Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[INTERMISSION]

As the word flashes across the screen, Cale turns back around. The Gods who were furiously whispering to each other all flinch at once, then resolutely avoid even looking in Cale’s general direction and attempt to nonchalantly continue their conversation.

Cale holds back a derisive laugh.

After Cale’s declaration earlier, the Gods bid a quick retreat to the other side of the room, ostensibly to “discuss their options.” Normally, Cale would have pushed further, but he graciously decided to let them be for now.

He has preparations to make anyway. 

He hasn’t been idle in the time he’s spent in this room. If one cares to look closer, they can see that within the crevices of the control panel, bits and pieces of dirt are packed in tightly.

Cale may not know what this damn console is made of, but his discerning eyes quickly assess the rest of the room: granite walls, a quartzite floor, marble shelving, and decorative carvings of lapis lazuli.

In other words, whether intentionally or not, this room is made entirely out of rock.

[Cale,] Super Rock has laughed when Cale realizes this, [I am——]

The [Super Rock].

And rocks are Super Rock’s territory.

Cale immediately realizes something.

‘It is possible to put the room under the Super Rock’s authority, or my authority.’ 

But would Cale’s Ancient Power be able to overcome a room created by Gods? 

[Cale,] Super Rock’s voice calls him again, [No Gods hold dominion over this room.]

No gods hold dominion here. Meaning that, while some might share in the room's authority, none has full reign over it.

If Cale’s dominance surpasses even one of theirs, he could technically claim part ownership. 

From there, he can leverage his position to take control of the room entirely.

Cale’s heart speeds up.

‘Will you be okay?’

[If it is not attacking or defending and just putting rocks or boulders under you, it won’t take much strength.] Super Rock replies confidently. [But I think it would be better if you added something.]

Cale can feel Super Rock’s smile.

[The [Dominating Aura]. Use that with me. And…] Super Rock suddenly grows hesitant, [That guy’s power. That too, for good measure.]

Cale smiles.

He has the badge containing the [Blood-Drenched Rock] pinned on his chest.

While he might not be able to fully regain control of his physical body right now, the fact that the badge is physically on his person means that it is connected to him.

And since it’s connected to him, it can be used.

While the Gods are distracted by the red dirt spreading across the floor and the [Dominating Aura] exerting its unyielding presence, the power of boulder starts spreading from underneath Cale’s feet.

Boom—— 

A mysterious rumbling spreads throughout the room.

The Gods suddenly stop, perhaps sensing something wrong, but when faced with Cale’s entirely unimpressed face and his impatient rapidly tapping feet, they turn away to “consult each other” again.

Hiding his trembling hands in the nooks of his arms and swallowing back the inevitable  metaphysical rebound blood, Cale suppresses the urge to grin.

‘It works.’ 

It is working. 

It’s very slow, but the [Super Rock], the [Dominating Aura], and the [Blood-drenched Rock], these three Ancient Powers are working together to take over the room. 

The speed is slowly increasing as well. 

It’s difficult at first, but Cale can feel the faint aura quickly taking over the room like a crack in a dam.

And then……

Boom!

Cale can feel the exact moment everything clicks into place.

‘So fast?’ 

He is slightly surprised. 

For something created by the Gods, shouldn’t it be much harder for a human to loot?

[The control panel has traces of minerals taken from the earth.] Super Rock explains. 

That’s why progress is faster than expected.

[Not to brag,] Super Rock warns courteously—then promptly begins bragging, [but if something is made entirely out of elements from earth, like marble or granite—even if it's as large as, say, a God’s temple—I can still help you take it over in under ten minutes.]

That’s an interesting claim, Cale has to admit. But……

Why on Earth would he need a temple??? What kind of slacker would need a temple????

Cale dismisses Super Rock’s ridiculous example from his mind and refocuses on the task at hand.

Putting his hands on either side of the control panel, making sure his palms are laid completely flat on its surface, fingertips digging into the dirt-filled crevices, Cale disregards the stares stabbing into his back and concentrates.

‘Start.’

[Alright!]

And with a snap, like falling dominoes, he can feel the control room falling readily into his palms.

A quiet ‘Click’, and the panel screen flashes red, then green, then red again, then falling back to its normal color.

[Success.] Super Rock’s low voice confirms.

Finally, the last piece he needs to leverage himself onto a negotiating seat at the Gods’ table is now in his hands.

Smiling, Cale turns back at the Gods who have been suspiciously quiet for a while now.

The God of Death, who for some reason is somewhat huddling at the very back, casually avoids Cale’s gaze yet again.

“Are you guys done talking?” His smile is sweet, but the aura of the [Blood-Drenched Rock] grows abruptly heavier, tangy with the smell of copper and blood.  

The effect is visible. 

The Gods either turn away from Cale, look the other way yet again, or even involuntarily retreat half a step. 

Cale observes everything with a sharp eye.

‘So even Gods are afraid of Death.’

Does that mean Gods can die?

‘Hmm,’ Cale hums lightly. Something tells him that isn’t the case, but then why this fear of Death?

‘It can’t be because they once experienced Death themselves, can they?’

Can they, though?

Mind racing to recall everything he’s learned about Gods thus far, Cale subtly frowns. 

There’s too much scattered data and not enough conclusive ones. 

He has thought about how human-like the Gods of this world are—the God of Death’s whininess, the Sun God’s prejudices, even the God of Despair’s chuunibyou tendencies—but considering that the Greek and Norse pantheons in his previous world are full of similarly petty, human-like deities, it doesn’t really mean much.

Cale resists a sigh of aggravation. 

His well-honed instincts are telling him he’ll undoubtedly uncover these secrets sooner or later—probably by being dragged into their related messes—but that just means he doesn’t know them now.

Now, when he needs all the leverage he can get to maintain his upper hand in this situation.

Which makes the Gods’ intervention into this specific point in time more and more suspect.

Did they know something? Did they foresee his future?

Cale glances at the two grayed out tabs on the panel screen, and tries not to scowl.

‘These Gods must have done something with that advantage of foresight.’

There’s no doubt about it now.

‘But—’

This situation is not too bad.

With the room under his control, Cale is not nearly as disadvantaged as he was.

The odds are not all stacked against him. That foresight doesn’t seem to be able to update these Gods in real time, and instead seems to be a bit more in line with what Cale has pulled in that Sealed God’s test. 

The multiple and somewhat comprehensive points of view showcased so far in these records do not suggest that this was the work of a certain somebody with either eidetic memory or hyperthymesia or something more convenient—like, say, [Record]—traveling back to the past intending to make some changes.

(Fine, it’s him, Cale suspected his future self first, and who can blame him really, when this bullshit is primarily told from his point of view? But thank the Gods it’s not because holy shit, he does not want to imagine what’d have to happen for that version of him to do something like this.)

The way the records are written like a novel suggests that this might be another [Birth of a Hero]. The titled tab on the monitor certainly supports that idea.

Then who would be the [Author]?

Choi Jung Gun, once again?

(By the way, is Choi Jung Gun a God? Is he something else now? Is he even alive now? 

Did Choi Jung Gun really [write] into being what happened to the novel’s Choi Han, or is he just a [Recorder]? 

Cale is leaning more onto the second theory, since the Choi Jung Gun from Sherritt-nim’s and Super Rock’s description didn’t sound like an irredeemable scumbag, and the novel itself has a surprising little amount of indepth descriptions about the “characters”’ inner thoughts for its length.

But—— 

Cale cuts off his thoughts before he goes further. Not now. He still has things to do.)

Given that the foresight these Gods possess seems to be more like a “novel” of his life, spanning his past, present, and future, rather than a real-time update on what Cale is planning at this very moment, he considers himself to have a slight upper hand for now.

‘Bastards,’ his smile widens. ‘Using the information gap strategy? You’re not the only one who can play that game.’

As someone who has frequently taken on the role of an intelligence hub for military operations both in his previous world and in this one, creating, exploiting, and reinforcing information gaps is second nature to Cale, no, Kim Rok Soo.

After all, in a battle fraught with disadvantages, an information gap can make or break an operation.

The higher the stakes, the more this strategy shines. And Cale?

Cale laughs.

Kim Rok Soo. His name, the only thing his parents left him, means: to bloom green forevermore, even amidst the winter storm. 

And oh, but bloom he did.

As a human whose life was so horrendous it was like a God had personally cursed him (and who’s to say one didn’t?), fated to never reach 30, Kim Rok Soo was never meant to become anyone important.

Yet he managed to survive far beyond that in a world overrun by monsters, somehow emerging without even losing a limb, even becoming one unshakable foundation of the rebuilding Korea.

Kim Rok Soo might prefer fighting with overwhelming advantages, but to Korea, to his Company, to anyone who’s ever worked with him, what this monster of a strategist truly excels at is, without question—— 

——Winning, even against impossible odds.

12 years since the annihilation of the Company’s Team 1, and the death of Lee Soo Hyuk.

12 years, since Kim Rok Soo, Grade 1 Mental-type Support Ability User, assumed the leadership of Team 1, and that of the Company’s Body. 

12 years, 3,679 monster extermination missions, 574 ■■■■■-related missions, 12 Unranked subjugations, countless life-and-death situations, countless battles, countless struggles.

But——

0% mortality rate. 

And——

100% mission completion rate.

There has never been anyone quite like Kim Rok Soo in Korea’s modern history, and few doubt there ever will be any other like him in the uncertain future either.

So this battle? Where the stakes are high and the odds are stacked against him? 

For someone like Cale, no, Kim Rok Soo, it’s almost like coming home.

Mind quietly slotting plans into places, Cale hardens his eyes.

This might be the first of the many battles he will have against the Gods, this might be the start of the long conflict between him and the Divine, but Cale isn’t afraid.

Because he fully intends to win.

-

Cale’s gaze moves to the far end of the room.

God of Death, for all that he’s supposedly been cowering previously, is the only one who doesn’t react to Cale’s power.

‘Death is more powerful than I thought,’ Cale can’t help but think.

The bastard God is surprisingly strong, despite how whiny he behaves.

The suffocating silence stretches on after a while, with Cale deep in thought and the Gods not making a peep for some reason, and Cale starts to grow annoyed.

“Well?” Cale has better things to do than talking with these damn Gods, “Are you done or not? Can we get started on the deal now?”

Peripherally, he can feel Eruhaben’s warm hand on his forehead, and Raon pawing at his hair.

He never means to make them worry, but inevitably, he always ends up worrying them anyway.

That’s why, before things escalate, he needs to reassure them.

His people are all smart, capable beings. They will surely understand what he’s doing, even the parts he doesn’t want them to.

Sigh.

Alberu Crossman, Cale Henituse’s hyung.

Cale realizes he cannot predict how that man will react to this. 

Perhaps sighing and muttering inane things like “you’re driving me crazy” or just a plaintive “you bastard”?

Whatever the case, Cale doesn’t want anyone to think too deeply into this. 

He’s not doing this because he wants his benevolence or whatever it is Hillsman always expounds to be broadcasted to everyone and their mother (sorry Mila-nim). He’s just doing this because he’s annoyed and irritated that he’s being scammed in this deal, that’s all. 

He doesn’t need Alberu nor anyone to know what he’s doing here, because he’s doing it for himself, not for them.

Raising a hand in the air, Cale makes sure the Gods are properly paying attention to him, then snaps his fingers. Immediately, the announcement that’s been glitching since earlier turns off, and another, clearly different one, takes its place.

