“Wiping them all out at once does sound fun. What do you think, Section Chief Gwak?”
The words came laced with a low, muted chuckle. Only then did Gwak Yoonsang manage to collect himself, his body trembling slightly in panic.
“N-No, absolutely not…! If the spores spread, Daejeon is finished! I’ll get fired and end up in the Awakener Special Prison!”
Apparently, Gwak Yoonsang wasn’t the only one startled.
[ㅇ0;ㅇ]
Shit. A sudden status window popped up, and Kim Sibaek flinched in surprise.
[It’s a bold approach, but Earth is fragile… We recommend minimizing the loss of life whenever possible (shiver shiver)]
Instead of flashy MZ-generation emojis, it seemed the system had opted for old-school parenthetical expressions. Unfortunately, the Kim Sibaek from 21 years ago had never used anything like that.
“Please do not use parentheses.”
Kim Sibaek muttered under his breath, making sure Gwak Yoonsang couldn’t hear. The system message quietly rearranged itself.
[It’s a bold approach, but Earth is fragile… We recommend minimizing the loss of life whenever possible (ㅇㅅㅠ) Hing….]
Why is it trying to be cute?
That was just as annoying. He wished it would drop the cutesy tone altogether and just speak in a formal, no-nonsense style. Not that a shift in tone would suddenly make the system dignified.
In any case, as the person in charge of the scene, Gwak Yoonsang decided to take the textbook route: eliminate the Giantvine before its fruit over-ripened and burst.
***
Guilds that had received the emergency support request began arriving one by one. From the 7777 Guild came Captain Seo Gaeun and her Strike Team—pulled straight from training—and Yang Eunho and Lee Hangyeol, who had barely changed into their uniforms after faking an external assignment on the roster.
After reporting to Tae Woon, Yang Eunho set down the long sword bag he had been carrying.
“I heard you use longswords, Master, so I brought a few from the guild’s armory.”
From Western longswords to shamshirs and hwandos—the collection was stunning. Even Kim Sibaek, who had long surpassed the need to worry about weapon types thanks to his refined swordsmanship in Mak Slechth, couldn’t help but be impressed. Yang Eunho began explaining the enchantments on each blade, one by one.
After a short pause, Kim Sibaek chose a saber crafted from the bone and manastone of an S-rank beast. He didn’t need a saber anymore, but being back on Earth made him nostalgic. The enchantment—simple and practical—maintained the blade’s sharpness and durability. It suited him.
Watching over his shoulder, Tae Woon noticed the sword he picked and smiled softly.
“I had that commissioned from a blacksmith in France, just in case you might need it after we met. Glad I did.”
“Is he famous?”
“He reached S-rank based solely on his enchantment skills.”
“Whoa, that’s insane.”
The one who gasped wasn’t Kim Sibaek. It was Lee Hangyeol, who had been staring at him with sparkly eyes the whole time. Surprised by his own outburst, he clamped a hand over his mouth.
It’s nice seeing Hangyeol again after so long, but… why is he even here?
As soon as he saw the mage on the scene, Kim Sibaek couldn’t help but remember the illusion of his death. It left a bitter taste in his mouth. This was Daejeon, not Seoul, so he doubted there was any real risk—but the worry lingered.
While Kim Sibaek pressed his lower lip in quiet thought, Tae Woon shifted his gaze.
“You’re supposed to stay in the back. Why’d you come?”
“You said it was a Giantvine, right? Earlier this year, a magical beast researcher in the U.S.—Cloud Carter—published a paper on plant-type monsters. You know him, right? Anyway, thanks to that, I developed an improved reagent that suppresses the growth of stems and tendrils. I thought I’d bring it along. Maybe you can test it too…”
Even while explaining, Lee Hangyeol kept sneaking glances at Kim Sibaek. Seeing that he didn’t seem intent on jumping into battle, Kim Sibaek relaxed slightly and responded with a smile. Hangyeol lit up like a fan meeting his idol, squealing and clasping his hands in front of his chest.
“You remember me, right?! We met that time in front of the sleeping quarters!”
“Of course.”
“On the way here, I heard you’re Tae Woon-hyung’s mentor! Seriously?! That’s wild. I mean, you two did seem close, but I didn’t think it was like that! If I’d known, I would’ve asked for your autograph!”
