08.11.2039, Seoul, Gangnam-gu, Seoul Hunter’s Association Headquarters, Lieutenant’s office

  Yoon Taeha was sitting at his desk when General Han Gyeong-su stepped in. He didn’t say a word at first, only closed the door behind him and took the seat opposite the First Lieutenant. The room was quiet. They were not only colleagues, but even with their age difference, they were friends. When it was just the two of them, ranks rarely mattered.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, General?” Yoon Taeha asked at last, jokingly.

  Name: Han Gyeong-su

  Rank: General

  Birthday: 1.1.1995

  Sex: Male

  Secondary gender: Alpha, recessive

  Height: 188 cm

  City of birth: Seoul

  Hunter class: S

  Qualities: Shape shifting

  “Can’t I come visit an old friend?”

  “You don’t come to my office unless it’s about work,” Yoon Taeha replied, raising a brow.

  “That’s harsh,” Han Gyeong-su said. “But you’re right. I’ve received intel from the research team. There’s a high chance an S-class gate will open.”

  Yoon Taeha lifted his gaze from the papers spread across his desk.

  “A red gate?”

  “We have reason to suspect so.” General Han’s eyes dropped to the desk between them, avoiding Taeha’s gaze.

  “You want me to go in,” Yoon Taeha said. It wasn’t a question.

  “We need the best,” Han answered carefully. “And you… well, not that I want to admit it, are good enough to qualify for the team.” He paused. “I’ll be going with you as team leader.”

  “It’s going to be difficult convincing my team to join. Not that they really have a choice if the order comes from you,” Yoon Taeha said, concern creeping into his voice. “It’s going to be dangerous. What about your kids?”

  “They’re adults,” Han replied. “They’ll manage if something happens to me.”

  Yoon Taeha leaned back in his chair, both hands rubbing his temples. A Jujak gate opening after so many quiet years could only mean disaster.

  “I suppose I finally have to write that will,” he said after a moment.

  “You haven’t yet?”

  “I never had reason to believe I would die, even when I was prepared for it. It’s true, I have my mother and my sister to think about, but I could at least cover Jiyeon’s tuition if anything—”

  “You don’t really seem afraid,” General Han interrupted. “Mind giving me some of that courage?”

  Yoon Taeha lowered his hands, his thoughtful gaze fixed on the General.

  “I don’t think it’s about me not being afraid. It’s more like I know it needs to be done, and if I’m not the one to do it, then who’s going to go instead? I have practically nothing to lose, but many of our men have families to think about. I don’t want to send them to their deaths.”

  Han Gyeong-su nodded, but his gaze didn’t lift from the desk.

  “We’ll still need manpower,” he said. “We can’t go in with just the two of us.”

  “Then we need volunteers,” Yoon Taeha replied, his voice serious. “We’ll have to contact Pyongyang, Jeju, and Busan.”

  “What about Daegu?”

  “They don’t have S-class hunters. And naturally, their forces are smaller than ours. If we take their A-class units, they’ll be left defenseless if another gate opens, especially if it’s A-class or higher.”

  Word of a red gate opening spread faster than expected. Even unconfirmed, it threw the Seoul Hunter’s Association into chaos. Some hunters volunteered immediately, but many others remained reluctant, not that they had a choice in the matter.

  A hunter’s duty was to clear dungeons and kill beasts, but always within their ranks. This time, Seoul alone wouldn’t be enough; they would have to seek help from the other Associations.

  They began reaching out to the southern associations first, though Taeha knew he couldn’t avoid Pyongyang for long. Even unified, despite their oath, the north remained hesitant to support the south. But if the request came from one of their own, there might still be a chance.

  In theory, the Associations held free will when it came to assisting in missions outside their own regions. No force could compel them to send hunters unless the Ministry of Defense issued a formal notice of mandatory assistance. In such cases, refusal meant more than a hit on their reputation. An Association would lose its official title, its role within the national defense forces, and with it the massive annual funding. Few were willing to risk it. Pyongyang, however, had the funds to keep itself going without government assistance. They could still operate as a private contractor.

  The door burst open.

  “What is this I hear about an S-class Jujak gate?” A tall, dark-haired man with a scar on his chin marched in, his voice loud with enthusiasm.

