Lee Han-seo’s limp body dangled in Park Woo-jun’s arms, swinging like a ragdoll with every careless jolt. His bare chest and back were marred with hideous bite marks, smeared across his skin like bruised ink. No matter how many times Park Woo-jun clenched his fists and swore it wouldn’t happen again—that he wouldn’t hurt him anymore—this was how it always ended.
And every time Han-seo looked up at him with those wide, trusting eyes and came closer, so innocently unaware, a dark urge whispered that it’d be easier to just snap his neck. Kill him before he got too close. It wasn’t hatred. If anything, it might’ve been love—some twisted, all-consuming version of it. Park Woo-jun had never imagined that kind of savage craving could exist in the depths of his subconscious.
It was only after those psychic waves—infused with mental powers—had scrambled his brain that he realized something terrifying. The thick, protective shell that had always kept his rationality intact… had cracked. Shattered. Vanished.
When he came to, the first thing he saw was Han-seo barreling into the treatment room, frantic and crying. Normally, he’d have comforted him. Asked if he was scared. Smiled and said it was okay now. That’s what he should’ve done.
But in that moment, all he’d wanted was to shove that tear-streaked, clueless face into the floor and crush it. Why weren’t you looking at me? Why weren’t you waiting for me? he wanted to scream, hurling blame like knives.
It was irrational. Unreasonable. He knew that. Thank god he at least realized he wasn’t in his right mind. He didn’t act on it, but even the fact that he wanted to—that such a thought even existed—was enough to make his skin crawl.
Vile curses he’d never dared to utter to Han-seo hovered on the tip of his tongue. His head throbbed like it was splitting in two. Logic and emotion warred inside him, looping the same thought again and again—kill Han-seo, save Han-seo, kill him, save him.
So he decided—just for now, just until he could get a grip on himself—he needed to put some space between them.
“Please, just go. Why can’t you understand anything I say?”
“Anything but that. Come here.”
“Lee Han-seo.”
“No? If you won’t come, I’ll come to you.”
That night, like always, Han-seo climbed into bed with fearless defiance. He acted like nothing could scare him, but the tremble in his shoulders and the chill of his clammy palms betrayed him. Still, it was enough. As long as Han-seo wanted him, Park Woo-jun couldn’t push him away—not under any circumstance.
If he truly cared about Han-seo, then the wise thing—the right thing—would’ve been to stay away until his mind recovered. But doing what was best for Han-seo had always been the excuse he used to make the worst possible choices. That was Park Woo-jun’s curse. And so once again, he turned his back on the obvious answer and clung to Han-seo like a parasite.
Han-seo, who never should’ve had to carry something so filthy in his shadow, dried up little by little. One day. Then two. Three. Four. The more time passed, the more hollow he became—until it was impossible to ignore.
“Who are you texting?” “Where are you going?” “What the hell are you thinking with that little head of yours?”—questions Woo-jun would’ve normally swallowed down a hundred times over now came spilling out of his mouth without a second thought. It was no wonder that Han-seo’s smile, once so easy and natural, started to look strained.
And every time Woo-jun realized Han-seo was starting to pull away—when he noticed that distant look in his eyes—it made him burn with fury all over again. Every time Han-seo glanced at him with that familiar, aching gaze, it made him want to scream.
I’m right here. I’m the one you love—the only one you’re supposed to love. So why do you look like that? Why are you drifting away? He wanted to lash out, to shake him, to accuse him until he broke.
“Mmh… Woo-jun…”
Maybe in his dreams, he was seeing the real Park Woo-jun again. With a soft, peaceful expression, Han-seo murmured his name in his sleep. Woo-jun just watched him, silently. What would be the point of waking him up? All he’d do is press, Is it because you don’t love me anymore? Who is it that you love now?
He knew the questions were pointless. But he couldn’t stop. It was like being trapped inside a rusted-out car with no brakes, speeding toward a cliff.
It wasn’t until his summons device buzzed with the alarm for deployment that Woo-jun snapped out of it. He hurried to get ready and left the dorm without a sound. The sky was still dark.
***
“…Seriously, doesn’t he seem completely insane? Gives me the chills. I can’t deal with this. Are all S-Classes like that?”
“Shh! Quiet down. He’ll hear you.”
