Cha Eui-sung fell silent after finishing his sentence, eyes fixed vacantly on the wall.
His lips chewed nervously as he forced a smile, but this time, the usual filler words that should’ve followed never came.
He didn’t need to look to know—Jeong Seong-hyu was taken aback. Like someone who had accidentally struck a nerve with a story that wasn’t even theirs to begin with.
“So, it’s guilt, then.”
Still, he was a professional. The unnatural silence broke—not too late, thankfully.
Only then did Cha Eui-sung turn to meet Jeong Seong-hyu’s gaze with a bitter smile.
“You’re not going to repeat this to anyone, right?”
“Everything shared in a session is strictly confidential.”
“That’s a relief. Honestly, even if I never wanted to talk about anything else, I’ve always wanted to talk about this. Didn’t think it’d end up happening here, though.”
“If it’s something you want to talk through…”
“I don’t regret what I did. Back then, it really was the best option I had. Hiding it… that was the best defense I could manage, too. But lately, I think… it’s been leaving some kind of aftereffect.”
“You’d like to be free of the guilt… is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes, that’s right. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to come clean now, either. I still plan to bury what needs to stay buried. I just want to find a way to ease the guilt while protecting myself. Selfish, I know.”
Cha Eui-sung exhaled slowly, fidgeting with his fingers.
“If it were you, what would you do?”
He asked while watching Jeong Seong-hyu’s expression, which had lost its usual smile. Instead, his eyebrows dipped slightly, a sign of sympathy.
But a seasoned pro like Cha Eui-sung could tell—that expression wasn’t his true feelings. Even so, since the focus had shifted from danger to guilt, he figured he might at least learn how Jeong Seong-hyu would’ve handled it.
“I’m not here to make a moral judgment on your decision. It’s not an incident I know all that well, and everyone has their own circumstances.”
“Thank you.”
“And maybe this is just my personal take, but it sounds like you’ve already taken ownership of your actions. You’ve examined the motives and the situation thoroughly. Faced them, even.”
“You think so?”
“In that case, the next step is addressing the emotions you’re left with. In situations like this, the most direct route tends to be taking responsibility for the damage caused—either by making amends or by helping others in similar situations.”
Like someone helping the Demon King exact revenge.
Even as he thought that, Cha Eui-sung nodded along with a serious expression.
“If I can use my profession to help someone affected… would that actually help? I can’t exactly say what I do, but… well, say I did what you do—counseling, for example. Or maybe I could offer help through my network.”
“That’s certainly one approach…”
“Honestly, if that person wanted to personally take out the one who hurt them, I think I’d look the other way. I could even get them the tools for it, you know.”
“I can’t recommend committing one wrong to cover another.”
“It’s just a way of speaking, that’s all. It’s not like they’d actually go out and hurt someone.”
But Moon Tae-young would hurt Jo Tae-jong.
Whether it meant smuggling him away or neutralizing him, Cha Eui-sung might need Jeong Seong-hyu’s help to pull it off.
It could be a mistaken assumption, but that firm tone of voice somehow struck Cha Eui-sung as desperate resistance. A fierce denial tinged with subtle agreement.
Maybe some of the drugs Moon Tae-young kept were intended for Jo Tae-jong.
“…This is such a heavy topic. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d listen. Didn’t think I’d end up spilling all this here.”
“If it helped you bring a painful memory to light, then I’m glad. That takes a great deal of courage, you know.”
“That talk about ‘taking out the perpetrator’—that just slipped out. I wasn’t actually thinking of doing it.”
“When emotions run high, things we only imagined can slip out like real intentions. People talk about hitting others all the time, but it rarely turns into actual violence.”
They hadn’t even had that many deep conversations, and yet—how had he managed to get such a read on him in just two sessions?
Jeong Seong-hyu seemed pretty certain that the man in front of him wasn’t the type to recklessly risk himself for others.
And the way his gaze didn’t spark hostility, but rather soothed and grounded him—Cha Eui-sung couldn’t help but admire him. No wonder the guy had his reputation and seniority.
He still didn’t completely trust him, but… at least he looked more capable of aiding revenge than Moon Tae-young’s ex.
“There’s still some time left. Should we change the subject?”
As Cha Eui-sung shifted the topic in a more upbeat tone, the other man nodded without hesitation.
Undoing a button of his shirt to breathe more easily, Cha Eui-sung stretched back comfortably onto the couch.
He’d already hit his goal for the day, but maybe since he’d gotten started, his mouth didn’t want to stop.
He had been feeling off lately, and this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you could talk about just anywhere.
