At some point, Cha Eui-sung had come to crave the upper hand in every relationship. Whether he had the advantage or not, even when he was the one in need—or worse, when he was clearly losing ground—he still somehow tried to maneuver himself into a position of control from behind the scenes.
His relationship with Moon Tae-young was no exception. Even though he was the one who had to make the first move and push for a romantic relationship, Cha Eui-sung stubbornly insisted on knowing more, revealing less.
The one holding the power never gets abandoned. Only others get discarded. He always said it, but more than that—it was the golden rule he’d learned through Regression.
And yet…
What the hell am I doing right now?
He’d already emptied four glasses. The liquor was so strong it made his body flush with heat after just a few sips, but he kept drinking to drown his sour mood.
Once the alcohol slid down his throat and the dizziness crept in, his thoughts of Moon Tae-young would fade, at least a little. It was hardly a solution, but still, he numbed his already muddled mind in the most irresponsible way.
At this point, he had to admit it: he didn’t know if he liked Moon Tae-young, but the man definitely got under his skin.
He’d spent months riding the highs and lows of Moon Tae-young’s every reaction, so maybe it was only natural. He’d endured even worse assholes—more fickle, more annoying—and yet somehow, it was only with him that he was like this.
And to make things worse, Go Yeong-won sat across from him with that annoyingly pleasant smile, eyes curving into crescents. He kept offering some nameless fruit, looking far too pleased with himself.
“See? You like it, right?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s nice. Got to try some rare booze too, thanks to you.”
“You looked like you had a lot on your mind. I invited you just to help you unwind. Forget about your Awakening registration and all that secrecy—just relax while you’re here.”
What a joke. If he told Go Yeong-won that Moon Tae-young was the only thing on his mind, even an S-rank favoritist like him would probably take offense.
Cha Eui-sung nodded silently but never once touched the fruit being offered. He knew Go Yeong-won wouldn’t feed him anything suspicious, but he wasn’t the type to just accept anything blindly either.
Moon Tae-young had figured that out too, hadn’t he? The man had tried feeding him piece by piece, like he was running some kind of sneaky experiment.
And how much effort had it taken to get Moon Tae-young to finally admit he’d done exactly that? The memory made his chest twist uncomfortably.
It hit him then: he’d spent the entire day thinking about Moon Tae-young again. Even here, even after coming all this way to get him out of his head—still, he couldn’t stop.
When did I pick up this nasty habit of never putting down my phone?
“There are all kinds of attraction. Romantic feelings aren’t the only kind—there’s friendship, familial affection, camaraderie… even curiosity toward a random celebrity. Feeling positively toward someone is the most natural thing in the world.”
Jeong Seong-hyu’s voice echoed in his head. Back then, the man had taken a step back when Cha Eui-sung recoiled in discomfort, and in hindsight, that gentle retreat felt painfully kind.
But what did it matter what kind of attraction it was? In the end, liking someone meant you were letting your guard down. Cha Eui-sung was just… angry.
Or was he? Was this really anger? His chest simmered and felt like it was boiling, but he didn’t exactly want to smash Moon Tae-young’s face in either. So he just kept drinking with a blank expression, trying to settle the turbulence in his chest.
Moon Tae-young… Even with the secret of being the Demon King hanging over his head, he was someone it made sense to like. He was decent-looking, smart enough—not an idiot—and that mattered.
Still, that didn’t mean Cha Eui-sung was about to cross any of the lines he’d drawn inside himself. The countless drama couples he’d binge-watched in the name of “research,” the noir films he remembered so clearly—all of them ended the same way. Deep friendship, burning romance… and then a death certificate.
Didn’t matter how cool they went out. Dead was still dead.
Even in this Second Life, he’d seen people throw everything away—lives, futures—for the sake of love or some stupid hero complex.
And someone like him, who wanted to survive even if it meant burning the whole world down, couldn’t afford to entertain any deep feelings.
But still…
Goddamn it.
Was it the alcohol? Suddenly, his memories of Moon Tae-young started surfacing like distant, sepia-toned nostalgia.
It had only been a week or two ago, but it already felt like months had passed. The mundane moments they’d shared were now tinged with that golden filter. The scent of Moon Tae-young’s house lingered in his nose.
Pathetically enough, just recalling the man’s touch made the storm in his heart settle, little by little.
Fuck. That slow-spreading warmth in his chest—that was satisfaction.
Every time he turned his head to deny it, his bastard brain grabbed him by the hair and shoved Moon Tae-young’s memory right back into place.
He’d heard once that the human brain can’t tell the difference between positive and negative obsession. He’d spent so long fantasizing about tearing Moon Tae-young apart that now the “beat his face in” part had faded, and only his name remained.
“…Haa.”
Cha Eui-sung let out a deep sigh without realizing it—then quickly adjusted his expression when he remembered Go Yeong-won was still sitting right in front of him.
