Kim Sibaek flinched slightly but replied with practiced nonchalance.
“Why are you asking all of a sudden?”
“No reason. I was fantasizing about having sex with you again today, and… well, I just got in the mood.”
“……”
Without a word, he flicked Tae Woon on the forehead.
After lunch, they slipped out of the building in secret. The journey to Jeongseon Prison was grueling. Of course, it was Biendeoé who handled all the research about train tickets and bus schedules.
[Death and Beauty suggests that if you’re going to travel alone, you really ought to get a driver’s license.]
“I had one back in the day. But…”
Sitting on the train, Kim Sibaek mumbled to Biendeoé—currently disguised as a doll—while chewing on a hard-boiled egg he’d picked up from the convenience store in the station.
“Not only do I barely remember anything from Earth, I can’t even recall the last time I drove in Mak Slechth. Must’ve been twenty years ago?”
[Death and Beauty lets out a low, weighty hum.]
Back when he was one of the highest-ranking priests in the Cult, there’d been no need for Kim Sibaek to drive himself anywhere. Autonomous driving by artificial spirits had already become the norm.
[Death and Beauty asks how you plan to carry out your proselytizing.]
“Things are different from Mak Slechth. I’ll need to figure out a way to avoid being labeled a cult.”
[Death and Beauty suggests leaving it to fate.]
“That’s a very elegant way of saying ‘I haven’t thought about it at all’… Mmgh.”
A baby crow’s wing slapped him across the mouth.
After finally arriving at Jeongseon Prison and waiting for quite some time, he was able to meet with Tae Chul-hoon in the visitation room.
The sound of long fingers rhythmically and erratically tapping against the desk echoed through the stagnant silence of the office.
Why would Sibaek hyung go to Jeongseon Prison? It has to be Tae Chul-hoon, right?
Tae Woon was so deep in thought he didn’t even realize he was the one tapping the desk. He replayed their past conversations in his head, searching for any slip-ups he might’ve made when Tae Chul-hoon had come up.
…Nothing. He was certain there hadn’t been a single misstep.
Unlike Kim Sibaek’s other acquaintances, Tae Chul-hoon had a fixed location—unless something drastic happened, he stayed put. Which meant Kim Sibaek could easily find him on his own.
That was why Tae Woon had always been especially cautious whenever Tae Chul-hoon came up in conversation. If Kim Sibaek ever decided to reconnect with someone from his past, Tae Chul-hoon—incarcerated and living a fixed, unchanging life—was the safest choice. That way, there’d be no chance of Tae Woon’s own fabricated memories clashing with reality.
So he had deliberately left him alive.
He hadn’t made any mistakes. Sure, he couldn’t perfectly handle every topic related to Sibaek’s past acquaintances, but as long as he didn’t bump into anyone else on the way to see Tae Chul-hoon, there wouldn’t be any issues.
Relieved, Tae Woon returned to pondering how much of his vulnerability Kim Sibaek would be willing to accept.
Tae Chul-hoon had been imprisoned thirty years ago, in Earth’s time. Those decades had settled into the old man now sitting across from them.
“We’re short on time, so let’s get to it, writer boy. What do you wanna know?”
Even though he was face-to-face with the man who’d once derailed his entire future, Kim Sibaek felt no stirrings of emotion. Back when he was still on Earth, he had long since come to terms with his feelings about Tae Chul-hoon. Seeing him again didn’t spark anything new. The only reason his brow furrowed slightly was the visible toll of time etched into the man’s face.
He really did get old.
Compared to the peak of his strength thirty years ago, the man’s shoulders were now hunched, his back stooped, his skin wrinkled and weathered. Yet his limbs still retained that same large, burly frame.
As Kim Sibaek looked at those thick hands behind the semi-transparent glass, he recalled exactly how those hands had treated the young Tae Woon. He should’ve done more than just break a few teeth—should’ve beaten him so badly the bastard would’ve spent the rest of his life on porridge, dentures never even an option.
“I’m curious about the circumstances surrounding your arrest thirty years ago.”
“You mean the time when I killed those bastards in Gyeongsan? Wouldn’t the story about slaughtering my relatives in some tiny inbred village of less than a hundred people sell better?”
“We’ll get to that next.”
Tae Chul-hoon clicked his tongue, unimpressed. When Kim Sibaek took out a notepad and pencil—purely for show—the old man finally began to talk.
