The house was deathly quiet, not even the ticking of a clock.
“Mmm…”
A soft murmur broke the silence, like someone talking in their sleep. Moon Tae-young, who had been busily scribbling away in his journal, paused and glanced behind him.
At some point, the usual idle chatter had stopped—and the man had fallen asleep.
Curled awkwardly into a beanbag that looked a bit too small for him, the sight was strangely amusing.
Even with his top-tier senses, he’d passed out in someone else’s home without a second thought. It was almost impressive how indifferent he could be.
“Ugh…”
But when the man let out a groan-like sound, Moon Tae-young was reminded of the events from the day before.
The image of the man collapsing in a pool of blood, overlaid with the ghost of a past memory.
No matter how often he lounged on the sofa, he’d never once let Moon Tae-young see him doze off.
Even the day Tae-young brought him here for treatment—despite being drowsy from medication, he’d struggled to keep his eyes open until the very end.
If anything, the man was overly sensitive. Back when they’d been on edge around each other, Tae-young distinctly remembered how he’d read every thought with terrifying speed.
Thinking about all that, maybe this wasn’t just carelessness after all.
That thought crossed his mind, and Tae-young stopped what he was doing and stood up.
Moving silently, he crept over and bent down. As his shadow fell over the man, a faint twitch of the brow suggested he’d sensed it.
There was no change in expression, but he let out intermittent groans.
Was he dreaming? Or could it be…?
On impulse, Tae-young brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across the man’s face. Cold sweat was already clinging to the edge of his forehead. His eyes were darting quickly beneath the lids.
Should he wake him up? The thought came to mind, but a strange feeling pushed past the worry. He couldn’t take his eyes off that pale skin, those bleached strands of hair.
Taking in every detail of him was never easy. This was someone who, as if by instinct, drew near and then vanished just as fast—an endless push and pull of defenses.
As if possessed, Moon Tae-young reached out and gently grasped the hem of the man’s shirt. He was about to check for wounds that should’ve long since healed—but snapped out of it at the last second.
Startled, he quickly pulled his hand back—but maybe that very movement stirred the man. His lightly closed eyes flew open.
“…”
Soft brown eyes met Moon Tae-young’s.
***
Having trouble falling asleep had actually been a chronic issue for him since his Second Life. Maybe that’s why he’d buried himself in work, slicing up even his sleep schedule to stay occupied. And perhaps it was because, in this Third Life, he could finally rest without brutal labor—his dreams had started to come more frequently.
Huff… huuuff…
He tried to stifle his breathing, but his body wouldn’t obey. He couldn’t make a sound. He had to hold his breath. He’d heard the dungeon was dangerous, but he never imagined a monster with intelligence like this. When the creature—who looked poised to kill him in one blow—suddenly withdrew its claws, he bolted, running blindly. That’s when it hit him.
The monster hadn’t missed him. It was toying with him.
Huff… huhk… ngh…
His breaths were starting to hitch, sobs bubbling up. No—this wasn’t good. If he could just hold out long enough, keep stalling for time, the rescue team would come. Enough Hunters had made it out alive—someone had to have reported that something was wrong with the dungeon. He just needed to last until then. Just stand here in this narrow gap in the wall, like he was already dead…
Muttering frantically to himself, he clung to that thought, enduring the abyssal terror.
But as he dipped his head to muffle his breathing, he saw it—blood. Trailing behind him, droplets were spattered on the ground. Like breadcrumbs left behind… A shadow fell across his vision. He looked up. At some point, a pair of icy blue pupils had appeared at the crevice’s entrance, glowing in the dark.
Hic… haa… hhhhaa…
He couldn’t even scream. He just kept shoving himself deeper into the narrow space, though it was too tight to go any farther. Was it a trick of the mind—or were the monster’s eyes actually smiling? Five claws sprouted from around the pupil, unfurling.
I want to live. Please. Let me live.
The words screamed in his throat, but no sound came. Just then, black tendrils slithered toward him like hands and began to rake across his body—
…!
Suddenly the world flipped upside down. The dungeon split open. The monster was gone.
He sprinted toward the Gate, panting for air— and above him, meteor showers poured across the sky.
Boom!
A meteorite crashed down in front of him, sending him sprawling to the ground. Someone reached down to pull him up.
A gentle smile curved at the corners of his mouth. A man with jet-black hair.
The owner of that faded memory. The one who gave him the skill he acquired after meeting the Demon King in this Third Life.
And the moment he looked into his eyes, an inexplicable wave of loss surged through him.
Third Life?
It was then that Cha Eui-sung realized—he was dreaming.
***
Flash.
His mind snapped back, and Cha Eui-sung immediately realized where he was: Moon Tae-young’s living room, on a beanbag just slightly too small. He had no idea how this body—one that couldn’t even get seven full hours of sleep on the softest bed—had managed to pass out in someone else’s home.
He blinked, and right in front of his eyes stood someone. For an instant, the man from his memory flashed before him.
Cha Eui-sung flinched.
What the…
But the phantom from the dream vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a familiar pair of glasses. Moon Tae-young’s dark eyes were staring at him, mere inches away.