[We interrupt your viewing due to a contract renegotiation.]

Their eyes nearly bulge out of their skulls. 

The Gods turn, slowly this time, to stare fearfully at Cale once more.

‘Look at this,’ this mortal’s eyes laugh at them, ‘Who do you think is in control now?’ 

Cale’s smile widens as he watches them take a collective step back, just now realizing the magnitude and the implications of what Cale has just done.

“You— You—”

Cale cuts their pathetic trembling voices off.

“Are you ready now?” He smiles like a true jackass, feeling the trash instinct inside him rearing its head for the first time in a while, “Because I am ready, now.”

The God of Death sighs, looking physically pained.

Cale just smiles wider.

Peripherally, in the back of his mind, Cale can feel the touch of the warm, familiar hand of his hyung on his head, and his resolve strengthens further.

-

Back in the hall, people are gradually leaving their seats and mingling with each other.

Choi Han returns back to the bed armed with an armada of snacks and drinks he thinks the children might like. 

Ron, for once not out to shiv the swordsman in the spine, whips out an overbed table out of nowhere. He has clearly anticipated a situation much like this to happen sooner or later, based on his Young Master’s annoying fainting tendency.

Choi Han unloads his loots, and smiles as the children descend onto the foods like hangry locusts.

Kim Rok Soo squints at the cheerful swordsman for a moment, then stealthily swipes two boxes of seaweed snack, two boxes of pocky, two other distinctively Earthly snacks he’s never seen before, and a whole ass fried giant squid off of the table.

He’s the master of stealth, Kim Rok Soo proudly thinks to himself.

Cale* goggles at Kim Rok Soo’s audacity, but the older man just winks conspiratorially and shoves the snacks into his hands.

‘We’re accomplices now,’ his smirk says.

Cale*’s eyes twitch.

Choi Han, forced to bear witness to Kim Rok Soo’s entire smuggling operation, tries his best to not expose such blatant subterfuge.

Alberu, Eruhaben, and Rosalyn sip their delicious tea, also carefully not seeing anything.

The children, on the other hand, are busy dividing their spoils.

“This is for Cale,” Hong pats the mountain of snacks on the side of the table.

“That’s right,” Ohn, normally very rational, nods agreeably, “He needs to eat lots and get healthy.”

“That’s right! Human does need to eat a lot more!”

“Let’s make sure he eats it all!” 

“Agree, nya!”

“Let’s do it together, nya!!”

“Make sure to eat too, children,” intuitively opening up the canned drinks Choi Han brought, Ron smiles at them.

“Ah……” Now the children hesitates.

Ohn rubs at her face, “I want to eat with Cale, nya.” 

Hong and Raon nod at the same time: “Me too me too!” “I want to do that too!”

Smile never faltering, Ron begins laying out the plates and utensils on the table. How the assassin can make space on the cramp table without toppling over the snack mountain, Choi Han will never know.

“Our young master is busy dealing with those Gods,” he hears Ron’s benign voice going a little frosty, before swiftly returning back to normal, “You know he wants you to eat well and rest well, no?”

Just like they are Cale’s weak point, Cale is theirs.

The children droop.

“Okay, Grandpa Ron.” “Alright, nya.” “Fine, Lemonade Gramps.”

Choi Han’s heart hurts. Cale-nim deserves to be awake and aware and together with his children. He doesn’t deserve to have to leave his healing body behind to astral project somewhere else to deal with Gods’ bullshit.

These damn Gods……

Choi Han clenches his fists.

Raon pauses in the process of bringing the apple pie to his mouth, eyes flickering to the swordsman momentarily, before returning back to eating.

Eruhaben sighs. How is it that this human is getting stronger right this moment? 

Bud, who everyone seems to have forgotten, takes this chance to finally claw his way out from under the bed, then has to narrowly avoid being kicked in the face by the Molan Patriarch.

Ron narrows his eyes at this bug pawing at his feet, but doesn’t have time to put it back where it belongs since he’s busy handing out tea cups on the overbed tables.

“Young masters,” Ron smiles, “This Ron is honored to be able to serve you.”

Cale* and Rok Soo, caught red-handed smuggling contraband, stare at the assassin fearfully.

Ron’s smile widens.

Topping off the tea with a flourish, the butler adjusts the table to where all the bed’s occupants can comfortably reach.

“This is our young master’s favorite tea, young sirs,” Ron places two steaming tea cups in front of them, “He enjoys it everyday verily. Please accept this as a gesture of hospitality from us all.”

Cale* stares at the tea dubiously. Ron* has been gone from his side for 2 years, sure, but Cale* is not amnesiac. He’s pretty sure Ron didn’t act like this before? What the fuck happens to this old man?? Why is he suddenly so scary????

Kim Rok Soo, on the other hand, lets down his guard a little. He knows he shares the same dislikes as the original Kim Rok Soo, so that means that this tea, one that the original allegedly enjoys everyday, should not be too hard to swallow down.

……Right?

Kim Rok Soo takes hold of the tea cup with the expression of someone walking into the gallows.

Cale*, trashy since 8 but still young and innocent (and maybe a little dumb), mistakes that for a look of confidence, and musters the courage to grab hold of his cup too.

Together, they both down the tea in one go.

The effects are immediate.

“W—” Cale* chokes, “What…What the f— cough cough cough!”

“Do you like it, Young Masters? It’s extra strong sugar-free freshly-squeezed lemon tea!”

“You—” Rok Soo gurgles, “Ron, y, you lied— cough, cough cough cough!”

“This Ron is hurt, truly. I utter no lie. Our Young Master-nim really does enjoy this drink all day, everyday, very much.”

“So…so bitter!!!!!!!”

“Ohohoho~ I know, it’s an acquired taste~”

“M, my tastebuds—!!!!!!!”

“But I’m sure you’ll get used to it like our Young Master does ohohohoho~~~”

Ron is a very happy butler right now.

Mentally sending his deepest condolences to his unwitting distraction, Bud takes advantage of the chaos and scurries his way to safety.

Alberu, Eruhaben, and Rosalyn sip their normal, distinctively not lemon, very delicious tea silently, expertly dodging the gazes screaming for help that are digging into the sides of their heads.

They do not see anything. Not at all.

A bit further away, Dodori is now wandering around. Suddenly, something catches his eyes.

“You……Just what are you doing?” Dodori is confused, but intrigued.

Clopeh Sekka looks at the impressionable dragon in front of him for a moment.

‘If I’m not wrong, this dragon came to Cale-nim to become part of his legend, right?’

Green eyes shining with unholy delight, Clopeh smiles like a devout priest and introduces (indoctrinates) the teen to what he’s been devoted to all this time.

Dodori’s eyes widen in fascination.

-

Cale shudders, then incorrectly attributes that chill to these stubborn Gods in front of him, and gets even angrier.

The Gods feel a bit wronged.

-

Alberu*’s steps are quick and sure as he heads towards his destination. This is the first intermission they’ve had since coming here, and he has no time to waste.

He has a bad feeling about the reason behind this intermission, and his counterpart’s action has not been subtle in the slightest. This might be the only chance he has to establish himself positively in the eyes of his fellow world-saving teammates before all of his secrets get blown sky-high and he gets character assassinated by their prejudices.

Suddenly, he stops.

Staring at the huge gaps between the representatives of Whipper*, Jungle*, Caro*, not to mention other people he still has yet to recognize, Alberu* feels a leaden weight on his shoulders.

The Gods have repeatedly confirmed the possible destruction of their entire world. Yet, why is everyone still so unconcerned?

Is this the time for grudges? For pride? For prejudices?

Shouldn’t everyone at least pretend to try to save themselves?

Alberu* takes in a deep breath.

Whatever. They’ll either realize the severity of the situation or the transmigrator will help them all there, sooner or later.

What’s important now is what he needs to do.

For his people, he must not fail.

His smile is gentle and welcoming as he approaches Litana* and Valentino*.

For the two who were supposed to be divided on the Empire* issue, the two leaders are surprisingly cordial with each other.

“Greetings your Majesty, your Highness,” Alberu* nods shallowly. “Mayhaps I sit here for a moment?”

Litana* and Valentino* observe this “glib” crown prince silently. They are both too intelligent to feign not knowing why the representative of another nation might come here seeking them out. 

After all, that’s probably why Valentino* approaches Litana* in the first place.

For Litana*, it’s a bit strange. Valentino* has been nothing but cordial towards her the entire time, but his affiliation with Adin* remains a stain on his character she simply cannot ignore, so seeing Alberu Crossman* approaching her is a relief she doesn’t know she needs.

Of the two crown princes, she’s inclined to trust Alberu* much more than Valentino*, even though she has interacted with the latter more than the former.

Is this an unwitting influence by the transmigrator? By the record on the screen, little it may have shown? Or is this her instinct telling her something?

Watching nonchalantly as the Roan* Crown Prince seats himself at their table, Litana* takes a sip of her drink.

Time will tell, she guesses.

-

Staring at Alberu*’s back, Choi Han* contemplates.

Feeling a nudge at his side, Choi Han* turns and raises an eyebrow at Rosalyn*.

“Are you not going to him?”

Choi Han* looks away. 

“He’s going to talk politics with other kingdoms’ representatives. Me being there might even ‘cramp his style,’” Choi Han* cracks a humorless joke. 

Instead of dwelling on this further, though, Choi Han* turns to Rosalyn* instead: “What about you?”

“Me?” Rosalyn* looks convincingly confused, but Choi Han* hasn’t spent the last two years by her side for nothing.

“Yes, you,” he answers. “Your kingdom.”

Rosalyn* flinches.

Choi Han* pushes: “Don’t you want to go talk to them too?”

“I—” Rosalyn* hesitates. 

The Breck* Kingdom.

Rosalyn* is someone who has caused a huge mess and thrown away her title to go live her life as a mage. She, therefore, should have no rights to negotiate from her birth country’s position. 

‘But Pen* and John* are not here.’

The only people capable of negotiating on behalf of Breck* are not here.

Only she, Rosalyn* the Breck*’s defector, is here.

Isn’t it too shameless? Will it be okay for her to do that?

She has left her home, saying she does not need her title as princess anymore. Is it okay to take it back now that it’s convenient?

Choi Han* doesn’t know what to say to her. He had been there with her, after all, when she made a mess out of the Archduke*. So now, while he knows she needs to join the representatives in their discussion, he has no idea what to say to ease her feelings on this subject.

“Rosalyn*,” Choi Han* forces out, “There’s no one to represent Breck* here.”

Rosalyn* knows. Rosalyn* knows.

But from what position is she even supposed to negotiate from? The Breck* Crown Princess title she has long since thrown away? The mage defector who has no political power in the court she has long since discarded?

It feels like a mockery of her steadfast dream, but giving up on the international discussion out of personal shame feels even more like a betrayal of her country. 

So it goes down to this, huh?

Either she’d be Rosalyn* the Hypocrite, or she’d be Rosalyn* the Traitor.

‘Ha!’ Rosalyn* feels like laughing, but she also feels like crying.

How has everything come to this?

“Rosalyn*—” She hears Choi Han* keeps talking, and raises a hand to cut him off.

“Choi Han*,” she smiles at her friend, emotions now carefully regulated, “It’s okay.”

She should have been smarter.

How can personal feelings ever compare against the good of an entire kingdom?

Choi Han* frowns. There’s something wrong with that smile, and—

“It’s okay,” Rosalyn* repeats again, engraving it into her soul, “It’s okay. Drastic time calls for drastic measures.”

