Màu nền Màu tối Mặc định Xám nhạt Xanh nhạt Xanh đậm Vàng nhạt Màu sepia Vàng đậm Vàng ố

Font chữ: Palatino Linotype Bookerly Segoe UI Patrick Hand Times New Roman Verdana Tahoma Arial

Chiều cao dòng: 100 120 140 160 180 200

Kích cỡ chữ:

It didn't take long for Jae-woo to crumble under the weight of Minhoo's words. Each sentence felt like a bullet piercing his heart, tearing through him with brutal precision. Jae-woo felt raw and exposed, as if an invisible hand were stripping away the layers of indifference and nonchalance he had carefully constructed.

He clung to the doorframe, his knuckles turning white, as though it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide the pain.

"Please..." he whispered, his voice trembling. "Just... shut up..."

But Minhoo's relentless words pushed him past his breaking point. "Shut UP!" Jae-woo finally shouted, his voice breaking and echoing with the weight of years of suppressed emotions.

Minhoo halted, his gaze remaining impassive, as if he were a program rather than a human being.

The silence that followed Jae-woo's outburst was thick with tension. He stood there, breathing heavily, his body rigid, and his mind a storm of confusion, anger, and pain. His grip on the doorframe had left his hands trembling, and without the mask of apathy and coldness, he was defenseless in front of the white-haired man.

Unable to face Minhoo, Jae-woo dropped his gaze to the floor, avoiding the piercing stare that seemed to see straight through him, peeling away his last remaining of his fragile pretense.

The silence dragged on for what felt like an eternity, each second stretching longer than the last. Jae-woo's breathing slowly steadied, but beneath that calm surface, a storm of emotions raged. He felt laid bare, as if all his scars and traumas were on display for Minhoo to scrutinize.

Why Minhoo had shown up in the middle of the night and pushed him to the edge was beyond Jae-woo. But one thing was clear—he was at his breaking point.

"What... what do you want... from me?" he asked after a long, strained silence, his voice barely more than a whisper.

He hated how weak he sounded, how exposed he felt. The weight of his memories, pain, and guilt bore down on him, almost suffocating.

Jae-woo struggled to pull himself together, but each of Minhoo's words seemed to tear open old wounds, leaving him more raw than before.

"I told you, didn't I?" Minhoo's voice remained unnervingly calm, a stark contrast to Jae-woo's turmoil. "I want your help with the second S-rank dungeon, the Banshee."

This wasn't their first encounter over this issue. A few days ago, Minhoo had come to Jae-woo's door asking for help with the second dungeon. Jae-woo had turned him down immediately, and when Minhoo tried again the next day, the answer was the same.

Minhoo, undeterred, had taken drastic measures. First, he invaded Jae-woo's dreams to dredge up old traumas. Then, he pushed him further by confronting him in person. And now, here they were.

The mention of the second S-rank dungeon yanked Jae-woo out of his spiraling thoughts. His chaotic mind struggled to latch onto Minhoo's words.

"You come here... in the middle of the night... just because of that?" Jae-woo huffed, each word coming out in short, labored breaths. Despite the turmoil inside, he couldn't help but let out a scoff. "You still haven't given up, huh?"

He leaned back against the doorframe, trying to mask his inner chaos with a semblance of composure. His eyes narrowed. "You think... after all this, I'd just... agree?"

"You should," Minhoo said bluntly, his expression unchanged. He stared at Jae-woo with a steady gaze. The flickering hallway light only added to the surreal atmosphere. "Or I'll keep coming back, again and again. You can run, sure, but I'll track you down. We're both S-rank, after all. It shouldn't be that hard."

Jae-woo was on the verge of laughing, the absurdity of the situation almost too much to handle. He shoved himself away from the doorframe, standing up straight, every muscle in his body tense, his hands clenching into fists without him even realizing.

"You're unbelievable," he spat, his voice taut with frustration. He took a step forward, his entire demeanor radiating anger. "You think you can just stroll in here, screw with my mind, play your little games, and then expect me to... what? Go along with it like some puppet?"

As he spoke, the hurt and fury bubbled up, spilling over. His mind was a chaotic mess, still reeling from the emotional assault. The fact that Minhoo remained utterly unfazed only made it worse. It was like talking to a brick wall—a freaking cold, unfeeling brick wall.

Minhoo tilted his head slightly, his expression as impassive as ever. "I don't mind, as long as I get what I want. The real question is, how long can you keep this up?"

