Cha-hyeon was stunned before he even realized it.
It was like the original Sung Cha-hyeon had reached out from within him to stop him—his conscience, which until now had only served to punish him for how he treated Se-min, had just revealed something completely unexpected.
He placed a hand over his aching chest, right over his solar plexus. But this time, it wasn’t to soothe the pain—it was more like a reflex, a gesture made out of disbelief. The unfamiliar feeling made his chest throb again.
The original Sung Cha-hyeon had been aware of his feelings for Se-min?
Cha-hyeon, struggling to believe it, started tossing out alternate theories, shifting the keywords in his mind like puzzle pieces. What if the version of Sung Cha-hyeon who’d regained his memories felt guilty after seeing Se-min become his lover? But the same kind of pain—dull yet sharp—sent a clearer, more certain answer through his body.
Sung Cha-hyeon had started to see Se-min differently, little by little, from some point onward.
For Cha-hyeon, who had repeated the exact method of easing anxiety that he’d learned in Se-min’s Mindscape, this felt like getting blindsided—like a sucker punch to the back of the head.
“…What the hell…”
He suddenly saw that other version of himself as a complete idiot.
Keeping a pair guide by his side who was practically dripping with affection, and all he ever did was mess around with booster ampoules? Refusing to acknowledge Se-min’s one-sided love until the bitter end?
He had believed that if the memories ever returned, he’d be consumed by guilt for ending up in a relationship with Se-min, someone he once cherished like a younger brother. That if Sung Cha-hyeon hadn’t lost his memories, he never would’ve allowed this to happen. And that assumption had been confirmed—by none other than future Sung Cha-hyeon himself.
That’s why the idea of losing everything he had built to that pathetic version of himself was more unbearable than death.
But now—Sung Cha-hyeon had feelings for Se-min too?
The shocking revelation left him reeling, and what followed was a slow, creeping sense of absurd frustration. He’d known, in the back of his mind, that the reward had always been meant for Sung Cha-hyeon. He’d accepted that he was only a temporary piece of the puzzle. But realizing that Sung Cha-hyeon would take everything Cha-hyeon had worked for and accept it all happily—that hit differently.
That bastard. Was that why he was able to disappear so easily? Because he knew that once his memories returned, he could take everything Cha-hyeon had built for himself?
Just as his thoughts were about to boil over, a strange doubt surfaced.
But to future Sung Cha-hyeon, Se-min was still like a younger brother—still family. So wouldn’t that make him even more desperate to stay in this world, no matter what?
In the future he came from, Se-min didn’t exist as a lover.
To that Sung Cha-hyeon, this world must have felt like a Mindscape—an externalization of his innermost desires.
Maybe he thought he could go back to the future once his memories returned, living as if none of this had ever happened…
But did he not consider that Cha-hyeon wouldn’t just let him? That he’d resist that ending with everything he had?
Weighing all the variables, the most logical way to stabilize things would’ve been for future Sung Cha-hyeon to remain here himself. It had been a gamble on his part. And yet, even knowing he could take it all, he still chose to disappear.
As if… he was yielding.
Cha-hyeon narrowed his eyes.
It was just a theory—based on the premise that the original Sung Cha-hyeon, with full memories intact, could choose when to surrender his own consciousness.
Even so…
Without realizing it, he brushed his cheek, dry and empty. His fingertips skimmed across skin that held nothing. His expression grew unreadable.
If that warning—that love and doubt couldn’t coexist—had truly come from the heart, then… had future Sung Cha-hyeon read through all of Cha-hyeon’s memories and still chosen to leave?
Why?
“…Fuck…”
For the first time in his life, he tried to think like Sung Cha-hyeon—the version of him that was selfless, altruistic, someone who cherished Se-min like he was a part of his own body.
Maybe he hadn’t been trying to stop Cha-hyeon and Se-min from being happy.
Even if the reward was technically meant for “Sung Cha-hyeon,” maybe the one who’d made the decision to disappear had truly wanted the reward to be this—
—A reward for Sung Cha-hyeon, who with his memories intact, could never once imagine Se-min as a lover.
“Perhaps the reason Sung Cha-hyeon the Esper hasn’t claimed his reward yet is because he’s entered some stage of love,”
—Deputy Chief Jeong’s casual speculation resurfaced in Cha-hyeon’s mind. His expression deepened with confusion.
The more love he felt for Se-min, the closer he got to receiving the reward.
