“……”
He’d been caught.
That was his first thought. In the dark room, kneeling on the floor, he could hear the small, steady rhythm of breathing. His vision, blurred with tears, barely made out the sleeping form of Se-min, lost in dreams, completely unaware.
Cha-hyeon froze, stiff as a board, as if struck by lightning. Eyes wide, he tried to comprehend the abrupt shift in the situation. His massive frame, which moments ago had been limp with exhaustion, was now taut with unnatural tension.
He’d failed.
A sharp, jarring siren screamed through his mind, a piercing mental alarm that echoed like a hallucination in his ears. The pounding in his temples was so intense it felt like his skull might split open, and from head to toe, his body had gone bloodless and cold.
What scared him most was the complete lack of understanding—he didn’t even know what had happened. From his perspective, he’d just blinked—and suddenly, everything had changed.
And this… this hadn’t been part of the plan.
The real Sung Cha-hyeon returning with his memories fully intact, revealing the lies to Se-min. Se-min realizing that the version of Cha-hyeon he’d been with wasn’t the real one. Being treated as temporary, disposable—like he could vanish at any moment, even though he wasn’t just some halfway phase in the process of regaining memories. The nightmare of losing everything he’d built, stolen away by the original Sung Cha-hyeon, loomed closer than ever.
The original Cha-hyeon.
Faced with this unfamiliar, overwhelming fear, Cha-hyeon turned deathly pale. He couldn’t even breathe—but he didn’t notice. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath at all.
Drip… A leftover tear slid down his chin. Drip… Cold sweat, forming at his temples, traced a slow path down his face.
They must have talked. But how much had they said? What had they talked about? That it was good to see each other again? That Hyung’s memories had come back?
Does Se-min think he’s regained his memories? Or had the real Cha-hyeon looked at his status window and told him everything? The personal status window—normally only visible to the individual—had been accessible to the other Cha-hyeon too, after all.
What the hell should he do?
When Se-min wakes up, how should he act? What should he say? How should he lie? What kind of performance would he need to pull off? How could he fix this?
His black eyes flicked anxiously around. His eyelids trembled as if desperately trying to blink away the chaos.
Maybe he should just leave…
That’s when he noticed the strange sensation in his palm.
His eyes snapped to his left hand. Tension and panic had made him ball his fist so tightly that something dark had appeared across his knuckles.
His ragged, wheezing breaths sounded like thunder in the silence. Still frozen, he slowly twisted his wrist.
Black markings jutted out between his fingers, as if trying to escape the confines of his clenched fist.
His fingers unfurled slowly—deliberately—like a flower blooming in slow motion. Even in the dark, Cha-hyeon could clearly make out the words scrawled across his palm, in handwriting that was unmistakably his own.
Love and doubt cannot coexist.
A wave of chills crawled down his spine. Cha-hyeon stared blankly at his left hand, as if frozen alive.
It was real. It really existed. The original Sung Cha-hyeon—the “Hyung” Se-min had waited for—had occupied this body. And as if that weren’t enough, he’d left a message behind.
He’d only read the words, but his blank, whitewashed mind couldn’t process their meaning. Eyes wide open, still staring at the phrase, Cha-hyeon slowly shifted his gaze toward Se-min.
Should I run?
The uncharacteristic thought crossed his mind just as he started to shuffle backward on his knees—only to make a mistake he normally wouldn’t.
His cold, sweaty foot slipped. His knees gave out.
Thud!
With a loud crash, Cha-hyeon collapsed awkwardly as he tried to retreat. The noise jolted Se-min awake.
The way Se-min slowly lifted his sleep-heavy eyelids felt like it was happening in slow motion. Cha-hyeon, frozen in place, could only watch helplessly as those eyes opened—and locked directly onto him.
“…Uh, Hyung…?”
The name tumbled out of Se-min’s mouth in a voice still thick with sleep. It wasn’t a conscious greeting—just something said instinctively upon seeing Hyung there.
Cha-hyeon, pale as a ghost, could only stare back. His throat bobbed, muscles straining to form words—but nothing came out. His mouth was dry, completely parched. He didn’t know what he was supposed to say.
Was there disappointment in Se-min’s voice? Or relief?
Cha-hyeon’s blanked-out mind tried to analyze the tone.
If it was disappointment—then he’d been exposed. Maybe the original Cha-hyeon had told Se-min the truth. That the claim about the Unclaimed Reward was a lie.
That would mean everything he said—about the feelings he supposedly had for Se-min before losing his memory—would be seen as part of that same lie. Which, in truth, wasn’t false. He had only repeated the method he’d seen in Se-min’s Mindscape to ease his fear.
But if Se-min was relieved… then maybe the lie hadn’t been discovered. Maybe he thought the Unclaimed Reward had just reached “(3/3).”
Then what should he say? Should he try to steer the conversation? Maybe something like, “I thought my memories would come back once all the numbers filled up, but I guess not”? And if Se-min was disappointed, maybe he could comfort him—say it might still happen later.
Cold sweat soaked his back.
Cha-hyeon, still seated on the floor and visibly rattled, didn’t move. Se-min, seeing him like that, slowly sat up.