  Name: Kwon Jeonhak

  Rank: Colonel

  Birthday: 18.12.2007

  Sex: Male

  Secondary gender: Alpha, dominant

  Height: 190cm

  City of birth: Seoul

  Hunter class: Beta

  Qualities: Particle Ignition

  “You seem to be enjoying this far too much, Colonel Kwon,” Yoon Taeha frowned. “And why are you all gathered in my office? You exceed my rank by far.”

  “The only reason you’re still a Lieutenant is your hunter rank,” Kwon Jeonhak laughed. “But you’ve got the best brain among us.”

  “Fantastic,” Yoon Taeha muttered, leaning back. “This isn’t my first Jujak gate. But it will be the most difficult.”

  “How many men can you get us?” General Han asked.

  “I believe I can get Pyongyang to send us at least a hundred,” Taeha answered. “If they can pull hunters from the other northern associations, and if they even agree to assist us.”

  “Jeju is small,” General Han added, arms crossed, “but their S-class volume is the largest. We might get fifty if the request comes from the Chief.”

  “You think you can convince him?” Yoon Taeha asked, biting the pen between his teeth.

  “Absolutely,” General Han said, crossing his arms confidently.

  “Tsk. I hate the islanders,” Kwon Jeonhak clicked his tongue. “Always thinking they’re better than us.”

  “I’m not exactly thrilled about calling Pyongyang either,” Yoon Taeha sighed. “But they’ll take it better if it comes from me.”

  I bet they’ll try to get me to go back.

  “Make the call,” Jeonhak grinned. “Then we’ll have a beer.”

  Yoon Taeha smiled back, though unease crept up his spine. This would be the most dangerous mission they’d received, and they knew the gate could open at any given moment. None of them wasted time; they needed to act fast, and they needed the assisting teams in Seoul right away.

  “Busan’s sending seventy,” Colonel Kwon said, lowering his phone.

  Yoon Taeha was still speaking to Pyongyang, his northern accent pushed through heavier with each sentence. The others didn’t understand half of it, but the tension was clear. They took the matter seriously.

  Taeha hung up.

  “One hundred from Pyongyang. Twenty from Hamhung. Do the math.”

  “How can Pyongyang send Hamhung hunters without consulting them?” Jeonhak frowned.

  “Please,” General Han scoffed. “Pyongyang could control your mother’s underwear drawer if they wanted. After Seoul, they’re our toughest allies.”

  Taeha wasn’t sure whether he should be offended by the comment. He was from Pyongyang after all.

  “Oh, how times change,” Jeonhak laughed.

  “General,” Yoon Taeha said, bowing slightly. “I trust Seoul and Jeju to you.”

  Han Gyeong-su nodded and headed for the door. “Good work, Lieutenant Yoon.”

  Kwon Jeonhak turned to the Lieutenant.

  “So, Taeha. Ready for that beer?” He lifted his hand to drink from an imaginary glass. Yoon Taeha didn’t resist.

  08.11.2039 Seoul, Gangnam-gu, Yeoksam, Bang Bang BBQ

  Kwon Jeonhak grabbed the tongs from Yoon Taeha’s hands as he turned the meat on the grill.

  “You young people don’t know how to grill. This is serious business, you have to do it properly and not rush,” he said. “How will you survive in life?”

  “I apologize for my uselessness,” Yoon Taeha replied, hands pressed together. “I promise to learn, sunbae.”

  Jeonhak laughed.

  “It’s fine. I know you’ll repay me by having my back inside the dungeon.”

  “There’s a difference between barbecue and a Jujak gate,” Yoon Taeha said, taking a sip of his beer.

  “Is there?” Jeonhak piled meat onto his plate. “My son loves this. I try to take him out for barbecue whenever I can. Teach him the ways of the grill, you know?”

  “How about teaching him something more useful?”

  “What would be more useful than this?” Jeonhak snapped, but Taeha couldn’t help but laugh.

  “How is your family?”

  “Jihee just started a new job as a kindergarten teacher.” His smile softened. “But she’s been sick more often lately, too often. So I worry. But my son’s doing well. He’s entering middle school in March, so it’s an important time for him.”

  “He manifested as an alpha, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. Very recently, and at such a sensitive age too. Neither of us had expected it, since we’re both betas.”

  “I guess anything is possible.” Yoon Taeha put the lettuce wrap in his mouth.

  “Aish, I’m so bummed though. He’s using Jihee’s family name,” Jeonhak said, clicking his tongue. “Her side was adamant about it. Being ridiculous about tradition and carrying the family name.” He turned the meat again. “I get it, but try explaining that to a boy who keeps asking why his dad has a different last name.”

