The omelet was a smashing success. Though its shape was a little off, it didn’t come out hard like a fried egg sheet, and the seasoning was spot-on. It had been so long since he last made one that it felt a bit awkward… but hey, it was delicious, so that was all that mattered.
Watching him stir-fry vegetables and cook the eggs once, then again while sitting at the table eating it, Moon Tae-young wore a rather curious expression. As if silently accusing him of always making him do the cooking even though Eui-sung clearly did it better.
You’re the one who insisted on cooking, Cha Eui-sung thought as he rummaged through a drawer and tore open one of the toothbrushes from an eight-pack.
No way he’d just eat and bounce without any manners, especially when this wasn’t even a restaurant. Well, whether they were at his place or here, the only thing they’d probably do together was watch TV anyway—unless something fun had shown up earlier that made them stick around.
And now look where we’ve ended up.
Moon Tae-young sat on the sofa jotting something down in a notepad while Cha Eui-sung leaned against him, scanning over a document. The information he’d asked Kim Jeong-baek for had finally arrived. He had no clue how the guy scraped the data, and given that he usually avoided taking requests involving S-ranks or high-risk individuals, Eui-sung thought it would take longer.
Maybe Jeong-baek had felt uneasy about something too, because he’d gone all in and dug deep. With the Demon King lounging right next to him, Cha Eui-sung casually tilted his phone and opened the file.
Jeongchoduk… It got bumped up to A-rank…?
What the hell.
Sure, he hadn’t remembered it clearly in the first life, but in his second run, Jeongchoduk Dungeon had remained a C-rank all the way up until the world practically exploded.
“New monster types: two A-ranks, one B-rank added. No further signs of transformation, but designated as an unstable dungeon. Recommended for concentrated monitoring over the next year.”
He took a moment of silence for Kim Jeong-baek, whose hands had no doubt been shaking as he dug up that info. Cha Eui-sung himself felt like his brain short-circuited when he imagined how much attention this would draw from the Bureau of Regulation and the Hunter Association.
And yet, for all that, none of the dungeon byproducts were expensive enough to justify the risk… The head of the Taeju County Office probably shed a few silent tears over this too.
Outer Gods are destroying the lives of ordinary citizens, Mr. County Chief.
What followed were the status updates on S-ranks he’d asked for along with the dungeon intel. He figured a detailed investigation would be difficult, and sure enough, the report was disappointingly small and modest in scope.
It couldn’t be helped. If even Kim Jeong-baek couldn’t dig it up at this point in time, then it might as well not exist.
As he flipped through the material—occasionally glancing at Moon Tae-young—most of it matched what he remembered from his past.
Except for one thing.
The Bureau now finds Kang San-woo harder to manage than before? He’s been granted some decision-making power, though not as much as within the Association… The Bureau is leading a PR campaign with Kang San-woo as the face of reform, positioning him as a controlling force over the Association and other organizations…
When you hear someone’s “status update,” you’d expect it to be something like what dungeons they’re clearing, what kind of work they’re doing, how they’re living.
But this? This wasn’t about personal life—it was raw political maneuvering. Why the hell was there info about the Bureau’s internal atmosphere and strategic goals in a status report like this?
A bad feeling crawled up his spine. Cha Eui-sung scrolled down the page in one swift motion, trying not to show the sudden tension on his face as he focused on the final entry—an update on Go Yeong-won.
“At Ji Ha-yeon’s request, ensure Go Yeong-won and Ji Ha-yul do not overlap in assignments or activity zones for the time being… Prevent disruptions to operational duties.
Go Yeong-won was involved in three illegal luxury item trades just this month alone. One instance involved a prohibited item brought in by an unregistered individual…”
His heart sank.
This… this had Hunter Association fingerprints all over it. Just where the hell had Kim Jeong-baek pulled this from?
And to make it worse—the last entry was less than 24 hours old. Fresh, hot off the press. No wonder it seemed familiar.
Of course it did. Because the one who had been drinking that banned item with Go Yeong-won last night, until they both passed out, was none other than himself.
…What the fuck.
Swallowing hard, Cha Eui-sung scrolled further down. At the bottom of the document was a note from Kim Jeong-baek, written in glaring red text:
Due to access limitations, information on surrounding activities of S-ranks has been included.
Investigation halted as the record origin appears to be a Hunter Association staff member. Further data will be provided only through secure channels.
…
What the hell did this guy just scrape together?
And why in the world would he leave something like that in a file instead of saying it over the phone?
Just as he took a deep breath and returned to the beginning of the document to comb through it again—
BZZZZZ—
[Boss. Um…]
[Was it Oh Se-dan you told me not to touch?]
[As soon as I saw the name, just like you said, I backed off right away but…]
[Still, just saying—it’s kinda scary dealing with this side of things~]
[I think the rest of the investigation’s going to be a bit hard for now. You understand, right..?]
Just as if he’d been waiting for Cha Eui-sung to check the file, a message from Kim Jeong-baek came in.
Thud. His heart dropped with a heavy crash to the pit of his stomach.
Shit. He had suspected that this might be Hunter Association data… But of all names to show up, it had to be the one that absolutely shouldn’t.
Oh Se-dan.
The moment he spotted those three syllables, it felt like someone had smacked him in the head with a frying pan. Suddenly, Kim Jeong-baek’s message felt more terrifying than a ghost or a plague.
He might’ve touched the record unknowingly, but still—why did it have to be Oh Se-dan’s file of all people? From the looks of it, Jeong-baek had backed out before leaving any trace that could be used against him, but…
When your opponent is Oh Se-dan, nothing’s guaranteed.
