It hadn’t been long since Kim Sibaek’s special promotion, so he was still tightly wound with discipline and tension. He’d just finished a weeklong stakeout near a fugitive’s girlfriend’s house with Detective Park, and in the midst of it all, he completely forgot it was his birthday.
“We switched shifts here and there, but my place was too far, so I just stayed at the station to sleep and wash up. I didn’t go home for several days. By the time I finally got back, my birthday had already passed—two days ago.”
When Kim Sibaek finally returned, exhausted from the arrest, what he found was Tae Woon collapsed unconscious in front of the door. The boy had been crouched outside, waiting for him to come home—for two days. His birthday fell in early spring.
Since it wasn’t unusual for Tae Woon to visit during Sibaek’s days off, none of the nuns thought much of it when he didn’t return right away. But in early spring, once the sun sets, the temperature drops fast. Tae Woon, who hadn’t eaten properly and had stayed out in the cold for two straight nights, came down with a severe case of pneumonia.
“…Hyung. You’re back?”
That single line, murmured from the boy’s cracked lips as he barely opened his eyes—without a trace of blame, only joy—along with the gentle gleam in his narrowed gaze, was something Kim Sibaek could never forget. Even now, it remained vivid, like it had just happened yesterday.
“It wasn’t like now, when kids have smartphones. But if he’d just gone to a shop or asked a clerk, he could’ve called me. I kept asking myself over and over why he didn’t, and when I finally asked, he told me.”
In the hospital room, Tae Woon had been biting into an apple Sibaek had peeled for him, his lips fumbling as he replied.
“I didn’t want to bother you while you were working…”
The reason was so simple, almost laughably so, especially after all the worry and torment Sibaek had gone through. But it was also the reason why a boy, still in elementary school, had waited outside on his own for two nights straight. His heart ached, and a warmth welled up in his chest that stung behind his eyes.
That was the kind of child Tae Woon was.
A boy whose entire world revolved around Kim Sibaek.
Even if Sibaek hadn’t come home for days, the kid would’ve kept sitting there, waiting. Just like he did in that semi-basement room all those years ago.
“You can go back now, Hyung.”
“I’m not going.”
He remembers the boy’s answer—firm, unwavering.
That boy, who once clung to him like he was the only person in the world, had grown up. A boy who endured 21 years with fragmented, isolated memories was now strong enough to live on—even without Kim Sibaek at the center of his life.
“I don’t want to lose you—my family.”
Maybe it was him who’d been stuck in the past. Just like the ghost of his younger brother still weighed heavy on his chest, shackling his heart.
Was I the one who never moved on?
Then… how was he supposed to see this boy now?
He cupped Tae Woon’s pale cheek. The boy’s long lashes cast faint shadows and slowly fluttered open, as if responding to the touch. His deep eyes blinked slowly, like they were struggling to catch their breath. And when they finally focused on the man in front of him, his gaze softened and a smile bloomed.
“…Ah. Hyung.”
Tae Woon had grown up. Even knowing that Kim Sibaek might not be part of his future, he remained steady. And yet, that smile—the same one from the boy who had always waited for him—hadn’t changed one bit. Just like back then, in the hospital room, Kim Sibaek leaned in and gently rubbed their cheeks together.
Even the simplest words—Are you okay?—caught in his throat. So instead, he buried that smile deep in his heart. And though the tight pain in his chest had started to ease, Kim Sibaek couldn’t bring himself to let go of the boy’s warmth for a long, long time.
***
In the city, even after the Management Center’s incident and the relatively smooth purification of demonic energy, another Monster Seed had sprouted. The public, though wary of this new development, was also thrilled—both by the successful subjugation and the emergence of a new S-rank Hunter. The excitement only grew with interviews and testimonies from people who had directly experienced Kim Sibaek’s healing powers.
Because of all that, Tae Woon’s phone—shut off from the world—remained quiet, while Yang Eunho’s burned nonstop.
— Eunho, come on. It’s not like I’m asking for something unreasonable. I’m not trying to sneak a guild member away or anything underhanded. I’m just inviting him as a guest—high-paying, of course—just for a hunt or two. That’s fair, right?
“Guildmaster Yoo…”
Yang Eunho sighed heavily into the phone, listening to Justyna’s familiar voice from the other side of the world.
“I already told you what our Guildmaster said, didn’t I?”
— Come on, there’s something special about sticking together as Koreans, right? Just talk to Tae Woon for me, yeah?
She’s not even Korean. What’s with the “Korean solidarity” talk? Yang Eunho’s stress climbed higher, directly proportional to the chaos outside the guild’s walls.
