Mu Yichen’s grip on Aseok’s wrist tightened a fraction.

  He kept walking.

  But Lee Aseok stopped.

  Just a single step.

  Mu Yichen paused beside him. “…Don’t.”

  But the boy turned.

  The holy sword gleamed behind him, casting a faint shimmer over the sidewalk like the afterglow of divine judgment. His hair caught the sunlight, snow-pale, ethereal.

  He looked like a savior carved from marble.

  And yet,

  His eyes were dead.

  Lazy and dark and just a little amused.

  Reddish-brown like dried blood.

  “I don’t feel anything,” Lee Aseok said. His voice was quiet, but clear. “I won’t be your hero.”

  The reporters froze.

  Cameras kept flashing, but there were no more words. Just confused stares.

  “I didn’t ask for this,” he continued. “And I have no intention of pretending to care.”

  His lips curved slightly, not kindly.

  “Pick someone else. Or don’t. Doesn’t matter.”

  Mu Yichen closed his eyes briefly.

  Not here. Not like this.

  Before any reporter could recover, Mu Yichen stepped in.

  He took Lee Aseok’s hand, firmly this time, and pulled him forward without asking permission. The holy sword followed behind like an obedient shadow.

  The doors to the car were thrown open by the driver.

  Mu Yichen ushered Aseok in, climbed in after him, and slammed the door shut just as the murmurs behind them erupted into chaos.

  Reporters shouted.

  Flashes exploded.

  “What did he mean?!”

  “Is he rejecting the role?!”

  “Is this some kind of protest?!”

  Inside the vehicle, everything was silent.

  The bulletproof windows shut out the world’s noise.

  Mu Yichen leaned back into the seat, rubbed his temple once, and sighed deeply. “Do you… wake up every morning and decide how best to give me a migraine?”

  Lee Aseok didn’t reply.

  He was looking out the window. Not the reporters, just the clouds.

  The holy sword rested beside him now, still glowing softly like it had no idea what kind of person it had attached itself to.

  “I warned you,” Lee Aseok finally said.

  Mu Yichen looked at him. “About what?”

  “I said I’d make everyone go crazy.”

  Mu Yichen let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh if he weren’t so tired. “Right. You did say that.”

  Lee Aseok smirked faintly.

  Not with joy.

  More like someone who found the whole thing ridiculous.

  And maybe a little funny.

  “You’re not doing this because you hate being chosen,” Mu Yichen said, tone light. “You just hate people.”

  “Correct.”

  “...And you're not worried you might accidentally start a global panic?”

  Lee Aseok turned his head slowly, finally meeting his gaze.

  “Am I supposed to care?”

  There it was again, that faint flicker of amusement in his eyes.

  Like someone watching ants scramble under a magnifying glass.

  Mu Yichen leaned his head back against the seat and muttered under his breath, “Why couldn’t the holy sword have picked someone normal for once?”

  The sword twitched.

  As if offended.

  Outside the window, the reporters were growing smaller and smaller behind them. But the words Lee Aseok had said would already be live, broadcasted, discussed, analyzed.

  Mu Yichen didn’t even want to open his phone.

  “I’m going to have to do a press conference because of you,” he said finally.

  Lee Aseok shrugged. “Not my problem.”

  “…I’m going to drag you with me.”

  “Then I’ll say something worse.”

  Mu Yichen looked sideways. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  Lee Aseok looked at the distance and ignored him as usual.

  Elsewhere, inside the high-rise conference building where the “selection meeting” had taken place, silence reigned.

  The boardroom was thick with tension, the scent of overpriced coffee and unease lingering in the air.

  No one spoke.

  No one moved.

  No one wanted to be the first to say it.

  Then, one by one, chairs creaked as guild masters and elite officers stood and left.

  Some walked with brisk determination, others with heavy shoulders. Most had faces locked in unreadable expressions, disapproval, worry, disdain.

  All of them had been present when the holy sword hovered before Lee Aseok and chose him, and all of them had just watched that same boy, moments later, declare with haunting sincerity that he’d rather see the world burn than be their “hero.”