“I shall do what I must.”

With a consoling pat and a squeeze to Lock*’s hand, Rosalyn* stands up and walks towards the kingdoms’ representatives, posture regal, dignified, and so very different from the Rosalyn* Choi Han* has come to know for the last 2 years.

Choi Han* stares after her, his heart dropping straight to his stomach.

……Has he…said something wrong after all?

Rosalyn, on the other side of the room, incidentally glances in her counterpart’s direction and immediately frowns.

……Why is the other her acting like the Crown Princess she long since wasn’t again?

-

Bud* and Glenn* observes the strategic retreat of Bud on the other side of the barrier without a word.

Bud*, for the record, would like to say that that embarrassing man wasn’t him, actually.

Meanwhile, Glenn* nods like he’s confirmed something.

“That unique way of making the most out of your dumbassery—that’s definitely you alright.”

Bud* feels wronged.

“Excuse me.” 

Both of them glance up at the approaching figure. 

Dressed in old gray clothes that are simple yet neat, her hair tied up without a single stray strand, her face engraved with a refined look of grace, the green-haired woman walking toward them is the very picture of elegance.

During the time spent languishing in this auditorium, Bud* and Glenn* have managed to identify most of their fellow “world-saviors”, with the exception of the hooded woman, the Dark Elf, the dragons, and this person in front of them. 

Tapping a quick rhythm onto the armrest for Glenn*, Bud* turns his attention fully onto this woman.

‘The other crown prince called her “your Majesty”, didn’t he?’

Eyes half-lidded, mouth stretched into a wide, drunken smile, Bud* raises his bottle at her in greetings:

“Hello there! Are you here to be my friend?”

“Bud*!” Glenn* scolds, smacking  Bud* on the back of his head—using his subtle manipulation of mana to disguise Bud*’s more obvious tells—before turning his sincere expression towards the woman, “My apologies, he always talks nonsense when he’s drunk.”

“It’s alright,” the still unidentified woman casually invites herself to sit down, her puppy barking at them once before lying down at her feet, “But drop the pretenses.”

Bud*, who is rubbing his head, and Glenn*, who is scowling at him, blink simultaneously, before casually turning questioning eyes at the woman.

“Sorry?” Glenn* begins, “I don’t—”

He stops abruptly.

Eyes that look like a beast lying in wait are staring coldly through them.

“I don’t have time to watch you two act out your little fucking play.”

Bud*’s expression changes subtly.

‘This woman——’

His eyes land lightly on the unassuming cute puppy at her feet. 

It’s the only true animal in this auditorium. 

Even dragons are forced to polymorph into their human forms when entering this hall, but this puppy remains the same.

Its presence here, handpicked by Gods, means that……

Bud* looks at the woman again, sniffing imperceptibly.

He didn’t notice it before since the smell was so faint, but this woman is undoubtedly…

‘A shaman.’

Drumming a pattern on the armrest again, Bud* relaxes back into his chair.

“What can I help you, then,” he drags out his words, “your……Majesty, is it?”

The woman huffs out a laugh.

“No, that’s not me,” she smiles as she pours herself tea, “That’s my goal, however.”

“Oh?” Bud* raises an eyebrow.

A Queen contender? 

Bud* glances over her clothes once more.

Shabby. Simple, but neatly kept.

An ex-contender, then. 

An exiled princess.

Bud* thinks he knows who this woman is.

“Princess Jopis*, then,” the Mercenary King* smiles like the shark he actually is, “I didn’t know you were a shaman?”

He can feel Glenn* jolts on his seat next to him.

“Don’t be,” the exiled princess remains the picture of composure, “Not many people do. I’d be six feet under otherwise.”

Bud* smiles, green eyes glittering, “I’ve heard that the Molden* Queen is a kind, just, and magnanimous ruler, is she not?”

Jopis* laughs again, this time something twisted entering her voice.

“If she is,” she says, “I wouldn’t be the one summoned to this fucking room, would I?”

She is right. 

If Elishneh* is a just and kind ruler, she would have been here instead. While both the reigning representatives of Molden* and Breck* were not summoned, unlike Breck* where Rosalyn* can fill in her brother’s role until they return to reality, Molden*’s God-chosen representative is an exiled princess, instead of its so lauded after ruler.

It implies very interesting things about what’s going on behind the scene of this strongest kingdom on the Eastern Continent*.

(It also implies very interesting things about the rest of the uninvited kingdoms on the Eastern Continent.)

(This is……troubling.)

“Then Princess*,” Glenn* begins, voice a little tight. He mistook her for one of the Dragons earlier, and seems to take the mistake to heart. “What do you want to talk to us about?”

Jopis* gracefully sips her tea.

“I know my fucking sister is funneling our citizens’ tax money somewhere,” the princess opens on a non-sequitur, “Before that, though, I know she’s received money from somewhere to fund her campaign.”

Jopis* smiles.

“Imagine my surprise when I traced one of them to your Guild, Mercenary King*.”

Bud*’s smile drops off his face entirely.

‘This woman knows exactly who he is.’

But more importantly…

“The Mercenary Guild* does not partake in the power struggle of any nation whatsoever,” he states coldly.

“I’m not saying you do,” Jopis* remains ineffably calm, “I’m just saying that once upon a time, that bitch Elishneh* received money from your Guild.”

“Money that she then used to defeat me.”

Green eyes meet green eyes, both as cold and acidic as one another.

“Tell me, Mercenary King*,” Jopis* smiles elegantly, “Are you sure your Guild is entirely yours?”

Mercenaries are not soldiers. They do not know loyalty. 

Bud* knows this more than anyone.

What bound mercenaries to the Guild and to the King has never been something as nebulous and honorable as loyalty.

Emotional attachments, money, intimidation, or even ease of convenience, those are what keeps the mercenaries “loyal” to their Guild and King.

Such a system is a double-edged sword that the legion titled “Mercenary Guild” has been carefully wielding for close to 1000 years now, in order to survive and thrive whilst many kingdoms rose and fell. 

On the one hand, that thin thread of loyalty keeps the mercenaries free, while also providing them a background to rely on and support should they want it.

On the other hand, as his enemies have found—as Jopis * has found—such loyalty can be bought.

Working his jaw, Bud* reaches for the teapot.

“Well then, Princess Jopis* of the Molden* Kingdom,” Bud* refills the exiled princess’s cup, “Enlighten me.”

-

‘An exiled princess of Molden*, huh?’ 

Ron* tilts his head subtly to the side.

Molden* Kingdom.

On the mountain range at the edge of that kingdom, is the Molan* Castle.

Ron* hadn’t recognized either Jopis* or Bud* because he’s been gone from the Eastern Continent* for decades, but the fact that both of them are here now means that……

‘There’s no reason to think that this war will only involve the Western Continent*,’ he acknowledges his oversight.

This is a war that will destroy the world. 

There is no way it will stop at just the Western Continent*.

Glancing at his son, Ron* sees the caution in his eyes.

The Mercenary King* and the possible future Molden* Queen…

The two most powerful people on the Eastern Continent* are about to have a chat that will possibly reshape the landscape of their entire continent.

The forgotten Molans* sit back in their chairs and follow their talk with solemn concentration.

- 

While the humans are talking, Mila* tugs her son up.

“Mom?” Dodori* is confused.

“Come on, I want you to meet someone properly.”

Confused but compliant, Dodori* follows behind his mom as they pass by multiple humans, a Dark Elf, and a snoring gray dragon, before arriving in front of a golden-haired Elf.

‘Woah!’

Dodori* gasps internally.

He knows dragons are genetically beautiful, but this dragon in front of him exhibits a beauty that far surpasses any dragon he’s ever known.

Granted, he knows, like, 3 other dragons (including his mom and not including the one in front of him), but still.

“Hello, Senior. My name is Mila*. We meet again,” Mila* smiles.

Eruhaben* raises an eyebrow in surprise. 

“You’ve seen me before?”

“You can say that.” Mila*’s smile turns just a bit wicked. “It was a day with a typhoon, you see. I saw a 2 on 1 fight.” 

“…Ah……” 

Eruhaben* lets out a deep sigh. Dodori* can see the Ancient Dragon starting to frown. 

“I was very young at that time. Around 100 years old? So you were probably about 300, am I right?” 

“Mm.” Eruhaben* covers his face with both hands. 

Mila* continues to speak in a gentle voice.

“That was the first time I learned that someone could be beaten up so much that dust would fly even during a typhoon.” 

“Ahem. Hmm!” Eruhaben* avoids Dodori*’s sparkling gaze. He has wanted to meet with this young dragon, but dammit he didn’t want to meet him under this condition!

Mila* just keeps going, politely ignoring the look of agonized embarrassment on Eruhaben*’s face: “You were beating them up so badly. You didn’t even use your mana; you just beat them to a pulp with your hands and feet.” 

“…I… I don’t remember.” What did Eruhaben* do to deserve this again??

Mila* shakes her head after hearing what Eruhaben* barely manages to say, casting a sound-proof barrier on them, leaving Dodori* out. Seems like she has to be drastic to get this senior dragon to open up. 

“There’s no way that is the case. I even remember what you said before you left those bloody messes behind.”

“No wait—”

“ ‘You bitches, if you run those damn mouths of yours one more time, the great Eruhaben* will fuc—’ ” 

“S, stop!” 

Eruhaben* stops Mila* from saying the rest.

“You are that young Dragon from that day?” 

Mila* calmly nods her head and undoes the barrier. 

“That’s right. I was hiding in the bushes and watching you. You just beat them up without even caring about the fact that I was there. You knew I was there, but you didn’t care.” 

Dodori*’s eyes shine like 2 super-powered torches. Eruhaben* flinches inwardly.

“You hiding there had nothing to do with me.”

Eruhaben* kind of wants to ask Mila* what she was doing there hiding in the bushes, but one look at the curiously inspired (??) Dodori* and he changes his mind.

“So what do you want with me now?” He says instead.

Mila* shakes her head lightly, and pulls Dodori* closer.

“This is my son, Dodori*,” she introduces, “He’s 14 years old this year.”

A bit shy, Dodori* nods his head, before suddenly stands up straight: “Hello Gran, Grandpa? I am the noble, beautiful, great and mighty and most importantly, extremely cool Dodori*!”

Eruhaben*’s lips twitch, but just nods his head in return. “And I am Eruhaben*, Dodori*.”

Pulling her son to sit down on the seats nearby, Mila* dives right into their troubles.

“Eruhaben-nim*, I brought him here partially because I want to introduce us to you, but partially because of the glaring problem ahead.”

Eruhaben*’s gaze sinks.

“The demonic race’s involvement.”

Hearing the accursed words again, Dodori* flinches unwittingly.

Mila* pats Dodori*’s head.

To be honest, Mila* doesn’t actually care that much about what happens to this land. It doesn’t matter to her whether there’s a holy war on the horizon, whether the demonic race invades, or whatever the hell this White Star does. All she cares about is her child’s happiness.

However, the White Star is a 1000 years-old Dragon Slayer who has been systematically hunting down Dragons after Dragons. And Dodori* is just 14 years-old.

From what she’s inferred from the regressor’s reaction earlier, in his future-past, Dodori* has been long dead (hunted, brutalized, murdered—).

Dragons live to 1000. Dodori* would have never even reached thirty-four.

And that? 

That is unacceptable. 

“Yes,” Eruhaben* agrees, eyes unfathomably deep, “We do need to talk about that.”