  Taeha laughed, shaking his head.

  “Doesn’t really matter in the end. As long as he grows up decent, I don’t care if his name is Mr. Cabbagehead.”

  He turned to Yoon Taeha. “Next time, let’s come together,” Jeonhak said. “I want you to meet my family. Jihee has been curious about you too.”

  “Sure,” Yoon Taeha laughed. “Let’s have your son call me uncle.”

  “I’m serious,” Jeonhak smiled. “When we come back, I’ll invite you.”

  Yoon Taeha smiled back. Neither of them said what they were both thinking.

  If they came back.

  19.10.2049 Seoul, Mapo-gu, Hapjeong

  Taeha tried to get up, but his legs refused him. They trembled beneath his weight, and it took everything he had to lift himself up. He forced himself, he wouldn’t give up. He took one step. Then another. A voice cut through the chaos, calling for him.

  “Lieutenant Yoon,” Chief Han’s voice echoed. “You will stop right this second.”

  He didn’t. “You are not to enter the gate,” she continued. “That is an order.”

  “You can’t stop me,” Taeha said, still forcing himself forward, his eyes blurred with tears. The gate was barely visible anymore; his vision recognized only its red glow.

  “I can. And I will.” Han Seri stepped closer. “You are not going in.”

  He didn’t stop, every step heavier than the one before. His lungs burned. He wasn’t sure if the pain was physical, or if the anxiety was making him lose control of his body.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Lieutenant Yoon!” she shouted. He ignored her. “You leave me no choice.”

  Whatever was left of his vision darkened at once. It was as if he were swimming in black. He was sure his eyes were open, but there was nothing in sight. He reached out blindly, panic creeping in, still sensing the gate in front of him. He still wouldn’t stop. People were coming closer, ready to grab him. In a matter of seconds, Taeha was slammed onto the ground, hands all over him as he kicked and resisted the invisible men.

  “Don’t touch me!” He lashed out, but his arms were pinned and his legs restrained.

  “Let me go!” His screamed. “Let me go!”

  “I can’t do that,” Han Seri said, her voice clearer now. “You know this is for the best. I can’t have you risk the mission.”

  “I can help them!” Taeha shouted. “I can fight—!”

  “No, you can’t.” Her voice hardened. “You’re nothing but a burden now. A liability. Lieutenant Kang will clear the gate with the Special Ops. They are trained for this; they don’t need you.”

  There it was again. He was yet again labeled useless, but this time, it hurt more than it ever had.

  “Then what am I?” he demanded. “What am I to the Association?”

  “You’re a C-class hunter, Lieutenant Yoon,” she said quietly. “And right now, you would only get in the way.” Destroying his spirit was the only way to stop him now.

  “You’re a coward,” he whispered under Han Seri’s vision blocking.

  “What did you say?” She stepped closer.

  “You heard me.” His voice shook, but he didn’t stop. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?”

  The slap came hard enough to throw him back onto the ground. But Taeha’s feelings were numb from his heartache; he barely felt the sting.

  “Who do you think you are?” Han Seri snapped. “You don’t get to speak to me like that. You don’t get to talk about—”

  Yoon Taeha laughed hard, a humorless, almost painful laugh.

  “If you had any decency, you’d go in yourself and help them.”

  “Lieutenant Yoon, do not forget what position you’re in. You’re not an official part of the Special Ops. You’re still under observance, and still considered a threat to the Association.”

  “So you decided to release the Northern beast to the wild and see how it turns out?” He smirked. “I stand by my words. You fucking coward.”

  “You really don’t understand your status. Have it your way.”

  He laughed again, tears streaming freely now. “Do whatever you want,” he said hoarsely. “You already have.”

  Han Seri’s jaw tightened. She turned to her men, her eyes narrowing.

  “Take him to the glasshouse.”

  They dragged him away as he laughed and cried all together. All he could see was the image of Kang Jeonhyun’s back, walking toward the gate without looking back.

  20.10.2049, Seoul, Gangnam-gu, SHA Headquarters, Glasshouse Detention Center

  The automatic lights on the Glasshouse corridor lit up one by one as two guards escorted Yoon Taeha to his cell. The place felt worse than the first time, more depressing. Cameras were positioned to follow every step, every cell, and every inmate. There was no escaping unnoticed. Not that it sounded like a possibility anyway.

