Moon Roi, having heard what had happened to Seo-ha, suddenly dashed out of the hospital room—only to return moments later, arms overflowing with supplies. He had even managed to bring along Director Kim Beom-hak, neatly packaged like part of the delivery.
“What are you even doing?”
Sitting cross-legged on the hospital bed, Seo-ha watched the two men bustling around the room. Even though it was a private room, the space felt cramped with the two large men moving about.
“We’re throwing a party, of course.”
Moon Roi answered while taping balloons and a garland to the wall. Director Kim Beom-hak, now pulling over a table and unpacking things, chimed in.
“If no one else gets it, at least we do. We know how huge this is for you.”
They laid out a spread of food, from half-and-half fried chicken to various side dishes, and if that weren’t enough, they placed a big cake right in the center. Apparently satisfied with how he’d decorated the wall, Moon Roi began rummaging through a bag for more decorations. Where had he even gotten all this stuff?
“This is still a hospital, though. Isn’t this a bit much? The walls are thin, you know—you’re being a nuisance.”
“You think we’re that inconsiderate?”
Moon Roi let out an incredulous scoff. Kim Beom-hak, dragging the sofa closer to the bed, added with a shrug,
“We’re just going to say a few congratulatory words and blow out the candles. Nothing to worry about.”
“Then just say the words. Why go through all this decorating? And what’s the point of the cake?”
As Seo-ha continued grumbling, Moon Roi suddenly approached and placed something on his head. He reached up to touch it—of course. A party cone hat.
“Isn’t this something you wear on your birthday?”
“Think of it as your rebirth day.”
Having crowned Seo-ha first, Moon Roi handed out the rest to Kim Beom-hak. All three men, grown adults, now sat wearing bright pink cone hats. Seo-ha looked at the two of them, momentarily speechless, before letting out a quiet chuckle.
“…Thanks.”
“Would’ve been better if you’d just said that from the start.”
With that rebuke from Moon Roi, Kim Beom-hak also gave Seo-ha a disapproving look.
“I got a call from your guild leader. Didn’t explain a thing about what really happened, just kept asking about the past… Shouldn’t you have been the one to tell me? Why’d I have to hear it from someone else?”
Apparently still sore about what Moon Roi had told him over the phone. But Seo-ha had plenty to say about that too.
“You’re really not the one to talk, considering you’re the one who sold me off to Han Ju-oh.”
He hadn’t forgotten—how Kim Beom-hak had clung to his resignation letter, only to push him straight toward Han Ju-oh the moment he appeared. If not for that, Seo-ha wouldn’t have ended up tethered so stubbornly to Han Ju-oh. But Kim Beom-hak remained nonchalant.
“Because of that, your compatibility rate went up.”
“……”
“My instincts told me Esper Han Ju-oh was your last shot.”
Speaking like he’d done Seo-ha a favor, Kim Beom-hak started weaving the past into a self-serving story. He claimed he’d recognized the despair weighing down Seo-ha when he submitted his resignation—that it had compelled him to act. That he’d sent Seo-ha into a dungeon, pulled Han Ju-oh into the mix, all for his sake. How much of that had been exaggerated? Probably all of it. Moon Roi was listening with far too much attention.
“Hey, don’t take him seriously. Half of that is total bullshit.”
Seo-ha elbowed Moon Roi to stop him from getting sucked in.
“Honestly, sounds pretty accurate to me… Let’s be real. If it weren’t for the Director, you’d probably be out in the countryside farming or something.”
That was fair.
“I’d probably screw even that up.”
He’d never actually tried it, but that’s how it would’ve gone. It wasn’t like he had any hidden talent to discover or some burning passion to chase. He hadn’t expected anything from himself.
“In that sense… congratulations.”
Moon Roi slipped in a bit of sincerity.
“You’ve been through a lot.”
Kim Beom-hak added.
Their congratulations were plain, even dull, and Seo-ha responded in kind, even flatter.
“…Yeah.”
He wanted to say more, but nothing came to mind.
***
They spent a while eating, drinking, and chatting about mundane things. The chicken was picked clean, while the cake barely had a dent in it—none of them were really into sweets. Eventually, they even ordered kimchi stew for delivery.
They really shouldn’t have bothered with the cake.
Seo-ha, caught up in the moment, ate like he hadn’t in ages. After surviving on boxed meals in the dungeon and then hospital food afterward, the kimchi stew tasted nothing short of divine.
“This is seriously amazing.”
It was food he’d once taken for granted, but going over a week without it had made him appreciate the intense, spicy flavor all over again.
For a little while, everything else just faded away.
Once they’d eaten their fill and couldn’t lift another spoonful, Seo-ha sprawled out on his hospital bed. The others flopped onto the couch and chairs, naturally falling into a food coma of their own.
“I can’t eat another bite.”
“Then why the hell did you buy so much?”
Seo-ha rubbed his stomach and shot a glare at Moon Roi, who only gave a dry chuckle. He ignored the look on his face that clearly said, ‘Even when I do something nice, you still complain.’