Still blinking sleepily, Se-min’s expression shifted to mild confusion. His gaze swept from Cha-hyeon’s eyes to his face, then to his stiff, unmoving posture.
“…Huh…?”
Suddenly, Se-min’s eyes widened. The sleepiness vanished in an instant, and his face lit up with undeniable joy.
Relief. Cha-hyeon caught that tiny, subtle cue.
Maybe his lie hadn’t been discovered?
He tried to swallow. Nothing. His throat was still dry.
“…Hyung. You’re… Cha-hyeon Hyung, right?”
Even in that hoarse voice, there was unmistakable joy. The tension that had gripped Cha-hyeon’s muscles finally began to ease.
Maybe I didn’t get caught? Does he think the Unclaimed Reward just reached “(3/3)”? That smile—was it because he thinks the real Cha-hyeon is back?
His thoughts raced, trying to fill in the gaps of a memory he didn’t have. The black writing on his palm faded once more. Cha-hyeon curled his fist and tugged up the muscles near his dimples into a gentle smile.
“…What, there’s another Cha-hyeon Hyung out there?”
His voice, paired with the smile, came out casually—smoothly.
Or did it?
If Se-min thought his memories had returned, should he have sounded more like the original? Or no—he should act like nothing had changed, even with all three numbers filled. Then maybe this tone was right. Or should he have looked more startled? But he had already shown panic earlier, hadn’t he?
The swirl of thoughts was abruptly cut off by the look on Se-min’s face.
That raw joy melted into concern. He glanced around, almost worried.
“That Hyung…”
The murmur faded into nothing, but Cha-hyeon caught the tone.
That Hyung?
His sharp eyes narrowed, scanning Se-min carefully. Relief. Sadness. Frustration. Confusion.
His heightened senses zeroed in on the nuances, piecing them together into a theory.
It sounded like… something—or someone—was already gone.
Could it be that “that Hyung” meant him? Was Se-min glad the real Cha-hyeon was back—but also mourning his disappearance?
Jealousy twisted his perception. His vision reddened with irrational thoughts. The pain felt real, as if someone had stabbed him in the chest.
But even through that, Cha-hyeon tried to follow the trail of his one-sided reasoning.
Yes. Chances were good Se-min hadn’t discovered the lie. Judging by his happiness… maybe he thought he was the real Cha-hyeon, finally returned.
The older brother’s selfless love had warped into possessiveness. He didn’t want to lose Se-min. That need clawed its way into the forefront of his mind, outweighing everything else.
So then… was this another chance?
Maybe he could convince Se-min to give up. Say that even when the Unclaimed Reward hits “(3/3),” the real Cha-hyeon doesn’t come back. Maybe that would do it.
His narrowed, frantic thoughts spiraled endlessly.
He stared at Se-min, who was now blinking at him with concern. Cha-hyeon slowly rose to his feet, reflexively wearing a smile.
His knees ached from kneeling for so long, the cold even seeping into his joints. He walked casually, as if nothing was wrong, and perched on the edge of the bed.
He rubbed his knee with his left hand. The silver watch and ring he wore caught the dim light, flickering with his movement.
Se-min still looked at him with a touch of sadness—but that unmistakable joy was still there too.
But soon… what kind of expression would he wear, once the hope of the real Cha-hyeon returning was crushed?
Se-min would be disappointed. And Cha-hyeon would be hurt.
But if Se-min could finally accept that the original wouldn’t return… wouldn’t that be a fair exchange?
Lose the flesh, take the bone.
Thump. Thump. Thump… His heartbeat, never once calm since his return, now ached in his chest.
“…I’m sorry.”
“…Huh?”
The apology flowed naturally.
Watching Se-min’s brows lift in surprise, Cha-hyeon bowed his head slightly, as if ashamed.
“I thought you might be disappointed.”
Se-min blinked, wide-eyed, lips parting like he was about to speak. Cha-hyeon caught the movement and continued, voice gentle.
“I guess… even when the numbers fill up, the memories don’t come back after all.”
Se-min blinked again, puzzled at first. Then something seemed to click, and his lips pressed into a tight line. His expression slowly hardened.
Disappointment? Anger?
Was it because the real Cha-hyeon hadn’t returned?
Just as Cha-hyeon tried to read the emotion behind it, a voice—colder than anything he’d ever heard from Se-min—cut through him.
“…What the hell are you talking about?”
The joy that had lit up Se-min’s face moments ago vanished—replaced by unmistakable disappointment. But it wasn’t the kind Cha-hyeon expected.
“You’re not apologizing for pretending you got the reward before? And now you’re saying the number’s filled up…?”
It was like an air raid siren went off in his head.
Cha-hyeon’s lips parted slightly, instincts screaming that something had gone horribly wrong.
A strange emotion hovered on Se-min’s face—something Cha-hyeon had never seen from him before.
Betrayal.
“Hyung. The count just went up to ‘(2/3).’ Why… are you lying?”
His thoughts, so slick and calculated just seconds ago, went completely blank.
One thing echoed through his skull like a siren:
Fucked. Fucked. Fucked.
“…Ah.”
A shaky breath escaped his once-seductive lips—now useless.
The raw truth slipped from him, bypassing thought.
“…I got caught.”
