15.10.2049, Seoul, Yoon Taeha’s SUV

  Yoon Taeha never expected to be the kind of person who cried alone in his SUV, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. These were feelings he didn’t want to take back to the base, and he certainly didn’t want Lee Si-woo to witness him in that state.

  His impulsive personality wanted nothing more than to march straight to Chief Han’s office and hand in his resignation letter, but he knew it would be useless. His life was already bound to the Association. Lee Si-woo’s words surfaced, comforting yet troubling all at once. What if he applied for a permanent transfer to the Gwangju base? He would still be under the Association’s orders, trapped. But there, at least, he wouldn’t be unwanted. And he wouldn’t be alone. His chest tightened as his fingers brushed the dog tags resting against it.

  “I’ll sleep on it,” he said to the empty car.

  16.10.2049, Gwangju, Buk-gu, National Unified Training Center, Gwangju Base

  The training grounds were busy as ever, and the new recruits were in good spirits for once. It made Yoon Taeha’s resolve much more certain. He had slept on it. Considered all the pros and cons. If he left the Association, left the Special Ops, he wouldn’t have to face humiliation again; he wouldn’t have to face Kang Jeonhyun anymore. At this point, even facing Kim Jaeseong felt impossible.

  Jeonhyun was one thing. Yoon Taeha, despite remaining hopeful for so long, could still somehow expect cold behavior from him. The man seemed bipolar, after all. But Jaeseong had become the closest person to him, a friend. Or at least, that’s what he had thought.

  In the middle of training, Taeha’s mind refused to let him rest. The thoughts spiraled so fast he couldn’t concentrate. He wanted to get to the bottom of things, but he didn’t want to contact Kang Jeonhyun anymore. He had already spoken his mind, been told Taeha didn’t belong with them, almost like their chapter had been closed.

  But he hadn’t talked to Jaeseong. He didn’t know whether reaching out would just make things worse. Still, he couldn’t leave it like that, not with the only person on the team he still considered a friend. So he texted him.

  Can we talk?

  No answer.

  Having expected it, Taeha exhaled slowly. No matter how frustrating and painful the situation was, at least he couldn’t say he hadn’t tried.

  Being distracted, Yoon Taeha made the new recruits train harder that day. He hadn’t realized he was projecting his feelings onto his work, but Lee Si-woo didn’t stop him. He believed the soldiers needed harsher training and took advantage of the situation. This time, however, instead of merely following them and shouting orders, Taeha joined in.

  He trained hard, led by example, and somehow it worked better than their usual routines. Seeing Taeha in action made the soldiers work harder as well. Part of it was not wanting to be outdone by their short omega superior; but also, not wanting to remain the weak newbies they were. In a strange, twisted way, they were inspired.

  The men whispered to each other as they ran laps.

  “Lieutenant looks… different today.”

  “Don’t comment on the Supreme Leader. We still don’t know what he’s capable of.”

  “Faster!” Taeha barked. “If you can’t outrun a tiger, what can you do? Be useful to the Republic!”

  A private flinched. “Damn, he really sounds like a dictator…”

  But it worked. One by one, they began matching Taeha’s pace, correcting each other when someone’s stance faltered. They ran faster and faster, until their legs started to fail.

  “Take five!” Yoon Taeha ordered.

  A private handed him a bottle of water, smiling despite his obvious exhaustion. For once, they wanted to impress him, not fear him. Lee Si-woo slapped his palm against Taeha’s back.

  “You’re on fire today, Lieutenant. Look at you bringing your Northern spirit to the field. It’s like you’re trying to scare them into competence.”

  Taeha laughed, panting. “It wasn’t my intention, but it’s been fun.”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with you today,” Si-woo chuckled, “but keep it up. It’s nice to see the soldiers actually sweat for a change. Just try not to kill them. Not that I care, but I’d hate to write the report about it.”

  He could tell there was something going on with Taeha. Even if he was used to the man’s mood swings, he couldn’t help but worry about him. He liked him no matter how his attitude was, but he liked him best when he was smiling.

  Taeha didn’t get the chance to reply when, all of a sudden, the ground began shaking and a loud bang echoed across the training grounds. It was too familiar for Taeha not to know what was happening. A sound, like a scream, rang in their ears, loud enough to make some of the soldiers drop to their knees and vomit.