It was in the middle of the battle, when the creature’s flesh was being sliced apart by the sharpened pressure of compressed air, that the anxious whispers of teammates reached his ears.
Woo-jun wiped the blood from his cheek and turned slightly. He immediately spotted a few of them flinching and scrambling to hide behind others. It didn’t bother him. He just found it strange—odd that there were still people on his team who weren’t used to his level of brutality.
They’d been inside the dungeon for over a week now, but these faces and voices were unfamiliar. Probably backup Espers, brought in last-minute because of the chain of high-level dungeon breaks and the manpower shortage.
“S-Sorry, Team Leader! I’ll talk to them and make sure it doesn’t happen again!”
“It’s fine. Use that time to move forward another step.”
The one who apologized wasn’t even the one who said it—just a seasoned Esper who’d shared plenty of missions with Park Woo-jun. Despite Woo-jun brushing it off, the man kept glancing at him like he was trying to read his mood.
Woo-jun waved him off, voice flat.
“I’m serious. It’s fine. Go check on the secondary team’s mineral collection progress.”
“…Yes, sir.”
It was strange. The moment Park Woo-jun stepped away from Lee Han-seo, the rage that had once clawed at his brain with brutal intensity began to ebb. Not just the fury—everything dulled. Whatever he saw, whatever he heard, it all felt distant, like someone else’s life. As if every emotion he had was anchored to Han-seo, sunk deep like roots in the ground. He’d always been that way, to an extent. But this… this was on another level.
Still, he didn’t mind it. The numbness wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He just wanted to finish quickly and go back. His Guiding levels were already running low, teetering at the edge. It was time to accelerate the pace.
After transferring command to an Esper specializing in defense, Woo-jun forged ahead on his own. The moment he sensed monsters nearby, he tore into them with invisible blades, slashing through the air like a storm. Their stench—rotting flesh and sour bodily fluids—rushed in before he even saw them.
Some of them didn’t fall easily, even against his unseen strikes. But that didn’t matter. If once wasn’t enough, he’d hit them twice. If twice failed, he’d strike again and again—until the last breath left their bodies. It didn’t matter how powerful they were. Nothing could survive that kind of relentless assault.
At last, more than ten days after they’d entered, the return gate appeared—the one everyone had been so desperate for. Out of the twenty-seven who went in, none had died. Even the injuries were minor: just bruises and scrapes. That was the result of piling the entire burden of combat onto a single Striker—Park Woo-jun.
Only after watching every last teammate make it through safely did Woo-jun exit the dungeon. Maybe it was the relief. As soon as he stepped through the gate, his knees buckled. His Guiding reserves were completely drained.
He didn’t even know how many monsters he’d killed. The number was long past counting. All he could feel was his own body, screaming and groaning like an engine tearing itself apart. The wind, once a soft whisper brushing against his ear, now turned inward—gnawing at him from the inside.
Shhk, shhk. The sound of flesh tearing echoed from beneath his combat suit. His head throbbed violently. Beeeeeeep. That sharp, unending ring bored into his eardrums. Please… Han-seo… it hurts… It’d be easier if I just died here. No. Not yet. Not like this…
“Urgh…”
“Park Woo-jun!”
Han-seo’s sharp voice rang out, clear as a bell, scattering through the dirt where Woo-jun lay sprawled. He didn’t even have time to register the flood of Guiding crashing into him. Desperate, suffocating, he clung to Han-seo’s body, dragging him close and capturing the lips that had been calling his name.
“It’s okay. I’m here now. You’re safe.”
Even as his vision went black, Han-seo’s whispers pierced through. It’s really okay now. Thank you for coming back. You can rest. Just sleep.
Han-seo, waiting for him outside the gate—just existing, just being there, was enough to fill Woo-jun with hope. Han-seo would probably never understand just how much that meant. Just how much strength his presence alone could give.
As the warmth of Guiding enveloped him like a cocoon, soft and steady, Park Woo-jun finally let go of the fraying thread of consciousness he’d been clinging to. As always, the blackout came in an instant. It should’ve been that simple—should’ve ended there.
But—
“Come here. I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… Please don’t hurt me…”
A memory he’d never lived. A scene long forgotten. A wave of something overwhelming surged through his mind, ripping everything to shreds as it crashed down.