  It wasn’t a scenario Taeha felt was realistic. Even when he did right by his emotions, he had done wrong in the eyes of the Association. If this had happened in the North, he’d be in much more trouble, probably sent to a labor camp. Even if they were now illegal, that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. The North had its own way of controlling their hunters, and it worked.

  Even in the South, if he disobeyed the Association’s orders further, he would be put in isolation with a collar around his neck. He already felt like a dog of the Association, but a collar would make it reality.

  With his vision back, Taeha glanced around and spotted a familiar cell. The crack created by his back slamming into the wall was still there. Yellow tape was still stuck across it.

  Under construction, my ass. Is the Association broke, or do they just not care? Useless fuckers.

  It wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t changed. The man next door was still there, same cell, same position, chanting the same words as before. His voice had grown hoarser, if that was even possible.

  “What did he do?” Taeha asked quietly, curious about his former almost-cellmate.

  One guard gave him a sharp, nasty side-eye. The other answered.

  “He went rampant in a gate and killed everyone.”

  “I haven’t heard about that.” Taeha frowned, his hands still tied together.

  “Happened while you were sleeping,” the guard said. “It didn’t last long, and the team wasn’t large enough for the citizens to care.”

  Oh, so even he knows about me.

  “Their families must have had a field trip,” Taeha said, his gaze lowering to his combat boots as he continued walking between the two guards. “Imagine losing your child, parents, siblings, you’d want the world to care. But for everyone to brush it off… that sounds cruel. And his—” He looked at the man again. “—his fate was cruel.”

  Taeha looked at the man again. Hunters going rampant wasn’t unheard of, but it was rare. And when it happened, it meant the beast had been strong enough to overpower them, forcing them to use whatever they had left. Their bodies were pushed far past their limits, breaking not only their body, but their mind and soul.

  Because they didn’t live in a perfect world, the Association, and even the government, considered it a crime rather than an accident. If the hunter survived their rampage, they faced trial in military court, which automatically meant imprisonment. The life of a hunter was truly cruel.

  “For him to survive at all…” Taeha muttered. “He must’ve been strong.”

  The guard hesitated.

  “He was A-class. He was badly injured.”

  Taeha swallowed.

  “Why wasn’t he healed?”

  “You really don’t know anything, do you?” the guard sighed. “There are only a handful of healers in the world. Seoul has two, which is already a lot compared to other cities. The Association doesn’t send them into gates.”

  Taeha’s chest tightened.

  “So if someone, like this man, used all his power in there…” Taeha paused. “That’s it?”

  “The only way he could have been saved would’ve been if he was healed on location.” The guard clenched his jaw. “They either don’t come back. Or they come back like that.” He pointed at the man.

  Taeha hadn’t realized they had stopped in front of the man’s cell. He didn’t think he could hear their conversation, so it didn’t really matter. But he couldn’t help being bothered by the scenario forming in his mind.

  What if it happens to Jeonhyun, while there’s nobody to heal him?

  “So they’d rather lose hunters,” Taeha said quietly.

  “There are over a thousand hunters in Seoul alone,” the guard replied. “Do the math.”

  The sharp look in the guard’s eyes shifted after finishing his sentence. His indifference toward the Association was becoming obvious.

  “Anyway, this man came out alone. Just like you did,” he added. “The shock he was in when he walked out was mind-shattering, and he hasn’t changed much since. Chanting nonsense and all.”

  “How did you confirm the deceased?”

  “In normal circumstances, it would’ve been difficult, but their team hadn’t been able to defeat the beast, so the gate was still open, and the backup team was able to go in.” The guard’s eyes fixed on the man. “The only reason we know what happened is because there was a memory reader in the backup team. He managed to pull the information from the dead.”

  “That’s disgusting,” Taeha said, his stomach churning. “Digging through people’s heads like that.”

  “If digging through the deceased’s minds proved you innocent,” the guard said, opening Taeha’s cell door, “wouldn’t it be worth it?”

  Taeha didn’t answer right away.

  “No, it wouldn’t,” he said finally. “My friends deserve to rest. I’d rather rot in here than let the Association pick through what was left of them. I’d rather go on death row than see them disgraced like that, disturbing their peace.” Taeha’s expression remained serious.

  They were finally free of the Association’s chains. I’d never let these bastards touch them.

  The guard looked at him for a long moment and, without a word, nodded.

  When the door locked and the guard disappeared from sight, Taeha exhaled quietly. In his mind, he replayed the last moment with him, recalling the subtle smile as he turned away. The man had tested his character.