  “Gate opening! Lay down!” he yelled, before a burst of wind threw whatever it could across the grounds. The gate spiraled white, while white tigers emerged from it, not waiting a second before attacking the soldiers. Lee Si-woo sprinted forward, placing himself between the beasts and the soldiers.

  “Fucking hell!” someone yelled.

  “Private,” Lee Si-woo turned to one of the soldiers, “gather five others with you and head to the weaponry. Carry as many as you can.”

  Unlike hunters, normal soldiers had no monitors storing their weapons. They physically carried everything they needed, but not during physical training.

  “Lieutenant!”

  Yoon Taeha appeared beside him in seconds. “General.”

  “Lead the soldiers. Take down as many Baekhos as you can.” He looked at Taeha, worry clear in his eyes.

  “Yes, sir!” Yoon Taeha didn’t wait, but headed straight into the action. The training grounds were sealed. Preparing for close combat, he pulled the Specter-X7 from his monitor. Lee Si-woo jumped in with them, pulling two combat knives from his own monitor. The General had incredible speed, not something a normal soldier would possess. Maybe it was because he was a hunter beneath it all, even if only E-class. Bullets from Taeha’s Specter blazed, taking white tigers down, but not fast enough.

  More were emerging as Taeha looked around. The soldiers couldn’t keep up; men were already down. They were barely dodging death, still wet behind the ears, with no experience of real combat. He stepped back for a moment to send a white alert to the Association, requesting backup and medics. Then he ran back to fight beside Si-woo, cursing himself for not having refilled his inventory.

  Fourteen tigers… These men will die.

  He knew what he needed to do. For a moment, he forgot all titles.

  “Si-woo, hand me whatever ammo you can spare,” he said as he ran back to the General. “I’m going in.”

  “No the fuck you aren’t,” Si-woo grabbed Taeha’s arm, tighter than he intended.

  “I’m the only hunter here,” Taeha said, looking him in the eyes. A tiger leapt toward them. Taeha shot the beast down in a split second and turned back to Si-woo.

  “Someone has to stop the beasts from the inside.” He pulled his arm free.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Si-woo hesitated for a moment. “We can hold them.”

  “Look at them. They don’t stand a chance!”

  “Shit,” Lee Si-woo’s jaw tightened. There was a pause. “Fine. Go.”

  Yoon Taeha was ready to run into the gate, but Si-woo grabbed his wrist again before he could move.

  “You have to come back to me,” he said. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

  His words were received with a smile. “I have too much paperwork to fill. I can’t leave it all to you.”

  “You better mean it…”

  Yoon Taeha ran forward and disappeared into the white spiral, leaving Lee Si-woo cursing under his breath and soldiers calling after him in panic.

  “Fucking useless bastards! Keep taking them down before I take you down!” he yelled at the soldiers.

  “I’ll dump their bodies into the fucking woods for animal feed if they get themselves killed,” he muttered.

  Unknown time, Baekho-gate, Galsan-yeom

  “This motherfucker creating trouble again,” Yoon Taeha cursed under his breath as he stepped through the white gate.

  The dungeon glowed white, almost blinding, an endless salt desert stretching in every direction. Light reflected off the surface, burning Taeha’s eyes. He pulled his goggles from his monitor and slipped them on. Even then, he couldn’t see the sky properly; everything looked pale, washed out.

  “Well,” he muttered, “this is a first.”

  The land was completely flat. Nothing in sight. No trees, no rock formations, no shelter. There was nowhere to hide and everything was silent. Taeha searched for movement, turning slowly, looking around. There were no shadows, and nothing answered even when he provoked the dungeon itself with his sounds. No beasts. Only the sound of his combat boots against the salt. In the silence, even his thoughts were too loud.

  Then the air in front of him shimmered. A white, translucent cloud coalesced out of nothing, transforming with unnatural speed. Taeha barely had time to register the shape before it lunged.

  “Shit—!”

  He threw himself aside as claws tore through the space where his head had been a heartbeat earlier. The Baekho hadn’t fully formed before it attacked, salt mist trailing behind it as it bolted away

  “Fuck!”

  Taeha sprinted after it, raising Specter-X7 and firing. Shots cracked through the air. The beast fell, but the silence didn’t last. More clouds formed, emerging rapidly. The beasts moved with terrifying speed. He didn’t stand a chance against this many alone, and the guardian hadn’t even shown itself yet.

  Within the mist, one thing was clear.

  I won’t let these motherfuckers out.

  That was all that mattered.