  Qin Yue stood last.

  The master of the Shadow Guild. The Iron Widow. And, more importantly, Mu Yichen’s mother.

  Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she turned and exited without a word.

  But her expression?

  Glacial.

  And dangerous.

  Not a single person tried to stop her.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Haejoon sighed heavily as he collected his things. His assistant walked beside him quietly, her steps brisk as always.

  “That boy…” Haejoon muttered, rubbing his forehead. “He’s going to be trouble.”

  “He’s already trouble,” the assistant said bluntly.

  Haejoon let out a dry chuckle, then stopped in front of the elevator.

  “This is just the beginning.”

  Back near the elevator bank, Seo MinHyun leaned against a marble pillar, scowling at his phone.

  “I swear,” he muttered, “I’d rather fight a ten-headed hydra than explain Lee Aseok to my mother.”

  He glanced sideways.

  Park Taegun stood beside him, scrolling through his own phone with military-like calm.

  His expression hadn’t changed since the meeting. Which, of course, only annoyed Seo MinHyun more.

  “Don’t tell me your family called too?”

  “They did,” Park Taegun said.

  “…And?”

  “They wanted to know if Aseok was mentally stable.”

  Seo MinHyun let out a laugh that sounded slightly cracked. “That’s your family’s concern? Mine thinks I made him mad on purpose.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Seo MinHyun whipped around. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  But Park Taegun was already walking into the elevator, hands in his pockets, utterly uninterested in continuing the conversation.

  Seo MinHyun hurried after him.

  The elevator doors slid closed.

  They stood in silence for a few floors.

  Then, out of nowhere, Seo MinHyun asked, in a suddenly serious tone, “Hey… when Aseok said he’d help the monsters kill humanity, do you think he meant it?”

  Park Taegun didn’t respond immediately.

  He kept his eyes on the glowing floor numbers, arms folded.

  “No.”

  Seo MinHyun blinked. “That’s it? Just no?”

  “I don’t think he meant it.”

  “…How do you know?”

  Park Taegun finally turned his head slightly, just enough to look at him.

  “Gut feeling.”

  Seo MinHyun stared at him like he’d just announced he was psychic.

  “That’s your expert assessment? Gut feeling?! Are you serious right now? The kid basically declared war on humankind, and you’re trusting your stomach?”

  Park Taegun didn’t dignify that with a response.

  Seo MinHyun threw his hands in the air. “Unbelievable. What if he actually snaps one day and takes the holy sword to, like, blow up a city or something? Are you going to stop him with your six-pack?!”

  Park Taegun stepped out calmly as the elevator doors opened.

  He didn’t even glance back. “If he does, I’ll be there.”

  Seo MinHyun groaned loudly as he followed him out. “Why are you always so calm?! At least pretend to panic!”

  Park Taegun shrugged.

  “I don’t waste time on hypotheticals.”

  Seo MinHyun slapped a hand to his forehead. “You’re the worst conversation partner ever. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  “Tch. I don’t have one because they can’t handle me, not because I’m boring, wait, don’t walk away while I’m talking!”

  But Park Taegun was already gone, striding down the hall like a man with a mission.

  Seo MinHyun stayed behind, grumbling under his breath as he pulled out his phone again, ten unread messages, three missed calls, and one long text from his PR manager that started with "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED IN THAT MEETING?!"

  He groaned.

  “…Seriously. Monsters are easier.”

  By evening, every news channel, social media platform, and virtual forum was flooded.

  Headlines screamed in twenty different languages:

  “Holy Sword Rejects Hero Title?!”

  “Lee Aseok Says ‘No Thanks’ to Saving the World”

  “Government Silent After Shocking Rejection”

  “Chosen One or Rogue Threat? Internet Divided!”

  The news cycle didn’t just react.

  It detonated.

  Every channel. Every panel. Every commentator.

  The words “I won’t be your hero” replayed in a loop so frequently it became a meme within an hour.

  “BREAKING: The Chosen One Denounces Humanity?”

