Chapter 114: At the Edge of 3 A.M.

Son Seong-cheol had gone out of his way to say that he should act normal and not draw attention to himself, and Yu Hee-ro was not foolish enough to be ignorant of such basic advice.

Still, the human heart was not so easily controlled. Yu Hee-ro had already gone to the bathroom five times. Each visit amounted to nothing more than staring at his reflection, splashing a bit of water onto his already haggard, ruined face, and coming back out—yet he kept going in and out all the same.

He remembered clearly that Sung Ji-woo liked his face. His eyes, too.

But the hair that Yu Hee-ro’s ability had consumed no longer retained even a trace of its former warm brown—it was now pitch-black, like ink spilled and left to dry.

His once clear, shining eyes were the same: dulled, sunk into blackness, utterly lifeless. He looked like a corpse, or a grim reaper—anything but a living person.

The black coloring that adorned his face only made his pale complexion look even more bloodless. He looked so wretched that it wouldn’t have been strange if he had simply dropped dead.

Yu Hee-ro splashed cold water onto his face. Any lingering drowsiness had long since vanished, yet his mind still struggled to keep up with reality.

He wet his hands and pressed his long bangs down, deliberately covering his eyes.

He didn’t want Sung Ji-woo to see him like this.

*****

At the same time, Sung Ji-woo was forcing down the meal Park Su-jin had brought him.

At her remark that Yu Hee-ro would be horrified if he saw the four of them looking so emaciated, Sung Ji-woo swallowed food into his aching stomach without complaint.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d eaten a proper meal. In truth, he had no time to taste it. He chewed mechanically, giving all his attention to what Park Su-jin was saying.

“…We’re finally getting to meet him, and yet it feels bitter to ask for something like this.”

Sung Ji-woo knew exactly what Park Su-jin’s plan was. He also agreed with her long-held convictions—and understood that this was the only way to stop not just Yu Hee-ro, but countless future victims as well.

Still, what troubled him was that the method required Yu Hee-ro to keep sacrificing himself.

Even so, Sung Ji-woo had no choice. Once the next victim appeared, it would be too late. In fact, one could argue that it was already too late.

Yoo Ji-eun.

Sung Ji-woo repeated the three syllables of the name Park Su-jin had finally revealed, over and over in his mind.

Human beings were creatures that remained callously indifferent and irresponsible toward the affairs of others. But the moment those “others” became acquaintances, they would erupt in outrage, asking how something so cruel could have happened.

Wasn’t there a saying for that?

Watching a fire from across the river.

If he hadn’t known Yu Hee-ro, perhaps Sung Ji-woo himself would have stayed indifferent. Perhaps only after the incident had flared up and died down would he have added a token remark—Something that horrible happened? The world’s really gone to hell.

Even though what had happened could not be undone, and the dead could not be brought back.

No—he himself had already gone back once.

Did I really finish the quest? Did I actually accomplish the purpose of my regression?

He couldn’t be sure whether his interference had truly created a better outcome than before. Nor did he know what would have been better for Yu Hee-ro.

For a moment, Sung Ji-woo wondered whether that final end—where Yu Hee-ro cursed everything and ended it with his own hands—might have been what Yu Hee-ro had truly desired.

Peace. Love. Devotion.

Now, even what he should be striving for felt faint and unclear.

“I’ll talk to him first,” Sung Ji-woo said.

“Okay.”

Park Su-jin replied as if she’d been waiting for those words. Seeing her reaction, Sung Ji-woo bit down on his lower lip.

“After that, I’ll leave the choice up to Yu Hee-ro.”

“…Okay.”

Park Su-jin knew. She knew that the happy ending Yu Hee-ro envisioned and the happy ending she herself envisioned might be very different things.

Even so, the reason she still wanted to hope lay in Sung Ji-woo’s existence.

The person who had reached out a hand to Yu Hee-ro. The one who had done what no one else could.

Park Su-jin decided to place her faith in Sung Ji-woo’s innate kindness. If Yu Hee-ro had been touched by even a fraction of that light, she believed he would make a better choice.

Sung Ji-woo checked his belongings one last time: the invisibility potion Chae Min-jung had given him, the stealth artifacts and self-defense items Gam Ju-an had left behind—everything, carefully accounted for.

Only after confirming his route of entry did Sung Ji-woo leave the general store.

The night, draped in deep darkness, lay silent as if it knew nothing at all. Through that silence, Sung Ji-woo’s footsteps fell—neither hurried nor hesitant.

*****

Midnight.

After the recovery ward lights were completely turned off, Yu Hee-ro stilled his presence. Breathing evenly, he stared blankly at the window bathed in moonlight.

Feeling the passage of time with his entire body, Yu Hee-ro let a faint smile form.