  Yoon Taeha positioned himself between the beasts and the gate, teeth clenched. His muscles burned as he fired at the beast, moving constantly, shooting, running, dodging, all the while breathing the salty air that scraped his lungs him with every inhale.

  This time, he wasn’t running for himself. This time, Taeha was determined to protect those under him. He refused to let even one more beast reach his men. Even if it cost him everything, and it might.

  As long as his head stayed intact, and as long as his heart wasn’t torn out… he might survive.

  Might.

  Battling a guardian alone, nothing was certain.

  One by one, he took the beasts down, exhaustion reaching him as he ran for what felt like an eternity. No help was coming, and he knew it. It was only a matter of time until the guardian appeared, and it did not arrive quietly, didn’t leave itself unnoticed.

  The ground shook. Cracks split the salt plain beneath Taeha’s feet.

  The mist thickened as something massive forced itself into being. The guardian emerged slowly, its form exceeding the size of the others, its presence crushing. This Baekho wasn’t just larger, it was stronger, heavier, faster.

  “We meet again,” Taeha said hoarsely, shaking as a laugh tore from his throat. “Baekho.”

  He wasn’t fooling himself. Fear crawled up his spine. He was alone. This beast, this one, was impossible.

  He let Specter-X7 slip from his hand and reached back instead, pulling “Wraith” from his monitor, followed by its twin. The matte gray blades caught no light. Longer than knives but shorter than swords, they were built for close combat. They weighed almost nothing, perfectly familiar in his hands.

  They stopped. Man and beast faced each other. Yoon Taeha tightened his grip, ready to sprint forward. The Baekho huffed, steam and salt mist pouring from its nostrils. Taeha ran, and an image slammed into his mind with brutal clarity: Cold eyes. A clenched jaw. That infuriating, distant expression. The last face he wanted to see. It was as if he were rushing toward his death, and the final thing he had to see was him.

  This is it, huh? This is how I die. He forced a smile.

  “God damn it!” Taeha shouted, as if anyone could hear him. “I don’t want to see your face!” He ran.

  Only two meters away, the beast charged. Taeha leapt, blades flashing, aiming for its neck. Wraith cut deep, salt and blood spraying into the air. Baekho roared, but it didn’t fall.

  Again.

  Its eyes burned red. The counterattack came fast. Taeha barely dodged, then barely avoided the next. None of his strikes landed. It seemed hopeless. Every movement grew slower than the last. A hysterical laugh escaped him. This was it. This was how he went down.

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  Figures. I’ll damage this motherfucker as much as I can, then… I’m coming to meet you guys.

  He’d always imagined dying in a dungeon. He just hadn’t expected it to be this embarrassing. His strength failed him. He couldn’t dodge anymore.

  Dying without anyone witnessing my heroic act. Ha…

  The Baekho slammed into him. Fangs crushed his arm and shoulder. The sound was sickening, the pain excruciating. He flew, hitting the ground hard as salt dust shimmered around him.

  Taeha’s eyes widened as the crimison he coughed spread across the salt plain. He was healing, but too slowly. He forced himself up, vision blurring.

  Baekho’s fangs pierced his torso; he screamed, but struck back, diving his blades into the beasts neck. He was thrown aside like nothing. Blood spraying in the air as he hit the ground, only this time, his body gave up, his healing didn’t catch up to his needs. The next hit would be his last. No prayers came. No begging. Only exhaustion and acceptance. Baekho leapt.

  A deafening bang shattered the desert, and the white tiger was thrown on its back, evaporating into salt mist. Weight collapsed onto Taeha. Blond hair fell into his vision.

  “—Taeha.”

  Strong arms lifted him, trembling. Kim Jaeseong’s eyes were red, filled with terror, guilt, grief, all at once. Seeing Taeha like this, his body broken, blood streaming down his limbs, seeing the man he cared about more than anyone standing at death’s door, shattered something inside him.

  “I—I should’ve answered,” Jaeseong cried. “I should’ve— I’m sorry.”

  Taeha’s fingers gently brushed Kim Jaeseong’s cheek, leaving a trail of blood behind.

  “Take me… home. Your home,” he whispered. “Not the hospital. Please. Not where people can see me.”

  “You’re dying!” Jaeseong cried. “You need a hospital—!”

  “No,” Taeha said, barely conscious. “Trust me.”