Whatever was happening in the outside world didn’t matter much to Kim Sibaek. All that concerned him was this: his divine power was steadily recovering. And right now, more than anything else, he was focused on the temperature of a bowl of porridge.
“Ah—hot!”
“Too hot?”
Alarmed, Kim Sibaek quickly blew on the spoonful. The already-cooling porridge grew even cooler.
Tae Woon always claimed he had a cat’s tongue—and still stuck to that story—but not long ago, he’d been eating piping hot dishes just fine whenever he ate with Kim Sibaek. Now, he opened his lips with a playful little pout, and Kim Sibaek carefully fed him the spoonful. Only after Tae Woon chewed and swallowed, cheeks puffed ever so slightly, did Sibaek relax.
“That’s better, right? Does it taste good?”
Tae Woon gave a soft smile in reply. Though still sick and unable to leave the bed, he was eating well—and that was enough to warm Kim Sibaek’s heart.
The only one sweating over this scene… was Lord Biendeoé.
…Is he faking it?
Suspicion quietly bloomed, and the crow’s pupils twitched. Maybe he was already healed, just lounging in bed to soak up more of Kim Sibaek’s attention. Maybe he was milking this whole thing for extra care.
But even if she voiced her doubts, she knew exactly what Kim Sibaek would say: “Can you blame him? He must’ve felt so miserable being sick that he’d pretend just to stay close to me.” That answer was all but guaranteed, so she didn’t bother.
“Hyuuung, that. That one.”
“Hm? This? Jangjorim? You want some?”
“Mm-hmm.”
With that childish lisp and the way he eagerly nodded, he looked less like a 35-year-old man and more like a 5-year-old kid begging for a snack.
……
Biendeoé’s suspicion deepened, but she kept her beak shut. Whether Tae Woon’s regression into a clingy toddler exposed the lie or not didn’t matter—Kim Sibaek was the reason he could get away with anything.
Thankfully, today’s torture didn’t last long. Yang Eunho arrived, killing two birds with one stone—bringing news and cutting through the saccharine atmosphere like a blade.
“Hello. How’s Tae Woon-hyung doing?”
Eunho, who looked noticeably more worn out than just a few days ago, winced as Tae Woon shot him a glare for interrupting their cozy little moment.
“……?”
Kim Sibaek turned to look at him, puzzled—only to see Tae Woon’s eyes instantly curve into a warm, innocent smile. That made it even worse somehow.
It felt dangerous to even make small talk. Yang Eunho could practically feel the warning: say one wrong thing, and you’ll be cursed forever. Clearing his throat, he jumped straight to the point.
“Ahem. We’ve secured all the manastones you requested. They’ll arrive tomorrow.”
“Thank you. You’ve gone through a lot.”
No one really understood the exact mechanism, but apparently, the medicine to treat Tae Woon required highly toxic manastones from specific monsters. Eunho had pitched in without hesitation.
Market-available manastones were all refined, but Kim Sibaek needed raw ones. So, for the past several days, Hunters from the 7777 Guild had been scouring for the exact beasts Kim Sibaek had listed. Even that wasn’t enough—they had to scour overseas auctions too.
After delivering his report, Eunho glanced at Tae Woon again, checking the mood.
“……”
The glare was still there. Taking the hint, Eunho quietly stood up.
“Right. Have we figured out the cause of the Anxious Mist?”
“So far, it looks like natural germination. During the Management Center case, we at least had Kim Daeho as a lead, but this one’s completely clean. Not even a single suspicious person on the CCTV.”
The odds were slim, but not zero—natural germination was a possibility. Still, Kim Sibaek couldn’t shake the feeling that Edokers was behind it all.
He glanced toward Biendeoé, curious what she thought—only to find her with her face buried in a cushion, already asleep.
Overwhelmed by Tae Woon’s silent pressure, Eunho quickly excused himself. After tucking Biendeoé in, Kim Sibaek returned to sit by Tae Woon’s bedside.
With the visitors gone, the room fell into an almost surreal stillness.
Earlier, when Eunho was around, Tae Woon had been sitting on the bed feigning fatigue, sneakily shooting “get lost” glares behind Kim Sibaek’s back. But now, he gently leaned into him. The weight on his shoulder felt both familiar and unfamiliar—he’d grown so much, become a man in the time they were apart.
Kim Sibaek struggled with how to start the conversation. Nothing felt quite right. In the end, he ditched subtlety and went for the bluntest possible question.
“You… don’t like me like that, do you?”