His gaze turns towards his counterpart on the other side.

“We really, really need to talk about that.”

“But before that,” ‘Tap,’ sounds the tea cup as Eruhaben* places it down on the table, “We need to make sure all our allies are awake, first.”

Three pairs of draconic eyes look towards the ignorantly snoring dragon.

“Sigh.”

Dodori* hears the sounds of a sigh, then the cracking of knuckles.

Eruhaben* stands up.

Moments later, a resounding ‘Bang!’ would have echoed throughout the room, if it wasn’t for the sound-proof barrier Mila* has hastily cast on the other dragons.

Mila* looks at Dodori* who’s staring in interest as Eruhaben* beats the gray dragon to a pulp, and shakes her head.

“Men.”

-

Meanwhile, someone who also cannot hold themselves back any longer is making her move.

Witira* carefully approaches the barrier, hope in her throat and desperation in her eyes.

‘Three, two—’

Tap.

Her hands meet the barrier. 

Despite already predicting this, Witira* can’t help the way her eyes burn with unshed tears. 

Why? Why?

Hands curling into a fist, Witira* bangs on the barrier.

Bang!

Why?! 

Bang!

Why is it that Cale Henituse* can go there, but she cannot? 

Bang!

Why?!!!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

On side A, those closest to the barrier start to frown and stand up.

Archie*, standing beside Witira*, bites his lips in strife.

He glares into side A, eyes searching for their counterparts and the Whale that’s causing Witira* so much grief.

Finally, he finds them on the far side of hall, chatting together like everything is normal, like life is good, like Paseton* isn’t—

Archie* slams his hands onto the barrier as well.

“Hey!!” He yells, getting nearly everyone's attention, “Paseton, you bastard—!”

Immediately, both Witiras whip their heads back to look at him.

Archie* flinches, swallowing down the rest of his sentence. 

His world’s Witira* narrows her eyes: “Archie*, you—”

Side A’s Witira, on the other hand, seemingly teleports right in front of him. 

“What did you call my brother?”

Archie* gulps at seeing the angry Witira, but then his eyes catch on his frowning counterpart, and then on an alive, ignorant Paseton who’s cluelessly peeking out from behind him, and he starts to get angry all over again.

Archie*—while well-versed in the art of self-preservation—has this tendency to ignore said art when he gets angry. 

And he’s so, very angry right now.

Looking into the blue eyes of the Queen-to-be that have yet to be darkened by grief and desolation, Archie* snarls back: “I called him a bastard, so what about it?”

“You—” Blue eyes burn.

“What,” Archie* slams his hands onto the barrier again, “Am I wrong? Who is he, if not a bastard?”

“Someone who dares to leave his tribe behind without even a final word is nothing more than a bastard!” 

Witira*’s hand reaching for Archie* flinches back as if struck.

“Lea—What are you saying?” Witira is confused.

Archie* doesn’t care.

“And you, Paseton, son of the Whale King,” Archie* snarls venomously, looking straight into Paseton’s eyes, “You, who left and never came back, who vanished and never returned, you who abandoned us all, you— you——”

Archie*’s eyes water.

“You are the most terrible bastard of all.” He whispers.

Witira stumbles back, looking frantically between the now silent Archie* and the shellshocked Witira*, and shakes her head in denial.

“No, no, what are you saying, no—” 

Her counterpart turns her head away, eyes dripping with silent tears.

She is alone, with no Paseton* by her side.

Witira feels like she can’t breathe.

When has the land felt so suffocating?

Witira backs away from her caricature on the other side of the barrier, still shaking her head.

That can’t be. That can’t be. That can’t be the her that she could have been. 

And yet, the grief in those eyes tastes like something she’s once mourned before.

She stumbles.

A warm, familiar hold props her up.

“Noona,” her brother murmurs, concerned.

Witira* stands alone, with no Paseton* to prop her up.

Witira feels her eyes tear up.

That can’t be the them they could have been.

That can’t be the end they could have had.

In her periphery, she can see Archie stalking towards his counterpart, face twisted into a ferocious frown.

“Hey, bastard,” Similarly, Archie slams his fist onto the barrier, “Hey, you bastard who’s just spouted some absurd claims, explain yourself! What the fuck do you mean by Paseton leaving? Hey!”

Archie* stares coldly at his other self, his anger seemingly burnt out on his unacknowledged grief, and snorts humorlessly.

“Why don’t you go ask that Paseton instead, hmm?” Archie* sneers nastily, “After all, he’s right there.”

“You—!”

Witira exhales loudly, one hand gripping tightly on her brother’s arm, eyes still locked on the lonely figure of her counterpart.

Paseton presses his lips together. 

He hurts, seeing his sisters hurt like this. Especially over the worthless him who, in another timeline, would have gone and died and left his sister alone in this cruel world.

But that is not something that should be talked about in the open like this.

“Kim Rok Soo-ssi,” Paseton calls over his shoulder, a plea in his voice, “Can I trouble you for a moment?”

Kim Rok Soo, who has been eavesdropping alongside everyone else for a while now, jerks a little in surprise, before sitting up to observe the situation more comprehensively.

“Hmm,” he hums, jumping over Cale* and off the bed, “I’ll try.”

Striding off to the barrier, he pats around for a moment, squinting, then sticks his hand at the barrier. 

As expected, his hand goes through the barrier to the other side. 

Witira* looks at the man’s offered hand in something like hesitation.

“Come on, Miss Witira*,” Kim Rok Soo smiles, “Come over.”

Witira* blinks, eyes watering again, stares at her alive (living, moving, present ) brother, and grasps the man’s hand. 

With the other, she pulls Archie* with her. 

With a quiet ‘Snick,’ they both pass through the barrier.

In the distance, someone jumps off her seat in shock, and hurriedly rushes over.

“Wait!” Cage* shouts, “Wait! Can I— Please, can I, too—?”

Kim Rok Soo smiles sadly. 

Cage*, the Mad Priestess.

For all that she was known for her terrible curses, she was still the most prolific among the few healers that Roan*, no, the world had left after 20 years of war.

For the one who had saved his life so many times in another life, there’s little Kim Rok Soo will deny her of, let alone something as small as this.

“Of course you can, Miss Cage*,” Kim Rok Soo holds out his hand again.

Feeling familiar stares digging into him, he turns to shoot a quick glare at their familiar faces, before turning back towards Cage*.

Cage* is trembling as he pulls her across the barrier.

And on the other side, Taylor Stan is already standing there to greet her.

Kim Rok Soo leaves quietly as they all start to cry holding onto each other.

Before he manages to fully leave however, Cage, side A’s Cage, grasps hold of his hands and squeezes tightly.

“I know I didn’t manage to say it before,” she says, becoming teary-eyed herself, “But thank you for everything, Kim Rok Soo-nim.”

“Just Kim Rok Soo is fine, Miss Cage,” he pats her hand, “I just made a deal for my own benefit, Miss Cage. I didn’t actually do anything. Cale was the one who saved you.” 

Cage snorts through her tears, “For two different individuals, you guys sure like to spout the same bullshits, huh?”

“Huh?” Kim Rok Soo is surprised.

“Nevermind,” Cage laughs, still crying, “Nevermind, Kim Rok Soo-ssi. Thank you, again.”

And with that, she leaves the befuddled Kim Rok Soo alone.

-

Kim Rok Soo stares after the laughing crying Cage, confused. “Bullshit? That’s the truth though?”

“And who is she comparing me with again?”

Kim Rok Soo’s steps come to a gradual slow, before stopping yet again.

His eyes flit past his younger self, land lightly on Cale, before spanning to take everyone on side A into his view.

Some of them are deliberately not meeting his eyes.

Kim Rok Soo has a sudden sense of schadenfreude.

He’s pretty sure side A has invented some pretty very big misconceptions of his person. There is no other reason why Cage would react like that, because fundamentally—— 

Cale Henituse* hadn’t agreed to the God of Death’s deal because he wanted to save the world. 

He was not like the current Cale. He was not such a noble, selfless person.

(Turtles have always been a cold-blooded animal, and he’s a Henituse. 

Perhaps in another world where Jour* lived longer, where Jour* chose her 8-year-old son over her “meaningful” martyrdom, Cale* would grow up to be a perfect mix of Thames* and Henituse*, with warm eyes and warm blood.

But this was not that world, and that was not his life.)

It’s true that in a way, the man who once was Cale Henituse* gave up everything in the deal that ended up saving the world. 

But from another perspective, he can confidently say that he didn’t lose anything that he hadn’t already lost, and that in return he managed to gain everything that he’s long wished for.

The God of Death offered the deal to him when the original Cale* was on the brink of death. Every single one of his family and friends had been dead and gone for close to 20 years now. Cale Henituse*, then, had literally nothing left to lose, not even his quickly ending life. 

Saying “yes” to that deal was such a no-brainer, Cale* hadn’t even hesitated. His world would get another do-over. A God would guarantee that his family be saved. He would be getting another lease in life, the answer he had long sought after, and get to reunite with his reincarnated mother.

Someone else can take care of all the fighting and bleeding and saving the world instead.

What’s even there to think about?

This is not sacrifice. Sacrificing your death is not a sacrifice at all. 

He was simply offered a way out of a hopeless situation and took it with impunity, damning anyone who got hurt in the way. 

In a way, it can be said that he’s reincarnating into a new world with all of his memory intact, with an already established identity and a mature support network already in place, completed with the majority of the original’s memory, the location of his mother’s reincarnation, and a local guide to help ease the way. 

(He doesn’t know this, but Lee Soo Hyuk will have had to help seal a God to be granted even half of those things.)

Kim Rok Soo, no, Cale Henituse* stops his steps momentarily. He thinks about Cage’s previous words again, and has to resist the urge to laugh hysterically at this absurdity.

It’s easy to see that side A is conflating him with his swap partner, unknowing of just how off-base they all are, since most of them have never actually met him before, and those who have were never close enough to him to know better. 

Kim Rok Soo and Cale Henituse are actually two very different people, despite their superficial similarities.

But it seems side A keeps wanting to think him a better man than he ever is.

‘It’s because—’ Kim Rok Soo feels like laughing again, this time in incredulity. 

It’s because Cale, the ever soft-hearted fool, has treated Kim Rok Soo somewhat favorably.

(Up until this very moment, he still cannot believe how preciously loved Cale is.)

Before Cale woke up, they had all but ignored Kim Rok Soo’s entire existence outside information gathering purposes. When they deigned to interact with him directly, their reactions had all been short and frosty. 

Even when they collectively decided to defend Cale* earlier, side A was more defending the innocent, ignorant Cale* who was dragged into this mess unwittingly than the complicit Kim Rok Soo.

But because when Cale woke up, he showed no ill-will towards Kim Rok Soo at all even after Kim Rok Soo’s outrageous request to him, said frostiness seemingly thawed.

‘Cale didn’t treat that man like an enemy’, they must have thought, ‘So we should in turn not obviously do so either.’

So, in accordance to Cale’s underlying wish, Kim Rok Soo doesn’t suffer any harm to his person, nor does anyone visibly disdain him. He even got to rest so close to the vulnerable Cale, and is treated like an honored guest at their table.

(The Golden Dragon has seated himself by Cale’s side and refused to leave ever since Kim Rok Soo came over. 

This is not a coincidence.)

They certainly do not trust him, but they are willing to try their best to make him feel welcomed.

