“Hyung, is it really impossible?”
Hyung… Hearing that sweet tone—something Kim Sibaek hadn’t experienced since Tae Woon was very young—his defenses crumbled helplessly. Just moments earlier, he’d declared firmly that nothing could tempt him, yet now the hand that had firmly grasped Tae Woon’s cheek softened, letting go without resistance.
Looking down at him, Tae Woon’s lips curled into a seductive smile. His eyes narrowed slightly, full of playful charm, the gentle press of his lips on Kim Sibaek’s eyelids, the fingers lightly caressing his waist—every subtle gesture radiated irresistible allure. The thunderous heartbeat echoing painfully inside Kim Sibaek’s chest felt foreign, as though belonging to someone else entirely.
Though Tae Woon murmured with childlike innocence, “Hyung,” the breath trailing over Kim Sibaek’s neck was scorching, impossibly hot.
“Ugh.”
A sharp bite jolted Kim Sibaek back to his senses. Shame surged through him immediately. Mesmerized by a kiss alone was embarrassing enough—just what kind of disgraceful behavior was this?
With effort, he pushed away Tae Woon, who had buried his face against his neck, and sat upright on the sofa. Kim Sibaek deliberately avoided meeting Tae Woon’s hurt, downcast eyes. Seeing that expression might break his resolve even further.
“You’re my brother.”
“We’re not even blood-related.”
“……”
Kim Sibaek suddenly remembered how hurt Tae Woon had looked when, years ago, he’d casually reminded him that they weren’t legal family while purchasing a phone. To flip his stance now so brazenly—Tae Woon was definitely cunning. Who taught him to be this clever?
“Put yourself in my shoes. Could you sleep with Eunho or Hangyeol?”
“Hmm…”
Kim Sibaek’s attempt to get him to empathize made Tae Woon pause thoughtfully, his brow furrowing. But after only a brief hesitation, Tae Woon’s expression shifted decisively.
“So, if I sleep with Eunho or Hangyeol, would that mean you’ll sleep with me?”
“…What?”
“Just wait here. I’ll get it done quickly—”
This brat! Alarmed, Kim Sibaek quickly grabbed Tae Woon’s arm. Whether Tae Woon was serious or just bluffing, at least it had forced him to take things more seriously. Kim Sibaek opened his mouth, only to sigh heavily.
“Being real family doesn’t always mean blood. Who in their right mind sleeps with their own family?”
“Ancient Egyptians. Even people in Goryeo did.”
“……”
Right. There were actual historical records of those cases.
“Zoroastrians used to encourage incestuous marriages, too. Hyung, you’re a priest, right? Isn’t there something in your doctrine about encouraging incest?”
“…Do you really think we’d have something that crazy?”
“Then just add it yourself. You communicate directly with God, don’t you? Just say it’s a divine revelation.”
“Don’t you dare shove weird things into our doctrine.”
Whatever argument he presented, Tae Woon had a ready comeback. Was this because Kim Sibaek was unusually weak against him, or was Tae Woon just exceptionally clever? Probably both. Kim Sibaek glanced over at Tae Woon thoughtfully.
Though Tae Woon spoke playfully about ancient Egypt, his face bore no hint of amusement. He didn’t even seem to have the emotional space for the faint smile he usually wore in Kim Sibaek’s presence.
Kim Sibaek recalled how tightly Tae Woon had clutched his wrist last night, desperation palpable in that grip. What had driven him to such extremes?
“Woon-ah, it wasn’t just for 21 years—I haven’t forgotten you for 68 years.”
Even after completely abandoning hope of returning to Earth, Kim Sibaek hadn’t forgotten the orphanage children, hadn’t forgotten Tae Woon. When he clenched his fist, the ring on his left middle finger pressed into his palm—a sensation etched deeply into his being.
That ring symbolized Kim Sibaek’s most treasured memories, the cornerstone of who he had become. It was proof that, despite being abandoned by his birth parents and unable to protect his siblings, he’d finally found a family of his own.
“You’re my most beloved brother, my family.”
“……”
“I don’t want to lose you, my family.”
Tae Woon insisted that having sex wouldn’t change anything, but could that really be true? Kim Sibaek’s one selfish wish was to preserve their relationship, untouched by desires that could twist their familial bond. He wanted to carry pure memories of them being family when he returned.
I wish for that child to slowly forget the time we shared, until it fades into nothing more than a shadow of a distant memory.
Kim Sibaek knew he was destined to leave. Unlike twenty-one years ago, he wasn’t merely disappearing. He was going somewhere he could never return from, fading entirely from Tae Woon’s life.