  “Is Lee Aseok Planning a Coup or Just Edgy?”

  “Experts say his refusal could trigger an international crisis.”

  “WHO IS LEE ASEOK? A deep dive into the mysterious new hero.”

  “Netizens react: ‘He’s hot, traumatized, and might destroy us all, so basically perfect.’”

  The internet did what it always did when faced with confusion: scream, laugh, speculate, and cry—simultaneously.

  @worldwatcher_002: so you’re telling me the holy sword chose a silent teenager who said no thx and walked off??

  @hero_watchdog: THE GOVERNMENT DID SOMETHING. YOU CAN SEE IT IN HIS EYES. #FreeAseok

  @aegyochickx: yall missing the point… LOOK AT HIS FACE??? sir can destroy me and I’d thank him

  @bladequeen: I knew it. I KNEW it. The Shadow Guild messed something up. No one just says “I won’t be your hero” without a reason. #conspiracy

  @jjanghero: what if this is a PR strategy?? Like “reluctant hero” vibes?? ??????

  @minhyunfanclub1: Anyway where is Seo MinHyun? We need his reaction IMMEDIATELY.

  In short: the world was losing its mind.

  And the one who caused it?

  Was lying on the sofa.

  Watching anime.

  A peeled orange slice dangled from his fingers as he stared at the screen, expressionless.

  His reddish-brown eyes glinted faintly from the TV’s reflection. The holy sword leaned against the armrest, slightly glowing, completely unbothered.

  Lee Aseok popped the slice into his mouth and leaned back.

  He didn’t care about the hashtags, the debate panels, or the international outrage.

  He had known this would happen.

  What he didn’t know… was how to get his peace back without dealing with the mess first.

  His eyes narrowed slightly.

  He missed the West Zone already.

  At least there, no one asked questions.

  The next day.

  The main door slammed open.

  Seo MinHyun stormed into the apartment looking like he hadn’t slept all night.

  Which, to be fair, he hadn’t.

  His perfectly styled hair was messy, his coat was barely buttoned, and his phone was still ringing in his pocket, some poor PR manager probably trying to sedate a social media firestorm.

  Behind him, Park Taegun walked in quietly, adjusting his gloves and removing his shoes like a civilized adult.

  Then both of them stopped.

  Because there, sitting in the middle of the living room, legs tucked under him like nothing had happened, was the human embodiment of national chaos.

  Lee Aseok.

  Wrapped in a blanket.

  Watching a mech anime.

  And calmly chewing fruit slices.

  The sword glowed faintly beside him like it belonged there.

  Seo MinHyun stared.

  Then stared harder.

  Then finally snapped.

  “ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!”

  Lee Aseok didn’t respond.

  He didn’t even glance up.

  He just picked up another fruit slice.

  Seo MinHyun marched forward, posture tense like he was going to strangle someone, or possibly cry.

  “Do you know what my last 24 hours were like?!” he demanded.

  Still no response.

  Lee Aseok leaned slightly to the side.

  Seo MinHyun leaned closer.

  “Do you have any idea how many press briefings I had to sit through?! My mother’s calling me every twenty minutes asking if you’ve joined a cult! I had a dream last night where you lit the guild building on fire and told me it was performance art!!”

  Lee Aseok blinked slowly.

  “Then don’t sleep,” he said.

  Seo MinHyun made a noise that could only be described as unholy.

  He grabbed the plate of fruit like he was exacting vengeance and shoved a piece of something, he didn’t care what, into his mouth.

  He chewed. Hard.

  Lee Aseok looked down at his empty hand.

  Then at Seo MinHyun.

  Then back at his empty hand.

  His reddish eyes narrowed slowly. The kind of quiet, judgmental squint that didn’t need words to deliver its message:

  You stole my fruit.

  Seo MinHyun, obliviously chomping down another piece from the plate he’d stolen like it was a moral victory, grinned.

  Until he didn’t.

  The next fruit hit his tongue.

  And his expression transformed from smug triumph to soul-crushed agony in under two seconds.

  “..Ghk!.”