Jae-woo bristled at the cold indifference in Minhoo's tone. His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching so tightly the muscles in his neck stood out like cords.

"You really don't get it, do you?" he snapped, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip. He took another step forward, closing the gap between them. "You just want to see me breaking down under your little tactic, huh?"

Despite the defiance in his voice, Jae-woo knew he was nearing his breaking point. The cracks in his mental armor were becoming more and more apparent.

He couldn't bring himself to meet Minhoo's gaze, his eyes darting to the side as he ran a trembling hand through his hair, trying—and failing—to keep his growing panic under control.

"Correct," Minhoo replied, his voice flat, his eyes never leaving Jae-woo's.

That single word hit Jae-woo like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs. He stood there, stunned, the simple, brutal honesty of Minhoo's answer echoing in his mind. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a painful reminder of how far this had gone.

Minhoo's bluntness was like a slap to the face, leaving Jae-woo reeling. He shouldn't have expected anything else, but it still hurt to hear it so plainly. The realization that Minhoo was serious, that he was genuinely trying to break him, made fear and anger twist in his stomach.

"Damn you..." he hissed, the curse dripping with both anger and pain.

He began pacing around the narrow hallway, each step a desperate attempt to burn off the pent-up energy surging through him. But every time he turned to face Minhoo, that steady, emotionless gaze bore into him, making him feel even more exposed and vulnerable.

Minhoo stood there in silence, rooted to the spot like some emotionless statue at Jae-woo's doorstep. It was almost a routine by now—the uninvited visits, the little mind games, the cold and brutal honesty. The white-haired man was waiting for an answer, and Jae-woo knew it.

Jae-woo continued pacing back and forth like a deer lost its head, his thoughts a chaotic mess of anger and fear. His eyes were wild, his hands clenching and unclenching uselessly at his sides. The trembling in his limbs betrayed the inner turmoil he was desperately trying to keep blanket.

The idea of being 'broken' by anyone, let alone by Minhoo, was unbearable. He'd built walls around himself—tall, unyielding, meant to keep the past at bay. Yet here was Minhoo, chipping away at them as if it were child's play, using nothing more than a few blunt and merciless words.

"Damn you," Jae-woo muttered again, his voice cracking further under the strain. He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to wipe off the shaking that had become all too noticeable. The scar across his left eye added a sensation that helped nothing to soothe his tremors.

"Y-You think you can just waltz in here like nothing matters and then ask for something like that?" The words came out in a strangled hiss, as if they were being dragged from his throat against his will. "Like I'm, what, some goddamn tool you can use and toss aside when you're done?"

His anger flared, the heat of it rising in his chest until it forced his voice up another octave. "Like hell I'm gonna agree to that!"

He was practically panting now, his chest rising and falling with the attempt to keep his emotions in check. But deep down, he felt trapped, cornered, and—worst of all—helpless.

Minhoo didn't flinch, didn't so much as blink. He remained calm, eerily so, as he watched Jae-woo's grip tighten on the doorframe, which was now crumbling under the pressure.

"No, you're not a tool," Minhoo stated evenly. "You're one of only eight S-ranks in the entire world. Your ability and experience are being wasted now that you've retired."

He continued, his voice as steady as ever. "I'm not treating you like a tool nor a puppet. I'm just making the most of all available resources to raid the second S-rank dungeon and save the world."

Jae-woo wanted to scream, to punch something—anything to silence that maddeningly calm voice. But he couldn't ignore the truth in Minhoo's words. Ever since he'd retired, he'd been letting his skills being unused, wallowing in self-pity, and hiding from the world. And now, here was a chance—no, a threatening demand—to put those skills to use again. Not just for anything, but to save the world like he once had used to do.

Jae-woo froze, his fingers digging even deeper into the beyond-damaged doorframe, cracking the wood under his grip. Minhoo's words echoed in his mind, each one like a knife twisting deeper into the guilt he'd tried so hard to bury. The reality was harsh, but it was undeniable. If this S-rank dungeon, the Banshee, broke open, the consequences would be unimaginable. The memories of the Great Breached era were more than enough the evidence of how much suffering and desperation the Banshee could bring.

But admitting that Minhoo was right? That was a different kind of pain altogether.

But reality had a way of sinking its teeth in and refusing to let go.

Jae-woo's hand slowly released the ruined doorframe, falling limply to his side. The anger that had surged through him moments before drained away abruptly, leaving him a never-ending exhaustion. Resignation settled in like a heavy weight on his shoulders. "You... You just don't get it," he said, his voice weak as he shook his head.

