Tae Woon leaned on the backrest of the sofa as if casually draping an arm over someone’s shoulders, tilting his head down at an angle—yet his gaze remained lifted. That little runt who barely reached his chest… When had he grown so tall?
“What if I don’t get any taller even after I start middle school?”
“Your dad was tall. You’ll shoot up soon enough.”
“Taller than you?”
“How about setting a goal that actually feels achievable instead of aiming too high?”
The kid who hadn’t even hit 150 centimeters had once dreamed of surpassing someone over 180—and he’d playfully brushed it off at the time. But now, the boy had truly grown far taller.
From his thick eyebrows down to the firm line of his lips, all trace of the past had nearly vanished—except for the prettiness. That part still lingered. Even so, the look in his eyes, the way he gazed at him, was still as soft and pliant as it had been in his boyhood.
“You’re getting cocky.”
He flicked his forehead with an index finger, and Tae Woon backed away with a sheepish grin.
[Death and Beauty notes that using the term ‘sheepish grin’ to describe a man of that size and impression is wildly inappropriate.]
‘He’s huge now, but… still just a kid…’
No. That wasn’t right. The man was thirty-five and the head of a legitimate company. He couldn’t keep treating him like a child forever. Kim Sibaek forced himself to steel his gaze, trying not to see Tae Woon as some overgrown boy—
“……?”
Their eyes met. Tae Woon tilted his head, curious, but smiled wide, eyes crinkling like crescent moons. And Sibaek melted all over again.
‘Even his smile is adorable… Like a baby bunny…’
[Death and Beauty is in agony, begging for mental clarity.]
Feeling embarrassed for no real reason, Kim Sibaek cleared his throat and changed the subject.
“Whether the system is a god or not, I don’t think we can ignore a warning that the world might end. That vision was so vivid, like it was real. Has there been any sign—anything that could be seen as a precursor?”
“Hmm… I’m not sure about other countries, but in Korea, nothing major has happened. Around the time you returned, some monsters got riled up near Daejeon, but we took care of them inside the containment zone.”
“What about Seoul? The landscape in the vision looked a lot like Seoul.”
“During the Cataclysm, monsters swarmed the city, and people barely escaped with their lives. Even now, Seoul and the northern Gyeonggi region are monster habitats.”
Tae Woon opened his laptop and pulled up what looked like a secure website. He brought up some images—satellite photos.
“Let’s see… These were taken ten days ago. Namsan Tower still looks intact.”
Kim Sibaek wasn’t great at reading satellite images, so it took him a moment. But with Tae Woon pointing, he could just make out the Namsan Tower. The dark, clustered patches around it were likely monster nests.
Why had the vision shown Seoul of all places?
“There shouldn’t be any monsters in Seoul tall enough to match that silhouette… Could it have been a flying-type?”
“I’m not sure. It was over so fast.”
“Hangyeol’s a mage. He rarely gets sent to the frontlines. If he really died, then odds are the rest of us—including me—would be dead too.”
His tone was casual and clinical, like he was giving a briefing.
“But Sibaek hyung…”
“Yeah?”
“I figured you’d be going back to Mak Slechth.”
“……”
For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond—because what Tae Woon said was true.
Tae Woon stared blankly at the teacup he hadn’t even touched.
“Let’s be honest. You went through all that just to make it back to Earth, but they’ve wiped away every trace of you. What’s left to hold on to? I’m not blaming you—I think I’d want to go back too. You’re the one who got hurt.”
“……”
“The only person you remembered isn’t even cute anymore, like back then.”
His gaze rose from the teacup and landed on Kim Sibaek again, glinting with playful mischief. Sibaek let out a soft sigh and reached out to gently squeeze Tae Woon’s cheek. It wasn’t chubby with baby fat like it used to be, but still soft to the touch.
“Still cute.”
“Really?”
“It’s like how even a sixty-year-old child still looks adorable to their eighty-year-old parents.”
“Comparing us to a parent and child just makes this feel even more blasphemous.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
Tae Woon brushed off the comment with a chuckle and picked the conversation back up.
“This world’s the one that forgot you and left you behind. So whether it falls or not doesn’t matter. What matters is you should focus on how to get back to Mak Slechth. I’m sure you made a lot of precious connections there too, didn’t you?”
“…Woonie, what about you?”
“I got to see you again. I confirmed you hadn’t lost your mind. That’s enough for me.”
Then, Tae Woon gently took Kim Sibaek’s hand and laced their fingers together.
“This way, I can reassure myself again that you’re really here—that you’re not just an illusion.”
“……”
“What I really can’t stand is how the system forces duty and sacrifice on only you. If the only way this world can survive is by someone being sacrificed, then it’s better off destroyed. And if that someone is you… I honestly feel like destroying it myself.”
As he spoke the final words, the dark hue in his eyes turned somber and cold. Tae Woon’s interlocked fingers squeezed his hand with a grip as firm as iron. Despite the strength in his hold—like Kim Sibaek was the only person left in the world—the only person who remembered him on Earth gave him permission with quiet ease.
“You can go back, hyung.”
***
A way back to Mak Slechth.
At the moment, nothing came to mind. Not only did he lack any knowledge on the matter, but there was no way a priest like him would know something even Lord Biendeoé hadn’t grasped. And Biendeoé had no means of seeking advice from other gods in the divine realm.