Perhaps because the moon was so bright, there were very few stars.

1 a.m.

Sung Ji-woo drove down the road. He forced himself to ignore the unsettled feeling that rose when he spotted Yu Hee-ro’s car parked in the lot.

2 a.m.

Yu Hee-ro stood in front of the mirror one last time. Nothing had changed since before, yet he washed his hands in cold water for a long while.

2:30 a.m.

Sung Ji-woo arrived near his destination. He didn’t do something as foolish as parking near the research facility. It had taken him a long time to reach the institute, tucked away in a remote rural area.

The road, unlit by even a single streetlamp, wasn’t frightening so much as unsettling. It felt like a severed space, devoid of any trace of human presence.

In the distance, the massive research complex came into view. The square buildings spread across the heart of nature looked profoundly out of place.

The thought that this was where Yu Hee-ro had been born and raised stirred an indescribable feeling.

But soon, that thought shifted—to the place where Yu Hee-ro had been made, and imprisoned—and Sung Ji-woo quickened his steps.

Fixing his gaze on the scattered lights of the facility, Sung Ji-woo pulled a potion from his bag and swallowed it in one gulp. The pendant at his neck, which erased the sounds of his presence, swayed soundlessly.

2:40 a.m.

After safely passing all the intrusion sensors, Sung Ji-woo wandered briefly before reaching the area near the recovery ward. The sparsely lit corridor failed to cast even a shadow of him.

2:50 a.m.

Yu Hee-ro slipped out of the recovery ward. He tried slowing his pace on purpose, but his heart was beating far too fast for it to help.

Breathing itself was difficult, so he simply held it in. He didn’t encounter any researchers.

The walk to the lounge felt endlessly drawn out. In the end, Yu Hee-ro quickened his steps and arrived at the lounge in a flash.

Inside the empty lounge stood two large refrigerators, a sink, a counter, and several tables.

There was no one there.

Imagining the expression Sung Ji-woo might greet him with, Yu Hee-ro sat down in an empty seat at random.

And he couldn’t see Sung Ji-woo.

Just before 3 a.m.

There was no helping his growing anxiety. The ticking second hand of the clock on the wall sounded unbearably sharp and loud.

Tick. Tock.

“……”

Yu Hee-ro stared holes into the lounge door. But no one appeared beyond it.

Did that bastard lie to me after all?

He had never trusted Son Seong-cheol. He was an Association man, after all. And yet, the reason he’d walked so foolishly into this trap was simple—there had never been anything he could truly trust.

Even if that man spun the same lies again in the future, Yu Hee-ro would probably fall for them again and again, so long as there was even a 1% chance of meeting Sung Ji-woo.

At last, the minute hand passed 3.

“…Ah.”

Yu Hee-ro let out a small sigh.

At that moment, a warm presence settled onto his shoulder.

The sensation was foreign, utterly mismatched with the cold air of the lounge. Yu Hee-ro’s body stiffened as the shadows gathered in the corner of the room seemed to stir.

“It’s me.”

Before Yu Hee-ro could turn, Sung Ji-woo’s gentle voice reached his ears. This time, Yu Hee-ro froze for a different reason.

“…Hyung?”

As if unable to believe it, Yu Hee-ro searched for Sung Ji-woo. His voice trembled violently. Groping, he grabbed the hand gripping his shoulder.

“There’s CCTV here.”

“……”

“It doesn’t record audio. Still, it captures images, so it’s better if we don’t move too much.”

“……”

“You’ve probably noticed already—I’m not visible. I came decked out in all sorts of things so I wouldn’t be noticed.”

“Hyung… is it really you?”

Not being able to see him only made things more frightening. Yu Hee-ro clutched Sung Ji-woo’s unseen hand even tighter, as if it might vanish like a mirage.

“Yeah, Hee-ro.”

The moment the long-awaited voice called his name, how could he not collapse? Yu Hee-ro’s shoulders slumped forward. Bowing his head deeply, he let out a brief, broken sob.

Sung Ji-woo was right there in front of him—yet he couldn’t see him.

The longing he felt for Sung Ji-woo swelled uncontrollably, ballooning in size before he could stop it.

If he left it like this, it might burst with a loud pop.

“…Hyung, I don’t even know whether the voice I’m hearing right now is a hallucination or really you.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Yu Hee-ro felt a familiar hand gently stroking his hair. No words were needed—just that touch was proof enough that the person beside him was truly Sung Ji-woo.

“…I’m sorry.”

Sung Ji-woo’s apology scattered weakly, like a sigh.

There was no dramatic reunion. Only two people, burdened with countless things they wanted to say, chewing over the words they could not speak—an honest meeting, made of nothing but restraint.