And seriously—wasn’t it the same Kim Jeong-baek who’d ended up a slave to the Bureau of Regulation in the previous timeline? You think he never tried poking around Association data back then?
But considering there hadn’t been any signs of data leakage before, it either meant the Bureau had restricted him from using his abilities properly… or that the Association’s security had been extremely tight.
If it was the latter, then maybe the Association’s current data security was still lax and hadn’t been hardened yet. Otherwise… how the hell had Jeong-baek even accessed this information?
A problem only someone who had regressed would notice. Cha Eui-sung’s fingers twitched.
And worst of all, his own name had shown up in Oh Se-dan’s personal records.
Judging by the vague phrase “unregistered individual,” this data seemed to be part of Oh Se-dan’s private collection—one used to track all of Go Yeong-won’s possible connections, just in case something went wrong.
Sure, it probably involved some seriously high-level illegal stalking, but the point wasn’t Yeong-won’s right to privacy. The real problem was that he himself would now likely be recorded in Oh Se-dan’s secret personal registry.
I didn’t even know he was pulling this kind of crap.
If that bastard was behind it, he’d probably already figured out who the mystery “unregistered person” was. He would’ve accounted for the fact that Go Yeong-won didn’t just drink with anybody.
“Eui-sung?”
Had he failed to keep his expression in check? At some point, Moon Tae-young had turned to look at him, concerned.
Cha Eui-sung quickly switched off his phone screen and shook his head as if nothing was wrong.
“Oh. The stock for Songgyeong Pharmaceuticals dropped even more. I’d put some money in…”
As soon as he offered a plausible excuse, the worry on Tae-young’s face began to ease. He must’ve remembered how Cha Eui-sung often checked stocks in front of him.
“Songgyeong… Songgyeong. Hmm, you probably shouldn’t touch that one for a while.”
“Oh yeah? You know something?”
“Well, not exactly. I just follow a few stocks here and there.”
He said he didn’t know, but he definitely acted like someone who did. The kind of guy you’d expect to quietly deposit every paycheck into savings was suddenly strutting around like a pro in front of someone who’d regressed.
“Got any good ones to recommend?”
Struggling to wrangle his dazed mind, Cha Eui-sung humored him with light banter —all while the mess inside his head spun around thoughts of the Association and Oh Se-dan.
Calm down… I knew it was only a matter of time before that bastard’s radar picked me up.
He just hadn’t expected it to happen this quickly—and so pathetically, by accidentally stumbling into his surveillance net while drinking with Go Yeong-won.
How the hell had he been surveilling them anyway? There’s no way tailing would work on an S-rank. Their senses were too sharp.
At this point, it wasn’t about whether or not Kim Jeong-baek had left a trace. Even if he had a damn five-meter tail, the fact that he had been the one to dig up this information was pure luck.
If not for that, Cha Eui-sung might’ve kept meeting Go Yeong-won completely unaware that he’d already been flagged.
“For now… Maybe Taehyeong Trading? You’ll have to hold onto it for at least six months though.”
“Really? Heard some good news?”
“Not yet.”
And just like that, Moon Tae-young had backed into a golden goose without even realizing it. If he’d gone into fund management, he probably would’ve been a natural. So why the hell had he become a teacher?
Cha Eui-sung nodded absentmindedly, then let his head drop fully against Tae-young. As long as his face was buried, he didn’t have to worry about keeping his expression in check.
Ironically, when Tae-young began gently brushing the back of his neck—as if checking whether he was really okay—Eui-sung felt himself start to relax. Like someone had just pumped him full of anti-anxiety meds.
“Mmm.”
His frozen expression finally began to melt. Like an animal that had grown accustomed to touch, Cha Eui-sung shifted and nestled closer to him.
Seeing Moon Tae-young sitting there all proper for no reason made his heart stir in a way he couldn’t explain. On impulse, he laid his head across the man’s thigh.
Most of his body was now hanging off the sofa, but the warmth and steady pulse under his head made every bit of discomfort worth it.
His brain, which should’ve been staying sharp, started spinning wild little daydreams instead.
Yeah… As long as I avoid any more run-ins with Go Yeong-won, this could just pass off as a brief misstep.
Oh Se-dan was meticulous and calculating—but also overworked and constantly swamped. From what he’d heard, the man had recently started up another project, so if Eui-sung kept quiet and stayed low, he might be able to slip past the radar.
Getting drunk with Go Yeong-won was just a fluke—a one-time incident caused by that bastard’s own mess. He could write it off as an exception.
It was almost funny how a half-assed justification like that was actually helping him calm down.
Either way, he was feeling a lot better now. Cha Eui-sung slowly unclenched the fist he hadn’t even realized he’d been squeezing tight.
As he blinked quietly beneath the shade of the sofa, Moon Tae-young suddenly spoke up.
“You don’t look sad about stocks crashing.”
“Hmm?”
“If you were, your mouth would be turned down. You’d look sad.”
“My face froze from the shock, that’s all.”
Eui-sung offered the most useless excuse he could think of and pressed the side of his head firmly against Tae-young’s leg.
Wherever the notepad had gone, it didn’t matter now—he could feel Tae-young’s fingers running through his hair, tickling gently.
It felt strange. Normally, he’d be sending the guy home by now, already spiraling into worst-case scenarios. This should’ve been a top priority situation.
And yet, weirdly… he didn’t want to let Tae-young leave.
Yeah. Something’s definitely wrong with me.
There’d be plenty of long nights to panic alone anyway. The real problem was that his once rock-solid priorities were starting to blur.
With the faint trace of cologne clinging to his own clothes, Cha Eui-sung wrinkled his nose slightly.