“…Sorry? My autograph?”
“How many people get the chance to say they’ve met the person Tae Woon-hyung calls his mentor? Probably never again! You’re definitely the first and last!”
With heavy dark circles under his eyes, bloodshot whites, and greasy, clumped hair, Lee Hangyeol looked like a mess—but he was practically vibrating with excitement, like he was about to shoot laser beams out of his eyes. Kim Sibaek flinched.
“C-Can I call you hyung too? No, wait—you’re Tae Woon-hyung’s mentor, ‘hyung’ isn’t enough! Please be my da—mmph! Mmph!”
“I’m so sorry! I’ll make sure to educate this one properly!”
As Tae Woon’s expression grew sharper, Yang Eunho quickly clamped a hand over Lee Hangyeol’s mouth. Then he hoisted the struggling mage over his shoulder and vanished in a flash.
Kim Sibaek, left dumbfounded by the chaos, chuckled quietly as he watched them go.
“He’s cute. Seems like Hangyeol still really looks up to you.”
“Pi Minhyung keeps messing with him and smacking him around. That’s why.”
Tae Woon looked just a little sulky, so Kim Sibaek gently pinched one of his cheeks between his thumb and forefinger and gave it a light wiggle.
“Why the long face again?”
“That brat… the Director’s kid, and now Lee Hangyeol too—why do they all keep saying they want to call you Dad? I seriously don’t get it.”
“Maybe I give off that ‘middle-aged uncle’ energy or something.”
“One person feeling taboo guilt over wanting to call you Dad is more than enough—me.”
Tae Woon muttered to himself, brows drawing tightly together.
“Wait… don’t tell me there was someone in Mak Slechth who actually called you Dad?”
[Death and Beauty urgently tries to cover your mouth…]
But before Biendeoé could take off, Kim Sibaek responded casually.
“Hm? How’d you know?”
“…What?”
Oblivious to the sudden chill that crept into Tae Woon’s expression, Kim Sibaek sank into fond memories of Naslueik.
“He never literally called me Dad, but he used to follow me around throwing tantrums—it was kind of adorable. I wonder how he’s doing.”
“…Hyung. This is really important. Please answer seriously.”
“What is it?”
“Do you have any children? And I don’t mean people who admire you like a father—I mean actual biological children. Kids born from your genes. Priests aren’t supposed to date or get married, right? That’s still true, isn’t it?”
[Death and Beauty, in quiet despair, settles on your head.]
“…?”
Kim Sibaek wasn’t sure why Tae Woon was suddenly asking this, nor did he get what Biendeoé was reacting to—but he answered honestly. He had nothing to hide.
“Some sects forbid it, but ours doesn’t care. Whether you marry or stay single, both paths are beautiful.”
“…That’s a pretty convenient doctrine.”
Startled by Tae Woon’s ice-cold glare, as if demanding why on Earth their faith hadn’t banned priestly marriage, Biendeoé buried her face under her wing.
“Call it flexible. Small sects need adaptability to survive.”
“So… what about kids?”
“I can’t have them. Mak Slechthians and Earthlings might look similar, but our genetics are wildly incompatible. Crossbreeding is impossible.”
“Wait—you tried to have kids?!”
Only then did Kim Sibaek glance up, puzzled by Tae Woon’s intensity.
“Sure, I’ve been with people, but I never tried to have a child. I only found out later that it wasn’t even possible.”
He didn’t have a clear reason why he’d never wanted to start a family or have children. But he had a good guess.
Probably because of the kids.
He slowly traced the ring on his left middle finger—the one holding the photo of Tae Woon and the children from the orphanage. That photo was more than a keepsake. It was memory, identity, a piece of what made Kim Sibaek who he was.
Maybe he hadn’t wanted to overwrite those memories with a new family. Maybe that was it.
Even though, in the end, the ones who forgot him were the kids themselves.
Kim Sibaek quietly swallowed the bitter ache rising from deep within.
“That clear things up?”
That should have been enough.
As Kim Sibaek looked up at him, Tae Woon fidgeted—rolling his eyes, clenching and unclenching his fists, nudging the ground with the tip of his shoe—before finally spitting out the next question like dragging it from the depths.