  He must be one of the good ones.

  After a minute of reflecting on everything that had happened, Yoon Taeha dropped himself onto the bed. He squeezed the blanket beneath him, cursing his life and all the wrong choices he had made. The tears were inevitable. Just a what felt like a moment ago, he had held Kang Jeonhyun, kissed him, made love to him, and now, he didn’t even know if the man was alive.

  He couldn’t calm himself down, his chest aching every time he tried to imagine the red gate closing behind him. It was too soon to say, but Taeha wasn’t one to stay optimistic. Not after everything that had happened to him.

  For hours, Yoon Taeha only stared at the glass ceiling, just like he had the last time he was detained. Last time, it had been for interrogation; this time, it was for disobeying orders. He laughed, a painful, dry laugh, thinking that he’d never really be at peace as long as he was tied to the Association. He wondered whether leaving the country would be the right thing to do if he got out. He wondered how living in exile would be. But in the end, he didn’t even want to leave unless it was with him.

  No visitors had come, except for the food that was served and guards occasionally walking past his cell. To his surprise, even when they glanced at him while passing by, there were no hostile intentions. As if they felt sorry for him. But he understood them, he did look pitiful with his eyes were still burning red from hours of crying.

  Taeha thought about how Jeonhyun would be imprisoned like his former cellmate if he ever lost control. But he also knew he’d never make it to prison. An SS-class hunter going rampant would die on the spot, taking down everything around him.

  He got up when he heard footsteps marching toward his cell. He already knew who it was, and he wasn’t excited, he was terrified. Taeha exhaled deeply, preparing himself for his visitors. Preparing to be chewed out by the two people he definitely didn’t want to see. No, who he didn’t want to see him in that state.

  “Oppa!” Yoon Jiyeon cried. “What did you do?!”

  “Stop screaming at him. He’s emotional enough as it is.” Han Yoonseo’s voice was exceptionally firm now. His expression had shifted from carefree to serious, unusual for the man.

  “Hurry the fuck up and open this damn door!” Jiyeon yelled at the guards. The one who had escorted Taeha to his cell let them in without complaint. There was something about this guard that Taeha couldn’t quite place his finger on, but he was odd. Handsome, but odd.

  As if… No, that’s not possible.

  “I heard you gave my sister a tough time,” Doctor Han laughed dryly. “Not that she didn’t deserve it. She’s a bitch.”

  If his expression hadn’t already been odd, the way he talked about his sister certainly was. Yoon Taeha’s curiosity grew by the second, concern weighing heavier with each moment.

  “Is that a way to talk about your sister?” Taeha raised a brow, then shrugged. “Although I do agree.”

  Unable to keep his composure, he dropped his face into his hands, feeling like a failure. He seemed to destroy everything he touched. Nothing survived, and he was always the one left behind, the one suffering. He didn’t even believe Kang Jeonhyun would remember him while fighting the beast. How many days had it been? He still hadn’t received news, so he must be alive. Or so Taeha hoped.

  “I’m sure unnie had her reasons. She wouldn’t lock oppa up like this just for fun.”

  “Quit defending her, Jiyeon!” Han Yoonseo snapped, teeth gritted. “You know nothing about her. She’s—”

  Even Doctor Yoon seemed taken aback by the sharpness in his voice.

  Yoon Taeha might not have known Han Yoonseo for very long, but Jiyeon had worked with him for years. Still, neither of them had ever seen him snap like that. Something about his sister brought out a nasty side of him. Taeha couldn’t tell whether it was anger or fear, or a mix of both. It was as if he wanted to say more, but something was stopping him.

  The atmosphere grew heavy, and none of them knew how to continue.

  Doctor Han sat on the edge of Taeha’s bed and exhaled slowly. Yoon Jiyeon turned toward him, biting her lip. Seeing him struggle with what he was about to say, she opened her mouth.

  “Taeha, we—”

  “I’m not one for words,” Han Yoonseo cut in. “Nor do I usually care for anything. But I’ve been taking care of Kang Jeonhyun long enough to know that he’d never forgive me if I didn’t check on you.”

  Or if I let my sister tear you apart, he didn’t say. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

  “You can’t smoke here,” Yoon Jiyeon snapped.

  “Sue me.” He lit one anyway.

  “So you’re here on orders, or because you feel obligated?” Taeha asked, his voice hoarse, already dreading the answer.

