“U-Uncle’s going to die?”
Tears brimmed in the eyes of the children—kids who, far too early in life, had come to understand death through the loss of their birth parents. Kim Sibaek gently wiped the blood from the corner of Tae Woon’s mouth with his sleeve. Then he called the children closer and placed a hand on each of their heads.
“I pulled out the bad energy that was inside him.”
A soft, gentle glow spread from his hand as he slowly stroked their small heads. The children had come through the chaos without a single scratch, so there were no wounds to heal—but as the warmth enveloped them, their tears began to subside little by little.
He spoke tenderly, soothing their sniffles as they tried to calm down.
“Uncle’s going to be okay. I promise I’ll make him better. So, Seo-yeon, Seo-jun—can you help him get well faster by praying for him, without worrying too much?”
“Y-Yes…!”
“Your dad wouldn’t want to see you crying like this. Let’s wipe those tears.”
He carefully cleaned their faces of both tears and runny noses. Lord Biendeoé flitted anxiously above their heads, but even then, the kids played with the baby crow with tentative hands.
Though it had already been three years, he was still a rookie dad who often fumbled. Even so, Kim Sibaek finally let out a quiet breath of relief.
“You’re good with kids.”
“…Just used to them, is all.”
But for some reason, a bitter tinge of regret flickered in Kim Sibaek’s gaze. Before Pi Minhyung could ask, he turned his eyes away from the children and quietly resumed tending to Tae Woon.
Word of the Guildmaster collapsing out of nowhere wouldn’t benefit anyone, so they’d slipped quietly into the parking garage. People were still inside reporting damages, so no one had begun to leave yet. Thanks to Kim Sibaek’s healing, there were no serious injuries, so things would wrap up soon.
Eunho should be here before that.
As if on cue, Pi Minhyung received a message from Yang Eunho saying he was almost there. He sent back a quick reply, then turned toward Na Jungwoo, slumped awkwardly in the passenger seat, a heavy look on his face. It was hard to believe that guy was the root of this entire disaster.
Jungwoo’s not the type to pull something like this…
Sure, Na Jungwoo was cocky and overconfident, but he wasn’t the type to hold grudges. After getting utterly demolished by Kim Sibaek—not just a narrow loss but a complete defeat—he’d probably backed down right away. In some ways, he embodied their guild’s motto better than anyone.
He had, after all, challenged Pi Minhyung right after joining—only to get thoroughly thrashed in the training yard. From then on, he’d mellowed out quite a bit.
“……”
Tae Woon’s face, still and pale with his lashes lowered, looked unfamiliar—almost unsettling. This was the same guy who’d stayed conscious even after suffering critical injuries from Xiangliu. So why was he like this now?
A suffocating sense of frustration filled Pi Minhyung’s chest. He’d seen Tae Woon’s unnaturally pale skin every day but had never given it a second thought. Now, seeing him unconscious and bloodless, that same face looked frighteningly fragile.
Even as a child, Tae Woon never showed his wounds. Before the Cataclysm, he’d at least let people get close to him a little—but after, he’d become different.
There was even a time after a battle when he vanished without a word, only to be found later, alone in a corner, quietly wrapping his own wounds. His body held scars even his closest friends didn’t know about. The fact that he lost consciousness in front of Kim Sibaek—it said everything about what Sibaek meant to him.
And yet, despite understanding all that, Pi Minhyung couldn’t help feeling helpless—useless. He hadn’t even realized Tae Woon was injured during the Anxious Mist hunt. He’d foolishly forgotten that Tae Woon was still human. That he could bleed. That he could die.
Ding-dong.
If not for the sound of the notification, he might’ve sunk even deeper into that pit of self-loathing. Pi Minhyung swallowed a sigh and checked his phone. It was an email from Gwak Yoonsang.
“He sent the report. Took less than ten minutes.”
Attached was a file with not just an analysis of Xiangliu, but detailed notes that even someone unfamiliar with monsterology could follow. It looked like a report meant for higher-ups—maybe even the Director.
Pi Minhyung handed over the phone and leaned in to read over Kim Sibaek’s shoulder. Skimming through the table of contents, he quickly scrolled to the section on Xiangliu’s venom and read it in silence, his brow furrowing at the technical language.