Loving Se-min came so easily to Cha-hyeon. But for “Sung Cha-hyeon,” it might’ve been something forever out of reach.
Was it a message—to trust their love a little more?
That unfamiliar conscience, never originally his, began to sting. Cha-hyeon pressed hard against his chest.
Don’t doubt your love. Don’t be afraid it won’t last forever. Just—believe in it.
“…It better not be anything else.”
With a silent curse, Cha-hyeon decided to add one final possibility to the list.
If this reward was designed to benefit the original Sung Cha-hyeon—if it was meant to allow him to love Se-min without the weight of guilt—then maybe there was a loophole: a way to live in a memoryless state where such love was possible.
Or maybe… even if the memories did return, the self who loved Se-min—Cha-hyeon—might remain, untouched and unbroken by guilt.
They might feel like two different people, but in the end, Cha-hyeon and Sung Cha-hyeon were still one body.
He still couldn’t bring himself to hand over Se-min to another version of himself. That part hadn’t changed. But he also couldn’t deny that he felt ever so slightly freed from the looming terror of death.
Color began to return to Cha-hyeon’s drained, weakened face.
***
God, am I seriously this easy?
Se-min let out a hollow laugh as he tossed a bag of trash into the disposal. His whole body now understood why Deputy Chief Jeong had warned him not to give in so easily.
When he’d gone to talk things out with Cha-hyeon, he’d honestly expected a calm, logical discussion. He had taken Jeong’s advice—“Don’t give in too easily”—to mean something like “you like him more, so don’t let it show.” That’s why he’d gone in with confidence, thinking, Lose? Lose what? There’s nothing to lose here.
But now it was clear—he had lost. Badly. And the reason?
Current Favorability: 7%
The once deeply negative bar had shot up in an instant, now flickering softly in shades of blue.
Just one direct hit—Cha-hyeon’s face—and Se-min’s favorability had spiked by 21 points.
He let out another laugh, this one even more helpless.
…Was this why his past self had decided to marry Cha-hyeon? Was it… the face?
Were the elders right? Was he actually planning to survive by feasting on that pretty face?
Se-min felt like he’d just discovered a hidden kink he hadn’t known he had.
What was it about a man who acted like he ruled the world but only showed weakness to him?
And on top of that—he was hot.
In this version of himself—with all memories wiped clean—he’d never even had a proper crush. He’d never even tried to show interest in someone. So the whole situation left him utterly confused.
A guy with a trash personality, but who’s only warm to me… Like one of those male leads from old K-dramas twenty years ago—that was his type?
Still standing in the hallway, long after taking out the trash, Se-min muttered to himself, not yet realizing that kind of ideal type was the perfect recipe for emotional destruction.
“…Seriously though…”
Maybe it was the oddly cold hallway air, but he was able to replay everything he’d just done in vivid detail. To summarize: he’d gotten completely swept up in Cha-hyeon’s sorrowful expression and, like an idiot, handed over his heart on a silver platter.
“Ugh…”
He grabbed a handful of his own hair, not hard enough to hurt. Legendary beauty, they’d said. He was starting to understand how a king could sell out his own country just to win someone like that.
The way Cha-hyeon had whispered—I don’t want to break up, on the verge of tears—he was just…
…too much.
Heat threatened to pool in Se-min’s lower belly again, and in a panic, he slammed his forehead into the cold hallway wall. The chill helped cool him down.
“I gave in too fast. Wait—no, no I didn’t.”
His grumbling turned pouty. Even if he could go back in time, he knew he’d just do the same damn thing all over again.
Aaaagh…
Overcome with an embarrassing wave of shame, Se-min stayed like that—face against the wall—screaming silently into the void.
How long had he stood there like that?
When he finally pulled his forehead away from the wall, his face was flushed pink, but his eyes now held a spark of determination.
Alright. Fine. If it’s come to this, then I didn’t “give in”—I compromised. Out of respect. For my fiancé.
And besides, maybe Favorability wouldn’t climb so easily next time.
No need to spiral into shame wondering if he was just a sucker for a pretty face.
No need to be embarrassed that, after tanking Favorability just by being grossed out by the age gap, he’d suddenly regained it all the moment he saw Cha-hyeon’s face.
“Yeah. Okay. I can do this.”
Nodding to himself, Se-min repeated the affirmation, not even sure what he was convincing himself he could do.
At the time, he had no idea what the future had in store for him.
