“All memories of you have been erased from everyone’s minds.”
“What are you talking about…?”
He just blinked blankly, unable to immediately grasp what the words meant. Tae Woon let out a dry, brittle laugh.
“You know, hyung. I seriously thought I was losing my mind while searching for you for the past 21 years.”
“What do you mean, ‘erased’?”
It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the dictionary definition of the word “erased.” His brain simply refused to accept its implications. Erased from everyone’s memories? Him?
Tae Woon, pale-faced, brought an album from the study. They were Kim Sibaek’s graduation albums. He flipped through them with urgent fingers, but nowhere in those pages could he find a photo or name of Kim Sibaek. Not even in the contact list at the very end.
It was the same with the photos from the orphanage—ones taken with the priest, the nun, and the children. The more he flipped through the album, the more vivid the memories became, and yet his presence was absent from them all. Even though the photo still existed in his ring—one where they were all together—his image was missing from the same photo that remained on Earth.
“……”
His fingers trembled slightly as he closed the last page of the album. Even for someone who had endured countless events over 68 years, the gap between memory and reality was a considerable shock.
“…What about the people at work?”
“When Seoul got wrecked during the Cataclysm, a lot of data from the police headquarters was destroyed. So honestly, I don’t know what happened to your files. But by sheer luck, I did meet Detective Park, your old partner, and… he didn’t remember you.”
“……”
“Same with your career records. Sure, maybe some photos were doctored or people just forgot, however unlikely… But you’re telling me not a single person remembers an Olympic or Asian Games medalist? That’s impossible.”
While Kim Sibaek stood speechless, Tae Woon calmly started organizing the albums. The shock of realizing no one remembered Kim Sibaek had already battered his soul countless times—until it had been worn down so thoroughly, it could no longer even be worn further.
“I felt like I was losing it, like I was just some lunatic. I even went to visit Tae Chul-hoon at Jeongseon Prison. You remember him, right?”
How could he not? The man who once locked five-year-old Tae Woon in a basement room and nearly killed him.
“Your memory was replaced in his mind by some random guy who just happened to live in the neighborhood.”
“……”
“Sibaek hyung.”
Tae Woon gently grasped Kim Sibaek’s trembling hand and guided it to cover the scar on his own left cheek. Just like long ago, in a time known only to the two of them, when a bruised and swollen child’s face had been cupped by those same hands.
But the large, misshapen scar couldn’t be fully covered, even with Kim Sibaek’s long fingers.
“I’m not crazy, right? Right? I’m not just imagining some person who doesn’t exist, confusing fantasy with reality, right? You’re really here, aren’t you?”
His black gaze, burning with the heat of summer, clung to him with almost desperate intensity. Unable to let go of the hand he had taken, Kim Sibaek could only caress the grotesque scar.
He couldn’t quite remember what was said after that. He barely managed to say he was going to rest and returned to his room.
Even after several hours passed and the sun had risen, the sensation of that scar still lingered in his palm. Kim Sibaek let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead.
Twenty-one years ago, when he was swallowed up by that rift, his trace had vanished from the world. He didn’t know why—but didn’t this mean the world itself was denying his very existence? Was it even right for him to force his way back into a world that had rejected him?
He sat there with his eyes open, clutching his forehead for a long while, then slowly rose to his feet. On the table in his bedroom lay the albums Tae Woon had brought, along with a bundle of old newspapers. The brittle yellowed pages from thirty years ago fluttered as he flipped through them.
July 27th, 199X.
There was no trace of the fencer Kim Sibaek, who had once earned South Korea its first Olympic medal in fencing, as he began to make a name for himself on the international stage. Not even the gold medal he had won at the Asian Games two years prior remained recorded.
“……”
Even though he had checked over and over again the night before, his fingertips still trembled faintly. The flashes of reporters’ cameras, going off in succession as they crowded around the medal around his neck, flickered beneath his closed eyelids.
Being called a prodigious swordsman at eighteen and making headlines—it didn’t matter. He had already learned, to the bone, how easily public praise could be shattered. And that was fine. Even if all the glory had been trampled in the mud, the life he had fought through was still his.
But…
Even his life, the sweat and tears he poured into that passion—every trace had vanished without a single remnant.
“You know, hyung. I seriously thought I was losing my mind while searching for you for the past 21 years.”
The newspaper crumpled violently in his hand. Fragmented memories unraveled into hollow dissolution. Crushing emptiness spun into chaos. His siblings didn’t remember him. The world didn’t remember him. So then—why had he even come back? Wouldn’t it have been better if he’d never returned at all? If he’d simply given up on the idea of coming back and let his bones rest in Mak Slechth?