They all lay back, staring at the ceiling, breathing quietly. Then Moon Roi slowly lifted his head.
“Baek Seo-ha.”
“What.”
Seo-ha replied absentmindedly, still staring at the ceiling.
“If things get more physical… does the match rate actually go up?”
“……”
It was something he had mentioned in passing earlier. Leaving out just that part while explaining everything else had felt odd—and if Moon Roi found out later by chance, that’d be even more awkward. So he had just gone ahead and said it.
“I don’t know for sure. All I’ve done is kiss.”
“But it still went up, right?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t bother denying it—he’d already had a whole mess of a fight with Han Ju-oh over it. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if it went up exactly 5% every time, or if it could go higher.
He was still in recovery, after all, and Han Ju-oh hadn’t been pushing for more guiding lately.
“So, what do you think?”
“I don’t want to take it further.”
He answered without even needing to think. Moon Roi’s expression twisted oddly.
“Wasn’t increasing your match rate your biggest wish? Now you’re saying you won’t go further? Doesn’t that seem… contradictory?”
“……”
It was a simple point, but it hit like a direct hit to the gut. Seo-ha couldn’t respond. Even if no one else knew, he himself had been aware of it. Han Ju-oh probably thought the same thing, yet hadn’t forced the issue. And now Moon Roi was poking directly at that.
“Is it because of Seong-i hyung?”
“Moon Roi!”
Seo-ha snapped, the name suddenly thrown out like a jab. Kim Beom-hak, still in the room, stayed silent, showing no intention of stepping in.
“What other reason could there be for you to hesitate?”
“Enough.”
He warned Moon Roi, who was clearly crossing a line—but the man didn’t show any intention of backing down. In some ways, he was just like Han Ju-oh—impossible to talk to. Seo-ha stood up, as if to leave, slipping on his slippers. And then Moon Roi’s final blow came.
“If nothing else, don’t I have the right to say it? So let me say this—just let him go already. Let Seong-i hyung rest in peace…”
Clack.
Seo-ha shut the door behind him, cutting Moon Roi off mid-sentence. The very words—if nothing else, I have the right to say it—were exactly what made him run. Moon Roi knew that, and still said it.
He fled the hospital room and walked until he was far enough away. Only then did his steps begin to slow.
Moon Seong.
Moon Roi’s older brother. Seo-ha’s first love.
They’d known each other since they were young. Moon Seong had always been kind to him, and their feelings had quietly aligned.
One of the biggest reasons Seo-ha hadn’t collapsed when things were hard… was Moon Seong. He had cheered Seo-ha on, helped him believe in something. He was the one who said he’d personally pair with Seo-ha and raise his match rate. But because of Seo-ha… he died. The only family Moon Roi had left…
It was Moon Roi who had collapsed at the funeral, sobbing uncontrollably. That same guy now treated Seo-ha like his closest friend without a hint of resentment. It was so damn ironic. And that irony weighed heavily on Seo-ha.
“Do you want me to go through that again?”
He’d seen Han Ju-oh unconscious and immediately thought of Moon Seong. So then what was he supposed to do?
“Just do it.”
“Shit—! You scared me. What the hell!”
Seo-ha turned his head abruptly. Moon Roi was there, arms crossed, leaning against the wall—who knew when he’d come out.
“You looked so pitiful alone, I followed you.”
“Pitiful, my ass…”
He grumbled under his breath, but couldn’t exactly argue—it wasn’t completely wrong.
“If Seong-i hyung saw you like this, he’d be beating the ground in frustration. He’d be like, ‘Is this why I let Baek Seo-ha go?’”
“What do you mean, let me go? That’s nonsense…”
You know damn well how he died.
“Even before he died, he used to say it all the time. That he wasn’t leaving you—he was letting you go. Back then, I thought it was just a turn of phrase, but now… I think he really meant it.”
Seo-ha flinched and forced himself to look at Moon Roi. That was the first time he’d ever heard those words. He couldn’t think straight. Moon Roi tapped the party hat on Seo-ha’s head with his index finger. Even at that, Seo-ha didn’t bat his hand away. He just mumbled blankly.
“Seong-i hyung said something like that? But… no one could’ve predicted that accident.”
“Espers live with death breathing down their necks every day. You think he never talked about it, not even once?”
“Then why are you telling me now?”
He hadn’t forgotten Moon Seong. So why had Moon Roi waited to tell him?
“You don’t have to carry guilt over that. You’re allowed to live your own life. But if you really feel sorry to Seong-i hyung—raise your match rate. That’s how you can repay him.”
“You…”
“That’s how you comfort hyung who left first. Don’t you remember? He always told you the right partner would come along one day. And from where I’m standing… it looks like that day is here.”
At Moon Roi’s words, light but edged with truth, Seo-ha shot him a glare—then abruptly turned, as if suddenly remembering something. He didn’t even have time to ask why Moon Roi had waited until now to say any of that.
