Anyway, Cha Eui-sung made another trip up to Seoul.
As always, it was a city overflowing with people—and things to do. He spent two straight nights hopping from one upscale bar to another. He only told Go Yeong-won that he’d left town. If Moon Tae-young happened to run into him while he was gone, it’d be nothing short of a catastrophe.
Cha Eui-sung didn’t even decide how long he’d stay in Seoul. For now, he booked a hotel room until the day before the school field day. Meeting up with Go Yeong-won could happen anytime before heading back down—so he didn’t bother revealing where he was staying, just in case the guy decided to show up uninvited.
Meanwhile, with Moon Tae-young…
—Are you outside?
“Oh, yeah. It’s nothing serious. Just stepped out for a bit. Uh, wait—I didn’t order this.”
—That lady over there sent it to you.
“Huh? Wait, hold on a sec…”
—Are you feeling any better?
“Huh? Yeah, yeah. I told you, I’m fine. For real. How’s field day prep going?”
—Field day… Right. It’s not too hectic anymore.
“That’s good. Seo-ryong and Hyung were really looking forward to it.”
They called once a day, without fail. Texted fairly often, too. Same routine as when he was in Cheongseri.
But the moment he got out of that place, the emotional turbulence that had been constantly churning inside him started to settle. He could finally pull back, put some distance between himself and his feelings, and actually think things through.
Honestly, it’s kind of a slap in the face. Cha Eui-sung muttered silently.
Even if it was a matter of being overworked, he figured he’d had it tougher than that rookie Demon King ever did. It wasn’t like Moon Tae-young was tied up with something like the Hunter Association. Just prepping for field day? And that’s enough to make an S-rank cut back on sleep and still be fine, yet somehow not even have time to meet up with someone for a moment? That didn’t add up.
Moon Tae-young was avoiding him.
It was so obvious, and trying to pretend otherwise was starting to wear thin for Cha Eui-sung. But when he really thought about it—was there even a reason to keep pretending? They understood each other well enough that even the smallest hints got through loud and clear. Moon Tae-young avoiding him, and Eui-sung being pissed about it? They were both perfectly aware of it.
Sure, there could be plenty of legitimate reasons behind Moon Tae-young’s sudden behavior—maybe even something that made him feel guilty. But what stood out most was the complete lack of change in the Savior Gauge. That was telling.
The gauge is tied to the Demon King’s interest, after all.
They’d kissed, embraced—things that had become second nature by now. And yet, simple skinship wasn’t enough to move the needle anymore.
Even so, that day, Moon Tae-young had seemed pretty into it. Eui-sung had expected at least some gain.
But it was zero. Not just a small rise—nothing at all.
He used to think, Who cares if the gauge doesn’t go up, as long as we’re together like that? But when it really didn’t rise, it drove him absolutely up the wall. Cha Eui-sung had basically been spiraling like that for the past few days.
It’s not like I stopped halfway through and barfed on top of his head—so what the hell is he avoiding me for?
In the end, the supposedly resolved issue at the vacant lot came boomeranging right back at him. His instincts, sharp and twitchy as ever, whispered at his ear.
Moon Tae-young knew. He knew that Cha Eui-sung had tampered with the dungeon.
And that brazen bastard had still acted like nothing happened— and held him in his arms.
So unfair…!
That’s why Cha Eui-sung hadn’t even told him he’d be attending the field day. Let him stew in the dark, not even knowing when Eui-sung would return to Cheongseri.
It should’ve been a pretty satisfying scenario. But for some reason, it didn’t feel all that good.
He tried to console himself by mumbling, I came up to Seoul because of the Go Yeong-won thing anyway. The timing just worked out.
Two days melted away like ice in the palm of his hand. Cha Eui-sung went to see Jeong Seong-hyu for the first time in a month.
It was oddly disorienting, standing in front of someone he’d only started meeting because of Moon Tae-young.
“Can I lie over there today?”
Instead of a greeting, he pointed straight at the couch.
He already knew how Jeong Seong-hyu reacted last time, so there was no need to face him head-on this time.
And besides, that guy probably finds it easier to talk this way too.
Someone as experienced as him wasn’t likely to start blurting out his own issues in the middle of a session, but still—he might be able to draw out something a little deeper.
“You seem a bit troubled lately.”
Their second session began with Jeong Seong-hyu casually asking how things had been.
Lying back on the couch with his hands resting on his stomach, Cha Eui-sung began to offer a filtered, scattered version of his life lately—heavy with unspoken things.
“Same old, same old. As for my dreams… well, like I mentioned, something’s been on my mind, so they haven’t exactly been peaceful.”
“Are the dreams connected to your current situation?”
“That… I guess? Kind of hard to say.”
It was ridiculous, really, how everything from the past and even his hallucinations seemed to lead back to Moon Tae-young.
Even his first life, which had remained mostly untouched, ended up being linked through Cheongseri—and that moment of death, when he came face to face with the Unnamed. All of it naturally reminded him of Moon Tae-young.
“Have you tried recording your dreams?”