A bitter smile twisted his lips, a sharp contrast to the pain in his eyes. "You have no idea what it's like. What it does to a person—to—." His voice broke, barely a whisper, thick with emotion. And came a long pause.

"No."

The word came out sharper than he intended, and with a suddenness that surprised even himself, Jae-woo slammed the door shut. The sound echoed down the empty corridor—a final—reflecting from afar thud that seemed to underline his refusal. He leaned heavily against the door once again, pressing his palm against the solid surface, as if trying to steady himself.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring blankly at the door, as if it were the embodiment of all his problems. Inside, his mind was a storm of emotions—anger clashing with helplessness and the crushing weight of defeat. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one more labored than the last, as if the very act of breathing was too much to bear.

He had just turned down the one chance that might save the world—and, perhaps, himself. The realization hit him hard, a punch to the gut that left him reeling. The weight of that decision seemed to press down on him, making him feel like everything he do would always be wrong no matter what.

Jae-woo sank to his knees, his body folding in on itself as despair washed over him. His head hung low, and he gripped his crimson hair as though holding on for his dear life. In that moment, he just felt utterly alone, the crushing burden of his past failures and losses bearing down on him like a whole goddamn mountain.

The door between him and Minhoo was a flimsy barrier, doing nothing to keep out the demons he'd been battling for so long. He pressed his forehead against the door to prevent himself from falling further, his eyes squeezed shut almost too desperately. "I can't," he whispered, his voice barely audible, cracking under the weight of his own admission. "I can't do it again."

Silence fell like a heavy and dusty curtain. The only sound was Jae-woo's ragged breathing, echoing in the emptiness. It was as if the whole world had been paused by a controllers, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Then, there was a soft thump as something tap the door, followed by Minhoo's voice, low and steady from the other side. "You don't have much time, you know," he said, his tone—no need to mention repeatedly—was as calm as usual.

"Oh," the man added with a somewhat surprised tone that made Jae-woo wondering if this whole night incident was actually just another dream.

"It's a bit soon but, happy birthday, senior." Those casual words from Minhoo felt like a bucket full of ices pouring down on him, leaving him a sense of fear and... something else.

Even after the white-haired man's aura faded minutes ago, Jae-woo still didn't dare to move no finger. He just let himself sagging deeper and deeper, every bit of anger and energy drained from him, leaving him feeling nothing but nothing.

He knelt there for who know how long, lost in a mess of thoughts and emotions. But one phrase kept circling back, over and over, like a broken record—You don't have much time.

Those words repeated in his mind, feeding the gnawing sense of dread and despair pooling in his stomach, a reminder that no matter how much he wanted to shut the world out, all everything would he chasing back at him sooner or later.

For the next few days, Minhoo was no-show. No surprise visits, no blunt threats—nothing. It was as if the man had vanished into thin air. Fortunately, Minhoo wasn't the type to play dirty. If he wanted something, he'd go after it straight on, wasting no time for ineffective and time-wasting tactics.

At first, Jae-woo found the silence almost comforting. Without Minhoo lurking around, he could finally breathe. It was almost peaceful, like someone had turned off the background noise in his life.

But as the days stretched into weeks, started to feel a little too quiet. Every time the floor creaked or a light flickered, Jae-woo would jump like a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, half-expecting Minhoo to pop out from behind a corner. The constant edge he was on didn't seem to make sense, but there it was. Maybe he missed the danger, or maybe he was just bored out of his mind.

He kept telling himself it was good that the white-haired was now gone. No more mind games, no more of that silent pressure. Finally, some damn peace and quiet. But then, there was that tiny, irritating voice in his head that wouldn't shut up—Why hasn't he shown up?

Jae-woo tried to brush it off, told himself he didn't care. Of course, it was better this way. But the seed of doubt had already been planted, and that nagging thought wouldn't let go.

And then came the comparisons, creeping into his mind like an unwelcome guest. It was an obvious parallel, and it pissed him off more than anything else in his things-that-piss-me-off list.

Ethan. Just thinking the name was like ripping open an old wound. Memories he'd buried deep started clawing their way back to the surface, sharp and painful.

He didn't want to go there, didn't want to dredge up those days—his team, the betrayal, the whole damn mess. But there it was, uninvited.

Ethan and Minhoo. They were different, right?

Right?