More than that, though, they—all these important, frighteningly intelligent beings—all want to think he had gone into this deal with the intention to sacrifice himself to save his world, or some such bullshit. 

Because if they all pretend the original Cale* has any kind of nobler ideals or greater purposes when agreeing to the deal, then they can all comply with Cale’s wish and dutifully ignore what that deal had robbed Cale of.

But he knows it. They know it. Cale himself knows it, but seemingly refuses to even acknowledge it.

That terrible truth. 

The terrible truth is that this wretched deal——

——is a win-win where both parties get what they want.

And the uninvolved third party, the original Kim Rok Soo who neither knew about the deal nor should have ever been involved in the first place, ends up as the only one losing out.

(Cale Henituse* did not lose anything he hadn’t already lost. And Cale Henituse, no, Kim Rok Soo, was robbed of everything he had ever had.)

(Again.)

Side A, this whole time, has been trying so desperately to not acknowledge such a truth.

Because the moment they do, they will inevitably want to take (violent) actions against those that have committed such grievous, unforgivable, indelible crime against their Cale, and will probably try their best at deicide.

And then side B would end up getting destroyed in the cross-fire, probably.

And none of them want it (yet).

So Kim Rok Soo acquiesces with their determination. If they all want to pretend he’s sacrificing something in this deal, then that would be the only truth he’s willing to utter out loud.

Not because he’s a coward who can’t own up to his own faults. Not because he’s scared of what they might do to him in retaliation. Not even because his guilt towards damning Cale isn’t overwhelming enough.

But because——

Kim Rok Soo slightly turns his head in the direction of the barrier.

——He, too, wants to right his mistake somehow.

(And what a mistake that is.)

-

Deruth* has been halfway out of his seat when the foreign visage of his son pins him down with a cold glare.

And before he can react, Cage* has already crossed over the barrier, and Kim Rok Soo is already leaving.

Looking at the strong, sturdy, unfamiliar back that’s walking away from him, Deruth* feels so helpless.

His hands shake as he collapses back onto his chair, still unable to look away from the retreating back.

‘He’s leaving me behind,’ Deruth* realizes.

Cale* is leaving him behind.

(Cale* has left him behind 20 years and a lifetime ago, but he doesn’t understand this yet.)

(Maybe it’s because the other him was the one who left Cale* behind first, in that fatal Battle for the Golden Turtle.) 

Throughout the years, Deruth* has always looked at Cale*’s back as his son walked away from him, time after time. 

Each time, he’d console himself that Cale* was still here, by his side, still within his reach, still where he could see and protect him. That next time, Deruth* would be able to reach out, reconnect, and bridge the gap that he had inadvertently created between them all.

But Deruth* never did manage to reach out.

(He never tried.)

(Or maybe he did, and it never worked.)

(Either way, none of that matters anymore, because——)

Now, there is no next time.

He has watched his son walked away from him for so long, but never before has he so viscerally felt that:

He’s losing him.

For good.

His son is leaving him behind for good.

His eyes follow Kim Rok Soo’s journey back to the luxurious bed, and Deruth* watches as he and Cale* mess around with each other, the transmigrator sleeping quietly by their sides.

Like they’ve come into a world of their own, where Deruth* will never be able to reach.

“Father,” his other son murmurs, grasping onto the edge of Deruth*’s sleeve, a gesture he has long since outgrown, “Is hyung-nim— Is he—”

Basen* stutters, eyes still stuck on the same scene as Deruth*.

“Father, will he ever be back?”

Deruth*’s eyes grow hot.

He wants so badly to say ‘yes’, say ‘of course he will’, say ‘we are a family, why wouldn’t he?’, but words fall short. 

Because none of that is the truth.

Because truthfully, their family has been fractured for a long time. 

Because for all that they love each other, their family is a fundamentally broken one.

They love each other dearly. This, Deruth* believes with his whole heart.

But their love is a destructive one.

Each of them has been so busy holding desperately onto each other, they neglect to learn how to fit together. So they cut themselves on each other’s sharp edges, and believe these wounds to be the proof of their love.

(But they don’t know that love shouldn’t be like that. That family shouldn’t hurt like that.)

(For them, to love is to suffer, and there can be no love otherwise.)

And then Cale* left. 

(And then they let him go, because love should hurt, shouldn’t it, and the more it hurts the more they’re convinced they are doing right by him.) 

So they hurt, Cale* hurts, and all of them think that they were doing the right thing.

But is it wrong? Is letting Cale* go wrong? Is giving up wrong?

Kim Rok Soo has said that Deruth* would not be able to protect Cale*.

He has said it with such certainty, with such finality that Deruth* cannot help but believe him.

If that’s the case, Deruth* has wondered, if love should hurt and family should try its best to protect each other and Deruth* cannot protect Cale* at all—

Then isn’t letting Cale* go to where he can be protected, a better choice?

Kim Rok Soo has looked happy, talking about his current world.

Their world, on the other hand, will soon be embroiled in endless war and uncountable horrors.

Won’t Cale* be happier, being there with Kim Rok Soo and not here in hell with them?

But it hurts so bad. 

It hurts so bad.

He can feel Basen* leaning into him, quiet sobs wracking his body. Feel Lily*’s barely audible cry, her head buried in her mother’s arm. Feel Violan*’s rigid posture, heartbreak written into every move she makes.

Love hurts, but should it hurt like this?

(When does everything become so painful?)

-

Feeling the familiar stares following him desperately, Kim Rok Soo can’t help but sigh.

(What a mistake that is.)

What a mistake this is.

The other Henituse* family did not do anything wrong, he can objectively recognize that.

They has never once decided to sacrifice Cale* for the Greater Good, nor have they ever decided to throw him to the wolves. 

In fact, throughout their time here, the only thing they have done is to attempt communication with Cale*, then step back when Cale* indicated his unwillingness to do so.

Cale*’s family do not stop loving him, nor do they seem to be about to do so any time soon.

The only crime they’ve committed, in the end, is being too weak to protect Cale*.

‘Ah.’

Kim Rok Soo, no, Cale Henituse* has finally, finally realized something.

That, just like his deepest feelings for his mother who had abandoned him for her noble death……

Deep down inside, he has resented his family for dying before him.

It’s a resentment buried so deep that Cale hadn’t recognized it until this very moment.

His entire family had died before his eyes.

And, Cale* realizes now, he has never quite forgiven them for it.

‘I blamed them for being weak.’ 

The young Cale* back then had unconsciously internalized something that Kim Rok Soo has only just figured out now.

‘If they hadn’t been so weak, they would be alive.’ 

It’s a doctrine that he has unwittingly adopted, one that serves him well up until the moment where he came face to face with the ghosts of his past.

And then it all goes to shit.

When he realizes that the world is going to be out for Cale*’s throat, his first instinct has been to take him away. Because Kim Rok Soo fundamentally did not believe that his family would be able to protect Cale*.

In doing so, he took away Cale*’s own choice in the matter, and forced his family to “abandon” him, even though Kim Rok Soo has never given them a choice otherwise.

He, in his rash, emotionally-charged short-sightedness, has never given any of them a choice in the first place.

Kim Rok Soo was convinced he had to take Cale* away from his family, found the right arguments to convince the perhaps much less emotionally involved Cale, and the rest is history.

There is no universe where the Henituses* can get Cale* to stay, because Kim Rok Soo has been meticulously stacking all the odds against them since the very beginning.

Against the world’s judgment, against Cale Henituse, and against someone with a much greater information advantage like Kim Rok Soo, they never had a chance in the first place.

Kim Rok Soo couldn’t forgive them their weakness, so he made sure Cale* can’t ever forgive them either. 

In trying to be helpful, in trying to protect someone, he ends up hurting everyone involved.

(A tale as old as time.) 

(Has he ever grown up from that 8-year-old who convinced himself he needed to be trash, and to hell with anyone he had to hurt in the process?)

(Selfish, selfish, what a selfish child you are.)

Now Cale* has to live with the fact that he has been abandoned by everyone he’s ever loved, essentially exiled from his own world because of his so-called uselessness.

And the Henituses* will have to live with the fact that they have given up on Cale* when the world throws him away, and that there will be nothing they can do to fix this.

What about this world’s Henituse family? How did they feel, bearing witness to all of this? Did they feel hurt? Disappointed? Did they feel scared? Justified? Or did they just feel bitter instead?

Because had the stars been reversed, it’d be them who’d be forced to give up on their family, after all.

(Kim Rok Soo has forced them to give up their own family, and he thinks there’s a special kind of horror in the fact that he hasn’t even realized it until now.)

All because Kim Rok Soo thought he knew better.

……Has he ruined everything, once again?

Eyes moving to the slumbering Cale, Kim Rok Soo swallows down his question. 

Cale.

Kim Rok Soo never did say sorry.

(He never even said thanks.)

And yet, Cale has accepted him, just as he is.

He knows the only reason Cale has agreed to his plan so quickly without asking more probing questions is because Cale trusts him.

For some reason, Cale trusts him.

Him, the one who has stolen Cale’s original life, is deemed worthy of Cale’s trust.

(And look how he has squandered it.)

Shaking his head, Kim Rok Soo turns away and shoves some more snacks towards the young Cale*, ruffling his hair.

Cale* scowls at him.

Kim Rok Soo feels a pang in his heart.

Kim Rok Soo, no, Cale Henituse* had lived those 20 more years grieving, but had still known with utmost certainty that his family had never given up on him, even until their bitterest ends. 

But this Cale* will never have that certainty.

(Because you took it from him, you selfish, selfish boy.)

(Kim Rok Soo regrets—)

Kim Rok Soo lost his everything when he was 20, going on 21. And here is Cale*, on the cusp of turning 20, but already losing everything that’s ever mattered to him.

(All, because of Kim Rok Soo.)

(Kim Rok Soo regrets—)

For once in his life, he needs to think. 

About the far-reaching result of his actions. About what he can do from here. About what can still be fixed.

(About regrets. About traumas. About self-centeredness. About supplanting someone’s experience with his own and calling it help.)

-

Aside from the Henituse* family, many others also want to take the chance to cross the barrier as well. However, with the way Kim Rok Soo reacted to his ex-family, none of them really want to poke the hornet’s nest.

Lock* stares at his hand, still being held tenderly by Choi Han*. His other hand, empty now that Rosalyn-noona* has suddenly moved to go talk to other kingdoms’ representatives, clenches uselessly in thin air.

He’s trying his best not to look at Lock.

Shame. 

There’s a shame he has tried for years to shed, yet within hours of being here, it has returned with a vengeance, weighing him down with its whispers.

He doesn’t want to look at Lock in this state.

Lock, who has stood and fought, who has protected and been protected in turns, who is strong and manages to keep his siblings alive……

The……perfect, ideal Lock.

Lock* wants to talk to him. At the same time, he wants him to never exist at all.

Because against his counterpart, Lock* is simply… inadequate.

It gnaws at him, this inferiority. He’s the one who’s supposed to be among the five strongest, according to the transmigrator, but he can’t even measure up to his counterpart, who’s decidedly not even considered a frontline fighter in the other world.

What does that make him? 

Where does that leave him?

(Where does that leave them?

They are all going to die, aren’t they? 

How are they ever going to win, when their much stronger counterparts are struggling still?

This viewing is just a farce to harvest despair from their struggling bodies, isn’t it?

But somehow…… Lock*’s eyes brighten a bit as he turns to look at the [INTERMISSION] still blaring across the screen.

Somehow, there’s still a way out for them all.

