The sound of birds circled his ears, and when he opened his eyes, warm sunlight greeted him. It seemed to be morning. Just as he was about to check the time, a ding-dong bell rang, stopping his hand as it moved toward his phone. It was the bell signaling 12 o’clock.
Even though he had slept soundly from evening until noon, he still felt tired. Blinking drowsily, he looked around the room and only saw Hamin. Sensing Sihyeon had woken up, Hamin lifted his gaze from his phone. Purple eyes fixed on him, and Sihyeon pushed himself upright.
“Where are the others?”
“Eating. They tried to wake you, but apparently you said you weren’t going to eat.”
“I said that?”
“Yeah. They said you looked tired, so they’d let it slide just this once.”
“Mm.”
He must’ve said that half-asleep. He wasn’t particularly hungry anyway, so it didn’t matter. As he quietly stroked Pia in his arms, Hamin set down the phone he was holding.
“Kang Sihyeon.”
“What.”
“You really don’t remember anything?”
“Everything I said yesterday is all I know.”
“I do.”
“Huh?”
“I said I remember something.”
It was short, but heavy. Sihyeon lifted his gaze from Pia at Hamin’s sudden confession.
“What do you mean?”
“You said you remember up to seeing that huge door with me, right?”
“Yeah.”
“There were strange letters written on that door. They weren’t English or Arabic—some weird script. Kind of like… Latin or something… Damn.”
Hamin, looking frustrated mid-explanation, furrowed his brow and roughly ruffled his hair. Wondering why he was trying to explain it in such detail, Sihyeon told him to just skip over it, and Hamin, smoothing his hair back down, slowly moved his lips as if thinking it over. After a long pause, he finally spoke.
“…Anyway, you and I saw those strange letters on the door. You clearly looked like you didn’t know what they meant either—but then, out of nowhere, you read them.”
“What?”
“You said, ‘For Mother.’”
For a moment, his head rang. Sihyeon frowned slightly and looked at Hamin, signaling for him to continue.
Maybe worried by his expression, Hamin’s purple gaze lingered on the hand that had been about to move from Pia to Sihyeon’s forehead. The hand that had been rising dropped back down to Pia instead.
“So what happened after I read it?”
“You collapsed.”
“And after that?”
“The door opened.”
“What?”
He had expected Hamin to explain how they got out of that place, but instead, Hamin abruptly said the door had opened. There was only one door that could refer to, so Sihyeon straightened his previously hunched back. Their eyes locked across the space between the beds.
“You went in?”
“Yeah.”
“What was inside?”
“A wall covered in writing similar to what was on the door. And bones.”
“Bones?”
“Really big ones. Didn’t look human. Considering the size and thickness, probably…”
Hamin narrowed his eyes, as if measuring the size of what he remembered, then trailed off. Unable to find a proper comparison, Sihyeon spoke first.
“Orc Lord level?”
“…Yeah.”
After a pause, Hamin nodded. He had just thrown it out there since the place had been found in an Orc settlement, but it seemed to be right. Sihyeon began piecing together Hamin’s words like a puzzle. They had passed through a corridor with murals and gone down the stairs to find a massive door. He had been able to read the strange writing on it, and when he did, the door opened—revealing what was likely the bones of an Orc Lord. Laying it all out only made it more confusing. First of all, he had no idea how he was able to read that text.
Could it be related to me transmigrating?
He couldn’t be certain there was a connection—but he couldn’t rule it out either. Maybe he’d understand if he met Kang Sihyeon. But it’s not like he could just meet him whenever he wanted—so how? His thoughts quickly tangled.
“…Those bones were probably from a previous Orc Lord.”
“Previous?”
“Yeah. They said when a Lord dies, a new one is chosen. If the bones you saw resemble an Orc Lord, then they must belong to the former one. But even so, there are too many questions. What was that place we saw? What do the murals mean? And how you were able to read those strange letters.”
If he really had read it, then maybe he could read the writing inside the door too. In that case, he’d have to go back to the Orc settlement. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem like reading it would do any harm. For some reason, he kept feeling like that place in the Orc settlement was important.
The more he thought about it, the more complicated everything became, and Sihyeon frowned.
“Why are you only telling me this now? And why did you keep it from the teachers?”
If he had told them in the Infirmary, they would’ve had more people to think it through. It seemed too big of an issue for just the two of them to handle, so Sihyeon pressed him. Hamin’s face twisted, clearly displeased.
“Because it’s obvious you’d push yourself. You collapsed right after reading that weird text, and you expect me to bring this up right away? What if you faint again?”
“……”
“What if I tell the teachers wrong and they drag you into something dangerous? I didn’t even decide to tell you until after thinking about it all night. I figured if I told you, you’d say something stupid like wanting to go back to the Orc settlement. Was I wrong?”
He hit the mark. Sihyeon had always thought he could see right through Hamin, but this time, it felt like Hamin had seen straight through him. Left speechless, he stayed quiet, and Hamin sighed, as if he had expected this. His expression looked more frustrated than anything.
“Do you think you’re some kind of hero? You know you’ve been acting different lately?”
Different. The word made Sihyeon’s shoulders twitch involuntarily. Dawoon’s face briefly surfaced in his mind, then disappeared. His hand moved to scratch his neck.
“Back during the Placement Test, you avoided anything troublesome. So why are you suddenly acting like you’ve got some kind of mission? Anyone would think someone told you to go save the world. You faint at every opportunity, push yourself constantly—what are you, made of glass? Why are you so fragile and difficult to deal with? Take it easy.”