  No matter how reluctant, Kim Jaeseong trusted him, trusted he knew what he was asking for. Kim Jaeseong’s dimensional split didn’t reach the outside world. He hesitated, then nodded, swallowing hard.

  He could use it within the gate alone, or outside alone, but not in between. He wrapped Taeha carefully, hiding the gore, and stepped through his portal just as a horde of hunters rushed into the gate. They still needed to find the core.

  Lee Si-woo saw them emerge, but before he could speak, Kim Jaeseong disappeared with Yoon Taeha in his arms.

  17.10.2049, Past Midnight, Seoul, Gangnam-gu, Apgujeong-dong, Heritage Court Apartments

  Against his better judgement, Kim Jaeseong decided his home was not the place to take Yoon Taeha. He was reluctant to the idea, but he knew the only person he could trust to keep Taeha safe was none other than the Second Lieutenant.

  In just a flash, they were in his living room. Kim Jaeseong unwrapped Yoon Taeha on the bed, and his eyes widened, his hands trembling, as if bracing for a corpse. Taeha wasn’t dead, but the scene was shocking, nevertheless. Green flickers surrounded Taeha’s body, slowly mending the wounds he had suffered. Jaeseong watched as the green light recreated the cells in his torn flesh, shaping it back to how it had been.

  This isn’t normal… what is this?

  Despite the thought and Kim Jaeseong’s fear, there was relief.

  Yoon Taeha was unconscious, as if nothing could wake him up. Jaeseong’s eyes were fixed on his body, not from arousal but worry, even as he watched the man heal. The guilt weighed heavier on his heart with every passing second; he couldn’t run away from it. He could only stare at the consequences in front of him. He had never hated himself more for following orders.

  I shouldn’t have listened; I should have been there for him.

  The door slammed open, and Kang Jeonhyun rushed in. Kim Jaeseong covered Yoon Taeha once more and walked back into the living room, already furious, but Jeonhyun didn’t leave room for him to speak.

  “What the hell were you thinking, Sergeant!? Who gave you permission to rush into a gate by yourself? The Jujak-gate could open at any given moment, and you go and exhaust your powers so recklessly!”

  “Someone had to go in, Jeonhyun, and fast,” Kim Jaeseong argued.

  “You should have called for backup. You had no business going in there alone.” Kang Jeonhyun was furious.

  It wasn’t only that Jaeseong hadn’t followed protocol; it was the frustration of knowing he himself hadn’t been able to act faster. If Kim Jaeseong had arrived even a moment later, Yoon Taeha would have died in there. Everything he had done was meant to protect him, sending him home, believing he’d be safe that way. But the gates had reached him nevertheless, in a place Jeonhyun couldn’t reach in time, but Jaeseong could.

  “Don’t take it out on me that you were useless in this situation.”

  “You don’t get to talk to me that way.”

  “Oh yes, I do, Lieutenant. You forced him home. You made us stay away from him, so you take responsibility.”

  Kang Jeonhyun didn’t reply, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. He didn’t have to dig deept to know it had all been his fault. He knew the guilt belonged to him. He was responsible for Yoon Taeha’s condition. And no matter how angry Jaeseong was at Jeonhyun, he didn’t feel any better about his own actions either.

  “Did you take the rest of the tigers down?” Kim Jaeseong asked, dropping onto the living room couch. Kang Jeonhyun, still not saying a word, nodded.

  “What’s the damage?” Jaeseong continued.

  “No casualties, but we have over thirty injured, and more than ten of them in critical condition. The Association has decided to take accountability for the situation. This shouldn’t have happened.”

  “You’re right. The GRM should have alerted us. It was a Baekho, we should have known far earlier.” Jaeseong pressed his palms to his face. “What level was it?”

  Silence followed.

  “Lieutenant?”

  Kang Jeonhyun didn’t want to answer. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his frustration contained. He knew Jaeseong would find out eventually, so he spoke.

  “It was level A.” His expression remained cold.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Jaeseong gasped for air. “Are you telling me Yoon Taeha rushed into an A-class gate and nearly took the beast down himself!?”

  “You laid the killing blow, Sergeant.”

  “Only because the Baekho was already so damaged. Fucking hell.” His face nearly fell. The guilt doubled. It was wrong. Taeha should never have had to fight like that alone. No matter what was going on, no matter how fast he healed, Jaeseong should have been there for him.

  “We’ll stick to the story of you defeating it,” Kang Jeonhyun said, crossing his arms.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There are things that—” Jeonhyun’s jaw clenched, “—things the Association should not find out about.”

