“Haa….”
Ji Se-min leaned the back of his head against the wall as he sat near the emergency room. The antiseptic scent lingered in the air, and the muffled noises of the hospital played in the background like static.
If there were a competition for “the person who experienced the most bizarre day today,” he was sure he’d take first place, hands down.
Now that he finally had enough composure to entertain such pointless thoughts, Se-min exhaled deeply. How many things had gone wrong just today alone? It felt like one disaster after another.
The moment he thought about Sung Cha-hyeon—who had been in so much pain they’d ended up calling 119—his mood sank even further. The disappointment and lingering chaos in his chest hadn’t completely settled, but his worry for Cha-hyeon had clearly taken precedence.
“…Sorry. I scared you, didn’t I? Sometimes I have sudden seizures.”
Of course that line from the future version of Cha-hyeon came to mind—said so casually, like it was no big deal. That version had also suffered through painful dry heaving.
What if this was due to some undiagnosed condition that hadn’t shown up yet in the current Cha-hyeon?
Maybe that unexpected seizure after regaining his memories had been a warning sign of something more serious.
With all the stress already weighing him down, now another layer of dread was settling over him.
Come to think of it, the future version of Cha-hyeon seemed like he had something wrong with his head, too. Since they were already at the hospital, maybe it was best to run every possible test. The doctor had even suggested that a short hospital stay might be a good idea, just to monitor his condition.
Mulling over the importance of early diagnosis, Se-min stood up when he got a text saying Cha-hyeon’s admission process was complete. He briefly considered grabbing a coffee but stopped himself. If Cha-hyeon needed more tests, he might have to fast. It made more sense to hold off for now—and if Cha-hyeon felt like drinking something later, he could just buy it then.
Once the final guardian paperwork was handled, Se-min headed toward the hospital room. A VIP suite, prepped in a hurry for an S-rank Esper, came into view.
It looked oddly familiar. Se-min tilted his head in mild confusion—then opened the door and stepped inside.
“Ah….”
The sound escaped before he could stop it. A memory floated to the surface—something that felt both recent and distant.
This was the very room Cha-hyeon had been admitted to after solo-clearing a C/S-rank dungeon. The room where Se-min had found out that his hyung had forgotten not only him—but every memory they had ever shared.
Suppressing the instinctive sigh rising in his chest, Se-min quietly walked over to the bed where Cha-hyeon lay. Maybe it was the sound of footsteps, or maybe just instinct—but Cha-hyeon, pale-faced and still, slowly opened his eyes.
There were still faint traces of cold sweat on his forehead. Even his lips were ashen. Seeing him like this, Se-min’s brow tightened even further.
No matter what had happened between them, this wasn’t easy to see.
He approached with measured steps and took the caregiver’s seat.
Cha-hyeon tried to push himself up, struggling.
“Don’t—just lie down.”
“…I’m fine now.”
Even though Se-min tried to stop him, Cha-hyeon insisted. Se-min quickly adjusted the bed so he could sit at a slight incline. Cha-hyeon collapsed back against it with a quiet thump, obviously still drained even if he claimed to be okay.
Watching his hyung wipe a hand over his face with a weariness that couldn’t be faked, Se-min felt a pang of guilt.
For a second, he’d instinctively doubted him. That felt awful. He felt like garbage for even considering that someone in pain might be faking it. That wasn’t right. That wasn’t human.
But you were the one who lied first… The rebuttal almost slipped out, but Se-min bit it back.
Instead, he asked gently,
“What did the doctor say?”
“Said there’s nothing wrong.”
Seriously? After everything he’d just gone through? Se-min’s skeptical expression said it all. Cha-hyeon held up the back of his IV-dripped hand like proof.
“Really. I’m just on painkillers while they monitor me. That’s all. I’ll be fine.”
“Still…”
Se-min’s voice trailed off as he stared at Cha-hyeon rubbing around his solar plexus.
The future version of him had often clutched that same area, as if some pain was flaring up there. And yet, they were saying there was nothing wrong?
He wanted to throw out some vague, unprovable excuse just to get them to test him again. His chest felt tight.
He knew he wasn’t in any position to argue with medical professionals—but that didn’t stop the feeling from eating at him.
His mouth opened, closed, opened again—and finally, he found a different angle.
