from the brink of death just to haunt him like this?
To shove these words down his throat under the guise of a hallucination?
Was she telling him to return to the self who carried guilt simply for existing in the dust-covered remnants of the past?
A whisper from long ago, words that quivered on trembling lips but never made it out… now they materialized, pressing down on his shoulders with unbearable weight.
“…Mother.”
There’s no way she could be alive.
That day—the only time his young self had ever begged—she let everything go and died.
It was her choice.
That’s why he couldn’t believe what stood before him was real.
He didn’t want to face her properly, so Ben raised his hand, covering her crushed face from view.
Damn it. If this was the kind of twisted thing Roilnia wanted Irina Sheril to inflict on him, then she hit the mark perfectly.
If Roilnia wrung every last drop of him dry just to make him see this, well… congratulations. It worked.
“Ben… finally, I can—”
I don’t want to hear it.
He didn’t want to be dragged back into that final memory with her.
The faint whisper that followed, soft as a secret against his ear… to this day, he still didn’t know what those words were.
Which only made it worse.
I told you to wait for me…
For some reason, Haimar Eilec’s face surfaced in his mind so clearly, it hurt.
Even as remnants of the past clung to him, suffocating him, all he could think about was him.
Why now, of all times?
Maybe Haimar Eilec had become more of a support to him than he realized.
If I’d known this would happen, I’d have told him not to wait.
Lowering his hand and facing the illusion before him, Ben suddenly wanted to cry.
It was that kind of feeling.
[Waitng]
“I didn’t think I’d actually become a watchdog,” Haimar muttered to himself, turning over the short, hastily typed message in his mind.
His voice was calm, but the faint glow from his phone, casting light on his face in the darkened room, carried an inexplicable amusement.
After briefly recalling the person behind that message, he noticed the signal bar still struggling to find a connection.
With nothing else to use the phone for, he casually tossed it onto the sofa.
Thud—
The message itself wasn’t hard to decipher.
It obviously had something to do with the sequence of events unfolding right now.
Up until moments ago, the only sounds had been the ticking of a clock or the drip of water from a faucet.
But now, things like heavy crashes and even distant screams began filtering in, signaling that the situation had shifted dramatically.
Honestly, Haimar didn’t care what was happening.
Whether someone nearby died or collapsed—it wasn’t his problem.
Other people’s tragedies were just that: someone else’s business.
That’s how it always was.
For the Haimar of the past.
But mix Ben Plaskun into that equation, and things changed.
Like adding a drop of intense color into pure white paint, everything gets stained, the original color lost entirely.
Even his logic, his entire thought process, shifted.
Tamed, huh?
A quiet laugh escaped his lips like air leaking from a balloon.
He’d never thought of himself as being tamed.
The word didn’t suit him in the slightest.
A man who lived entirely by his whims, free from orders, expectations, or chains… the idea that someone now held his leash would’ve shocked people.
They’d think it didn’t match his nature at all.
But Haimar didn’t mind the thought one bit.
Looking back, there wasn’t much about Ben Plaskun that he considered unpleasant anyway.
Aside from that brief period where he’d been an ass, the rest was just… refreshing.
Every encounter, every moment felt like being dyed deeper and deeper in new, unfamiliar colors.
Even if someone claimed he was leashed now—it didn’t matter.
All he had to do was stain Ben in his colors too.
* * *