“No. Honestly, if I’m going to remember it anyway, what’s the point? I just… don’t feel like talking about them.”
He tossed the words out casually, and Jeong Seong-hyu responded with a knowing little hum. He was probably thinking something along the lines of what a pain in the ass, but it never showed in his voice. That in itself was impressive.
“I gave you some medication before. Has your sleep improved since last time?”
“Hard to say…”
Given the topic of dreams, the conversation once again drifted toward his sleep issues. Cha Eui-sung rolled his eyes upward in thought.
He’d assumed nothing had changed from the previous month, but now that he thought about it, there had been a few nights where he’d slept soundly. And of course, those happened when he was with Moon Tae-young.
Even though they hadn’t actually fallen asleep together in the same bed, just sensing his presence nearby had been enough to lull him into deep, refreshing sleep.
Thinking back, it had been the same on the nights they were physically close. Even after coming home and showering, a strange sense of languid calm would linger. His mind would drift for a bit, but before it could spiral into overthinking, he’d fall asleep. And even if he woke at dawn, it still felt like good rest.
“When I was with a friend, I managed to sleep a little.”
He stared at the ceiling as if digging through his memories. It suddenly struck him how rarely he’d had those chances lately.
Somehow, he could still feel the warmth of a gentle hand brushing across his forehead, like a mirage. The lingering satisfaction of being held after all the teasing and playfulness washed over him again.
He narrowed his eyes and quietly soaked in the sensation. His chest tightened. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, but there was something oddly off about it.
“Other than that… I guess I’m doing okay, more or less.”
“So not quite enough to feel satisfied. Did the meds help at all?”
“No. And I don’t really want to take more.”
Even if he swallowed a whole handful, it only numbed his mouth. The pills Moon Tae-young gave him had been the only ones that actually worked.
But there was no way for him to get that prescription while pretending to be a civilian, and even if he could, he had no intention of taking them again.
That sensation of his consciousness slipping away had been deeply unsettling. In that state, he couldn’t monitor or control what he was doing.
Maybe that thought had made his expression stiffen, because Jeong Seong-hyu suddenly asked:
“When you hear the word sleep, or rest—what kind of feelings or impressions come to mind?”
“Impressions?”
“Even just a word or image that pops into your head. Doesn’t have to be a big thing. You could say whatever comes to mind, or branch it out like a mind map.”
“Uh…”
What was this, a word association game? Eui-sung glanced at the clock before reluctantly speaking up.
“Time. Rest. Unconsciousness… dawn. Dreams. Vulnerable… Do I need to keep going?”
“If anything else comes to mind, feel free.”
“Recharge. Waste. Deserve. Waking up? Hm… not sure.”
Was that a lot for someone who claimed not to know? Jeong Seong-hyu nodded and started typing something out.
“What about vulnerable—what made that word come to mind?”
“Pretty much what it sounds like. You can’t respond to anything when you’re asleep, right?”
“And deserve?”
“Oh, that one’s pretty common. Like, ‘you don’t even deserve to sleep.’ I guess that just popped in my head.”
“There really are a lot of expressions like that related to sleep.”
“Not saying that’s how I feel or anything.”
“Of course. You were just listing whatever came to mind.”
And it was true—Cha Eui-sung didn’t feel like he didn’t deserve to sleep. If anything, after all the hell he’d been through in this second life, he figured he earned some damn rest. But sleep kept slipping away, and that was pissing him off.
Sure, the Demon King campaign was losing steam, and sometimes it felt like he was doing too little.
“…Crisis. Guilt? Words like that came to mind too.”
He added the comment quietly, gaze drifting down to the tips of his shoes. In the corner of his vision, he saw Jeong Seong-hyu’s fingers pause over the keyboard.
He lifted his eyes back to the ceiling and began speaking again, slowly, as if testing the waters.
“I didn’t mean to, but… something I did in the past ended up hurting people.”
Silence settled over them again. It wasn’t oppressive—just still. A quiet that invited more.
Cha Eui-sung continued, doing his best to keep his tone even.
“I wasn’t the one who did it directly, but… I guess you could call it accessory after the fact? You see it all the time in society. Even if I’d refused on principle, someone else would’ve done it anyway, and I’d just be the one going down for it.”
“I see.”
“At the time, I didn’t have much of a choice. I was cornered. But anyway… it’s been a long time. I’d honestly forgotten about it.”
He tapped his fingers lightly against his leg, tossing out a heavy confession like it was no big deal. He didn’t say what the event was, or what kind of harm it caused.
He even turned his head away—making sure Jeong Seong-hyu couldn’t see his face. That way, the moment he spilled the truth, the other man could project whatever image he wanted onto it.
What was Moon Tae-young like five years ago?
As that thought drifted through his mind, Cha Eui-sung imagined him sitting here in this very office. His lips parted slightly.
“One of the victims came to see me recently. Haha. Asked me why I did it. I told them I understood how they felt, but that I’d done the right thing. Sent them on their way. Still… that incident shows up in my dreams sometimes. Not often. Just… sometimes.”
