“……”
A moment of silence fell between them.
Cha Eui-sung, who had been so sharp with his rebuttals just a moment ago, suddenly stopped talking, and Kim Jeong-baek instinctively grew cautious again.
“…That’s all I’m saying. I get it—Boss, you’ve only dealt with those kinds of people up to now… And yeah, if you just leave it alone, that Moon guy probably will call back eventually after weighing the pros and cons…”
“I never said that.”
“Right, but if that’s all that’s left, it’s not friendship—it’s business. That’s not what you’re after, is it?”
He might’ve flipped back to being agreeable the moment he got the green light, but the point still stood.
What you’re doing is business. That blunt, clear judgment made Cha Eui-sung’s eyes flicker.
But instead of simplifying things, his head only got more tangled. He roughly understood the implication—if he wanted to approach as a friend, or even as something like a lover, he couldn’t think in terms of benefit.
Still…
Emotions like friendship or love, dressed up in the illusion of connection, were fuzzy, unfamiliar things to him—too ambiguous to define.
And every time those so-called bonds were used to mask what was ultimately an unequal exchange, it felt all the more absurd.
It’s not fair.
Had he ever, even once in all those grueling years, received kindness without strings attached?
Even the looks he now used so effectively had, in his first life, often served only to provoke malice or danger.
For over ten years, he’d moved through life solely in pursuit of advantage—just trying to survive, to escape the past he loathed.
And now, hearing people talk like he was pitiful for not understanding love or friendship—
It felt like the world was mocking him.
Irritation bubbled up within him, smothering the soft, vulnerable emotions that had begun to rise.
“Hmm… That was unexpectedly good advice. I think I get the kind of reaction you were hoping for.”
“That wasn’t something I wanted you to analyze, you know.”
“Honestly, it annoyed me.”
“Who? Mr. Moon?”
“No. Just…”
The whole damn world.
Cha Eui-sung swallowed the final words and stood up.
His usual approach wouldn’t work anymore. He’d realized that now. If he wanted to make this work—considering the situation, and Moon Tae-young’s state of mind—he’d have to come up with a strategy that hit the mark perfectly.
As he spun toward the front door, he suddenly heard a faint jingle—a key ring. The sound rang in his ears, and something inside his chest began to ache with a dull, deep pressure.
Cha Eui-sung closed his eyes, let out a long sigh, then strode out of Kim Jeong-baek’s house with wide, decisive steps.
“I’m going.”
“Do your best, yeah? Don’t screw up your long-term project.”
***
Among high-ranking Hunters, many are fond of heavy snow.
Not simply because they’re immune to the cold. It’s because of the quiet.
Sure, snow acts as a natural sound absorber—but even behind soundproofed walls, silence is still silence.
And yet, for some reason, when it snows, that final, elusive 2% of true stillness always seems to fall into place.
Cha Eui-sung remembered how, toward the end of his Second Life, certain winter-themed emotional luxury goods—clearly marketed with this exact vibe in mind—had sold out like wildfire.
As he watched the snow drift gently down, he recalled the price tags on those gifts he’d once received.
Two million. Three million. Five-point-two. Ten million won.
Sounded more like the names of someone’s dogs than price tags, but strangely enough, even he felt the same way about snow.
It was odd.
Back in his first life, anything that wasn’t “partly sunny” had been an annoyance. Blazing heat, rain, snow, even those overcast days when nothing would dry and your laundry ended up smelling musty—every last one of them had been a hindrance.
Maybe a change in circumstances alters even your tastes.
With a mood too vague to pin down in words, Cha Eui-sung walked briskly, leaving the remote property behind.
By the time he reached Moon Tae-young’s house, his heart was thudding in his chest.
Winter mornings were quieter, more barren than summer ones could ever hope to be.
Is this really the right move?
Coming here had been, at best, a half-impulse.
He’d been mulling over how to approach Moon Tae-young, what to say if they met, when—suddenly—the image of that key flashed in his mind again.
And just like that, the questions started snowballing.
Did he still have access to Tae-young’s space?
From there, curiosity spread to everything.
Was he handling the Jo Tae-jong case alright? Had there been any progress or breakthroughs since?
What about the stuff Cha had left at the house—was it still there? Or had Tae-young thrown it all out, dumped it into storage, cursing the whole time?
Right then, like scratching an itch, a plausible excuse came to mind.
Rather than charging in blindly and risking another blown conversation, wouldn’t it be better to sneak in and gather the intel he needed?
It would make any heartfelt “performance” toward Tae-young afterward all the more convincing.
It was a flimsy rationale, more an excuse than anything, but hey—when you’re preparing for something big, being thorough isn’t a crime.
Tak.
Glancing around, Cha Eui-sung vaulted over the wall.
The house was dead silent—no sign of movement anywhere—but some strange tension wrapped itself around his throat.
As his clothes brushed against him, the key in his pocket gave a soft metallic jingle.
