After saying that, Cha-hyeon tilted his head as if he truly had no idea what this was about. His calm air suggested he and Se-min had never once talked about the Unclaimed Rewards. But Se-min distinctly remembered that while they’d been discussing it, there’d been a brief moment when Cha-hyeon’s memory returned, and his lips slowly parted.
He really didn’t want to think it, but right now he was exactly like he’d been before—pretending not to hear Se-min’s questions and repeating only what he wanted to say; seeming unwilling to accept anything except the fact that after losing his memory, he was dating him. The version that had felt most unlike the original Hyung Cha-hyeon….
A strange chill crept down his back. Forcing himself to ignore it, Se-min’s face tightened in an odd way.
He looked so brazenly puzzled it was like What are you even talking about? was stamped across his forehead. Biting his lower lip, Se-min asked quietly, voice pitched low.
“…Hyung, why are you lying to me?”
With the same blank expression, Cha-hyeon simply looked at him. Staring at that face actually made it easier for Se-min to ask outright. Besides, he’d heard what Cha-hyeon had muttered to himself right after the memory vanished again.
“I took a day off just to see this…. I wondered what was so great about it. Conditional Reward?”
“You said it was a Conditional Reward, Hyung.”
“Ah.” With that small murmur, the feigned ignorance fell away. The corners of his mouth hitched a little higher. Maybe it was the angle of the light, but something in it looked self-mocking.
“Mmm….”
It was impossible to tell whether he truly hadn’t known, or just didn’t know when he’d slipped. Drawing a long breath, Se-min chose not to press for a confession and instead repeated himself, crisp and clear.
“…You said a notification for an Unclaimed Reward suddenly popped up in your status window. The text showed as question marks, so you figured it might activate if you entered a dungeon. We were talking about what that reward might be, and then your memory briefly….”
A chill gleam slid through Cha-hyeon’s suddenly narrowed eyes. Under that unfamiliar gaze, Se-min flinched without meaning to and hurried to finish.
“…came back. Hyung, do you remember that moment—when it briefly came back?”
“Who knows? Not really?”
He clearly didn’t remember. Reacting as if he were hearing it for the first time, Cha-hyeon slouched deeper into the sofa and muttered lazily,
“Mm, probably not? Or maybe? Do I remember it? Do I?”
The attitude bordered on teasing. Watching him answer so offhand—yes, no, who cares—made Se-min’s hand curl into a fist. He bit the soft inside of his cheek and stared as if demanding the right answer; with a small, deflating sigh, one corner of Cha-hyeon’s mouth tipped up.
“If I remembered, would I be acting like this?”
So in the end, no. Tension drained from Se-min’s lower lip, taut with strain. With that one new piece of information, his mind began to spin.
Cha-hyeon couldn’t recall what had happened when the memory returned. Even then, he’d clutched his head in pain, but ultimately still seemed unable to remember what had been going on.
Se-min had vaguely assumed that once Hyung Cha-hyeon’s memory was whole, he would remember everything from the accident up to now. But if neither side knew what had happened in between?
Two people who looked exactly the same—like twins.
He didn’t know why that thought surfaced again. It wasn’t that he’d literally become someone else; it only felt like twins.
Screwing his eyes shut, Se-min cut off his own fantasy. He was getting ahead of himself. Setting all else aside, the most important thing right now was that they’d found a clue that might help restore Hyung’s memory. Steadying his churning heart, he slowly lifted his lids.
“I’m curious about something too.”
Gently twisting the hand he was holding, Cha-hyeon pressed his palm to Se-min’s, as if to lace their fingers. Instead of actually interlocking them, he began lightly tickling with his fingertips.
“Hh….”
Se-min’s shoulders twitched. The sensation was ticklish and faintly electric. As if oblivious to the change, Cha-hyeon rubbed the soft flesh with his neatly trimmed nails.
“When you say my memory came back… do you mean what surfaced was about Se-min? What did Sung Cha-hyeon say to you then?”
As if dragging back the fantasy Se-min had deliberately erased, he referred to the version of himself whose memory had returned as though he were someone else. Again, questions rose to the back of Se-min’s throat, but his lips only fluttered and then pressed tight.
“What did he say that made you look all teary and downcast, my pair guide?”
The question was gentle. The hand that had been tickling his palm and knuckles slid into a true lace. The guiding energy that had been quietly flowing from Se-min began to stir.
Gulp. He swallowed dryly. All at once he became acutely aware of the situation. Sitting close together on the sofa with fingers intertwined and talking like this—this fit lovers far better than Hyung and Dongsaeng.