  “Both. For reasons I can’t comprehend, that idiot really cares about you. So I might as well do him this favor.”

  He glanced toward the cameras pointing at them and fell silent. Taeha grew impatient, waiting for the doctor to say something, anything. He had been waiting for news, even old news.

  “I’m going to move closer to you now,” Doctor Han whispered. “So don’t be startled.” He flicked his eyes toward the camera, silently warning him.

  Big sister is watching, Taeha thought.

  Doctor Han opened his white coat slightly and pulled out a letter from an inner pocket.

  “Is that—” Taeha’s heart nearly dropped.

  “Oppa, no!” Jiyeon yelled, punching Doctor Han’s shoulder. “The Lieutenant isn’t dead, this is just something he left for you, isn’t it?” She glanced at Doctor Han sharply.

  “Technically, he did tell me to give this to you if something happened to him.” Doctor Han looked at Taeha, his expression serious. “I think reading it might help you make some important decisions. Decisions you won’t be allowed to make much longer.”

  “You figured it out, didn’t you?” Taeha laughed, knowing he hadn’t even really tried to hide it, not from him.

  “It took me a while, but yeah.” Yoonseo’s eyes lingered on him. “I would’ve hidden it too, if I were you.” His frows furrowed.

  “I’m still hiding it,” Taeha muttered. “So don’t go tattling to your sister about me.”

  “Taeha,” Doctor Han said sharply, his expression almost furious. “What I’m about to say, you need to take it very seriously. Whatever happens, you can never let my sister find out about it.”

  Even without words they all knew something was happening within the Association, and Han Yoonseo was tying to prevent it.

  “You’re not exactly going into detail,” Taeha said, raising a brow. “So am I supposed to guess or what?”

  “All I can say for now is that if you want to protect yourself, and your family, you need to keep this under wraps.” Han Yoonseo sighed. “You want to keep this idiot alive too, right?” He pointed at Jiyeon.

  “Hey!” She punched his shoulder again, but Doctor Han only laughed quietly.

  “Anyway, he needs you. So try to make up your mind. I’ll send someone to check on you soon.”

  “Someone?”

  “Someone,” Doctor Han repeated.

  Taeha exhaled and turned to Jiyeon.

  “Try to keep this from mom, will you? I don’t want her to—”

  “I told him you’re on vacation,” she said with a shrug, as if it weren’t a big deal, though her hands were shaking. Taeha placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled.

  “You really are an idiot. When have I ever had a vacation?” He laughed, making Jiyeon blush with embarrassment.

  It hadn’t been fifteen minutes when the guard returned.

  “You need to go. I can’t keep you here any longer,” he said. “She’s probably watching you through the cameras as we speak.”

  “I guess the cameras don’t record sound,” Taeha smirked. “I knew they were broke.”

  Yoon Jiyeon rubbed her temples, not understanding how she was related to an idiot. Still, the two doctors didn’t argue and followed the guard out. Jiyeon glanced back until her brother was out of view.

  “So, you’re calling him then?” Jiyeon asked Yoonseo.

  “Do you have any better ideas?” Doctor Han lit another cigarette.

  “You really love torturing your sister. I won’t tattle on you, but I’m not good at keeping secrets from her, I—”

  “Then don’t see her, don’t talk to her, don’t contact her.” He snapped, “You just need to follow my plan, that’s it.”

  “But, she’s—“

  “Don’t trust her so easily,” he said firmly, almost gently. “I know you’re friends, but trust me on this one.”

  “I’m trying to, but—”

  “Jiyeon, look at me.” He stopped her after the first corner, the guard still listening. “If you want your brother safe, you need to listen to what I’m saying. You can’t trust her. No matter how good of a friend she’s been to you, she won’t stop herself from getting what she wants. She doesn’t care enough for anyone, to stop.”

  She’s already decided what to do with him.

  “Why won’t you tell me, then?” Jiyeon raised her voice.

  “Shh!”

  “If you tell me, I can help.” Her eyes softened.

  “I will. Later. There are too many moving parts right now.” Han Yoonseo started walking again. “We need to close this gate first.”

  Yoon Jiyeon had no idea what he had meant. Despite the age difference, she and Han Seri had always been inseparable. She trusted her more than anyone, but Seri’s own brother was warning her not to. When it came to choosing between her and Taeha, the choice was obvious, yet the situation unsettled her deeply.

  “Let the general deal with it, then.”