It felt like receiving an invitation… from someone who never actually invited him.
Swallowing hard, he stared at the empty building. As if trying to see through it. Quietly. For a long time.
A soft flake of snow drifted down and settled on his hair.
Click—
It wasn’t until several minutes had passed that he finally moved.
He slid the key into the door’s lock. It went in without resistance.
Just before turning it, his ears filled with the dull pounding of his own heartbeat.
That instant felt like it stretched on for minutes.
And then…
Clack!
The lock clicked with a satisfying mechanical sound.
Still opens.
Heart hammering like a war drum, Cha Eui-sung pulled the key out.
His fingers trembled slightly at the soft jingle it made.
Slick—
He left his shoes outside the door—a strange habit, meant to avoid leaving snow tracks on the floor.
His tall frame slipped into the house without a sound, like a phantom.
…Nothing’s changed.
The living room looked untouched, even though no one had used it for days.
It made sense—it had only been five days since that happened—but even so, the realization released the tension that had been pressing down on his shoulders.
With a quiet sigh, he pressed his palm to his forehead.
He’s probably been too busy anyway.
Tae-young might’ve figured there was no point changing the locks—if Cha wanted in, he could just break the door down.
Still, the fact that nothing had changed… didn’t feel bad.
Licking at the lip he’d been biting, Cha Eui-sung gave a wry smile.
He probably looked like a thief. But what a golden opportunity.
Self-deprecating, he slowly began to explore the house.
The PC’s definitely locked, of course.
His tablet would be at school, too. Something about using it to prep for class. Shame, but understandable.
Still—anything useful is fine.
It didn’t need to be some dramatic foreign-god secret.
He just needed common ground—something to use to connect with Moon Tae-young.
What was going on with the Jo Tae-jong investigation?
Had any dungeon-related issues cropped up—and if so, were they handled?
Was he sleeping well? Eating okay? And if he was eating fine, what had he bought? What had he spent money on?
Any new stress from dealing with kids?
The last few questions were definitely way too personal—but it wasn’t because he was curious. Of course not.
This kind of thing was all about knowing your enemy and yourself.
It’s one thing to say “I thought of you.”
It’s another to say, “I haven’t had much of an appetite lately, but weirdly, I kept remembering that dinner we had. The spinach—lightly sautéed in oil—was surprisingly good…”
Manipulation works better than sincerity sometimes.
Especially if, say, there was half a wilted bunch of spinach rotting in the fridge right now.
Thump.
Cha Eui-sung shut the fridge gently, then poked around the sink.
No wet dishes. He checked the drawers by the desk and found a few useless office supplies like paper clips.
He lingered by the boiler room, where he spotted a shirt tossed in front of the washing machine. That, at least, was useful.
That smell…
Judging by the dampness and faint odor, it’d probably been hand-rinsed before a proper wash.
A dungeon’s stench clung faintly to the fabric—monster fluids mixed with gritty earth.
From the look of the shirt, Tae-young had gone into a dungeon at least the previous evening.
For some reason, Cha Eui-sung brought the collar to his nose—then immediately recoiled and dropped it.
So he’s still going in.
The dungeons. Likely the contact point with the Outer Gods.
What more had the Control Tower whispered in his ear lately?
No wonder it’s been so quiet. Maybe he was waiting until the Savior Gauge was almost full.
Based on the System’s past whining and his own experience, there probably wasn’t much left in the tank for even an Outer God to act up again.
If it had triggered anomalies across dungeons nationwide, it must’ve been an all-out, soul-draining kind of blast.
That’s why he’d held off—knowing the thing wouldn’t have the strength to follow up.
No need to get shaken over some stray scent now.
Stiff-legged, Cha Eui-sung turned around.
No records or logs lying around?
Moon Tae-young had a habit of jotting things down on scraps of paper or in notebooks.
They were probably all at school too—but no harm in checking.
Even though no one was around to hear him, Cha Eui-sung held his breath as he moved toward the bedroom.
Srrk. The door creaked softly.
The bed was neatly made.
Funny, how a space they’d shared not so long ago could feel awkward and alien now.
Come to think of it, that nightstand…
Unlike the tacky floral prints in someone else’s bedroom, Tae-young’s house had relatively decent decor.
Clean lines, simple furnishings.
The nightstand beside the modern bed had caught his eye before.
It had drawers, but this was the first time he’d ever opened one.
Licking his dry lips, Cha Eui-sung slowly pulled it out.
Srrrrk.
A soft leather notebook slid into view—familiar-looking cover, a pen tucked messily into the middle.
Like it had been used, closed quickly, and shoved in.
Now that he thought of it, he hadn’t seen Tae-young use this recently.
Heart pounding, temples throbbing, he reached out and took it.
The page with the pen was already open—a few words inked there, the lines slightly smudged.
Taking a deep breath, he read.
[Please assist Lee Jeong-yun with her error correction notes at home.]