But Mak Slechth was a different story.
[Death and Beauty confidently asserts that a method will be found in Mak Slechth.]
Theories about multidimensionality were firmly rooted in Mak Slechth. Still, the fact that he had crash-landed there 68 years ago had been an unforeseen incident—even for the gods. Not even they had a way to locate Earth’s coordinates back then.
This time, however, the situation was different.
The event originated in Mak Slechth, and an avatar of a god had crossed over to Earth as well. With the divine link intact, they should be able to locate Earth’s coordinates. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was possible.
“As long as Lord Biendeoé and I don’t give up on returning.”
[Death and Beauty shivers and asks, “As if I would ever abandon you.”]
“I’m joking, it’s a joke.”
As a mere Apostle, he could be cast aside, but Biendeoé wouldn’t be forsaken by the divine realm. The duty of protecting a child applied equally to gods and humans alike.
Kim Sibaek leaned deep into the sofa, suppressing a sigh. His thoughts had been long and winding, but everything still felt like wandering through fog.
If a path back to Mak Slechth were to open someday, could he leave Earth behind without hesitation, even if this world that no longer remembered him was on the brink of ruin? Would staying behind truly mean sacrificing himself?
[Death and Beauty states plainly that yes, it is a sacrifice—one forced solely upon their Apostle.]
Maybe so. This world had already abandoned him, and now it acted like it welcomed him back only to demand more sacrifice—to coerce him with guilt.
“If Earth and its coordinates become linked again, should I return immediately?”
[Death and Beauty suspects that maintaining a dimensional gate for long will be difficult.]
Even if they could maintain it, no one would leave it open just for an ordinary human like him.
[Death and Beauty insists that both it and its Apostle must return to Mak Slechth. The burden of saving a world belongs to its god and people—it is not the responsibility of a single Apostle. Moreover, laying such a weight on one person’s shoulders is fundamentally unjust. And besides, they are angry, because their Apostle was cast aside.]
Apparently displeased with the situation, Biendeoé’s Divine Words ran long. And the longer the Divine Words dragged on, the more tangled Kim Sibaek’s thoughts became.
His usual habit kicked in during mental turmoil. He channeled holy energy into his ring, and images from the orphanage surfaced. In Mak Slechth, looking at photos of his younger siblings had always helped calm him. But now, it only made his chest tighter.
Seo Gaeun and Lee Hangyeol. And the others—siblings he hadn’t even seen yet—blurred into the images as if superimposed. If Woonie, Gaeun, and Hangyeol had grown up so well, then surely the others had too.
The image of himself rummaging through piles of corpses, desperately looking for dead bodies that might be his siblings, lingered like a ghost in his mind. Would he feel relief and walk away if he didn’t see anyone who resembled them?
Even if he knew they had died—if he turned his back on that truth and left—could he still live a normal life? Smile as if nothing happened, eat his meals, go to sleep, and live in peace?
“Damn it.”
It was this world that abandoned him first.
“…If this was how it was going to be, they should’ve just left me erased to begin with.”
Kim Sibaek muttered under his breath and closed his eyes. His head, heavy with long hours of thought, refused to rest. Even if he did sleep, he’d only be greeted by nightmares—maybe staying awake was the better option.
A distant fall clutched at his ankles.
A full day passed like that, but nothing changed. Since telling him to go back, Tae Woon hadn’t brought up the topic again. In contrast, Biendeoé—annoyed at the idea that their Apostle should be some savior in a world that had abandoned him—spoke up a few times.
Still unable to give a clear answer, Kim Sibaek just stared at the tablet screen. The tablet Tae Woon had given him still showed satellite images of Seoul.
“…It’s all destroyed.”
Biendeoé, who had been slumped on his head like a wilted flower, opened their eyes.
“This place… it’s where I lived before I entered the orphanage.”
The steep stairs stretched endlessly upward, narrow and twisting alleys winding between them. The shanty houses that once crowded the view had long since crumbled into dust. Bloodstains, spattered here and there, had faded with time, and skeletal remains lay scattered across the hillside village where monsters now roamed in place of humans.
Even if Seoul were eventually restored, no one would spare a glance for this decrepit, decaying place. This neighborhood—where he had been born and raised, now standing on the edge of ruin and oblivion—felt eerily like a reflection of Kim Sibaek himself.
“When my younger sibling disappeared and my father passed away, I left this place for good. One of my biggest regrets in Mak Slechth was never coming back after I left this neighborhood.”
Before he met his younger siblings in the orphanage, Kim Sibaek had a blood-related younger sibling—one who vanished when they were children. He had only learned much later that they had died.
“Coming back here was too painful. It felt like the traces and memories of my sibling would blame me.”
“……”
“Stupid, isn’t it? This was the only place left with any memories of my sibling, and I stayed away.”
As he recalled the sibling who had died decades ago, Kim Sibaek rubbed his face in anguish, then finally set the tablet down.
“If they hadn’t died and had somehow survived… would they have forgotten me too? And if I found out they had, would I have turned away from them again, saying it didn’t matter?”
Biendeoé let out a soft sigh and draped themselves once more atop his crown. They understood now what their Apostle intended. As expected, Kim Sibaek, speaking more to himself than to anyone else, gradually steadied his voice as if unraveling the tangled threads of his heart.
“I have to find Woonie.”
