His trembling eyes revealed his confusion. He had thought there would be nothing left to surprise him. Even if there were three eyes, he figured he would just accept it as it was. No matter what happened, he believed he’d simply think, I see. But this was on a completely different level than something like having three eyes or a large scar.
This was something entirely outside that scope.
As if he had noticed where Sihyeon’s gaze was directed, Haru lowered his head and bit his lip. Seeing that, regret came a beat too late.
If it was going to be like this, he should have just left him alone.
He had unknowingly been certain—certain that he could handle it, that by his standards it would be nothing. But that wasn’t the case. His blue gaze captured the blue mark.
Awakening Marks disappear once engraving is complete. And yet, the mark remained on Haru’s forehead.
Did he not complete his engraving?
Sihyeon’s lowered gaze landed on the pairing ring on Haru’s hand. The hologram window he had seen countless times automatically came to mind. It wasn’t that Haru hadn’t engraved.
Then…
No way.
“…Are you a Dual?”
“……”
He had expected it, but Haru gave no answer. Still, sometimes silence meant affirmation, and Sihyeon let out a hollow breath.
They said it was rare.
That even an All-Rounder was a miracle.
Every piece of information he had picked up pointed to the same thing. A rare All-Rounder. And rarer still—a Dual, called a miracle. A being so scarce that one might appear once every three years, making even seeing one a miracle.
A rule said to persist across generations had been thoroughly crushed by this one.
Statistically speaking, it was as if nine years’ worth of talent had appeared all at once. Absurdity and shock mixed together. At the same time, a question arose.
How did he hide it?
Even he himself had been exposed as a Dual through the mark verification process after engraving. Not just a Dual—everything had been revealed, to the point he ended up as a Quadruple. And yet, how had Haru managed to deceive them?
It didn’t seem like any of the teachers knew Haru was a Dual. If they did, there was no way both freshmen and upperclassmen would be this quiet about it.
No matter how gloomy Haru looked, the fact that he was a Dual wouldn’t change. Countless opportunists would have wanted him as a partner, would have requested it. And yet, when partners were decided, Haru had been alone—without anyone’s attention. The conclusion was simple.
“No one else knows?”
“…Yeah.”
“Hyung, then—”
“Kang Sihyeon.”
It was the second time. For the second time, Haru cut him off and called his name in a low voice. It carried intent, and emotion. It was the first time Haru had called him by his full name, including his surname, and Sihyeon swallowed the words he had been about to say.
“…Can you pretend you don’t know?”
Please… His weak voice sounded desperate. Head lowered, unable to meet his gaze, he looked like a guilty person. Sihyeon silently lowered his hand. As the hand that had lifted Haru’s hair dropped, his revealed features were once again swallowed by black strands.
“…Whatever your class is, it doesn’t matter to me…”
Haru’s voice from some time ago echoed in his ears. Weighing the mark before his eyes against Haru himself, the scale tilted to one side without hesitation. Sihyeon slowly opened his mouth.
“…I’m sorry.”
“……”
“I should’ve been more careful. I wasn’t considerate. You can be mad.”
This was something he deserved anger for.
Asking at least to be allowed to treat the wound, Sihyeon carefully reached out his hand. Even though his movement was extremely slow, Haru flinched, his shoulders shrinking.
Light gathered at his fingertips. Contrary to his worries, the wound near Haru’s eye was smaller than expected, and the healing was finished quickly.
Beep—beep—.
The moment he used Heal, the pairing emitted a warning sound. The sharp noise tore through the awkward atmosphere, breaking the silence. Still, no words were exchanged.
Suddenly, Haru turned his head away without saying anything. Sihyeon felt as if his heart dropped.
The warning sound from the pairing—
To Sihyeon, it felt like it was warning him of something else entirely.
Deciding Haru needed time alone when no response came, Sihyeon climbed down from the bunk and got into his own bed. Once he pulled the blanket over himself, his thoughts grew tangled.
It wasn’t like him.
Pushing like that, getting irritated—
None of it was like his usual self.
He had honestly been angry that Haru stepped in and got hurt. Irritated, too. It was never a pleasant feeling for someone else to sacrifice themselves and get injured for him.
But was that really all?
Were those really the only emotions he had poured onto Haru?
After thinking it over, Sihyeon shook his head. The pillow rustled beneath him.
Strictly speaking, there had been other emotions mixed in. More detailed, more numerous feelings had been vented onto the wrong target.
In that sense, what he did was nothing more than justified venting, using Haru getting hurt in his place as an excuse.