  “So now you want to protect him?”

  “God damn it, Jaeseong, can’t you see that’s all I’ve been doing so far.”

  “If you have, you’ve failed miserably,” Jaeseong snapped. “Just look at him!” He pointed toward the bedroom door.

  “I—”

  “You didn’t see him, Jeonhyun. He was completely torn apart. The sight was enough to make my stomach churn in horror.” Jaeseong’s eyes reddened at the memory. “If I’d lost him—”

  “You? Lose him?” Kang Jeonhyun froze.

  “He’s not only someone I like, he’s first and foremost my friend. And a damn good one at that. I know it’s hard for someone like you to understand, but meeting someone like him doesn’t happen every day. He is not just a poor, fragile omega, no. He is fucking awesome.” Jaeseong was almost yelling before his voice dropped. “But you’re so fucking stupid you can’t even see that.”

  “Sergeant—”

  Kim Jaeseong wasn’t finished speaking his mind. “All you know is how to follow orders, as if the Association’s orders are the only way to work. Orders did not save your—”

  “Sergeant!” Kang Jeonhyun’s expression shifted. The coldness was gone. Only sorrow remained. “Stop.”

  Kim Jaeseong’s gaze dropped. After a long silence, he spoke quietly. “I was out of line.”

  “I don’t want to lose him either,” Kang Jeonhyun said, sitting beside him. “I’m not pushing him away because I want to. I’m doing it so he’ll survive.” He turned toward Jaeseong. “Even you know that every time we step into a red gate, we gamble our lives.”

  “Like dogs.”

  “Yeah,” Jeonhyun said softly. “Just like dogs.”

  “He reached out, and I wasn’t there,” Jaeseong admitted. He couldn’t lay the entire blame on the Second Lieutenant. “I didn’t even answer his message. It wasn’t only you who betrayed his trust.”

  “I don’t think either of us deserves it anymore,” Kang Jeonhyun replied. His fist tightened, but his gaze remained sharp. “Still, I can’t say I regret the decision I made.”

  The room fell silent.

  Kang Jeonhyun remained on the couch while Jaeseong paced back and forth between the living room and the bedroom. Finally, he gathered the courage to step closer to Yoon Taeha. The green light had disappeared, and with it, Taeha’s wounds. Under normal circumstances, Jaeseong might have panicked, but now, he only wanted to help.

  He quietly stripped Yoon Taeha of his torn uniform, piece by piece, until nothing was left. For a moment, he could only stare at his body.

  Even unconscious, he’s beautiful. He thought, then lifted Taeha’s naked body in his arms and carried him in the bathroom.

  Fully clothed, Jaeseong sat in the filled bathtub, Taeha still pressed against his chest. He cleaned him from head to toe, not missing anything, not wasting time. The stench of salt and dried blood vanished quickly, just like his wounds had. Even after Taeha was fully clean, they remained there, Jaeseong holding him tightly in his arms.

  He wanted to scream, but he held himself back, careful not to wake the man in his arms.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he whispered.

  Meanwhile, Kang Jeonhyun changed the bedsheets and laid out clean clothes on the bed. Kim Jaeseong carried the towel-wrapped omega to the bed and dressed him slowly, careful not to wake him. They worked together to make Taeha as comfortable as possible, simultaneously aware of the jealousy between them.

  “What was the green light?” Jaeseong whispered.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “I know you know. How could you not? He was at death’s door, completely ripped open by the beast. Even if we had reached a hospital in time, he wouldn’t have survived. But look at him, not a scratch.”

  “You’re better off not knowing,” Jeonhyun said quietly. “If the Association finds out, you might be the one in danger.”

  Kang Jeonhyun knew it wasn’t his place to speak. He knew he should have reported Yoon Taeha to the Association a long time ago to, but he had chosen to stay silent. He trusted that Taeha wasn’t hiding his ability for malicious reasons. There had to be a good reason for his secrecy.

  But Kim Jaeseong was not someone he could trust with that information, no matter how deeply the man cared for Yoon Taeha.

  Yoon Taeha heard a familiar voice as he woke up from what felt like the longest dream he’d ever had. His body was sore, but there were no wounds. He was completely healed, clean, wearing fresh clothes too. He wondered how long he had been asleep. Hours? Days? He couldn’t tell. He observed his surroundings. This wasn’t the place he had asked to be taken to, but somewhere far more familiar.