But it was too late—Go Yeong-won had already witnessed the exact moment Cha Eui-sung’s composure cracked, a faint smile playing on his lips. His brown eyes, tinged faintly with green, glinted with something new.
“You seem to have something else on your mind.”
Knowing too much really could be a curse. Even in this restless state, Go Yeong-won’s probing tone translated flawlessly: So it wasn’t because of me that you’re so worked up?
Cha Eui-sung arched a brow and shook his head at the roundabout question.
“No. It’s nothing serious.”
None of your business.
The rejection was veiled in politeness, but unmistakable.
“You just don’t look too well.”
A guy who used to be such a smooth actor can’t even keep a straight face—how am I not supposed to notice?
“It’s personal.”
And who the hell are you to butt in?
Their brief exchange danced around social niceties, but judging by the intrigue gleaming in Go Yeong-won’s gaze, he got the message loud and clear.
Well, he would. The guy had started hunting young, and he was currently under Oh Se-dan’s wing—he’d definitely picked up a few tricks.
Cha Eui-sung rubbed his eyes with a tired expression. The alcohol was settling into his system, and his mood kept swinging, making it hard to keep up the practiced facade.
Once the dam broke, it all came rushing in. Even his breath began to heat up, and the edges of his vision seemed to waver.
What kind of face am I making right now? What kind of mess must I look like, if that bastard’s biting his lip to stop himself from grinning?
He pressed his fingers firmly to his temple, only for Go Yeong-won—still annoyingly tireless—to pick up another thumb-sized fruit and offer it again. He clearly had something to say.
“I thought I said I’m fine. Why do you keep…?”
“This one’s a dungeon fruit too. It’s called Gaetia Camellas—also known as ‘Pear.’ Comes from Brazil—”
BZZZ— BZZZ—
Just as he opened his mouth, Cha Eui-sung’s phone buzzed. His eyes flew open, and Go Yeong-won, startled, immediately went silent.
“One moment.”
POP!
Despite his earlier composure, Cha Eui-sung shot up from the couch like a loaded spring. He snatched up his phone and stared at the name glowing on the screen, a wave of emotion crashing down on him.
Moon Tae-young…!
It was Moon Tae-young. Holy shit. Rare booze and exotic fruit didn’t matter anymore. He completely forgot about pretending to be above it all—his heart thumped wildly, no shame whatsoever.
He waved a quick apology toward Go Yeong-won and turned away. As he strode toward the terrace, the glittering nightscape outside was stunning—but he barely registered it.
Click. As he answered the call, the first thing he heard was the soft rustle of wind from an open space. Cha Eui-sung stood completely still, listening to it like it was Moon Tae-young’s very breath.
When the man realized the call had gone through, he let out a soft hum, as if hesitating to find the right words. A strange shiver crawled down Cha Eui-sung’s neck, and his chest sank.
“…Hello.”
He was the first to speak, his voice tightly held down. He’d meant to wait for Tae-young to say something, but even a few seconds felt like forever.
—Yeah. It’s me.
Finally, the conversation began. The reply sounded weighted, a little awkward, tinged with worry—oddly enough, it made Cha Eui-sung’s stomach flutter.
—Are you busy?
The question he always asked was suddenly turned around on him, and it threw him off for a second. He scratched his head, flustered.
“No, I mean… yeah, but not really.”
Was he busy or not? His excitement clashed with the part of him that wanted to gripe and complain, resulting in a mess of contradiction.
He inhaled deeply, the pounding of his heart thudding even louder in his ears. Fuuuuu… His exhale trembled a little—probably the alcohol.
He’d definitely drunk too much. If he kept talking like this, his voice would give him away. He didn’t want to sound drunk in front of this guy.
Besides, he honestly had no idea what to say. Especially not with Go Yeong-won still within clear sight behind him.
So he stayed silent. And that silence stretched on, becoming almost unnatural. He’d answered the call, but now it was unclear if either of them even wanted to talk.
Moon Tae-young finally broke the silence, but only after Cha Eui-sung let out a long, exasperated sigh.
—…Are you crying?
A question completely out of left field.
—Eui-sung?
…What?
—Cha Eui-sung. Where are you right now?
“Uh, what?”
He meant it as a sarcastic response, but his voice shook unexpectedly. A sudden flush washed over him, and his knees buckled.
THUD! He collapsed with a loud crash. As he fumbled for the phone, he heard Moon Tae-young’s voice shouting his name before the device even touched his ear.
What the hell…? What’s going on? He hadn’t thought he was that drunk.
In a panic, Cha Eui-sung turned his head toward Go Yeong-won. The man was still lounging on the couch across the room, waving with a smirk. Between his thumb and forefinger, he held a small red fruit.
“Booze and the pear. Or side effects. Yum yum.”
Even without lip-reading skills, the obnoxiously exaggerated mouth movements were clear as day—and absolutely infuriating.
