“I’m telling you, the date was clearly marked. But I can’t exactly prove it.”
“And I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”
The man’s indignant tone was met with a distracted response as the woman continued clacking away at her laptop.
“I’ll swap the CCTV footage later, so you’ve got five minutes to make that thing sprout.”
“I know already. How many times are you gonna say it?”
“But seriously, that one that sprouted at the Management Center—that wasn’t you?”
The man tapped the special case containing the Monster Seed with his finger and shook his head.
“Nope. That was the one who gave me the quest. Said they’d show me how it’s done. Unlike me, they can even control the timing of the sprout. Still, getting this quest means they finally trust me, right?”
“Keep dreaming.”
Even as she kept typing furiously, the woman reached out and smacked the back of his head. He was annoying as hell when he got smug, but there was no denying that the quest he’d suddenly received had been a huge help to their Demonic Terrorist group.
“Can’t you hack any faster?”
“Why don’t you try hacking on this piece-of-junk laptop, dumbass?”
***
The ride had started as a chore, but with the kids laughing beside him, it wasn’t all that bad. And the quest had been knocked out by late morning.
“Is there some event going on here today? I’m seeing quite a few soldiers around.”
Pi Minhyung, hoisting his son onto his shoulders, answered in his place.
“Looks like the Greater Monster Subjugation Unit from the Capital Defense Command. Judging by their patches, they’re probably just on patrol. Come to think of it, Gaeun used to be in that unit.”
“Oh, right. I heard she served in the military.”
“Yeah. She enlisted right after escaping Seoul and stayed in for a few years. Since she was a Hunter, she got fast-tracked to lieutenant.”
“Aunt Gaeun nearly died, you know.”
Pi Seo-yeon, who had become fast friends while riding the attractions, chimed in cheerfully.
“She quit the army, but if she hadn’t, she might’ve died.”
While the adults tried to make sense of the child’s phrasing, Pi Minhyung offered some context.
“Gaeun was planning to go career military, but not long after she made lieutenant, Tae Woon talked her into joining his guild. Two, maybe three months after she left the army, her old unit was sent south for training—and a massive earthquake hit. There were heavy casualties.”
“When the ground suddenly splits beneath you, even Hunters can’t do much.”
At Tae Woon’s quiet remark, Kim Sibaek clicked his tongue. It was a damn good thing Seo Gaeun had taken Tae Woon’s offer.
“Oh! We should take a photo and send it to Gaeun. Come on, Hyung, get in here.”
Truth be told, Pi Minhyung’s real target was Tae Woon. Crashing their date, dragging the kids along, teasing him about sex—this was all petty payback, a perfect two-for-one strike.
What he hadn’t expected was how wildly effective it would be. Tae Woon wouldn’t ride the attractions, fine—but to just stand there sulking without taking a single photo?
Unlike Pi Minhyung, who firmly believed photos were the only souvenirs worth taking home, Tae Woon always refused to be in any. Even when forced, he’d scowl and give you just one grumpy shot.
But now I’ve got Hyung on my side.
Kim Sibaek got yanked along before he could react, and Biendeoé fluttered into place, posing at just the right angle to catch the light. As if drawn by magnetism, Tae Woon slowly drifted over and nestled right up beside them—just as planned.
“Okay, time for a picture. Seo-jun, wanna do the countdown?”
“Kimchi!”
Click.
The shutter snapped alongside the child’s excited voice. It was the first photo Kim Sibaek had ever taken with someone other than Tae Woon since arriving on Earth. He tensed reflexively, his face stiffening. He nearly ended up looking cold and standoffish—until Pi Seo-yeon blinked mid-shot, and they decided to take another.
The second time around, he relaxed. The picture came out much more natural, and even Pi Seo-yeon looked pleased.
“Woonie, didn’t it come out great?”
Looking at the photo, Tae Woon somehow looked even cuter than the round-cheeked kids beside him. It was an embarrassing realization for Kim Sibaek—he was hopelessly smitten.
[Death and Beauty says you’ve always been a hopelessly smitten idiot.]
Even as Biendeoé teased him, he proudly pointed at the tiny, adorable Tae Woon in the corner of the frame. Those eyes darted around aimlessly, like he couldn’t quite figure out where to look. Instead of the camera, they seemed to follow Kim Sibaek’s finger on the screen.
“How do I look?”
Clearing his throat, Kim Sibaek leaned in and whispered just loud enough for Tae Woon to hear.