The harsh words poured out without pause. At first, they were bearable, but the longer they went on, the more it just sounded like venting. By now, Sihyeon’s mood had soured. His expression hardened, and he raised his brows.
“What does that have to do with you?”
“…What?”
“I admit I’ve been getting into dangerous situations lately. But what does that have to do with you? I don’t think it’s your place to say all this.”
“……”
Hamin fell silent. The tension in the air cooled abruptly. Only then did Sihyeon realize he might’ve gone too far. Somehow, he had treated Hamin like a complete stranger. Yoo Seowoo’s words—have you ever really treated him like a friend?—suddenly came to mind, making him feel uneasy.
“So when Yoo Seowoo does it, it’s concern—but when I do it, it’s meddling?”
“What?”
“It pisses me off that every time I look at you, I’m reminded of how powerless I am.”
Having said that much, Hamin turned his body away and lay down on the bed, ending the conversation on his own terms. Pulling the blanket over his head made it clear he didn’t want to talk anymore. His last words lingered in Sihyeon’s ears.
No matter what, Hamin had been worried about him. Even if his words were rough. Whether it was pent-up stress or anxiety from Sihyeon’s repeated fainting, the fact remained—he had been worried.
This is exactly like the one who farted getting angry.
Anyone could see that Sihyeon was more at fault. As his lips parted slightly, he recalled what Hamin had said. Before, he hadn’t reacted to every provocation—but lately, he had started responding more and more. Maybe Hamin was right—he had changed. Sihyeon ran a hand roughly through his hair.
In the end, he couldn’t bring himself to apologize and just stared at Hamin’s back. He looked like a younger sibling sulking after upsetting his older brother.
Come to think of it, I never got to ask back then either.
When they got separated in the Orc settlement, he had wanted to ask about Hamin’s older brother—but never did. For a brief moment, he wondered if Hamin’s reaction had something to do with his brother—Lee Hayeok—but the thought quickly faded. It didn’t feel right to assume things about someone else’s personal matters.
Just as he was about to speak and apologize, Haeun and Haru returned to the room at the worst possible timing.
“Oh, Sihyeon’s awake! What, is Hamin sleeping this time?”
Haeun said as he looked at Hamin, who was buried under the blanket. Sihyeon gave an awkward nod and glanced at Hamin, who didn’t move at all. His stillness reminded him of someone else.
This was the second time.
Already the second time he had fought with them. If he included the incident with Yoo Seowoo, maybe it was the third.
Acting his age would be nice for once.
At least this time, it felt like it was entirely his fault. A sigh slipped out.
I should go talk to him sometime.
Since break was coming soon, classes were relaxed, and there wouldn’t be any Monthly Evaluations until after. Even if he had to go to Hamin’s training room, he decided he’d sort things out. Only after a long while did Sihyeon finally look away from Hamin.
But contrary to his hopes, the chance to apologize to Hamin never came.
It wasn’t like Haru, who had avoided him outright. Instead, Hamin simply acted as if their conversation that day had never happened.
Whenever Sihyeon went to apologize and started with, “Um…,” Hamin would cut him off with “It’s fine,” and turn away. Maybe he thought he was brushing it off coolly, but to Sihyeon, he just looked like a sulking seventeen-year-old. It was obvious he was avoiding the conversation altogether.
Even when he asked him to make time, Hamin said he was busy. When he suggested they eat together alone, he was ignored. When he tried to talk in their room, Hamin would pull the blanket over his head. It was so frustrating it felt suffocating.
But regardless of his situation, time moved on. The week left until break quickly dwindled, until it was just one day away. He had wanted to reconcile before break, but they never found the time. And since it was the last day before break, Hamin wasn’t the only thing on his mind.
“Are you really going to be okay?”
“…I think I should go back at least once.”
When break came, the dorms at Strongest High would be completely empty. No one could stay—they all had to return home. For most people, it wasn’t an issue, but for Haru, it was different. The place he had lived until now was a research lab.
He had said he enrolled as if running away, so returning there of his own will didn’t sit well. Sitting in Haru’s training room, Sihyeon frowned slightly as he looked at Haru, who appeared calm. Somehow, Sihyeon felt more anxious than the one actually returning.
“You could just come with me instead.”
“I don’t think they wouldn’t know I enrolled. So I’ll go and talk to them properly—that I want to keep attending school. Since I’ve already enrolled, if I don’t come back after break, the school will probably look into it anyway. So don’t worry too much.”
His quiet voice continued steadily. It didn’t tremble at all—calm and gentle. It sounded like it gathered all the warmth and peace in the world. Watching him, Sihyeon felt something swell in his chest.
When did he become this mature?
Honestly, he had thought things were a bit of a mess before—but now, it felt like raising him had turned out well.
“Sihyeon, you too… don’t get hurt. Be careful. We won’t be able to see each other during break…”
His voice was filled with regret. Strangely, it carried more emotion than when he talked about returning to the lab. As Haru admitted he was worried because he wouldn’t be there to protect him, Sihyeon reassured him, then made one last attempt to invite him home—only to step back when Haru firmly said he wanted to resolve things himself.
After finishing their conversation, Sihyeon returned to his room. Hamin was still there, unreconciled as ever. Haeun was his usual energetic self. And Pia—whom Sihyeon had agreed to take care of during break—also came into view. Since Pia fed on his mana, there wasn’t much choice.
As evening fell, Sihyeon stared out the window at the sky.
The twilight devouring the sun signaled that night was approaching. A calm yet contradictory sense of unease wrapped around him, carried on the glow of the sunset.
It was his first break since transmigrating.
