The car ride had been… silent.
Cha-Jong stole glances at Akira every few minutes, but the young man never once met his eyes. He just sat there, arms crossed, gaze locked on the passing streets, his expression unreadable. Not a single word. Not even a sigh.
Cha-Jong felt the weight of that silence pressing against his chest, heavy and suffocating. The faint hum of the engine and the occasional flicker of streetlights through the windows did little to ease the tension. He clenched the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles whitening. "What can I even say? How do I fix this?"
By the time they reached the house, it was already late. The lights were still on, glowing softly through the windows like a beacon in the dark. The faint scent of jasmine from the garden wafted through the air as Cha-Jong parked the car.
"They waited for us," he realized, his chest tightening with guilt.
The moment the door opened—Thud. Thud. Thud.
Tiny feet hurried across the wooden floor.
"Nii-chan!"
Yuna practically flew at Akira, her small arms wrapping around his waist as she buried her tear-streaked face into him. Her sobs were muffled against his shirt, her tiny body trembling like a leaf in the wind.
"You made me so worried!" she cried, her voice breaking.
For the first time since leaving the dungeon, Akira's hardened expression softened. A small—barely noticeable—smile touched his lips. He lowered a hand, ruffling her hair gently, though his movements were stiff, as if his muscles were still coiled tight from the battle.
"…I'm sorry, Yuna," he said, his voice softer now. Warmer.
She hiccupped, gripping his shirt tighter. "You promised me, right? That you'd come back?"
"Yeah," Akira replied.
He crouched down, meeting her eyes. "And I kept my promise, didn't I?"
Yuna sniffled, nodding. "Mhm."
Behind them, Min-Ji stood with her arms crossed, her sharp eyes taking in Akira's torn clothes, the faint remnants of dried blood, and the armor still strapped to her husband. The faint scent of antiseptic from the first-aid kit lingered in the air, a reminder of the dangers they faced.
"You were in a dungeon, weren't you?" she asked, her voice laced with both worry and knowing.
Cha-Jong exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah."
Her eyes flickered back to Akira. "You need to shower," she said, her tone firm but not unkind. "I'll get you some clean clothes."
"It's fine," Akira replied, his voice flat. "I have more of the same kind."
Min-Ji clicked her tongue. "No, no. I know those are for dungeons. You're not in a dungeon now. Take these."
She handed him a neatly folded white short-sleeve t-shirt and black pants. There was no arguing with her. With a small nod, Akira took the clothes and walked into the bathroom.
The sound of running water soon filled the house, the steady hum a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air. Cha-Jong sat at the dining table, fingers tapping restlessly against the wooden surface. The faint creak of the chair beneath him echoed in the quiet room.
Min-Ji sat across from him, arms folded. "You look like a man who made a mistake," she said simply.
Cha-Jong ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "It's not that simple."
"It never is," she replied, her voice laced with something—understanding, maybe, but also disapproval. "He hasn't said a word to you, has he?"
Cha-Jong shook his head, his gaze dropping to his hands.
Min-Ji leaned back, her gaze flickering toward the hallway where the bathroom door was slightly ajar, steam curling into the air. "He's angry."
"I know."
"No," she corrected. "I think he's hurt."
Cha-Jong looked down at his hands, his chest tightening. "…I know."
Just then, the bathroom door opened. Footsteps. A few seconds later, Akira emerged. He had changed into the clothes Min-Ji had given him, his damp black hair slightly messy, clinging to his forehead. The faint scent of soap lingered around him, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of blood that had clung to him earlier.
Min-Ji let out a quiet sigh, squeezing Cha-Jong's shoulder before turning to Akira. "Get some rest," she said simply, before heading to bed.
Akira pulled out a chair and sat across from Cha-Jong, resting his arms on the table. His dark eyes met Cha-Jong's, sharp and unyielding.
And then—
A single question. A single bullet aimed straight at him.
"Why did you tell them to stop me at all costs, Cha-Jong?"
Silence. Heavy. Crushing.