  Taeha listened to the two men talking from the bedroom. He couldn’t hear everything, but he knew he was the subject of their conversation. The men weren’t finished finished with their conversation, but Yoon Taeha was tired of waiting.

  “Can y’all shut up?” The bedroom door was open now, with Yoon Taeha leaning on its frame. “I was having a sweet nap, and you assholes woke me up.” He yawned. Kim Jaeseong wasted no time and rushed to hug him.

  Taeha patted his back. “All right, all right. We’re good. We’re alive.”

  Kim Jaeseong couldn’t help but cry. The guilt he felt was too much for him to keep in, and even while Yoon Taeha struggled to get out of his grip, Jaeseong only hugged him tighter.

  “I thought I lost you!” the golden retriever said, tears streaming down his face.

  “You’re a grown-ass man. Aren’t you ashamed?” Yoon Taeha looked into his eyes and gave him a warm smile, joking like he always did. Kim Jaeseong couldn’t speak; he just kept hugging him. Taeha exhaled in fake annoyance, but he didn’t have the heart to push him away anymore. Fuck toxic masculinity, he thought.

  Finally, Kim Jaeseong stepped back, wiping his tears. He was a grown man, yes, but he was never ashamed to show his feelings, to laugh or cry. He quietly walked to the kitchen under the excuse of making food for the patient.

  “Lieutenant—” Kang Jeonhyun walked closer to Yoon Taeha and reached out to touch him, but his hand was slapped away. He pulled it back immediately.

  “Don’t fucking touch me,” Taeha snapped instinctively. His body remembered the betrayal before his mind did. Jeonhyun, though startled, understood and didn’t press. He didn’t defend himself.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. Even facing the hate, he couldn’t pretend to care less.

  “Like you’d care. Go fuck yourself.” Taeha’s eyes sharpened, then softened again as he turned to look toward Kim Jaeseong, someone who was much easier to forgive.

  What he felt toward Kang Jeonhyun was different. The betrayal cut much deeper. Taeha had feelings for him, and for a while he had convinced himself those feelings were mutual. Even a fraction of fondness would have been enough. But now, standing in front of him, Taeha couldn’t sense anything at all from Jeonhyun.

  Kang Jeonhyun’s knuckles whitened. He had expected to be treated like the bad guy, and he did deserve it, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. It wasn’t something he wanted; it was something he believed he had to do. In a way, he was almost glad that Taeha had a backbone and refused to accept being treated the way Jeonhyun had treated him.

  A sharp panic seized Taeha as the fog in his head finally cleared.

  “Si-woo—” He rushed toward the door. His heart raced with images of the training grounds, his men injured in the chaos, white tigers tearing through them. “I need to get to him. If he’s hurt—”

  He didn’t make it more than a step before Kang Jeonhyun grabbed his wrist.

  “You’re in no condition to leave,” he said.

  Yoon Taeha yanked his arm back, eyes sharp on the man. Kim Jaeseong stepped between them immediately, shielding Taeha by pulling him into his arms. He shook his head to Jeonhyun, telling him quietly to step back, to give him time. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Second Lieutenant, he simply didn’t want to add to Taeha’s fear. Kang Jeonhyun was left staring at his empty hand, still warm from the contact.

  “Si-woo might be—” Taeha’s fingers curled into Jaeseong’s shirt.

  “The General got away with scratches,” Jeonhyun said quietly. “He’s fine.”

  Kim Jaeseong distracted him from the moment and filled him in on the events after he had entered the dungeon. Taeha’s sharp gaze returned, his chest heavy. Jeonhyun’s words brought him no comfort; there was no trust left. He didn’t know if it was safe to believe him, or if he even could. Believing Jaeseong was a safer choice. His jaw tightened, and without another word, he shook himself free from Jaeseong’s hold and turned away.

  He walked back to the bedroom, emotionally exhausted, and lay down again without looking at either of them. He forced himself to believe that Lee Si-woo was capable and strong enough to survive. He would rather trust that thought than Kang Jeonhyun’s words.

  Only deep fatigue remained. His recruits were alive. The General was alive. That would have to be enough for now. He would be back there soon enough, to see them alive.

