“…Do you need something?” Aseok asked, voice even.

  Mu Haejoon’s eyes flickered toward the iron rod in Aseok’s hand, then to the holy sword, hovering nearby like an awkward third wheel.

  He sighed again. A long, tired sound that carried something dangerously close to affection.

  Then, in one horrifyingly casual motion, He patted Aseok’s head.

  “You never change,” he murmured, half to himself.

  Silence.

  Seo MinHyun forgot to breathe.

  He Ziqin’s soul momentarily left his body.

  Yoo Eunsae looked like she was witnessing a diplomatic incident.

  Even the holy sword flickered like it was having a panic attack.

  Aseok’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, so faint it could’ve been imagined, before he quietly stepped aside.

  Mu Haejoon didn’t seem offended in the slightest.

  Instead, he sighed like a weary parent whose troublesome son was still somehow alive.

  “The world’s changing so fast,” he said, his tone almost nostalgic. “Sometimes I barely have time to think... but I still worry about you.”

  Aseok blinked once. “Why?” His master Mu Haejoon had no memory of their past life, so why this kindness?

  Mu Haejoon ignored the question entirely, as if rhetorical answers were beneath him. His hand moved down to gently pat Pudding’s head instead.

  Pudding wagged his tail proudly, clearly thrilled to be receiving attention.

  Then Mu Haejoon turned to face the rest of the group, and his warm expression vanished faster than a guild budget audit.

  “You all,” he said, voice cold enough to frost steel. “Take proper care of Aseok. Don’t make him overwork.”

  The team froze.

  “Just because he’s strong doesn’t mean you get to dump all the labor on him.”

  There was a beat of silence.

  Then every pair of eyes turned, in perfect synchronization, toward Lee Aseok who looked completely untouched by exhaustion.

  His hair was neat. His clothes were clean. His face is calm, almost glowing under the sunlight.

  He looked like he had just come from a nap.

  Meanwhile, the rest of them looked like a pile of burnt toast.

  Seo MinHyun’s shirt was half torn. Park Taegun had blood on his cheek.

  He Ziqin’s dark circles looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

  Yoo Eunsae’s hair was a tragic battlefield.

  Aseok tilted his head slightly. “...Overwork?”

  Seo MinHyun and Park Taegun exchanged a look of mutual despair.

  He thinks we’re the problem.

  He Ziqin and Yoo Eunsae shared the same hollow expression, that of two people who’d just realized the universe had no justice.

  How was it fair that Aseok looked like an immortal god descending from a bubble bath while the rest of them looked like background NPCs in a zombie apocalypse?

  No one dared to speak.

  Mu Haejoon gave one final approving nod, completely unaware of the collective suffering behind Aseok’s peaceful expression.

  “Good,” he said. “Keep it that way.”

  The silence that followed was painful.

  Mu Haejoon’s comm beeped, saving them from the awkwardness. He checked the message, nodded to himself, and turned to leave.

  Mu Yichen followed to see him off.

  Near the car, Mu Haejoon paused and asked casually,

  “So… how’s your love life? Any progress?”

  Mu Yichen froze. Then he smiled — the kind of smile that wasn’t really a smile.

  Mu Haejoon immediately frowned. “Hmph. Your father, the former hero, was better at this than you.”

  With that brutal judgment, he got into the car and left.

  Mu Yichen stood there for a moment, watching the vehicle disappear down the road. Then he sighed, turned back toward the group, and saw Aseok.

  Their eyes met.

  Aseok looked away almost instantly.

  Mu Yichen couldn’t help but laugh softly.

  His father really was a winner in life, he thought. Meanwhile, my own love life looks like a deserted wasteland.

  On the other side, Aseok was thinking the exact opposite.

  He was wondering why Mu Haejoon had suddenly appeared and talked to him like that. But after a second, he shrugged the thought away.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  He had more important things to do.

  Like feeding Pudding.

  After a particularly bloody but efficient gate clear, Lee Aseok and his unofficial team of high-functioning trauma survivors sat down at a quiet restaurant near the outer edge of the zone.