If only he had never known how thoroughly his life had been defiled—could ignorance not have been a form of mercy?
“You wear the face of one lost in tangled thoughts.”
Curled up by the pillow, Lord Biendeoé was quietly watching him.
Kim Sibaek rubbed his face repeatedly before finally managing to suppress his emotions.
“…When I first realized I had crash-landed in Mak Slechth, didn’t any of the other gods say anything about a phenomenon like this?”
“They said nothing. More than anything, you are the first and last of my Apostles to cross the boundary between dimensions with both body and soul intact.”
Compared to when he had first arrived on Earth, Lord Biendeoé had calmed considerably—but traces of fear still lingered in his expression as he rested his sullen face against the cushion.
“…What do you intend to do now?”
“I’m not sure…”
“……”
“I’m worried about what might’ve happened to Mak Slechth… and, honestly, I’m a little scared.”
What if even in Mak Slechth, his existence had been erased? Biendeoé, who understood the unspoken fear behind those words, hastily continued.
“I cannot deliver Divine Words directly, but the divine connection I share with Mak Slechth is still faintly intact. I can sense that both the Pope and my Paladin remain unharmed. There doesn’t appear to be any serious disruption. And so, I believe the existence of my Apostle also remains intact.”
“…That makes sense.”
Kim Sibaek offered a faint smile, understanding that the attempt, however awkward, was meant to comfort him.
Knock knock—there was a knock at the door, followed by a deep, rumbling voice. The door soon creaked open and Tae Woon poked his head inside.
“Hyung, you’re up? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Kim Sibaek cleared his throat and answered with as calm a tone as he could manage. He wasn’t fine, but he couldn’t afford to show weakness—not to him.
Tae Woon’s gaze, heavy with worry and unease, lingered on him.
“Should I stay with you?”
Seeing his younger brother unable to hide his concern actually helped still the storm in his own chest. No matter what, he couldn’t let this kid see him falter.
“You have to go to work.”
“Skipping a day isn’t going to bring down the guild.”
“No. I mean it. I’m really okay.”
Kim Sibaek ran his fingers through his tousled hair.
“Could I meet the people you work with? The ones at your company—or, well, guild. I’d like to see them with my own eyes.”
The black gaze looking down at him darkened slightly.
“Speaking as someone who’s heard over and over that they don’t know who you are… it’s going to be even more shocking than you’re imagining.”
“You being thirty-five is more shocking than anything else.”
At that light joke, Tae Woon finally gave a slow, reluctant smile.
The old adage that it’s best to live close to where you work held true whether in Mak Slechth or on Earth. The entire commute was just a ride in a private elevator directly connected to the entrance.
Walking down the quiet morning corridor side by side, Tae Woon tilted his head slightly.
“I’ve always thought this, but… hyung, you’re really strong.”
“Well, I used to be an athlete. Of course I’m stronger than the average person.”
“Not like that. I mean your heart. Emotionally strong.”
As Tae Woon lightly tapped his chest, Kim Sibaek gave a bitter smile. If he were truly strong, he wouldn’t be haunted by thoughts that it might’ve been better never to return—better to live on in ignorance.
Oblivious to that bitterness, Tae Woon glanced at his wristwatch.
“Right about now, they should be coming to the sleep room to get some rest.”
“You guys sleep at the office?”
“For research. Even though the dorm’s not far, they said the sleep room is more convenient, so they prefer it.”
“Hm…”
Thinking over which of the four team members would be the type to obsess over research and basically live at the office, he took a guess.
“Is it that kid—Hangyeol?”
He had his answer soon enough. As they paused near the door to the sleep room, someone came trudging up to them. The dark circles drooping to his knees and the fatigue etched into his face instantly triggered another memory.
“Hyuuung…! Minhyung hyung hit me again. He always hits me and no one else…”
The kid who was always crying alone in hiding because he was short and only ever interested in books—now passed by Kim Sibaek as if he didn’t even see him, eyes drifting listlessly.
“Oh, Tae Woon hyung. You’re in early. I’m off to bed now, then…”
“Wait a sec.”
Tae Woon grabbed Lee Hangyeol’s arm and gave a small nod.
“There’s someone I want to introduce you to.”
“…I’m Kim Sibaek.”
Maybe he still held out a sliver of hope. His palm was already damp with nervous sweat. Only then did Hangyeol’s drowsy, half-lidded eyes slowly drift over to Kim Sibaek.
And then—a flicker of light sparked in those dim eyes, and they widened into perfect circles.