“…What are you doing?”
“It’s nothing.”
Startled by the proximity, Cha Eui-sung asked, only to receive a vague, evasive answer as the other man stepped back.
And in that moment, something unsettlingly familiar flickered in Cha Eui-sung’s vision.
Black hair. Black eyes. Tall man.
A prickling intuition rang through him.
The hallucination from just moments ago resurfaced. In a rush, Cha Eui-sung grabbed Moon Tae-young’s shoulders.
“Ugh.”
He pulled without thinking, forgetting to adjust his strength. Moon Tae-young stumbled, falling toward him.
Thud!
Catching himself on the beanbag, he collapsed forward. A wave of familiar body wash scent hit Cha Eui-sung square in the face.
“What are you doing?”
“Just a second.”
“Let go.”
“Just one moment…”
There was something strange on his face—an atmosphere no lens could ever hide. Something was… off. Cha Eui-sung, caught in that eerie sense of déjà vu, reached out.
Moon Tae-young turned his head away, but Cha Eui-sung’s pale hand found his cheek anyway.
“Cha Eui—”
“Sorry, but…”
“…”
“Could you smile for me? Just once.”
Maybe he thought it was a bizarre request. Moon Tae-young pretended not to hear and began to sit up.
But the moment Cha Eui-sung gently swept his hand across his cheek, Moon Tae-young tensed—his body going rigid like stone.
“What the hell are you doing?”
His startled protest didn’t last long. Cha Eui-sung lightly brushed his thumb across his lips.
Moon Tae-young’s face froze—perhaps stunned by the sudden move.
Am I wrong? …No, I’m not.
Cha Eui-sung tried to calm his racing heart, forcing himself to picture the man again. The dimples pressed into his cheek, the soft, upward curve of his mouth… That image once again overlapped with Moon Tae-young’s face—it couldn’t be a coincidence.
There was nothing flashy or traditionally attractive about him, and yet Cha Eui-sung felt an almost unnerving certainty.
Tick.
He nudged Moon Tae-young’s large glasses, brushing a finger near his eye. The lashes tickled his fingertip.
The light touch made Moon Tae-young let out a faint, involuntary noise.
The fact that Moon Tae-young was hiding his real appearance suddenly felt significant.
There were tens of millions of men with black hair and black eyes in this country alone— so why the hell did he feel so different?
Cha Eui-sung’s heart dropped again.
Just what was the connection between Moon Tae-young and the man from his memory? Was it too far-fetched to assume they were the same person?
If he indulged that flimsy hypothesis for a moment… then maybe what the skill showed him was a glimpse of the past.
But if it’s the past… which past are we talking about? A few months ago? A few years? Or—
Before the Regression.
As his spiraling thoughts crashed into that conclusion—
“Haa…”
A wave of nausea hit him out of nowhere. Vivid blue pupils flickered in his mind. A cold shiver crawled down his spine.
His racing thoughts came to a dead stop.
Shit.
No wonder his mind was a mess and his heart wouldn’t calm down.
He’d seen that in the dream.
He hadn’t been shaken because of the man’s identity. His subconscious had tried to avoid what the dream was showing him.
Whether it was a dream or a hallucination— it was the first time since his Regression that he’d seen that thing.
Why the hell are these past dreams happening so often lately?
Damn it.
Ever since he came down to Cheongseri, his grip on reality had been loosening. Everything he’d locked away and run from—those buried corpses—kept surfacing like bloated bodies rising from the mud whenever it rained.
He couldn’t ignore it any longer. He had to do something.
His lips twisted as a curse hovered just behind his teeth—
Tap.
Suddenly, everything went dark. A large hand covered his eyes, warm and gentle.
“Cha Eui-sung.”
A low voice wrapped around his ear. Ah. That’s right—Moon Tae-young was still here.
“Enough. Breathe slowly.”
Only then did Cha Eui-sung realize he’d been gasping for air.
Hoo…
As he steadied his breathing, it felt like his scattered mind finally broke free of the dream’s grip and dropped back into reality.
His fingers relaxed.
He let go of the shoulder he’d been gripping the whole time, and Moon Tae-young exhaled sharply with a soft groan.
The faint scent tickled his nose. Sanity gradually returned.
The logic that never allowed for a single gap yanked at his leash and whispered— What the hell did you just do?
Silence.
Light returned to his vision.
Moon Tae-young’s tense expression slowly eased, and his brows lowered slightly.
There was something… heated in his gaze as their eyes met. Through their barely-touching legs, Cha Eui-sung could faintly feel his pulse.
Moon Tae-young’s heart was racing.
“Is your shoulder okay?”
His voice was rough, strained.
But Moon Tae-young didn’t answer. He just fiddled with his hair, the same hand that had covered Cha Eui-sung’s eyes now moving aimlessly.
Suddenly—yank.
Cha Eui-sung tugged at his T-shirt. The fabric stretched—and a red handprint blazed across the revealed shoulder.
Fuck. He’d really screwed up.
Collapsed in the beanbag, Cha Eui-sung stared up at him, dazed and stunned.