Even with the annotations, the content was dense and complicated. But Kim Sibaek had already finished reading and handed the phone back. Then, after confirming that Lord Biendeoé was keeping the children calm, he quietly stepped out of the backseat.
“I need a word.”
Lowering his voice so the kids wouldn’t hear, Kim Sibaek leaned in close and whispered to Pi Minhyung.
“Did you know Woonie’s eyesight is poor?”
“Well… I mean, he wears glasses sometimes.”
“It’s because of Xiangliu’s residual venom.”
“…What?”
“When he was injured, some of the venom seeped in and lingered. It’s been steadily damaging his vision. I found out last time and tried to treat it, but I couldn’t purge it completely. That leftover poison reacted with Hunter Na Jungwoo’s venom, and Woonie’s body couldn’t handle it.”
Pi Minhyung, stunned that Xiangliu’s venom had still been in Tae Woon’s system, opened his mouth, then shut it—several times—before finally biting his lower lip.
“…Can he be cured?”
“I’ll make sure he is. No matter what.”
Kim Sibaek reached into the car and gently stroked Tae Woon’s cheek. There was no mistaking the affection in that cautious touch. Pi Minhyung instinctively turned his gaze away, feeling as though he’d just witnessed something far too personal—something he shouldn’t have seen.
In the distance, Yang Eunho’s car pulled into the parking garage. Still looking uncertain, even after hearing what had happened, Yang stepped out. But the moment he saw Tae Woon unconscious, all the color drained from his face.
Only after securing Na Jungwoo with the Awakener-grade handcuffs that Yang had brought did Kim Sibaek finally heal the torn tendon in the man’s ankle.
***
Na Jungwoo was livid.
First off, he’d been shackled with Awakener-exclusive restraints. These cuffs were designed to suppress a Hunter’s powers—but they weren’t foolproof. They didn’t work on top-tier A-ranks or anyone S-rank and above, which is why governments typically struggled to contain elite Hunter offenders.
But South Korea was different. If someone needed to subdue a Hunter beyond the restraints’ limits, they called Tae Woon. And he never once refused. Every Hunter Tae Woon went after was captured in a condition worse than death. One infamous case involved a self-proclaimed cult leader whose mangled limbs still hadn’t fully recovered.
Jealous critics liked to accuse Tae Woon of “using criminal hunts as an excuse to legally beat people,” but regardless of what they whispered, no one could deny he was a central pillar of the nation’s public safety.
So for Na Jungwoo, being cuffed with those restraints wasn’t just humiliating—it meant the world didn’t consider him a top-tier A-rank. That stung.
The second reason? He was being framed.
“What? You think I tried to stab—no, that I tried to stab Hunter Kim Sibaek?! Why?! And poison, seriously? Why the hell would I use poison?!”
The longer the interrogation dragged on, the more Na Jungwoo’s disbelief curdled into rage. He felt like his blood vessels were about to burst from sheer indignation.
“Whoever pulled this stunt clearly doesn’t know me at all! Poison’s for weaklings! I’d never use that crap!”
“Haah…”
Yang Eunho sighed, exhausted, and took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose with firm pressure.
“Could it be that you were holding a grudge after losing your sparring match with Hunter Kim?”
“If I really had a grudge over that, I’d have gone after our team captain first!”
“We have video evidence.”
Yang opened a laptop and played a video—surveillance footage smuggled out of the amusement park’s security room. It had been cut right before Tae Woon stepped in and took the stab, but it clearly showed Na Jungwoo lunging at Kim Sibaek.
“Th… Uh, uhh…”
Na Jungwoo’s eyes bulged, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
“You still want to deny it?”
“…This—it has to be fake! It’s been doctored, hasn’t it?!”
“Where did you get the poison?”
“I-I’m telling you, I didn’t—!”
This was bad. At this rate, he’d end up taking the fall for everything. The footage looked too real. Even to him, it looked exactly like something he had done.
Frozen in place, Na Jungwoo went pale, stammering and unable to defend himself. Just then, Yang Eunho’s phone rang. He listened to the caller for a moment, then replied after a brief pause.
“You can come in.”
With that, the door to the interrogation room opened quietly—and Kim Sibaek walked in.
