“It was him, wasn’t it? That bastard Delroz did this, didn’t he?”
“No.”
“Then who else could it be?! You hate having marks left on your body. Who else would dare do this except that rude bastard?!”
He couldn’t say a word in response. The accusation had nailed his personality so precisely that he was left speechless.
“I knew it. That son of a bitch, in the end…”
“It was just an accident.”
“An accident? You call this an accident?!”
“Tearot. Calm down.”
He grabbed Tearot’s arm, which looked like it might lash out at any second and bolt toward Delroz.
“It’s already over. There’s no reason for you to get involved.”
“And you think I can just sit back? Do you have any idea how sickening it felt to leave you alone with him?”
“It just happened during Guiding. It won’t happen again…”
“How am I supposed to believe that? I won’t even be here anymore.”
He managed to calm Tearot with a lie, sensing the explosive rage just beneath the surface. It hadn’t been because of Guiding, but it was true that something like this wouldn’t happen again.
Banteon gently patted Tearot’s back as he tried to soothe the boy whose face was contorting like he might break into tears.
“You know better than anyone that Delroz and I are complete opposites. It’s just the relationship between a Guide and an Esper. Nothing more.”
“That’s exactly why I hate it.”
Because he knew just how tangled the relationship between two Awakened could become, it made leaving all the more unbearable. Tearot lowered his head and muttered under his breath.
“Bante…”
The strength drained from the hand gripping his shoulder. Tearot leaned into Banteon’s chest, pressing his forehead against him as if clinging on for dear life.
“I was going to act all composed and leave with my head held high, but… it’s too hard.”
“…”
He hadn’t meant to let it show. He hadn’t wanted Tearot to find out what happened between him and Delroz. The kid was too stupid and would end up getting more hurt than Banteon himself. That’s why he wanted to hide it.
“I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
“…I can’t do it after all.”
Tearot’s upper body swayed, overwhelmed by his emotions. It was hard to tell if he was laughing or crying. Just moments ago, he’d been calm—but now, it was like a switch had flipped. Banteon patted the back that moved up and down erratically.
“It’s not fair.”
“Tearot… what are you saying all of a sudden?”
“You’re saying I can’t have you? That’s not fair.”
Tearot’s voice dropped into a low whisper as his grip tightened on Banteon’s collar. Even when Banteon tried to push him off, his hands clung tight.
“I was the one closest to you, and now I’m supposed to just stand by and watch you get entangled with someone else? Like hell I will.”
Tearot lifted his head. His eyes blazed like sparks, locking directly with Banteon’s. The wavering tone from before was gone—replaced by a bitter smile slowly stretching across his face.
“No matter how I think about it, the only one who should be beside you is me.”
“…”
“So come with me.”
Banteon flinched at the sudden change in Tearot’s tone and took a step back to put some space between them. But as he turned to make a run for it, Tearot’s hand shot out and grabbed the back of his neck—hard.
When Banteon raised his arm to push him away, a sharp sting pierced his skin.
A freezing sensation, like ice, spread from the nape of his neck and shot straight into his brain. His strength gave out, and his body collapsed. Tearot caught him.
“I’m sorry, Bante. Just sleep for a little while.”
“You…”
“We’ve always been together, haven’t we? Nothing’s going to change. Nothing at all.”
Through the heavy lids of his closing eyes, Banteon could still see Tearot staring into the distance. There should’ve been no one else in the room, and yet Tearot’s gaze moved as if he were watching someone approach. His lips parted.
Unlike when he spoke to Banteon, his tone now was cold and businesslike.
“Preparation’s complete.”
“So you finally made up your mind.”
“You’re sure you can handle that son of a bitch?”
“Of course.”
At the sound of the familiar voice, Banteon tried to turn his head with all his might. Why—why was his voice here, when that man was supposed to be locked up in the deepest cell of the underground prison?
Was it Tearot who’d leaked the Center’s intel all along? Why would someone like him—who’d never wanted for anything—do this?
He struggled to confirm the truth, to turn around even just a little. But he couldn’t move a muscle.
Somewhere in the distance of his fading consciousness, he heard the clatter of a device hitting the ground. His eyes, now pointed down to the floor, saw a message glowing on the device’s screen.
[Got it.]
A short, curt reply. It was the answer to the note he’d sent Delroz, asking to meet tomorrow.
And with that last image, Banteon’s world faded to black.