  A horrible choking sound echoed in the apartment.

  Park Taegun, who had been flipping through documents by the kitchen counter, paused. Slowly looked up.

  He saw it happen.

  Seo MinHyun dropped the fruit back onto the plate like it had personally betrayed him. His mouth puckered. His eyes bulged. His soul visibly left his body.

  “WHY IS THIS SO SOUR?!”

  Park Taegun let out a silent sigh, already regretting waking up today.

  “They’re green calamansi slices,” he said. “Unripe.”

  “Unripe?! They taste like death, my tongue is dying..why would someone do this?!”

  Lee Aseok stared at him.

  Expression unreadable.

  Voice flat:

  “I did.”

  Seo MinHyun turned to him, betrayed. “Why?! Are you enjoying this?! Is this your revenge for the sword thing?! Or are you just, are you just cruel?!”

  Lee Aseok stood up slowly, tossed the blanket off his shoulders, and walked past Seo MinHyun without pause.

  Then, just as he passed him, he said..

  “Yes. I like seeing human suffering.”

  Seo MinHyun opened his mouth.

  Then shut it.

  Then made another guttural sound of betrayal.

  Park Taegun, meanwhile, had sat down in the armchair and pulled out a tablet.

  “The media's still going crazy,” he said mildly. “Half the guilds think you’re unstable. The other half thinks you’re some kind of anti-hero.”

  Lee Aseok didn’t respond.

  “I like the theory that says you’re actually the reincarnation of a fallen god sent to punish human arrogance,” MinHyun muttered bitterly. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  Lee Aseok shrugged.

  Park Taegun added, “We have a meeting with the joint leadership council tomorrow. They’ll want answers.”

  “I’ll pass,” Aseok replied.

  MinHyun facepalmed. “You can’t just pass! That’s not how hero politics work!”

  Lee Aseok tilted his head slightly, like he was thinking about it.

  Then: “They’re not my politics.”

  Seo MinHyun looked like he was going to combust.

  But Park Taegun only sighed again.

  He watched as the boy picked up another slice of sour fruit and ate it without flinching.

  Then Park muttered under his breath.

  “…Gut still says he won’t destroy humanity.”

  Seo MinHyun turned to him, scandalized.

  “Your gut is obviously broken.”

  But Park Taegun was already walking toward the dining area.

  No sympathy. No reaction.

  Just full military precision: sit, eat, move on.

  Seo MinHyun followed him like a wronged middle child.

  Park Taegun ignored him.

  At the dining table, Mu Yichen sat quietly, arranging breakfast.

  His long sleeves were rolled neatly to his forearms, his expression gentle, composed. The soft steam from the dishes curled around him like a portrait from a cooking drama.

  Lee Aseok took a seat silently, picked up chopsticks, and began eating.

  No hesitation.

  No emotion.

  Just mechanical, efficient chewing.

  Mu Yichen watched him with a warm smile, like he’d just been handed a miracle on a plate.

  “You’re eating well today,” Mu Yichen said softly.

  Lee Aseok didn’t respond.

  But he didn’t stop eating either.

  That was enough.

  Mu Yichen added another dish near him and refilled his bowl without being asked.

  Seo MinHyun stared at them.

  Then slowly turned to Park Taegun, whispering from the side of his mouth.

  “Are you seeing this?”

  Park Taegun, mid-bite, didn’t respond.

  Seo MinHyun leaned closer.

  “Don’t play dumb. He’s smiling like he just adopted a puppy. But it’s not a puppy. It’s a sleep-deprived war criminal with sword issues.”

  Park Taegun continued eating.

  Seo MinHyun narrowed his eyes.

  “He’s in love.”

  That got a glance.

  Brief.

  But a glance.

  Seo MinHyun leaned back with a smug sigh.

  “I knew it. Yichen’s always had that ‘noble white knight’ syndrome. Of course he’d fall for the emotionally repressed guy who might be planning humanity’s end.”

  He sipped his juice dramatically.

  Then grimaced.

  “…Why is this sour too?!”

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