Cha-Jong opened his mouth—then closed it."How do I explain this? How do I tell him I was terrified of what I saw in that double-dungeon?" The memory of Akira's eyes—empty, cold, inhuman—flashed in his mind.How was he supposed to answer that? How was he supposed to tell Akira the truth? That he was afraid. Not of him. But of what lurked inside him. What he had seen in that dungeon—the sheer power, the way the one who took control over Akira's body had slaughtered that vampire without a scratch—it wasn't normal. It wasn't human.He swallowed hard.
"Because you were losing yourself," he finally said, his voice low.
Akira's gaze didn't waver. "What does that mean?"
"You were too consumed by hatred," Cha-Jong said, leaning forward. "You wouldn't have stopped. Not even if it killed you."
"And?" Akira's voice was calm. Too calm. "Even if it killed me, it was my choice."
Cha-Jong exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling up. "You don't get it, do you?" He stared hard at Akira, his voice quieter now. "If you keep going like this… you're not going to recognize yourself one day."
For the first time, Akira's expression flickered. Just slightly.
Then—
A humorless chuckle escaped his lips. "You're wrong," he said. His dark eyes burned. "I recognize myself just fine."
Cha-Jong felt something twist inside him. "Akira…"
"You say I was losing myself," Akira murmured, his fingers tapping against the table. "But you knew exactly why I was there. You knew exactly why I had to do this."
Cha-Jong's jaw tightened. "You're right," he admitted. "I did know. And I still made that call."
"And you still betrayed me."
The words were like a dagger, sliding deep.
Cha-Jong inhaled sharply, his chest aching."Betrayed." The word echoed in his mind, sharp and unrelenting. He wanted to argue, to explain, but how could he? Akira wasn't wrong. He had betrayed him. He'd made the call to stop him, to prioritize his safety over his vengeance. But was that really betrayal? Or was it fear? Fear of losing him to the darkness that seemed to cling to him like a shadow.
"I did what I thought was right," Cha-Jong said finally, his voice strained.
"Yeah?" Akira leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "Then tell me, Cha-Jong—" His voice was sharp now. "If it were you… if it were your family… would you have let someone stop you?"
Cha-Jong froze. And in that silence—he had his answer. No. He wouldn't have. And Akira knew it.
"...That's different," he muttered, though the words felt hollow even to him.
Akira scoffed, standing up. "Of course it is." His voice was cold again. Detached. Just like in the car. Just like in the dungeon. And that—that hurt more than anything.
Cha-Jong swallowed, his throat tight. "Akira—"
"I'm tired," Akira cut him off, his voice quieter but firm. He turned slightly, his expression unreadable. "And I hope it doesn't happen again."
Cha-Jong clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of those words settle in his chest. "Let's talk tomorrow."
Akira turned to leave—but before he could take another step—
"Stay."
Akira stopped.
Cha-Jong exhaled, rubbing his temples before looking up at him. "Yuna's been waiting all night for you," he said. "If you leave now… she'll cry."
Silence.
Akira didn't move for a moment. His back was still turned, his posture stiff.
From the corner of the room, Yuna peeked out from behind the hallway door, her wide eyes filled with worry. She clutched the edge of the doorframe, her small frame trembling slightly. Cha-Jong noticed her but said nothing, letting the weight of her presence hang in the air.
Cha-Jong sighed. "Just for tonight, okay?" His voice was softer now. "You can leave in the morning if you want, but… stay for her."
A long pause. Then—a quiet breath. "Fine."
Cha-Jong blinked, surprised at how easily Akira agreed. But as Akira turned slightly, his face now visible, Cha-Jong realized—it wasn't for him.
Without another word, Akira walked toward the guest room, his footsteps quiet. Yuna lingered in the doorway for a moment, her eyes following him before she disappeared into the shadows of the hallway.
Cha-Jong sat there for a long moment, staring at the table. The faint hum of the shower had stopped, leaving the house in an eerie silence. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. "What have I done?" The question echoed in his mind, unanswered. He had tried to protect Akira, to pull him back from the edge. But in doing so, he'd pushed him further away.
Realizing—that no matter what he said—no matter how much he tried—something had already changed between them. And he wasn't sure if it could ever go back.