“You’re cuter than Seo-yeon and Seo-jun.”
Tae Woon’s eyes, which had been wandering restlessly across the phone screen, suddenly fixed into focus. For the first time, he was truly looking at Kim Sibaek.
“Then that’s all that matters.”
As long as Kim Sibaek still saw him as human, Tae Woon could breathe easy.
Once Pi Minhyung took the kids to the bathroom and they were finally alone on the bench, Tae Woon leaned in and rested against him without a word. Kim Sibaek reached up and gently patted his head.
“You know, it’s easy to drift apart from childhood friends as you grow older, but it’s really nice to see you and Minhyung still so close. Honestly, back then, I never imagined you’d end up taller than him. Right?”
“If I’d been taller than Pi Minhyung back then, he probably would’ve dragged me into even more brawls.”
“And now you’re stronger than him too, right? Better in a fight?”
“Well, I mean… n-no. No way. I could never beat him. Not once, even as a kid. One punch from that guy and I’d flutter away like a delicate leaf—probably get shredded midair, too.”
He lowered his lashes like he was trembling, face twisting into something almost tragically pitiful.
Tae Woon had been the only person the infamously rowdy Pi Minhyung ever acknowledged as a real opponent. And now, after growing up, Tae Woon was bulkier—thicker arms, solid thighs—but if he said he’d lose, then that was that.
[Death and Beauty muses, “If we’re talking about the author’s fists…”]
Before Biendeoé could start sermonizing through Divine Words again, Kim Sibaek hurriedly changed the subject. Still sulking, he retaliated by plucking out a strand of his hair.
“Woonie, are you not feeling well today?”
“Huh? No, I’m totally fine.”
“It’s just… I noticed you were pressing your forehead now and then.”
Kim Sibaek lightly tapped Tae Woon’s left temple. Tae Woon gave a sheepish smile and pressed his palm over the spot.
“Was it that obvious?”
“Not really. But I notice things like that. Is it a headache?”
He asked again, worry tightening his voice, unaware that his concern had turned Tae Woon’s cheeks a soft, glowing pink. Tae Woon hesitated for a beat, then pointed to the scar on his face.
“Sometimes I get migraines on the left side—ever since I got injured here. But after you treated me last time, it’s been way better.”
“Hmm. Healing injuries isn’t exactly my specialty. Maybe there’s still some leftover residue? What kind of Monster hit you?”
“An S-rank called Xiangliu. Lived just off the coast of Busan.”
“Xiangliu?”
“It had nine heads. Water-type, venomous. There’s a mythical creature like that in old legends, so we named it after that—Xiangliu.”
“Pretty accurate, actually. Most folks here don’t know a thing about Chaos or where Monsters come from, but that’s a solid name.”
The nature of Chaos—the force behind the Monsters—was too broad to pin down. Sometimes it was a fallen god, sometimes a beast vanquished by mankind. Chaos was both the remnant of everything and the origin of it all.
The more powerful the Monster, the more it resembled forgotten creatures from ancient lore—shadows of humanity’s collective memory. If Xiangliu had shown up in a region influenced by Greek mythology, they probably would’ve just called it Hydra.
“What kind of poison did it use?”
“Well… it had nine heads, so nine poisons. I don’t remember them all, but… there was basic paralysis, one that burned like acid, others that caused rot, oxidation… a mix of nasty stuff.”
A cocktail of poisons was always worse than a single toxin. Maybe he hadn’t fully purified it. That lingering, uneasy déjà vu he’d brushed aside last time resurfaced, tugging at the edge of his thoughts.
Kim Sibaek reached out toward the scar again—just like when he’d healed it before. Tae Woon flinched slightly but then smiled faintly, lips tugging into a playful curve.
“It’s been over two weeks, and I’m still sensitive there. What if I end up kissing you again?”
Kim Sibaek nodded with a sigh.
“I’m worried too. But how could I ignore it if you’re hurting?”
“So… that means kissing is okay?”
“That’s not what I said.”
He covered Tae Woon’s mouth with his other hand and began channeling divine power—carefully this time, deliberately. Like reaching out through complete darkness, he focused on every subtle sensation, chasing that strange twinge he remembered from before.
I definitely felt something like this back then…
But the thought barely lasted a minute. Under the warmth of divine power, Tae Woon’s cheeks turned visibly pink. And then—soft and wet—something gently licked the tip of his finger.
Right. The finger is still covering Tae Woon’s lips.