He just has to grasp it.)

- 

Further away, Mary* and Tasha* drag their eyes from the draconic beatdown happening in the corner of their hall, and return to staring at their counterparts on the other side.

Tasha*’s attention is split. On one hand, she wants to closely watch over her nephew. Just like Alberu*, she quickly understands that whatever that’s about to be shown on the screen, her nephew will be exposed to great danger, if not physically then politically. On the other hand, her counterpart’s non-response to this is bothering her. 

‘Our nephews are going to be in danger!’ she wants to scream at Tasha’s nonchalance, ‘Have you been brainwashed? How can you not panic?!’

But she doesn’t.

Because it’s not true, is it? Only one nephew is in danger, and it’s certainly not that Tasha’s.

For her counterpart, who has cultivated amicable relationships with all the major power players in her world, who’s on friendly terms with the biggest of them all, this situation isn’t enough to constitute an emergency.

More than that, this has all happened in the past.

Meaning that the transmigrator has known some (or even most) (or even all ) of Alberu’s secret for 2 years now, and for all intents and purposes, he’s kept them well, since Alberu looks not even a little bit troubled by such a thing.

She is too far away to see the exact expression on her nephew’s counterpart’s face when he realizes what the transmigrator has done, but Alberu’s subsequent actions are anything but subtle, nor is the way he currently stares at the slumbering man as though the man holds the secrets of the universe.

Evidently, up until that moment, Alberu Crossman hadn’t realized that the transmigrator would discover his secrets immediately upon their first meeting.

……But also evidently, he is……incredibly pleased with such a fact.

Looking back and forth between the picture her other nephew makes with the transmigrator, the mutually fake smiles frozen on the screen, and the lonely way her Alberu* is carrying himself in preparation for the worst, Tasha* feels inexplicably heartbroken.

That Alberu has someone who can keep his secrets and support him. Someone who loves him and will go to unimaginable lengths to protect him. Someone who can protect him.

Someone who already is protecting him.

What about her Alberu*?

What about him, who is forced to carry the burden of the world on his shoulders yet has no allies who can see the light of the sun? 

What about him, whose secrets will soon sign his death warrant just because the Gods—who have always hated them so—demand they be exposed? 

What about her dear, beloved nephew, who is lonely, lonely, so painfully lonely, and now will suffer alone forevermore?

What about him?

Will the transmigrator’s protection extend to him too?

What if the Gods deny him?

Tasha* has been alive for more than two centuries; she has long since lost any illusion about the Gods’ mercy. Because every time she is deluded into thinking she’s seen the limits of the Gods’ callous cruelty, she is inevitably reminded of just how foolishly ignorant she truly is.

Can the transmigrator protect Alberu* from them too? Will the transmigrator protect Alberu* from them too?

The transmigrator certainly hadn’t seemed too pleased with Alberu* back then. 

The other Alberu looks sufficiently confident and well-protected, but her Alberu*......

As a Dark Elf, Tasha* can protect the young Alberu* from a great many things. Yet, as a Dark Elf, she also fails to protect him from just as much.

Because the throne demands a sun-born child, and for Alberu* to be the Sun, Darkness can have no place by his side.

And she, forevermore, is born of Darkness.

She can never freely stand by his side and proclaim her support of him as his family. 

Most times, she resents the Gods for it. 

Sometimes, she resents herself for it.

(And sometimes, she resents her sister—who brought Alberu* into this world knowing these things—instead, and feels even more guilty for it.)

But every single time, her resentment circles back to Zed Crossman, that child-abandoning bastard.

Tasha subtly turns to check in with her Elemental, who’s perched on the back of Alberu*'s chair, and presses her lips together in worry.

While he might look calm and confident on the outside, Tasha* has practically raised Alberu* since birth. She knows he’s currently wound tight like a drawn bowstring.

Too much. It’s too much. The pressure stacked against him is too much.

And yet, all she can do now is to uselessly lay her hope on the feet of someone else, someone not even friendly to Alberu* at that.

But she still has to try.

“I know we have never once spoken to each other,” Tasha* murmurs, voice low enough that even Mary* who’s sitting beside her doesn’t notice, yet hoping beyond hope that that one person will, “I know we have never once officially met. I know you don’t hold any affection for my nephew, nor do you care about him.”

“And yet—”

And yet. Selfishness is the universal flavor of humanity. She shouldn’t dare ask for more from one who has been so accommodating, and yet—

“—I, the selfish person that I am, implore you: please, please protect Alberu*.” Tasha* blinks away the tears welling in her eyes. “He is one of the most important people in my life, and someone who strives to make this world a better place, if only he can.”

She can’t even admit her relation to her nephew in her own plea for fear of exposure, and sometimes, it hurts.

But then, Tasha* is well-used to such pain.

“Please protect him.” She repeats, “All that he is, all that he ever wants, is to be able to protect his kingdom and see it prosper. He shouldn’t be made to suffer for the choices his parents made for him, nor should he be persecuted for something outside of his control.”

Tasha* lowers her head.

“Please, [Cale Henituse].” She says that man’s name aloud for the very first time, “Alberu Crossman* will be a great king. I know his road will be filled with trials and tribulations. I do not ask for it to be smooth and untroubled. All I’m asking is for it to not be cut short by something as trivial as his blood.”

“That’s all I ever wish for, all I ever want.”

“Please.”

-

The cold, impenetrable visage of Cale Henituse on the other side of the negotiating table suddenly cracks open like splintered glass, revealing the terrible, yawning, seething rage churning beneath the surface.

Some Gods instinctively recoil, taken aback by its raw potency.

“Did you know?” Cale’s voice, eerily calm despite the fury twisting his expression, breaks the suffocating silence. “Not once.”

He taps the table, a pointed beat punctuating his words.

“Not even once,” the red-haired human continues, “have I ever heard any of my people say such a thing, in such a tone.”

The Gods say nothing. Cale doesn’t care.

He simply carries on, hands tapping a slow, steady rhythm onto the tabletop.

“Not Lock,” tap, “even when that boy was asking for refuge.”

“Not Paseton,” tap, “even when he was begging for his life.”

A flicker of fire appears at his fingertip, eager and waiting.

“And certainly,” tap, “not—” tap, “—Tasha!” 

Bang!

Cale’s hands slam down, scorching black scars into the wood.

“Not Tasha, who’s strong and confident, who takes great pride in her abilities.”

“Not Tasha, who is so resilient she would never—never!—simply bow her head and pray for help.” 

His fingers gouge into the table, dripping golden lava and molten fury.

“Not to me, and definitely not to the likes of you.”

He spits out those words like they are something vile, face contorting with the force of his fury. 

“And you, you Gods, you divine bastards, you who pushed and prodded us for your entertainment, you who looked down on and ordered us around as you please, you who went around revealing secrets that were never yours to tell——”

Cale leans forward, eyes aflame with something like hate, something like condemnation.

Yet, when he continues, his voice is disquietingly soft.

“You pushed her into this.”

The malice lacing each vowel is liquid, distilled resentment.

Cale Henituse’s wrath burns cold like a slumbering volcano, its molten, destructive promise scorching at the throats of the Divine.

None of these Gods—save perhaps for the God of Death—has ever seen such venom in Cale Henituse’s face. The Cale from the records—the only Cale they know—might be a version of him, but moving pictures cannot compare to the living, breathing, and most definitely seething Cale in front of them. 

They have never truly known Cale Henituse at all; these Gods are just realizing it now.

But “now” is already far, far too late.

Because just as Cale does not forget, he most certainly does not forgive.

-

Unbeknownst of Tasha*’s action and its subsequent, catastrophic chain-reactions, Mary* is simply curious.

She has overheard what the baby dragon-nim had said.

‘Good Girl Mary,’ he had jovially called.

To the baby dragon, Mary, a necromancer, is a good girl.

And the transmigrator has patted Mary’s head. And at least three quarters of the people on side A believe he has even adopted Mary.

It has all sounded……so fantastical.

(And yet—)

What if it’s true? What if it could be reality?

Mary* is so curious.

What could have happened between now and then, for that other her to be able to walk under the sunlight so freely and unreservedly? 

What could have happened between the transmigrator and Mary, between the baby dragon and Mary, even between everyone else and Mary for Mary to be so loved and so— so respected?

Yes, respected. She can tell the look on some of the people on side A when they look at the other her is the same as the look some of the Dark Elves wear when they look at Grandpa. 

It’s a look of deep respect.

What has Mary done to earn such a look? What has she contributed to that world? 

Mary* is curious. She wants to know so bad. 

More than that, she wants to know if, perhaps—

If there is a way, if there is any way, for her to be like that too.

Not to such a degree like the current Mary, of course, since the transmigrator does not exist in her world, but to where she can go out into the sun and not be hunted on sight, maybe?

Mary* does not know if that’s too greedy of a wish to ask, that’s why she wants to confer with her other self first:

‘Hello, you who would know me best——’

‘——Is it okay for dark beings like us to live freely under the sun?’

-

Harol* rolls his shoulders, hearing his back crack satisfyingly.

Unlike other busy-body world leaders, Harol Kodiang* is just sitting back, distant from even their inquiring gazes. 

So far, he has seen no reason to involve Whipper* into whatever the hell that’s going on here. Not because he’s certain the war will leave them uninvolved—no, he’s not that naive—but because there’s still so little information about said war to understand to which degree they should get involved.

Sure, he knows it’s an intercontinental war, and sure, he knows that in the other world, Whipper is considered a reliable, friendly ally amongst them all, but there’s no reason to conflate two worlds with each other. 

He’s not like that Wolf, who’s probably suffering from some kind of inferiority complex with the way he keeps staring forlornly at his other self. 

He’s also not like those Whales, who’s grasping at their deceased’s look-alike, reaching for something long since lost. 

He is Harol*, the Supreme Chief of Whipper*’s non-mage faction, the son who used a bloody civil war to behead his own father, the commoner who orchestrated a regicide and got away with it.

He has no reason to play house with these bunch of royals, who are scampering about like headless chickens even though nothing’s been made clear yet.

As the Chief of an army notorious for their lack of rationality, Harol* alone understands the power of a clear mind and a steady heart. For things to fall into place in Whipper*’s—and in his—favor, he cannot—will not—enter negotiations arbitrarily, especially when the stakes remain murky. 

Something as nebulous as "world destruction" isn’t enough to make him move. The “Dragon Slayer” is something he considers a boon; “a war against the demonic race” sounds so far-fetched it’s so impossible to plan around, Harol* doesn’t even bother to try.

He needs something more concrete: the exact nature of the danger, predicted casualties, the probability of survival. He wants details—battlefronts, likely outcomes, contingency plans. Without those, he won’t risk his people.

Unlike Toonka* who likes to charge in with the finesse of a bull in a china shop and as equally destructive, Harol* understands that a reckless charge into the unknown is no different from surrender. His people have suffered tremendously due to Toonka*’s increasingly erratic and thoughtless actions; he’s not about to throw them into another nebulous conflict based solely on vague warnings and cryptic threats.

So he waits, keeping his distance, observing the chaos from afar, calculating how best to play Whipper’s hand when the time comes. Because if he’s going to commit his forces, it won’t be on the basis of fear—it’ll be on his own terms.

And Toonka*—the man who, in another lifetime, could have been his trusted leader and closest friend, yet now poses as much a threat to Whipper* as he is its backbone……

Harol*’s gaze settles on the slumbering Toonka*, deep, dark, and unreadable.