Feeling his stomach churn, Sihyeon eventually pulled the blanket up over his head. Only when the soft blanket covered his entire body and blocked his view did he begin to calm down. Those few seconds of calm gave him time to reflect on his emotions and actions.
Even if it had been someone else instead of Haru, the result would’ve been similar.
If his standoff with Donghyeok had lasted a little longer, all the pent-up emotions would have been directed at him. And if, in that process, Seowoo had gotten hurt, then those emotions would have been directed at Seowoo instead. That was how unstable he had been. Without someone to take his emotions, he might have collapsed on his own.
He hated that, so as a form of self-defense, he lashed out at others.
And that version of himself resembled someone.
Scratching at his neck, Sihyeon slowly closed his eyes.
He thought he was fine—but it seemed he wasn’t.
Everything he had tried to brush off, everything he had tried to accept—
Even as he pretended to be okay, it had still been overwhelming.
Kang Donghyeok’s attitude had merely been the trigger that pushed his already strained and suppressed state over the edge. Then who pulled the trigger? Where did the root of it all lie? As his thoughts spun, Sihyeon inhaled sharply.
Haru’s eyes, looking at him in surprise, came to mind. So did the way he had seemed to avoid his gaze. Imagining what kind of expression he himself must have had when he lifted Haru’s hair and exposed what he had been hiding, Sihyeon buried himself deeper under the blanket.
It was a vicious cycle.
Maybe the petty and contradictory person wasn’t Donghyeok—but himself.
“What’s with this gloomy atmosphere?”
After a long stretch of silence, the door burst open and Haeun walked in, tilting his head as he looked at Sihyeon and Haru on their respective beds. Normally annoying and bothersome, Haeun felt like a savior this time. Sihyeon lowered his blanket and looked at him.
“Don’t go up.”
“Aw.”
Haeun, who had naturally been about to climb onto Haru’s bed, was stopped by the warning and let out a disappointed sound. Just as Sihyeon considered taking back his earlier thought of calling him a savior, he felt a gaze on him. Turning his head, he saw Hamin.
“Why aren’t you two glued together for once?”
“What.”
“You and Ban Haru.”
Did you two fight or something?
Hamin was quick to notice things like this. Sihyeon frowned. He was perceptive, but lacked tact. Haeun seemed to have noticed too but didn’t say anything—unlike Hamin, who brought it up anyway.
“Be quiet.”
“That’s all you ever say.”
Hamin complained in disbelief at being told to shut up after saying just one thing. Sihyeon glanced at Haeun, then jerked his chin toward Hamin.
“Go play with him.”
“Nice!”
“Huh?”
Pushing Haeun away as he tried to latch onto him, Hamin ended up being dragged along anyway as they moved toward the sofa. “Kang Sihyeon!” he shouted loudly. Sihyeon simply pulled the blanket back over himself.
“That bastard…” Hamin muttered in complaint, but the air had lightened.
The suffocating silence broke, making it easier to breathe, but from above him, there was still not a single sound of movement.
If someone so openly avoided something, there was always a reason.
Closing his eyes at the mistake he made in a moment of impulse and emotion, Sihyeon felt his empty stomach twist. He found himself worrying about Haru for no reason.
He hadn’t even managed to feed him dinner, and only ended up hurting him—it weighed on his mind.
“Sihyeon, want to play a board game?”
“I’ll pass.”
“Haru hyung?”
“……”
“You guys just play.”
At Haeun, who suggested a board game without reading the situation, Sihyeon wondered whether he was perceptive but thoughtless, or just someone who lived entirely his own way, and answered on Haru’s behalf. It was obvious Haru wouldn’t come down anyway.
And as if to prove him right, Haru remained silent. As the silence stretched, Haeun shrugged and nudged Hamin, who had been subtly trying to put the board away, into playing anyway. Watching their seemingly casual but oddly friendly interaction, Sihyeon turned onto his side.
A bad feeling crept in.
In this unfamiliar place, the first relationship he had formed was with Haru. A relationship he had built with his own will. And now, that relationship—one that was important and precious to him in its own way—felt like it might become permanently strained. Like a lock without a key, impossible to undo. Anxiety born from those negative thoughts crawled up from the ground and latched onto his ankles.
Like a massive snake coiling around its prey, the unease rose and wrapped around his entire body.
He could hear the faint creaking of something breaking.
In that uneasy atmosphere, the night went on.
It was a long night. And throughout that long night, Haru didn’t say a single word until Sihyeon fell asleep.