He’d nursed a long, one-sided crush on Hyung, but whenever the man did something that truly felt like a lover would, Se-min never knew what to do with himself. It was a shyness tinged with a strange discomfort.
“He didn’t say anything bad.”
Even mumbling, he defended Hyung. It was true. The Cha-hyeon whose memory had returned had only worried about him.
“He told me to go back because it was dangerous, not to come to the site. Hyung never really liked me doing guide work in the first place….”
Trailing off, Se-min looked away. Their laced fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the back of his hand like piano keys. His brows rounded.
“Ahh, so the reason you were sad was because I came back again?”
Not a conclusion he’d anticipated. Se-min’s eyes flew wide. Watching him squarely, Cha-hyeon’s lips curved. Se-min hurried to deny it.
“No! What are you talking about? You’re you, and the you whose memory came back is you too. I just, I just….”
He’d hoped and then been let down? He’d been sad that Hyung still forgot him—and the memories they’d shared? It felt like hearing an illness thought cured had relapsed. His heart ached like Hyung had gone back into a dungeon again.
He turned a handful of lines over in his head, but nothing made it past his lips.
Maybe because of what Cha-hyeon had said, anything he said now felt like it would sound to the current Cha-hyeon as if he were denying him. Watching him struggle to speak, Cha-hyeon murmured,
“Too bad, huh?”
It didn’t sound like a sneer so much as a regretful You couldn’t get what you wanted. With a walnut-shaped crease forming in his chin, emotion surged up and he burst out,
“Hyung. Like I said, you’re you now, and the you whose memory came back is you too. I like you no matter what. You’re my family and my pair partner—how could I not love you? But you can’t live the rest of your life with a blackout.”
Cha-hyeon raised one eyebrow to show he was listening—or maybe to say, Is that really necessary? Even so, Se-min pressed on, raw and earnest.
“Maybe when we were talking about the Unclaimed Reward and your memory briefly came back—that might be a hint for getting it back again. So… tell me what the question marks turned into, what the reward was. Please?”
His gaze flicked left. “Ah,” he murmured, as if something had occurred to him, but then, with a soft snort, he came clean without resistance.
“It was really nothing special. Clear Reward.”
“…Huh?”
“That’s all it said. Give me your hand.”
He tugged the hand he was holding toward himself. Drawn in without a chance to resist, Se-min watched as Cha-hyeon traced letters in his palm.
“It was question marks at first… then ‘Clear Reward,’ parentheses open, 1 slash 3, parentheses close.”
He drew a question mark, then added “(1/3).” Now able to picture what he’d seen, Se-min let out a faint, dazed “Oh.” With a shrug, Cha-hyeon went on, offhand:
“So I thought, did I really come out just to see this? Honestly, ‘Unclaimed Reward’ and ‘Clear Reward’ are basically the same thing—just wordplay, right? And lumped in with a bunch of junk like that.”
His long, knuckled finger indicated the items scattered across the living room table and around it. Staring at the mess, Se-min voiced the obvious guess.
“What is this… did one slot fill just because you cleared a gate? But you cleared three today.”
Right; it didn’t seem likely that simply clearing a dungeon would bring his memory back so easily. Maybe clearing some specific kind of dungeon gave a reward that briefly restored his memory.
And if he filled all three rewards, maybe Hyung’s memory would return completely.
He didn’t know what sort of dungeon would meet that condition, or when one would appear again. It was all conjecture, so it could be totally wrong—but even so, he’d glimpsed hope. His head swam, and his heart began to pound fast and hard.
“Hyung, if you clear two more specific gates, won’t your memory come back fully? Maybe sooner than we—”
His voice, bright with excitement, gradually trailed off. As the hopeful rhythm of his heartbeat veered off, the color drained from his face in an instant.
“……”
He had to clear two more gates of unknown timing to trigger the reward?
Sung Cha-hyeon was an S-rank Esper. There were many places in the country that needed him for national security, and there would be many more.
He’d thought the reason he’d practically had a fit today was because Hyung had gone to clear a dungeon without a word. If he just told him in advance, he would be okay.
If he just… told him in advance….
His heart lurched tight. Se-min’s Adam’s apple bobbed in a hard swallow.
It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t okay at all. Just imagining Cha-hyeon working as an Esper made his heart race with unease. Veins stood out on the back of the hand clutching Hyung’s sleeve.
An unexpected trauma had just reared its head.