  They had just finished washing off monster goo (mostly), and still looked like they’d stepped out of an action movie and onto a runway.

  The moment they entered, time slowed.

  The customers froze.

  The staff froze.

  The background music seemed to lower itself in reverence.

  It wasn’t just that they were strong.

  They were good-looking.

  Devastatingly so.

  But in the middle of this rare assembly of absurdly attractive humans, one person outshone them all like a celestial being dropped into a mortal buffet: Lee Aseok.

  With an ethereal face and the emotional warmth of a glacier, he walked in with his husky Pudding at his side and the holy sword floating behind him like a ghostly butler.

  The sword emitted a faint glow. Its hilt sparkled with divine power.

  It was also holding a napkin.

  For reasons unknown.

  Lee Aseok didn’t bat an eye.

  He never did.

  The restaurant wasn’t fancy.

  Just a clean place near the gate zone. A few workers. A quiet vibe.

  It became not quiet the moment Lee Aseok walked in.

  He didn’t even do anything.

  He just existed.

  And that was enough.

  The customers froze mid-bite.

  The staff locked eyes with each other in silent panic.

  One waiter dropped a spoon and pretended it never happened.

  The chef peeked through the kitchen window and made the sign of the cross, despite not being religious.

  Mu Yichen, as always, stepped in to prevent chaos.

  “We’ll take the private room,” he said smoothly. “Seven people. Dog included.”

  “No, eight,” Seo MinHyun corrected, raising his hand. “The sword counts. It eats our dignity.”

  They were guided into a corner booth behind a thin screen.

  Lee Aseok sat at the head, his husky under the table like a furry menace. The holy sword hovered behind him, vibrating faintly. It had clearly decided this was now its family.

  Everyone else sat wherever they could breathe.

  Menus arrived.

  Lee Aseok glanced once. Then tossed his aside.

  “I’ll have soup,” he said to the waitress without looking.

  “What kind of—”

  “Soup.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She wrote it down like it was a curse.

  Seo MinHyun ordered six appetizers, clearly stress-eating.

  Kang Juwon just asked for anything with meat.

  He Ziqin ordered tea, soul already dead.

  Park Taegun had coffee, black as his patience.

  Yoo Eunsae politely asked for grilled fish.

  Lee Aseok closed his eyes.

  For a moment, everything was calm.

  Until someone from a nearby table whispered a little too loudly.

  “Is that her? The B-rank? What’s she doing here?”

  The others froze.

  Yoo Eunsae looked up slowly.

  Her hands didn’t shake.

  Her eyes didn’t dart.

  Instead, she straightened her back, raised her chin, and very clearly said:

  “I earned it.”

  The entire room quieted.

  Then Lee Aseok opened his eyes, glanced sideways at her, and muttered:

  “You didn’t remake the strawberries yet.”

  She clenched her spoon with murderous intent.

  Mu Yichen coughed politely. “Progress. That was almost a compliment.”

  “Almost,” Park Taegun added.

  He Ziqin just poured more tea and whispered, “So this is what madness feels like.”

  Mu Yichen, ever the considerate one, gently rotated the table so the side dishes were closest to Lee Aseok, then wordlessly pushed a few items nearer to him.

  Lee Aseok gave no reaction.

  But he did begin to eat.

  He even dropped a piece of grilled meat into a tiny dish on the floor for Pudding, who accepted it like royalty.

  The dog sat perfectly still with one paw crossed over the other, emitting noble vibes that did not match the puddle of drool forming beneath him.

  Across the room, customers continued to pretend they weren’t watching.

  One girl whispered too loudly, “He’s feeding the dog! Oh my God, that’s so—wait, is that the holy sword?!”

  A staff member tripped while pouring water.

  Another waiter walked into a door.

  A middle-aged uncle snapped a selfie with Lee Aseok’s reflection in the background.

  Meanwhile, Park Taegun and Seo MinHyun sat like overly polite robots, spines straight, arms close to their sides.

  Kang Juwon silently picked up his utensils with exact 90-degree posture, pretending he wasn’t being watched like a zoo exhibit.

