At some point, a rotting stench began to fill their cramped one-room apartment.
Was it because sunlight barely reached the place? Or because of the patient lying sick in bed?
No matter how many times he aired out the room or washed the bedding, the smell stubbornly lingered—faint, yet ever-present.
It was a sign of death. From then on, every time Cha Eui-sung walked through the door, he braced himself for the possibility that today might be the end for his mother.
“Live a good life, Eui-sung. If you just keep doing your best, one day……”
Two months before she closed her eyes for good, she had said that, as if offering her last will, then never spoke again.
At the time, he assumed she’d just run out of strength. But looking back, maybe she simply didn’t have anything left to say.
After all, she had lived kindly, earnestly—and her reward was to rot away in that dark, musty room, dying with no one by her side except her only son.
“…I get it. Just rest.”
Poverty was like foul gas leaking from every drain. The putrid stench of rotting trash bags in the summer. The sour reek of food on the verge of spoiling.
It was the bodily odor of a terminal patient who’d given up on costly treatments. The dust of construction sites. The stale cigarette smoke of loan sharks. The bloodstained stench left behind in dungeons already cleared by Hunters.
He’d come to realize a simple truth: only where money lingered, only where happiness remained, could you smell something sweet.
Ever since, Cha Eui-sung had gone through life sniffing the air—subconsciously trying to detect it wherever he went.
Even after his return, even after swapping out everything in his second life, the habit left its faint mark. He still found himself instinctively smelling new places, unfamiliar people.
“I feel a little guilty offering day-drinking, but I hope you’ll be generous enough to overlook it.”
Trickle. A clear glass filled with a rippling greenish liquid. A fragrant, biting aroma stung his nose.
Cha Eui-sung watched the scene unfold with a placid gaze, trying to steady the strange stirrings in his chest.
“It’s a bit too strong to pass off as a mealtime drink.”
Maybe it was the flat tone, but Go Yeong-won gave a small smile, eyes slightly curving in response.
They’d met up for lunch, but here they were, drinking again.
Gulp.
One sip, and his tongue went numb. A sharp, vibrant fragrance—like rubbing fresh fruit or herbs under your nose—surged in, and the Hunter-grade liquor scorched down his throat with silky smoothness.
“Will there be another side dish we’re supposed to pair with this drink? If so, I’d rather you bring it out now.”
“No, this time it’s an actual meal.”
He motioned with his eyes toward their plates, which were loaded with golden-brown grilled meats and seafood arranged so artfully they looked almost fake.
Yeah right. Meal, my ass. It was midday, and Eui-sung couldn’t help but wonder where the hell he’d even found such dishes that looked this much like bar food.
He picked up his fork and poked half-heartedly at a scallop, then took another sip instead. Just from the taste, he could tell. This stuff wasn’t regular alcohol either.
Would it melt if I dropped it on styrofoam?
His mind wandered with the most random thoughts. To think people enjoyed drinking stuff like this—humans, no, Awakened were truly a dopamine-crazed species.
“You must be a bit unsettled after the major ordeal. I thought I’d help you relax.”
Go Yeong-won spoke with the warmth of a tongue nestled comfortably inside one’s mouth—smooth, familiar, disarmingly friendly. Very different from how he’d acted the last time they drank.
Come to think of it, that washed-out gray hair of his looked a little more polished today, though not quite neat—more like intentionally disheveled. Even his outfit gave off a subtly casual vibe.
This guy… He’d clearly taken their last meeting as a trial run and crafted a new “version” of himself that might sit better with Cha Eui-sung.
Eui-sung caught on to that ridiculous shift instantly.
Though, it was a bit odd how the version that seemed to work on him wasn’t the well-dressed, cleaned-up type from his second life.
…Well, for a brief moment, the image of Moon Tae-young’s usual getup flickered through his mind.
Fuck.
The moment Tae-young popped into his head, he felt this gnawing unease in his gut. Eui-sung nearly clenched his jaw before catching himself and relaxing again.
He quickly threw back another swig. The dizzying bouquet punched his sinuses, and he swayed slightly, as if the smell alone made his mind go fuzzy.
“Anyway, I appreciated the help.”
He muttered the words with curt sincerity. Go Yeong-won simply smiled back.
“No thanks necessary. I had a little something to feel guilty about too, so if it helped, all the better.”
As he replied, he reached out and grated fresh pepper over the meat—crrk, crrk. Judging by the pungent scent, it was some top-shelf stuff.
Cha Eui-sung inhaled the spice and silently took another drink. The alcohol buzz was definitely creeping in, but he wasn’t worried.
Go Yeong-won wouldn’t try to harm him—and even if he did, Eui-sung was far from the kind of guy who wouldn’t notice.
And this stuff goes down clean, too.
Judging by how his body felt, the buzz would wear off quickly. In a few hours, his head would be clear again—so much so that drinking this expensive liquor might end up feeling like a waste.
That meant he could drive back to Cheongseri before the day was out. It would make it exactly six days—not even a full week—before he came face-to-face with Moon Tae-young again.
Clink. At that thought, the sound of metal jingled faintly in his ears. His emotions, which had been moving in a relatively straight line, suddenly veered off course.
Why the hell did that damn keyring keep coming to mind? At this point, it wasn’t a key—it was practically a shaman’s bell.
Cha Eui-sung clicked his tongue inwardly, picturing the house key now likely lying somewhere in a sleeping Cheongseri.
“Might as well clear any emotional debt while we’re at it.”
