Chapter 8: The Scar of an X

Boom, boom!

Huh…? Why did the door… fall off…?

I did kick it a little hard, but the rusted gate completely fell off with a loud crash.

The sound startled even me, the one who kicked it.

It didn’t feel like I kicked that hard though….

“You bastard? Me? Who the hell are you, breaking someone’s gate?!”

Well… I’m sorry.

I came in all bold and heroic, but causing an accident at the entrance made me freeze.

At least I succeeded in diverting the brute’s attention from the child he was trampling.

The man left the kid behind and stomped toward me.

“S-So why were you hitting the kid… Wait a sec…!”

Then I remembered something I’d forgotten.

Right now, I wasn’t an esper — just a seventeen-year-old boy with a weak, paper-doll body that struggled even climbing hills.

I realized that when the brute grabbed me by the collar and lifted me into the air.

What kind of monster strength is this?

No matter how much I struggled, I couldn’t shake off his massive hand.

And this guy… he was huge — bigger than the average man, with a face so vicious he could’ve passed for a beast from a gate.

Wait a minute.

I used to slay monsters — and now I’m scared of a drunkard like this?

That’s… kind of embarrassing.

“You picked the wrong day, punk. I was already pissed off, and now you broke my gate — so I’ll break your damn skull too!”

Every time he opened his mouth, the stench of rotten alcohol filled the air.

I didn’t even get the chance to say something rational like “Why are you hitting a kid?” or “Stop before I call the cops.”

His massive hand — the size of a pot lid — lifted high over his shoulder.

If that hand came down on my face, it’d probably snap my neck.

So I couldn’t just stand there and take it.

Time to use a secret move.

Thud!

That was a strong impact sound.

Of course, it wasn’t my face being hit — it was his… groin.

“Ah— Aaargh!”

I may have lost my strength, but I hadn’t forgotten how to fight.

The skills I’d built up fighting monsters were still in my head.

If you can’t win with strength, aim for the vital spots — that’s always a solid strategy.

And no, it doesn’t mean I used to crush monster balls for a living.

Thankfully, my knee must’ve hit dead on, because the brute screamed in agony and released his grip, collapsing to the ground.

Without wasting a second, I dashed toward the child.

“Kid, run!”

I grabbed the boy’s wrist, picked up the shopping bag I’d left by the gate, and bolted.

No matter how urgent, I couldn’t abandon 180,000 won worth of groceries.

“You little bastard! Get back here! If I catch you, I’ll tear you apart limb by limb!”

Yikes, terrifying.

Humans really are scarier than monsters.

Who would go back after hearing something like that?

I ran faster, spurred by his murderous voice echoing behind me.

“Wait… huff… hyung… wait a bit….”

Oh, right.

I forgot.

I’d been running like mad, and the gasping voice behind me made me stop.

At least we made it safely to the first floor of my building.

The kid was panting heavily, looking like he’d collapse any moment.

“Hah… we’re here. Just have to go up now… want me to carry you?”

“N-no… I’m fine….”

What’s with this kid…?

I offered half-jokingly, but he pressed his body against my back and wrapped his arms around my neck.

I didn’t mean it literally, but… damn, this is awkward.

Kids these days — bold as ever.

With no choice, I lifted him onto my back, grabbed the shopping bag, and started climbing the stairs.

“I-it’s heavy, right…?”

Honestly, I thought he’d be heavy.

My stamina’s terrible after all.

But I was wrong.

The kid was strangely light — so light that the shopping bag felt heavier in comparison.

“It’s fine. Just hold on tight.”

That said, it wasn’t easy.

Sweat dripped down my face with every step up.

Even so, I couldn’t tell him to get down and walk.

The small arms around my neck were trembling in fear.

“…Thank… hic… you….”

His voice against my back was fading and blurred.

“Be quiet. Talking makes you heavier.”

Maybe this kid didn’t need legs to walk — maybe he just needed a back to hide behind.

A place where it was okay to cry.

What am I supposed to do with this pathetic stamina?

All I did was carry a child up to the third floor, and my vision went yellow.

I didn’t even make it inside before sitting on the porch bench, gulping down a drinking yogurt like an emergency transfusion.

After a while, when my vision cleared, I finally went inside — only to find the boy hesitating at the doorway, unwilling to enter.

“It’s okay. Come in.”

He stood there with his head hung low, as if he’d done something wrong.

Was he embarrassed by my shabby place?

No — compared to his house earlier, this was practically a palace.

After a long hesitation, he finally stepped inside.

“Sit in the living room for a bit. I’ll be right back.”

Nod, nod.

He nodded faintly and sat on the floor.

I went into my small room, rummaged through drawers for ointment, and made a wet towel in the bathroom before coming back.

“Hey, look at me.”

In the light, his condition looked even worse.

One cheek was scraped, bleeding slightly.

His forehead was split somewhere, a steady stream of blood trickling past his eyebrow.

And his T-shirt — covered in dirt and footprints.

“Take off your shirt.”

“…D-do I have to…?”

“I can’t clean you up if you don’t. I need to see if you’re hurt.”

The kid hesitated for a while, clutching the hem of his shirt.

I was about to say he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, when suddenly he pulled it off completely.

And then I froze.

There was a reason he’d felt so light when I carried him.

He was all bones and skin.

But that wasn’t the worst part — his body was covered in scars.

Bruises blue and red, old and new, scattered all over him.

These weren’t marks from a single beating.

They were layers of violence built up over years.

That bastard.

That animal.

No — even calling him that insults dogs and beasts.

How could a father do this to his own child?

“…Should I… put it back on…?”

“Huh?”

“Because it looks ugly… right?”

Why… why would he say something like that?

Has he shown these scars to someone before?

And when he did, did they tell him that?

“Because it looks ugly, cover it up”?

“Who… said that to you?”

Nod.

His small head barely moved, but it was enough.

I wish I hadn’t asked.

Seeing him nod to that question made it feel like I’d just reopened a wound he’d tried to forget.

“Not at all. Keep your head up. Let’s treat your injuries first.”

I had no idea how to handle a kid like this.

So instead of clumsy words of comfort, I quietly began cleaning his wounds with the wet towel.

At least I had experience.

I’d treated my wounded comrades in gates before — I knew how to handle this.

These wounds were nothing compared to those, but they still weighed on me.

Thankfully, none of them were too serious.

His forehead was split a bit, but the bleeding had already stopped.

The cheek wound would fade with time.

“Wow, seeing you like this… you’re actually really handsome.”

I tried to lighten the silence with a joke, but he stayed strangely quiet.

“…I said… you’re handsome, you know?”

“…Yes….”

He only gave a small nod, eyes on me.

What the— does he know he’s handsome?

That’d be annoying…!

All the handsome ones should just disappear, seriously.

“I’ll wash your clothes later, so wear mine for now. I’ve got some old ones that might fit.”

Fifteen years ago… or rather, a few years ago now, I’d still had some clothes left over.

None would fit perfectly, but I found a T-shirt that looked close enough and helped him into it.

The sleeves hung a palm’s length too long, and the shoulders drooped down his arms.

I was fixing his messy hair when I noticed something.

“Huh…? Wait a second…. What’s that…?”

On the other side of his forehead — the side without the cut — something faint peeked through his bangs.

My heart started pounding before I even looked closely.

Carefully, I brushed his hair aside.

And when I saw it, my thoughts froze.

“…When did you get this scar?”

“Uh… a long time ago… my dad….”

It was a scar.

A cross-shaped scar — an X.

Unfamiliar yet hauntingly familiar.

The same X-shaped scar that had been on the forehead of the one who killed me.