After a brief hesitation, his red lips finally let out a name—Moon Tae-young.
“When I’m with him, all the intrusive thoughts just… disappear. It’s kind of weird.”
“Is this the same friend you mentioned earlier?”
“Yeah. Maybe that’s why I sleep better, too. But the thing is, we’re only close because of work. He’s not exactly someone I can completely relax around.”
“What do you usually do right before you fall asleep?”
“Um…”
***
Cha Eui-sung turned on the TV and sank into the plush bedding without even bothering to dry his damp hair.
His loosely tied bathrobe slipped off, revealing smooth skin underneath.
He pressed down on his chest, prodding at it. The soft, firm flesh responded to his touch. It didn’t stir much emotion in him, but Moon Tae-young had seemed to like groping this spot.
Cha Eui-sung, momentarily distracted, wondered if he should bulk up his chest muscles, then quickly redirected his gaze back to the TV.
—“This is the 9 O’Clock Gate, your update on dungeons and Hunter news from Korea and abroad. I’m Kim Jeong-seo.”
—“And I’m Park Seong-chae. Welcome.”
—“There’s been unsettling news coming out of China’s Hunter scene recently. Following the incident in Sichuan two months ago, yet another terror attack involving an Awakened criminal has occurred. Our correspondent Kim Nan-hee reports from Jiangxi Province.”
—“I’m standing in front of a large shopping mall in Jiangxi, China. This was the location flagged in a terror warning posted two days ago on an anonymous Chinese forum. The police and suppression unit were immediately dispatched, but as of 7 p.m. Jiangxi local time yesterday, an Awakened criminal possessing stealth and phase-walking skills emerged…”
Usually, the broadcast would kick off with domestic news, but this time they’d led with China’s terror attack.
That either meant the damage was catastrophic, or there simply wasn’t anything noteworthy happening domestically.
Or maybe it was the work of the conservative political faction that often sought to downplay Awakened affairs. It wasn’t unusual anymore for a network that once praised dungeon management as a national achievement to pivot during election season and start hyping up the dangers of the Awakened.
Considering the embargo on Jeongchoduk still hasn’t been lifted, it’s probably the first case.
Well, peace was a good thing. The fact that the swarms of Hunter Association staff had vanished meant that, even if Jeongchoduk was still deemed unstable, it was no longer in a dangerous state.
Staying calm, Cha Eui-sung reached out and grabbed his phone, which he’d tossed aside earlier.
[1 Missed Call]
[+3 New Messages]
Three messages?
He opened them with a mild sense of curiosity, only to find that two of them were spam. Ever since changing phones, he’d been getting ads again—must’ve been a leak in personal data somewhere.
At least the third message was from Moon Tae-young.
Cha Eui-sung opened it and read the same line over and over again.
[Let me know when you’re free. I just wanted to hear your voice.]
Since when did he say things this sweet first?
For a second, Cha Eui-sung thought it was a spam message too. But he was already swayed. Guess it worked, and damn well at that.
“…Should I call him?”
He muttered the question aloud. If he didn’t, the feelings he’d just managed to suppress might spiral all over again.
He reluctantly set the phone down and fixed his eyes back on the TV.
But that damned session with Jeong Seong-hyu kept clawing its way back into his mind.
“Eui-sung, it seems like sleep and you aren’t exactly on good terms.”
“Aren’t there already too few people in my life? Do I need to start getting along with sleep, too?”
“From what I can tell, there are both psychological and personality-related causes. You seem to be sensitive and overly reactive to stimuli… and also resent spending time falling asleep. There’s resistance to crossing over into the unconscious.”
“Resistance?”
“I used that word, but it could also be fear. It’s something I sensed even in our previous session, but… this kind of sleep disturbance might actually be a symptom of something deeper.”
“Like what?”
“Have you heard of PTSD—Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?”
He’d died twice, so sure, something had to be wrong.
But he’d never shown symptoms even in the face of violence, so he’d assumed it wasn’t that.
Yet the truth was, most of the memories tormenting him came from the first life. If his mind had held together fine in the second round, only to start unraveling in the third—was that just a sign of weak resolve?
Thwack!
The pillow he threw down made a sound no fabric should ever make.
The irritation he’d managed to suppress for hours finally slipped out.
Whenever his thoughts brushed up against a certain point, they flared out of control—calm one second, explosive the next. It had been that way ever since the start of this third life.
Cha Eui-sung squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, not opening them again until he felt the nerves settle.
Good thing it hadn’t been his phone in his hand.
He’d almost ended up buying the same model for the third time in a week.