He didn’t want Tae Woon clinging to someone destined to vanish, someone who would ultimately be forgotten. Tae Woon had already endured more than enough suffering over the last twenty-one years, alone, desperately clutching memories as the world moved on without him. Those long, painful years must have been unbearably torturous.
But they had finally confirmed each other’s survival and found solace knowing that the lives they’d built independently were nothing to be ashamed of. Kim Sibaek believed this was enough, hoped Tae Woon could feel the same.
Even after returning to Mak Slechth, Kim Sibaek planned to keep wearing that ring, cherishing old memories. But he hoped Tae Woon wouldn’t. He didn’t want Tae Woon’s suffering to continue. He wished for Tae Woon’s painful memories to fade gently, slowly washed out by the passing years.
Until that day came, Kim Sibaek wished desperately to remain Tae Woon’s family.
“Woon-ah, no matter what, I’ll always be your hyung.”
***
“Ugh, my shoulders feel like rocks.”
Yawning deeply, Pi Minhyung shuffled toward the sleeping quarters. Yesterday, he’d been out hunting monsters in the field when the Giantvine incident suddenly forced him to rush back to Daejeon. Immediately afterward, he’d spent four grueling days clearing an Eid Portal spawned by the chaos.
Since time flowed differently inside Eid Portals, he’d only emerged this morning, then went straight to a lengthy meeting. Finally released from that torture, exhaustion weighed heavily on him.
How many Eid Portals opened in Daejeon just last night?
His Bluetooth earbuds kept buzzing with nonstop news about ongoing Eid Portal incidents.
Though only one night had passed outside, he’d felt every hour of the four-day slog inside the portal. Even as an S-rank Hunter, tackling back-to-back missions without rest had left him thoroughly drained. Still, a bit of fatigue or minor injuries among Hunters was infinitely better than the catastrophic outcomes if an Eid Portal went unchecked.
Few things terrified people more than disasters involving monsters. Most of the population had directly or indirectly lived through the Cataclysm, making them especially sensitive to anything resembling those horrific days. Last night, alarms must’ve sounded relentlessly across the country, announcing Eid Portals erupting not just in Daejeon, but nationwide.
It makes me grateful again that Korea has a solid system now.
Eid Portals rarely provided any significant reward beyond mana stones. At worst, they trapped Hunters—and sometimes even civilians—for days in brutal, unpredictable environments. Unlike regular fields where monsters were ranked consistently, Eid Portals spawned beasts randomly, making them especially dangerous. Naturally, private guilds and independent Hunters avoided them whenever possible.
Various nations had attempted policies to handle Eid Portals—government subsidies, dedicated strike teams—but most failed to produce meaningful results. Ironically, only authoritarian regimes that tightly controlled their Hunters had notable success.
But Korea was different.
Initially, Korea had been just as chaotic as anywhere else after the Cataclysm. Things only changed when Tae Woon led the refugees out of Seoul. As an S-rank Hunter, Tae Woon cleared Eid Portals tirelessly, never demanding payment and going wherever he was needed. The members of the 7777 Guild, bonded tightly by their hellish experiences in Seoul, followed him willingly without complaint.
At the time, Tae Woon was still a minor. In Korea, where age deeply influenced perceptions, he was seen not so much as an elite Hunter, but as a young hero bravely fighting and suffering injuries to protect others. This stark contrast made other Hunters and guilds who stood by seem utterly shameful in comparison.
Hunters from Seoul like Justyna from the Tobazishu Hussars and Jo Byungseok of the Gabyeolcho Guild also rallied behind Tae Woon, joining him in clearing Eid Portals. Seizing this momentum, the government quickly leveraged media coverage to sway public opinion.
“The refugees we abandoned in Seoul are still sacrificing themselves for our sake even now.”
These powerful closing words from a famous news anchor deeply stirred people’s forgotten consciences, igniting a collective sense of shame. Public sentiment began to shift dramatically, believing that guilds clearing Eid Portals voluntarily would redeem their collective shame. Other guilds faced mounting public pressure, and their popularity rapidly plummeted.
Eventually, the Hunter community surrendered. A law was passed requiring guilds to prioritize clearing Eid Portals whenever requested by the Paranormal Phenomena Response Agency.
Lost in these thoughts, Pi Minhyung continued his slow shuffle toward the sleeping quarters, when he noticed a familiar figure standing by the window. It was Kim Sibaek, staring outside with an oddly troubled expression.
Just as Pi Minhyung opened his mouth to greet him cheerfully, he overheard Kim Sibaek quietly muttering something, and instantly froze in place.