Thankfully—or perhaps unfortunately—Go Yeong-won’s comment broke into his thoughts right on cue. When Eui-sung glanced up, the man was smiling.
What a dreamer. Eui-sung snorted through his nose and sliced his portion of meat. Juices glistened from the perfectly cooked cut, but instead of whetting his appetite, it just made him feel vaguely gross.
“I don’t think I owe anyone anything, actually.”
“You’d be surprised. You’re human, after all.”
“So if I don’t, I’m not even human?”
“Haha, not at all. I just mean—it’s inevitable. You can’t not be bothered by these things.”
There was a strange glint in those green-tinted eyes. Bothered. Not exactly a word you’d associate with someone like Go Yeong-won.
As Cha Eui-sung stared at him steadily, the man explained further in a calm voice.
“I’m not exactly old, but I’ve lived long enough to see a few things. And so I can say this with confidence. Unless your brain’s broken or your IQ’s in the toilet, even a criminal can’t escape feeling some sense of burden over debts owed or favors received.”
“‘Things you’ve seen,’ huh.”
“Whether that awareness turns outward or inward is another question entirely. But take this, for example—you’re sitting right here with me now, aren’t you?”
“……”
“So in that sense, I benefit.”
Guilt, fear, discomfort—it all leaves traces behind. That’s what those smiling eyes of his were saying.
Just like how Oh Se-dan always tried to wrap his vehicular manslaughter in a higher cause. Just like how criminals rarely slept soundly with both legs stretched out.
Ha… fuck.
Suddenly, Eui-sung’s appetite vanished completely. His neck stiffened from sheer annoyance.
Because he’d agreed with him—unconsciously.
Only then did it hit him, absurdly late.
Goddamn it.
He was right. Eui-sung was unsettled. The weight in his chest felt like a brick. Ever since that counseling session, just thinking about Moon Tae-young made him want to close his eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh.
Ridiculously enough, he was experiencing something akin to guilt.
Not toward just anyone—but toward that insane Demon King bastard. Toward the so-called Adversary who had no clue his entire vault had been ransacked while he was busy playing house in some fake love fantasy.
Toward the same idiot who killed him in the last round, and now in this one, was worried about him dying.
“Pour me some more. I need a drink.”
He was craving alcohol. It’d been ages since sobriety had felt like such a threat to his mental health.
As Go Yeong-won reached forward, a gust of cologne hit him—more pungent than usual, almost suffocating in its intensity.
And even with his mind this messed up, Cha Eui-sung found himself thinking once more about Moon Tae-young’s scent. The warmth of healthy skin, the faint trace of a shower product, the lingering smell of soap.
He always smelled good. A comforting, arousing scent that had once made Eui-sung lose all self-control and moan like a broken man.
“…You know,” Go Yeong-won said, “have you ever noticed how fascinating your eye color looks from below?”
“I have not.”
“It’s got this strange, Cha Eui-sung–esque hue to it.”
The guy could look straight at a pair of brown eyes and still spew flattery without batting an eye. It sounded like flirting on the surface, but he probably said the same thing to every other S-rank.
To the ones with black eyes. To the ones with blue. And he probably meant it every time, too. The fact that a man like this had managed to poke at his soft underbelly—it was unbelievable.
“I’ve got a small favor to ask. Mind if I?”
“Let’s hear it first.”
“Let’s shake hands. You and I didn’t exactly meet under the friendliest circumstances, so I’d like to greet you properly this time.”
Another trick, no doubt. But still, he extended his hand.
Cha Eui-sung downed another swig and cast a sideways glance at the hopeful expression on his face.
Yet he didn’t shake it off.
As long as Go Yeong-won didn’t get petty and spiteful, he was useful. And to be fair, the guy had helped this time, so there was no need to burn the bridge.
“Why are you rubbing my wrist? That’s not how handshakes work.”
“That’s how I do them. You can feel the pulse this way—it builds trust.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“…Hmm. So it was obvious, huh?”
He furrowed his brow and let go. His empty hand flexed open and shut once.
Then Go Yeong-won smiled with an oddly curved smirk and locked eyes with him.
“I believe there should be no imbalance in a meeting between two people. At least, that’s how I see it.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? His voice dripped with superiority.
Suddenly, Eui-sung remembered how coldly this guy had treated Oh Se-dan in his previous life. He hadn’t exactly disrespected the guy, but still made no effort to hide his distaste.
Was it because someone of his own kind had danced too perfectly to his tune?
Or maybe it just pissed him off that an A-rank had dared to exist above him.
Clap! Go Yeong-won snapped his fingers, jarringly breaking Eui-sung’s train of thought.
Regardless of how annoyed Eui-sung looked, the man lifted the bottle with a pleased expression.
The green liquid swirled and spilled into the empty glass. The sharp tang of liquor cut through the haze of cologne. And once again, against his will, Cha Eui-sung thought of Moon Tae-young.
Would he like this kind of drink too? How much would it take to get him tipsy?
If the Savior Gauge were to fill completely and expose whatever secrets he was hiding—would it be easier to render him senseless with alcohol, or try and talk him down while he was sober?
What a load of crap.
If he just stuck to the original plan—leave him behind and fly off without a word—it would’ve been cleaner.
And seriously, what kind of fantasy was he drinking from? That 20% left on the gauge—was he expecting his dead ancestors to come fill it for him?
The Outer God was still silent, and no one knew why.
Cursing his own scattered thoughts, Cha Eui-sung kept drinking.
He drank until the oversized bottle was nearly empty, until his mouth went numb, and even the overpowering cologne had dulled into nothing.