“…Since you’re already here, why not get a full check-up? You were in pain, after all. Just something simple to check your condition. And maybe… a bit of counseling, too…?”
At the mention of counseling, Cha-hyeon’s eyes flicked to him.
Did that sound like he was calling him crazy? Se-min faltered, then softened his tone even more, trying to sound as gentle as possible.
“It’s been a while since you talked to the doctor about your amnesia, too. Could kill two birds with one stone…”
Cha-hyeon dropped his head and exhaled through his nose. His hand moved over his chest again, and he nodded.
“Okay. I’ll do whatever you want.”
The way he said it felt strangely obedient.
Se-min’s smile, which had started to brighten, froze midway. He studied Cha-hyeon.
Was this just him playing nice because he’d been caught lying? Was he just trying to lay low until the anger passed?
That thought—so unlike anything he’d ever believed about Cha-hyeon—felt foreign and unwelcome.
As if sensing that shift in him, Cha-hyeon spoke, his voice hoarse and rough.
“It’s not because I’ve got some hidden agenda… Fuck…”
Like he didn’t even know what he was trying to say, he ran a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath. He looked completely lost.
His dry lips moved, silently forming words that never made it out. Then, he shut his eyes tight. A sharp, tense silence fell over the room.
“…I’m sorry.”
It came out of nowhere.
Se-min’s eyes went wide. His gaze shifted to Cha-hyeon, who was now tugging at his hair in frustration. His face was still a mess of confusion, but the apology felt sincere.
At the same time, it seemed like even he wasn’t sure why he was apologizing.
Like he didn’t trust his own intentions.
Like two versions of him were clashing—splitting his reactions in opposite directions.
Seeing that, a faint wrinkle formed between Se-min’s brows. He scooted the chair a little closer and repeated the words back.
“You’re sorry?”
“…I didn’t mean to lie. No—actually, I did. I wanted to lie.”
The confession came out calmly, like he was just sharing some small everyday detail.
Se-min blinked. For a moment, he just stared.
It was true—Cha-hyeon had lied. And now he was saying he’d done it on purpose.
Another wave of disappointment washed over him—but it wasn’t the kind that burned with rage.
This wasn’t fury—it was disbelief.
Se-min, dazed, just looked at him.
“…Why?”
It was a simple question. One that came only after a long silence.
Cha-hyeon’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
“Because I didn’t want to get my memories back.”
Se-min froze.
He had never, not once, considered that possibility. His face slackened. His lips parted slightly.
Cha-hyeon let out a harsh, bitter laugh—like he was finally releasing a breath he’d been holding far too long. There was even a fleeting sense of relief on his face. But it didn’t last. His expression twisted again as his hand returned to his chest.
“……”
In that heavy silence, Se-min turned the words over and over again.
He didn’t want his memories back.
That… made no sense.
Cha-hyeon had forgotten not just Se-min, but everything they’d shared. Wouldn’t that be terrifying? Wouldn’t that be uncomfortable? Se-min was sure he would feel that way if it were him. But then again, that was his perspective.
He couldn’t remember Cha-hyeon ever saying he wanted to get his memories back quickly.
Even when he’d agreed to cooperate, he’d never actually been enthusiastic.
He’d hesitated to enter dungeons that might yield Unclaimed Rewards. He’d asked to be reassigned from his usual duties. He’d even mentioned retiring. He’d acted like the version of himself with intact memories was a completely different person. He’d kept his distance—so much so that Se-min had once thought of him as a stranger with the same face, like a twin.
Now, with that new perspective, all those moments began to take on new meaning.
Se-min, still stunned, looked at him.
Cha-hyeon, pale and exhausted, had his mouth set in a firm line, like he was bracing for whatever came next. But at the same time, he looked deeply hurt.
Seeing that, all the tangled frustration and disappointment in Se-min’s chest scattered like dust.
He pressed his lips together a few times, hesitant, then asked softly—
“…Can I ask why?”
Cha-hyeon looked at him.
Somewhere in the chaos of the moment, the faded handwriting scrawled on his hand had started to disappear. He clenched the blanket.
“…Because even though you say I’m the same as the original Sung Cha-hyeon, in the end, you’ll always choose that Cha-hyeon hyung over me.”