-

“So, just what is it you want to talk to me about, huh?” Rasheel* grouches, cradling his swelling jaws.

“I’m certain I didn’t hit you hard enough to cause amnesia, Dragon,” says Eruhaben* coolly, in pristine clothes without a hair out of place. “Or were you just not listening? The words my counterpart said, the war he was alluding to?”

Mila* looks at Rasheel* with steel in her eyes.

“The demonic race’s involvement?”

With those words jogging his memories, Rasheel* scowls as he leans back in his seat.

“Just to check,” the young Dragon says, “None of us has gotten any kind of revelations, right? Aside from this surprise kidnapping?”

“““Yes.”””

Rasheel*’s expression gets exponentially worse. “Then damn, we’re kind of fucked, aren’t we?”

“Don’t curse,” Mila*’s glare ramps up its heat. Rasheel* scowls at her, but subsides as he takes in the presence of a prepubescent in their midst. 

Instead, he magnanimously moves on: “Does that mean that White Star, that Dragon Slayer, knows a way to contact the demonic race without attracting the attention of the Gods? Aside from, uh, genociding us, that is?”

Eruhaben*’s eyes twitch, but there’re more important things at stake here than this Dragon’s crude wordings: “Most likely so. I suspect the base he operates out of might have the answer we need.”

“Speaking of,” Dodori* pipes up, “What’s the deal with him, really? Like, what race is he from? Since he’s clearly not a human.”

"That’s true," Mila* muses. "The White Star has lived for over a thousand years. Senior, do you know of any other long-life species that can survive that long?"

“Can he, I don’t know,” Rasheel*’s expression is a mixture of absurdity and disgust, “Be another dragon, just like us?”

“That’s impossible,” Eruhaben* says immediately, “I am 1008 years old, the oldest Dragon on the Western Continent. I’ve never even heard of any Dragon like that. And the oldest on Eastern Continent is already——”

His voice cuts off, but none can miss the grief and fury written on his face.

Still, this is a situation where none can be too certain.

“Are you sure, Senior?” Mila*’s eyes are as sharp as her mind.

Eruhaben* takes in a deep breath. 

“I didn’t know before coming here,” he explains, “I haven’t seen him for 200 years, you see. But I protected him when he was young; I was there when he first got his attribute. Even though he is—was, a complete asshole, he i—was still a decent guy. So even if he wasn’t— even if he survived, he couldn’t be the White Star.”

Eruhaben* uncharacteristically stutters through his explanation, but no one has the heart to call him out for it. 

“Then what the hell is that bastard?!?” Rasheel* finally explodes, irritation visible on his face, “He’s a Dragon Slayer who’s spent one fucking millennium hunting us down. How the fuck is he doing that?!?!”

“Elves live long,” Mila* murmurs, “But they only reach 7-800 at best.”

“Oh!” Dodori* makes a sound, “Could he be one of those rarely seen beings? We have a Dark Elf among us, right? Could he be something like her?”

‘We have two, actually,’ Eruhaben* thinks, catching the same awareness in the other Dragons’ eyes. The only reason Dodori* hasn’t seen through the Roan* crown prince’s disguise is simply his lack of experience. Otherwise, he’d certainly have figured it out by now.

But— “That’s a good direction,” Eruhaben* praises the youngster, swirling his tea around in thought, mind jumping right to the closest option, “A Lich, then?”

“A skeleton that remains alive as long as its core remains unbroken,” Mila* ponders, nodding, “I’ve never seen one before, but it certainly fits.”

Rasheel* has his doubts. 

“I don’t know……” He mutters, the hand cradling his jaws reaching up to press at his throbbing temple. He’s not good at this at all, damn it. “Can a mere Lich hunt us Dragons to extinction? Pick a fight with the wrong target one time, and he wouldn't even need to be buried.”

Dodori* frowns too. “I don’t think there’s any feasible ranking of Dragons by their strength, is there?”

“There isn’t,” Eruhaben* reassures the young dragon, though his brows still remain furrowed, “But that begs the question of just how the White Star knows to choose precisely which target he can survive murdering.”

“Olienne*, that Ancient Dragon in the Eastern Continent,” he can’t rationalize why he keeps reopening this wound, but Eruhaben* can’t help it, “Would be notoriously hard to kill, for one. His attribute was [Wood], and he built his lair in the middle of a dense, mana-rich forest. Even if that Lich was an exceptional Dragon Slayer capable of wielding dead mana, Olienne* would not have died without taking his killer with him.”

Mila* frowns, “I thought you haven’t seen that Dragon for centuries? How did you know the White Star* murdered him?”

Eruhaben* sighs, feeling every single digit of his age, “My counterpart’s reaction tells me everything I need to know about this.”

Tactfully moving on from this touchy subject, Mila* refocuses: “Then we are right back to the beginning, only with more questions.”

“What about Vampires?” Dodori* blinks, “I’ve read somewhere that Vampires are a long-life species as well, right?”

Eruhaben* frowns, his gaze unreadable. 

“I have never actually seen a Vampire before,” the oldest Dragon in the world confesses, “So I cannot rule that option out. At the same time, I cannot be sure if Vampires still exist in this world or not.”

They lapse into silence as every turn they take, they hit deadends after deadends.

“Arghhhh!!!!” Rasheel* groans long and loud, “Let’s just fucking ask our counterparts! They surely know everything, right?!?”

His eyes are wild with annoyance and anger. 

“Quite,” Eruhaben* agrees, before sighing, “But they sure aren’t in the mood for a talk.”

Following his gesture, the Dragons turn to observe their counterparts on the other side of the barrier.

Eruhaben is still situated by the bed, nonchalantly drinking tea with other humans. Rasheel, as expected, is already soundly asleep, his figure sprawling generously over the couch. 

Rasheel* groans in envious sympathy.

Dodori is conversing enthusiastically with a very suspicious white-haired man whom no one seems to like but has been forced to tolerate, for some reason. Mila is watching her son like a hawk, albeit a very tired and helpless one.

Mila* turns incredulous eyes towards her own son, alongside the raised eyebrow of Judgement™. Dodori*’s eye twitches as he resolutely looks away.

“And the barrier is an issue——I’m not breaking it by force, and I doubt Kim Rok Soo will let us through the barrier when he had so coldly denied his ex-family the chance,” Eruhaben* concludes, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish for putting the bruises on Rasheel*’s face for nothing, “So we’re stuck for now.”

“So, to recap,” As expected, Rasheel* begins furiously, “You woke me up from my nap, beat me up, dragged me here, yapped on for five minutes, tops, and that’s it?!?!?!”

Eruhaben* coughs, eyes darting everywhere but at the enraged Dragon, and offers a bit meekly: “I can heal you up?”

Rasheel* responds with a heartfelt middle finger before storming off.

The Ancient Dragon doesn’t doubt that, had Rasheel* been stronger than him, he would have beaten him to a pulp by now.

Eruhaben* quietly drinks his tea, resolutely ignoring Mila*’s judging gaze.

‘Damn it,’ he bemoans, ‘I’m too old for all this shits.’

-

After a long while and everyone sufficiently all rested up, the screen which has been frozen on the handshake between two scammers switches to the slightly more mature face of only one of them.

Instantly, it catches everyone's attention. Even those sleeping are quickly woken up by their seatmates.

“Human!” Raon crows, squishing Cale’s cheek with his paws while keeping an eye on the screen.

Unconsciously, side A relaxes a little, as their Commander appears on the screen, wholly unharmed and unhurt. A bit prissy and annoyed, sure, but not troubled, and certainly not intimidated.

That means that, in this “contract negotiation,” Cale Henituse has won.

Upon realizing that, Alberu isn’t the only one who has to hide the shark-like grin threatening to split his face.

Hannah herself doesn’t even bother. In the first place, she has nothing to hide, and her counterpart—and her Oppa’s, though she’s trying really hard not to think about it—has been long dead. She’s simply thrilled by the fact that “Cale Henituse has once again won against those Gods, despite the odds.”

On the other side, side B seems to be holding their breath. Alberu*, especially, despite his outward display of utter unflappability, has his heart stuck in his throat. 

Cale Henituse, however, gives no reaction to the mixed reactions he received, nor made any comments about the seating changes happening while he was preoccupied. Instead, he just levels an unreadable gaze at everyone.

“In respect to everyone’s time, I’ll get right into it.”

He begins.

“First and foremost, censorship has been made available.”

He drops a bomb, just like that. Alberu chuckles in incredulous familiarity. Hey hey you bastard, isn’t this just cementing the fact that I have secrets to hide? 

‘Though,’ he has to concede, ‘it’s not like everyone hasn’t already guessed it.’

“Second, the barrier separating two sides will be dissolved to redirect that energy towards censorship.”

Another bomb. This time, everyone begins looking around a bit anxiously, side B more than side A. 

In front of their eyes, the so-far invisible barrier turns translucent, temporarily obscuring the views from both sides, before shattering into a shower of light particles, dispersing into thin air.

The soft hum of energy lingers for a moment, the remnants of the shattered barrier sparkling like fireflies in the air before vanishing completely. The room is momentarily still, as if holding its breath, waiting for what comes next.

Uncharacteristically, Cale deigns them with an actual explanation.

“This is to facilitate inter-world communication.”

“Most of us share the same origin, yet we’ve grown apart as our worlds have diverged.”

“It’s unhealthy for us to despise one another, when we were originally the same being.”

“Take this as a, uh, therapy attempt. Yeah.”

Before anyone can comment and/or tear up at that lengthy explanation, Cale coughs a bit, as if embarrassed, before deflecting:

“Okay, most of that is bullshit.”

“I’m removing the barrier since I’m sure most of you—and yes, I’m looking at you huyng-nim—want to converse with your counterpart anyway.”

Alberu coughs slightly, looking reproachfully at this irreverent dongsaeng.

“The energy bit is true, though.”

Cale looks annoyed.

“The Gods are unsurprisingly useless, as always.”

“Though I trust that no one will murder anyone else with the barrier gone, right Choi Han?”

This time, it’s Choi Han’s turn to cough. Everyone turns to mockingly observe this steadily reddening swordmaster. 

‘How did he figure it out?! I didn’t remember reporting that to him?!?’ His eyes frantically ask Rosalyn, who turns away as if she hasn’t seen anything.

On the other side, Choi Han* abruptly feels both called out and relieved, at the same time.

Breathing out, he leans back in his seat, eying the screen with complicated feelings.

“Now, since we are trying to save a world,”

“Secrets, unfortunately, cannot be kept.”

“Anyone in possession of any secrets that might potentially be revealed during this experience, prepare yourself.”

“That does not mean, however, that everyone will be privy to your secrets.”

“Hence, censorship.”

Cale’s words allow everyone whose hearts are in their throats to relax slightly.

This situation is not optimal, of course, but sometimes, sacrifices need to be made, and this degree of sacrifice cannot be said to be anything too outrageous.

A small personal screen then materializes in front of each person’s face, hovering just within their line of sight. “It’ll be private,” Cale explains, “No one will be able to see what you write.”

No matter how proficient someone might be at handwriting tracing, the contents remain theirs alone.

“On that screen, write down the names of those you trust with your deepest, darkest secrets.”

“They shall be the ones to view those secrets with you.”

“No repetition, though,” Cale reminds. “No writing down copies of the same name.”