  17.10.2049, Gwangju, Buk-gu, National Unified Training Center, Gwangju Base

  It was late in the evening when Kim Jaeseong finally took Yoon Taeha back to Gwangju. It still bothered him that he had to keep Taeha in the dark about the gate, but he couldn’t put a barrier between them. They had only ignored the man for two days, but two days were enough to stir something completely unpredictable, something that had put Yoon Taeha in grave danger. Danger that a normal hunter, even an experienced and strong one, wouldn’t have survived.

  Lee Si-woo, as always, was already waiting at the gate, and Kim Jaeseong didn’t dare go any further. He stepped closer to Taeha and pulled him into his arms. He didn’t want to let Taeha return to the base. He wanted him safe, somewhere he could protect him. But it wasn’t his choice. It was the Association that kept him there, and if Taeha had been asked whether he wanted to return to Seoul, the answer would have been obvious. Still somewhatreluctant to trust his friend, Taeha hugged him back, aware of Lee Si-woo’s gaze on them.

  Before Kim Jaeseong let go, he whispered into Taeha’s ear, “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t leave you alone again.”

  Yoon Taeha only nodded and turned to walk back. Kim Jaeseong stared at the man’s back for a long moment before finally vanishing from sight.

  “Why is everyone hugging me today?” Yoon Taeha asked, almost breathless, when Lee Si-woo squeezed him in his arms. For a moment, Taeha simply stood there, letting himself be held. The familiar scent of Si-woo’s pheromones relaxed him in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

  “You—” Si-woo began, then hesitated. “How are you… intact?”

  He had been there, had witnessed most of it. Even without seeing the full extent of Taeha’s wounds, it had been obvious how close to death he had been. He had been in great danger. Si-woo regretted letting Taeha enter the gate alone, but he knew the soldiers wouldn’t have survived if he had followed him inside. Seeing Taeha now eased his heart, even if only a little.

  “I guess I’m just that strong,” Taeha laughed, lying easily.

  But Si-woo wasn’t someone who could be fooled so easily. He could tell there were secrets behind Taeha’s smile, even if he couldn’t quite place them.

  “Si-woo,” Yoon Taeha began, his voice quieter, “will you go back to Seoul with me tomorrow? There’s something I need to do, and I could use the support.”

  “You already know I’d do anything for you,” Lee Si-woo said with a smile.

  18.10.2049 Seoul, Gangnam-gu, SHA Headquarters, Chief’s office

  “What did you do?” Chief Han asked, her voice firm. Kang Jeonhyun straightened instinctively. Kim Jaeseong stood beside him, equally confused.

  “I’m not sure I quite follow, Chief,” Jaeseong said carefully.

  “You were sent to the Gwangju base to assist,” Han Seri continued, fingers tapping against her desk. “What happened?”

  “An A-class Baekho gate opened,” Kang Jeonhyun replied without hesitation. “The base requested backup. The soldiers handled the situation to the best of his ability. We arrived shortly after and assisted.”

  Han Seri exhaled slowly through her nose.

  “Then explain this,” she said, lifting a sheet of paper and slamming it onto the desk between them. “Lieutenant Yoon Taeha’s request for a permanent transfer from Special Ops to the Gwangju base.”

  Both men froze, eyes widening. For a fraction of a second, the room fell completely silent. Neither of them had expected it to go this far, for Taeha to walk away from them himself. What they had believed was protection had, in the end, become exile.

  “Chief—” Kang Jeonhyun began, then stopped himself. His jaw tightened. “I will speak with him.”

  “You will do no such thing,” Han Seri snapped.

  “I instructed you to observe him,” she continued, her voice rising. “Instead, you managed to isolate him so thoroughly that he removed himself from your unit entirely.” She stood. “I trusted that a man who rose to his position at such a young age would be capable of handling a delicate situation without turning it into a disaster,” she said coldly. She gestured toward the transfer request. “But this? This is embarrassing.”

  “It was because of the Jujak-gate,” Jaeseong said quietly, finally stepping in. “We couldn’t tell him.”

  Han Seri turned on him instantly.

  “He is a goddamn hunter,” she said sharply. “There was absolutely no reason to keep him in the dark.”

  “The orders were to keep him away from the gate,” Kang Jeonhyun argued.

  “Yes,” she shot back. “To keep him away, not to strip him of his position.” She pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. “I have no choice but to accept his transfer.”

  “We can still—” Jaeseong started.

  “My decision is final,” Han Seri said, already turning away from them. “You really screwed up this time, Lieutenant.”

  The door slammed open.

  “It’s opening!” a soldier shouted, breathless. “The Jujak-gate!”