***
What are monsters born for, and what do they die for? Why do they attack humans indiscriminately, invade without reason? Even after long years of research, no one had uncovered the answer. The general assumption was that they were driven by their innate aggression—but in truth, no one really knew why.
The one certainty was this: in the deepest, most unreachable places, there existed dungeons that ceaselessly birthed monsters. And in the deepest part of one such dungeon, the gate that served as its core gave birth—not to a monster, but to a creature.
Stronger than any monster that had ever emerged from the dungeon, more capable of destroying humanity entirely—this creature, unlike its kin, was born with a painfully sharp sense of self. And so, faced with the monsters so clearly different from itself, the creature wondered. Who am I? Why was I born? What am I meant to do?
From the moment of its birth, it suffered—its entire body wracked with relentless pain. In search of a solution, of something to quell its torment, it left.
Only after crawling out from the depths of the dungeon did the creature finally find others that resembled itself.
“Oh my god. I almost attacked you thinking you were a monster!”
It was there that the creature encountered a human for the first time. Unlike the mindless monsters it had always been surrounded by, humans could speak—they possessed self-awareness. They moved in groups, had arms and legs just like it did. The creature felt relief. So I was human after all.
But that moment was fleeting.
As time passed, it realized: these beings were still not the same.
Even a scrape from a blunt stick would wound them. Their lifespans barely stretched past sixty years. In the midst of these fragile, feeble creatures, the creature stuck out like a twisted nail.
At first, the humans praised its strength. But when they saw that it neither aged nor bled, they began to throw stones, spit curses. Their fear turned contagious. Even those around it were condemned as accomplices and killed.
The creature felt nothing, even when friends—people who had once shared meals and sleep—were slaughtered before its eyes. Amidst screams and sobs, as it stepped over corpses it’d laughed with only the day before, one thought echoed in its mind: So I really am a monster, just like they said.
After destroying the first village it had settled in, the creature found a new home—and this time, it refused to interact with humans. Instead of living among them, it decided to fool them. It twisted their perception so that they wouldn’t question its existence, making them believe he was just an ordinary man, and chose to live a quiet, unassuming life.
In time, the creature built its own nation in the heart of the continent. It raised stone walls, sat on a throne, and reigned as king.
But the pain that had plagued it from birth only grew stronger, as if it were a punishment for some original sin. When even breathing became agonizing, the creature found a solution—of sorts. Among the countless humans, there were rare individuals who could ease its suffering. Gender, age—none of it mattered. The creature took anyone who drew its attention and imprisoned them.
Those humans slowly withered away at its side. It didn’t care. To the creature, humans were disposable tools—easily used, easily replaced. It kept them close until the pain dulled, then discarded their husks like dried leaves and sought out new ones.
Outside the creature’s city, people whispered that the king devoured humans. But he didn’t care.
Then one day, the creature met a boy who would change its world.
There was nothing remarkable about him. Stringy brown hair, a scrawny frame—and yet, he refused to bend to the creature’s will. Even after time passed, he remembered the creature’s golden hair with startling clarity. That wasn’t all.
When the boy was near, the creature’s unquenchable thirst faded. The pain that had never vanished completely, even in the company of others, disappeared. The creature became addicted to this peace—this complete absence of agony.
“You seem like a pretty lonely king.”
The boy said this while holding a drumstick in each hand.
“Want me to be your friend? I don’t have much else to do anyway.”
“Shut up, ugly.”
“Hey! I’m way better looking than average, okay? This is so unfair!”
Why was this boy different? Why could he erase the creature’s pain? Would he be affected like the others?
The creature kept its guard up, yet couldn’t bring itself to leave the boy’s side.
“Eat more, you runt.”
“My stomach’s about to burst! And it’s not like I gain weight from eating.”
The creature gathered every delicacy and jewel it could find for the boy. It would be a problem if he died too soon like the others. But no matter what herbs or doctors were brought in, it was useless. Just like the rest, the boy gradually became thinner, weaker—his light fading.
What happens if this boy dies? What do I do then?
To chase away that fear, the creature would sometimes leave the palace and wander the world.
That’s when something strange happened.
The longer the creature stayed away, the healthier the boy became. His bony arms filled out. Color returned to his cheeks.
Once the creature realized this, it began limiting the time spent near the boy.
“Can’t you stay with me? When you’re not here, people start acting weird.”
The creature kept others nearby instead. But when the pain became unbearable, it would return to the boy for a brief moment’s rest, then leave again to endure with someone else.
Human lives were short. And the creature feared the day when it would be left alone again—after the boy was gone.