  “The northerners were never afraid to get their hands dirty.”

  “You’re talking to a northerner now,” Jiyeon snapped.

  “Then you know exactly what I mean,” Doctor Han smirked.

  Yoon Taeha held the letter tight against his chest. The thought of Kang Jeonhyun writing him a letter while preparing to die in the dungeon hit him harder than he had expected. He had written a will once too, not only that, but he had also written a letter to his family. Why was it that he had never understood the heaviness they must have felt each time he entered a gate? He finally began to comprehend the concern his mother had carried during that time.

  He lay back down on the bed, still holding the letter. Yoon Taeha felt as if opening it meant he’d die with it, even if there was still no information. Or if the information simply hadn’t reached him yet. It took him hours to gather the courage. He stared at his name written on the paper in messy handwriting, the same handwriting he had seen on the note left on Jeonhyun’s bedside table.

  Taeha opened the sealed letter slowly, his hand trembling. He brought his other hand to his mouth as the text stared back at him. He hadn’t read a single word yet, and still, the tears came.

  I started writing this letter with “Dear Taeha,” but I figured it would be something you’d cringe at and throw away before even reading the next paragraph.

  This is not supposed to be an emotional letter. But if something happened to me, I’d rather not have you hate me for abandoning you.

  Although, knowing Yoonseo, I’m fairly certain he gave you this already, without me even being dead yet.

  Everything that has happened between us has been messy. Too messy.

  Before I properly met you, I had a goal, and I lived for that alone. That was enough for me. Then you came into my life and tore through it anyway, breaking whatever walls I thought I had built, and you never really left my mind after that. Not for a single moment.

  Not letting you enter the red gate might have been an order from above. But the reason I didn’t tell you, and why I forbade the others from doing so, was to keep you safe. Something happened to you before. Something you never fully healed from. I couldn’t live with myself if you went through that again because of me.

  For what it’s worth, I’m glad I met you. That I got to know you. That I got to hold you.

  And I hope this isn’t the last thing I ever have to say to you, because you are my reason to come home.

  If Yoon Taeha’s heart hadn’t been broken before, it was now. He sat up, clutching the letter closer to him, staining it with his tears as it wrinkled in his hands. The tears wouldn’t stop, and breathing became difficult. Concealing emotions had never been his forte, but this time it was impossible. He wanted to scream.

  “This is so not ‘not emotional,’ you stupid, stubborn idiot,” he cried, rereading the last line over and over again.

  Come home to me.

  He wasn’t sure what decision Doctor Han wanted him to make, but if it was anything that could ensure Kang Jeonhyun survived the gate, he would do it.

  I won’t let this be the last thing he ever says to me.

  He crawled out of bed, and just like that, out of nowhere, a distortion of purple pixels tore into the room. The mass materialized rapidly, slamming into him and throwing him onto his back.

  “What the fu—” Taeha’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Si-woo!”

  “Good to see you, Lieutenant,” General Lee said, reaching a hand toward the teary omega sprawled on the floor.

  Taeha didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the man and hugged him instinctively, before he could think better of it.

  “How did you know—” Taeha paused, then let out a shaky laugh. “Nice one, Doc.”

  Lee Si-woo didn’t respond right away. Instead, he glanced toward the glass door, as if waiting for someone. And that someone came running.

  The guard who had escorted Taeha to his cell unlocked the door, sweaty and out of breath. This time, Taeha really looked at him, and suddenly, he felt a strange familiarity.

  “Gi-tae,” Si-woo said sharply. “I told you to be quick on your feet.”

  “Sorry for not being able to teleport, asshole,” the man snapped back. Then he turned to Taeha with a smirk. “I’m a great actor, right?”

  “Ahh… sure,” Taeha said, not knowing how to react.

  “Oh, sorry,” the man laughed. “I didn’t even introduce myself. Sergeant Kwon Gi-tae, at your service. Or something like that.”

  “First Lieutenant Yoon Taeha,” Taeha replied automatically, straightening out of habit. He shook his head, then turned back to Si-woo. “I’m sorry. I’m confused. You had no qualities. You said—”

  “We don’t have time to explain,” Si-woo interrupted him. He stepped closer and grabbed Taeha by the waist, pulling him in. “You just need to hold on to me. We’re getting you out of here.”

  Kwon Gi-tae grabbed hold of Lee Si-woo. And in a matter of seconds, they evaporated into a mass of purple pixels.