The mechanics go like this: Before their secrets or deepest personal feelings—those buried traumas and hidden vulnerabilities—appear on the screen, the mini screen will appear in front of them once more, prompting them to confirm their choices. It will ask whether they’d be sticking with their initial selections or have changed their minds.

These chosen individuals can be changed, but only if one is willing to face the consequences of doing so.

Of course, those who have no fear, those who are ready to confront whatever comes with openness, can disregard this altogether. The screen will still confirm their choices, but it won’t change the weight of their decision.

No one will know who is chosen, nor know whose secret it is that is being shown. They will know the secret’s existence, and only that. Sometimes, not even that.

“A lot of divine energy is being diverted here to ensure this secrecy.” 

Cale looks distinctively smug as he explains. No one is under any illusion that the Gods have conceded to this willingly. 

Some look at Cale Henituse in fear. Cale, notably, does not care.

“Of course, should those chosen react a bit too conspicuously, then it’s out of my hand whether they got exposed or not.”

Despite saying this, Cale glares through the screen. ‘Make sure to shut the fuck up,’ reads his gaze.

Everyone complies, at least in this moment. 

Then, though Cale looks genuinely upset at this, he acknowledges that the minimum number of secret-viewers should be 4, since side B do actually need to open up and cooperate with each other.

Alberu can have the choice to be safe—choosing Choi Han, Raon, Mary, and Tasha—or he could be adventurous and include others.

But Alberu*, aside from Tasha* and Mary*, will have no choice but to include at least 2 more into his secrets.

Cale never claims to be unbiased, after all. 

Though, in respect to that one prayer——

“Unless you’ve got the secret-holder’s explicit, verbal, conscious consent,”

Cale emphasizes each word, as if trying to verbally engrave it into everyone’s heads.

“You’ll find you cannot reveal the secret to those outside the know.”

“You will not be able to say it, write it, sing it, sign it, astral project it, or attempt to communicate it in any way.”

“This is——the Vow of Death.”

The phrase sinks like lead and hits twice as heavy.

It’s difficult to decide which part is more shocking: that Cale Henituse can command a God as powerful as the God of Death, or that he would go to such lengths to protect his loved ones’ secrets. 

No one can say anything under the steely eyes of this impossible human.

Disregarding the startled gaze of everyone involved, the Commander marches forth without looking back.

“Anyone unwilling to vow will be kicked out,”

“Effective——immediately.”

Cale’s slow smile is void of humor and sharp as a razor.

“Surprise.”

“You get to go home early.”

The hesitant few fail to find any pleasantries in those words. Cale Henituse is not asking them, they realize. 

He is simply informing them.

This is a man who has just returned, successful, from negotiating with Gods. 

They will not sway him.

“Signing your agreement on that screen means accepting the Vow.”

“Choose wisely.”

With that parting shot, the screen returns to the [INTERMISSION] scene.

The silence enveloping the room is suffocating.

Secrets—raw, vulnerable, sometimes dangerous—lie buried in everyone’s past, for survival or as the price of power. And here, in a room of leaders, powerful beings, and murderers, these buried truths are as much a part of their identities as their strengths.

No one even thinks about declining. Side A waits patiently; their Commander has given no sign of rejection, no cue to back down. And Side B, the side with everything to lose, has no real choice—too much hangs in the balance, their world teetering on the brink.

Which secrets of theirs has Cale Henituse already uncovered? Which will come to light? No one knows, but that just means every single one of those secrets is in danger of being exposed.

Their one solace is that they now get to limit their exposure to just 4, instead of the 30 previously.

Yet, as they weigh the names of those they would trust, the suffocating atmosphere only grows heavier. Choosing four means more than just keeping secrets; it’s a quiet reckoning. 

It’s a step into vulnerability, an offering of faith in the hope that those four chosen individuals will guard their secrets as fiercely as their own.

And surprisingly, the one who sparked this change, the one whose secret Cale Henituse is guarding so zealously, the Crown Prince of Roan Kingdom——Alberu Crossman begins laughing uncontrollably.

“Haha—ahahaha!!” He’s laughing so hard he has to clutch his stomach, his shoulders shaking with each hearty exhale. “Hahahaha——!”

The tension in the room cracks ever so slightly as his voice echoes, genuine and unrestrained.

“Haha—oh,” he gasps, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling as he glances toward the slumbering Cale with a warmth that surprises even himself. His smile shines like the sun. “Oh my. I have such a cute, caring and thoughtful dongsaeng.”

The room falls into a silence laced with a mixture of surprise, confusion, and faint amusement. Alberu Crossman, ever the composed and dignified Crown Prince, breaking into laughter over a moment as weighty as this—none of them had expected it. But somehow, the sight is oddly reassuring.

There’s no visible reaction from the Cale sleeping on the bed, but Raon, the great and mighty and definitely observant and tactful dragon, decides to refrain from mentioning the warmth he can feel radiating from his human’s face.

Reaching out, evading Raon’s mighty paw with practiced ease, Alberu manages to sneak a few rubs on Cale’s head again, radiant smile unwavering. This is his sworn dongsaeng, a connection he’s acquired by force, yet a bond so precious it sometimes keeps him awake at night in sheer awe.

He had never expected this. Never imagined that anyone outside his aunt—least of all Cale Henituse, whose own plate of burdens is already overflowing—would care enough to fight so fiercely, to defy gods if necessary, all to shield his secrets.

Yet Cale—wonderful, miraculous, impossible Cale—not only does that, but goes above and beyond to ensure those secrets stay forever secrets.

How can Alberu be anything but grateful? How can he be anything but fiercely protective, anything but overwhelmed by this impossible human he has come to call his dongsaeng?

“Cookie Prince!” Raon’s aghast voice pulls Alberu out of his wandering thoughts, and the crown prince laughs as he deftly avoids the baby dragon’s agitated swats with the ease of someone who’s becoming surprisingly well-practiced in the art of avoiding baby dragon claws.

“I told you to stop! Messing up! My! Human’s! Hair!!!!”

The baby dragon’s eyes are wide with indignation, each swat becoming more frantic as Alberu ruffles Cale’s hair one last time.

“All right, all right,” he says, raising his hands in a mock surrender, though his smile is unmistakable. “I’m just feeling… very emotional because of my dear dongsaeng.”

Raon huffs, looking between Cale’s tousled hair and Alberu’s radiant grin, clearly unconvinced by the prince’s so-called surrender. Narrowing his blue eyes into slits, the vengeful dragon swears to actually hit this audacious prince the next time he dares to mess up his human’s hair again.

Grumbling, the baby dragon fussily combs through Cale’s long red hair, each movement surprisingly gentle and practiced. Ohn and Hong join their dongsaeng, each tiny claws acting as a mini comb as they work together to return their guardian’s hair to its previous pristine state.

Alberu, the culprit, watches over them with a soft smile and softer eyes, his hand idly inputting the needed names into the screen and signing his name off in a flourish.

His action, coupled with the scene he’s just made, sends a ripple of quiet understanding through the room. The weight of the moment is not lost on anyone.

One by one, side A signs off their names, laughing and conversing with one another all the while, the air between them so light it’s almost like they are all one big family. The temporary residents from the other side look at each other, weighing their choices, before just shrugging and sign as well.

It’s not like they have anything to lose, not at this point.

Side B is another matter.

Alberu Crossman* watches his radiant counterpart with a lump in his throat. The seed of envy he thought he’d killed off earlier sprouts, grows, and takes deep root. He cannot deny it, cannot even overlook it——he wants.

How true is the connection between a crown prince and a commander? How genuine is the relationship between a native and an outworlder? How real is the bond between a brother and a brother?

The answer is: truer, realer, and more genuine than almost anything he’s ever known.

Tasting something tangy and coppery on his tongue, Alberu* blinks in surprise. Somehow, he’s bitten clean through his inner lip without noticing. He runs his tongue over the wound, still taken aback by the unconscious action, before his expression smooths into something more controlled.

Envy serves no purpose, he reminds himself yet again.

The envy tree remains undisturbed. 

Taking a deep breath, Alberu* wrenches all of his attention back to the small screen in front of him. He has other, more important things to be concerned with. 

Even though Cale Henituse seemingly forces Alberu* to expose his secrets to at least 2 others, in actuality, Alberu* can get away with having only 1.

Is this an oversight? Or is it deliberate?

Alberu* doesn’t know any more.

(Envy tickles at his throat. Alberu* swallows on nothing.)

As for this candidate, it’s a no brainer. If Alberu* absolutely has to choose anyone among those available, he will be the only choice.

The wild card in his deck, his single, most visible ace, the key figure to this world——

——Choi Han*.

[Tasha*, Mary*, Choi Han*,] Alberu* writes, feeling something like nerves, like euphoria, like anything and everything in between, [and Cale Henituse].

Not the one who’s going away, but the one who’s behind the screen, pushing and pulling things as he wishes.

Technically, Alberu* can put Kim Rok Soo’s name in Choi Han*’s place instead, but he has a peculiar feeling that Cale Henituse will actually physically reach through the screen to strangle him if he did, so he just doesn’t. 

Signing his name like he’s going to the gallows, Alberu* watches as the Vow sears itself onto his arm.

‘Here’s to hoping I’ll not be fucked over by this decision, I guess,’ his smile tings with bitterness, but he quickly recovers from such a lapse and returns to his perfect prince persona.

(Though his counterpart has done a fine job of smashing it to bits, that bastard.)

-

As expected, no one drops out. Not Toonka*, who usually has no patience for this; not the dragons, who should be too arrogant for this; and definitely not Clopeh Sekka, who’d actually be frothing at the mouth just for a chance like this.  

With the last being agreeing to the Vow, the [INTERMISSION] word blaring across the screen starts to dissolve gradually.

The viewing is about to restart.

Removed from anyone’s attention, silenced from anyone’s perception, the previously laughing crown prince sits rigidly by his sworn brother’s bedside.

“I want to ask you something, dongsaeng,” Alberu whispers, under the covert cover of Raon’s barriers.

“If we all have a choice in our confidants,” the shrewd crown prince says, each word laden with undeniable gravitas, “Then what about you?” 

“Do you have a choice?”

‘Or are you paying the price of our freedom with yours?’

Cale’s sleeping body remains silent.

“Cale,” Alberu says, a little bit louder, “What about your secrets, huh? What about your deepest, darkest feelings? What about your traumas, your past? The things you don’t want known, the things you’ve been trying to hide, the things you shouldn’t, needn’t relive?”

“Cale, what about them?”

Cale remains silent.

“Do you intend to continue like this?” Alberu asks, desperation bleeding into his voice, “The screen, airing out your every thought, every pain, every hurt for all to see? Autopsying your privacy for the sake of saving an unrelated world? Giving us freedom while denying yourself the same rights?”

Alberu’s eyes turn red. Different from the laughing eyes earlier, his bloodshot eyes tear with pain and frustration. 

“Cale—” His voice catches in his throat. “I’m speaking for everyone when I say this. But we do not need you to sacrifice yourself for us.”

“I’ll live, Cale, I’ll live!” His fist shakes imperceptibly. “It’s not a secret that’s going to kill me any longer—Cale, you made sure of that, didn’t you?! That’s why, even with it gone, I can still live! Comfortably, even!!!”

“Then why do you do this?! Why?! We did not ask for this!!!”

Cale remains stubbornly silent.

Alberu closes his eyes.

“You,” he breathes, “are such a selfish being, dongsaeng.” 

‘Yet somehow, also the most selfless being I’ve ever met, despite my every wish.’