There was little in Tae Chul-hoon’s account that Kim Sibaek didn’t already know. After all, it had been his experience, too. The only difference was that, unlike what had really happened, the role of the man who had kicked in the door to a basement room and confronted Tae Chul-hoon as he beat a child senseless had been altered to someone else.
Back then, in order to save the young Tae Woon, Kim Sibaek had stood up to Tae Chul-hoon. The teenager had beaten him to a pulp. Tae Chul-hoon, remembering that the boy was a national athlete, had turned around and filed an assault charge—framing Sibaek as the abuser instead. He exploited the fact that Tae Woon couldn’t clearly express himself and accused Kim Sibaek of beating the child.
The truth didn’t matter. The media jumped on the story with glee, and the controversy exploded.
Kim Sibaek was disciplined by the Association and stripped of his position on the national team. Though the charges were later dropped when it was revealed that Tae Chul-hoon was a serial killer and kidnapper, Kim Sibaek never returned to fencing.
“Do you remember who that man was? I heard the police never figured it out.”
“That’s the part I’m still curious about. I was so out of it at the time, I still can’t remember which bastard got in my way. Just that it was a man. If it’d been a woman, I would’ve slit her throat on the spot.”
Tae Chul-hoon let out a cackling laugh, clearly pleased with his own words.
“If I’d ever caught even a whiff of who that bastard was, I’d have killed him on the spot. Hey, writer boy, did you know? Even from in here, I can still pull strings and get people killed out there.”
He boasted as if he were sharing some critical intel. The way he acted like he was still some big shot, even after being locked up for decades, was laughable.
“Before the visit, I asked the correctional officer when your release date might be. He couldn’t help but chuckle.”
“Huh?”
“Apparently you passed the parole review at the start of the year but purposely caused trouble inside, so your parole got revoked.”
The visitation time ended quickly. As Kim Sibaek stood up, he looked down at the man who had once abused his younger brother—now reduced to a pitiful old man.
It wasn’t hard to guess why Tae Chul-hoon had suddenly decided to stay in prison instead of getting out. Being locked up didn’t mean total isolation. Over thirty years, he must’ve gradually realized that the child he’d once tormented and destroyed had grown into someone with the power and influence to kill a man without leaving a trace.
If he re-entered society, he might regain freedom—but he’d also live in constant fear of when Tae Woon might strike.
“Do you really think you’ll be safe forever just by clinging to this prison? If I were the Guildmaster of 7777, I wouldn’t wait. I’d let you assume I’ve already forgotten my grudge after thirty years. But the moment news breaks that you’re getting out and it jogs my memory—that’s when I’d make my move.”
Tae Chul-hoon’s face turned deathly pale.
“W-Writer boy! Did you hear something?! That damned brat—no, you know the Guildmaster?!”
As Tae Chul-hoon practically clung to the glass in desperation, shouting frantically, Kim Sibaek turned and walked out of the visitation room.
[Death and Beauty watches you with concern.]
Lost in deep thought, Kim Sibaek turned at Biendeoé’s Divine Words. The baby crow, which had been perched on his crown, now flitted anxiously around his head, its eyes filled with worry.
“It’s not because of Tae Chul-hoon.”
Kim Sibaek gently stroked Biendeoé, pausing his thoughts for a moment.
“I was trying to figure out the difference between memories that were replaced and ones that were erased entirely.”
[Death and Beauty asks if you suspect any other memories may have been replaced.]
“I’d probably have to dig deeper into my old acquaintances to be sure… But just now, something occurred to me. My fencing records—they weren’t replaced. They were erased. From what Tae Chul-hoon said, the man who took my place had a past identical to mine. But when I looked at domestic competition results, they don’t match mine at all.”
The more he thought about it, the more it became clear. The competitors who had always ranked just below him in most tournaments had each moved up a step to fill the void he’d left.
“I can’t say with complete confidence—my memory’s fuzzy—but that’s how it looks.”
[Death and Beauty agrees that your erased existence in international competitions already proves the point.]
If he wanted to gather more evidence, he’d need to meet more people from his past. But no one came to mind immediately.
The nuns and priests probably won’t remember me, just like Minhyung and the others…
If someone else had been inserted into his place, then recalling the past with those children would’ve inevitably led to mismatched memories and confusion.
As he walked down the corridor lost in thought, Kim Sibaek’s eyes suddenly widened.
“…Detective Park?”
The man limping toward him from the other side was his old partner, Detective Park.