  He Ziqin adjusted his collar twice, then folded his napkin and placed it perfectly to his left.

  Even Yoo Eunsae, who had recently gained confidence, seemed to revert to stiff, textbook poise under the public eye.

  Lee Aseok looked at them.

  Then Pudding looked at them.

  The same unimpressed expression.

  As if watching a group of toddlers trying to do taxes.

  The rest of the group noticed and, in perfect unspoken coordination, began to eat more casually, trying not to draw attention to their earlier attempt at being socially acceptable.

  “Subtle,” Seo MinHyun muttered to himself.

  “I hate that the dog judges me,” Kang Juwon whispered back.

  Mu Yichen just smiled serenely and refilled Lee Aseok’s water.

  After they finished the meal (where Lee Aseok ignored every whisper and phone camera flash in the room), they stood up to leave.

  A few brave souls attempted to approach.

  “Lee Aseok-nim, I’m a huge fan, can you—”

  Lee Aseok walked right past them.

  Completely silent.

  Not rude, not harsh—just blank.

  As if the person didn’t exist.

  Mu Yichen, ever the diplomat, stepped in behind him and offered a charming smile.

  “Thank you for your support,” he said gently. “We’re currently on duty. Please excuse us.”

  Park Taegun gave a brief nod. Kang Juwon flashed a sharp grin.

  Seo MinHyun waved lazily.

  He Ziqin didn’t even look up.

  Yoo Eunsae, surprisingly, gave a small but determined bow.

  She was still awkward, but she was trying.

  The civilians clutched their hearts as if they’d just witnessed divinity.

  The door to the restaurant swung shut behind them with a small jingle.

  Mu Yichen offered a polite smile to the gawking public before turning his gaze back toward the team. "Well, that was... civil."

  Park Taegun adjusted his gloves. "No one screamed this time. Progress."

  Seo MinHyun flipped his hair. "Of course they didn’t. I was there."

  "Delusion is a serious illness," Kang Juwon muttered.

  Yoo Eunsae held Pudding with both hands. The husky looked like he was about to declare war on a bird sitting too close to the restaurant's awning.

  He Ziqin, holding a teleport crystal in one hand and mental fatigue in the other, asked, “So, where to next? Dungeon, nap, another awkward lunch?”

  Lee Aseok didn’t answer.

  Classic.

  Right on cue, a peculiar chime rang out from all of their phones at once.

  It was a collective sound that made even civilians nearby flinch.

  Ding! Ding!

  The same tone every high-rank hunter feared—especially after eating too much barbecue.

  Each member pulled out their phone with a shared groan.

  He Ziqin read aloud, “New S-Rank Gate detected. Coordinates pending. Prepare for deployment.”

  "Already?" Seo MinHyun groaned. "I didn’t even finish digesting."

  Mu Yichen hummed as he scrolled. “Looks like it’s in District 9… near the old subway station.”

  “S-rank again?” Kang Juwon tilted his head. “Did we anger a dungeon god or something?”

  Yoo Eunsae blinked at her phone, then at the team. “We have time, right? Don’t S-rank gates usually… you know, wait before they go boom?”

  “Seven days,” Park Taegun confirmed. “We can rotate teams. Take it slow.”

  That was the norm.

  Ever since Lee Aseok returned, S-rank gates were no longer national threats—they were minor inconveniences, like a traffic jam or a slightly bitter coffee.

  People had begun calling them “Tuesday Problems.”

  Which made the nickname Tyrant Hero make even more sense.

  So, naturally, the team prepared to move on with their day, thinking they’d handle it when they felt like it.

  Except one thing was wrong.

  Lee Aseok hadn’t moved.

  He was staring at the coordinates.

  Not blinking.

  Not breathing.

  Just… staring.

  Mu Yichen narrowed his eyes the moment he noticed it, something was off with Lee Aseok.

  Author Note:

  Every “OH MY GOD ASEOK STOP” gives me the strength to write the next disaster.

  Mon ? Wed ? Fri

  (Yes, I too question my life choices.)

  https://www.patreon.com/c/LithutheBloom

  please leave a review or rating—it helps summon new victims readers. ??