Chapter 59: The Snow White Project

In the Demon Realm, I never paid attention to such trivial details, having been accustomed to indiscriminately smashing heads. Yet, from their standpoint, there couldn’t have been a more perfect candidate.

Sagyeol seized the opportune moment, dangling his bait.

“Take my hand,” he offered. “Then I shall lead you directly to Lee Myeong-hwan’s corpse.”

His tone referred to another, not to ‘Father.’ Would it be madness to be swayed by such a choice of words?

Perhaps, though, I was merely searching for an excuse. A justification to persuade myself to accept his proposition.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Yeowon inquired.

“Why?”

‘Why were you so determined to reach the heart of the flood?’

A slight twitch played on Sagyeol’s lips. He perceived her words as a sign of genuine interest; after all, curiosity was a form of attention. As a faint pleasure bloomed within him, Yeowon pressed on.

“Is it a reason you cannot divulge?”

“Not at all,” he replied. “I simply hadn’t realized, as no one had ever asked before. Hmm, I suppose it’s a reason I find slightly embarrassing to articulate myself.”

He shrugged his shoulders with a sly nonchalance, yet Yeowon remained unconvinced. Sagyeol’s gaze, she noted, was profoundly serious.

“There’s a promise I cannot uphold unless I reach the heart of the flood. And I am utterly determined to keep that promise, even if it costs me my life.”

“Is that truly all?”

Sagyeol nodded.

“Indeed.”

Could this man truly be driven to such lengths by a mere promise, not even a binding contract? It defied all reason, yet she found herself unable to disbelieve him. Sagyeol’s earnestness remained unwavering, and at last, Yeowon made her decision.

“Do not lay a hand on Dongjun. Include that as a condition.”

“That damned bastard must have treated you exceptionally well for two whole years,” Sagyeol muttered.

Lee Hyun-su shot Sagyeol a sharp glance, then subtly observed Yeowon’s reaction. Yeowon, however, absorbed the words with an air of complete indifference.

“He did,” she affirmed. “He treated me quite well.”

Sagyeol’s expression hardened.

“Therefore, if I tell you not to touch him, then do not.”

Lee Hyun-su grew frantic, sending Sagyeol a desperate, pleading glance.

[Please, just stay still.]

[I know without you saying a word!]

[That’s not the expression of someone who knows, sir.]

[Shut up!]

A series of utterly unproductive, unspoken exchanges passed between them. Meanwhile, Lee Hyun-su, having produced a fountain pen from his breast pocket, swiftly added a special clause to the contract.

“Finally, one more thing.”

“What more could there possibly be?!” Sagyeol exclaimed, a hint of irritation in his voice.

Sagyeol’s patience frayed slightly. Yeowon, however, remained utterly unperturbed, speaking with a calm, distinctly serious tone.

“Once the contractual terms for both parties are fulfilled—”

—when both of us have achieved our objectives.

“—do not interfere in my life ever again. This is my final condition.”

Sagyeol was utterly flabbergasted. By this point, stubbornness had superseded his anger. The familiar, languid smile curved his lips as the most insidious serpent of Grisha thought to himself:

[By the time this contract concludes, I’ll have you begging to retract that final clause with your own lips.]

“So be it,” he agreed.

Lee Hyun-su was the most astonished when Sagyeol, whom he had expected to overturn everything, readily agreed. He cast a wary glance at his superior. Sagyeol, coiled on the sofa, gestured with a menacing expression—a clear signal demanding, ‘Why aren’t you writing that down faster?’

Before his superior could change his mind, Lee Hyun-su swiftly appended the final clause.

“Sign,” Sagyeol instructed.

After verifying the special provisions, Yeowon inscribed his name without a moment’s hesitation. As the contract was finalized, a faint glow momentarily emanated from the paper before vanishing. This was no ordinary document; it was a special contract infused with magical power.

Yeowon took his half of the contract, tucking it securely into his pocket, while Sagyeol’s gaze remained fixed on the signature line.

“Now, you’re mine,” Sagyeol declared.

‘I recall no such clause in the agreement.’ Yeowon felt a surge of bewilderment, yet he skillfully concealed it. After a prolonged moment, during which Sagyeol seemed unable to tear his eyes from the document, he finally passed the paper to Lee Hyun-su.

“Right then,” Sagyeol announced, rising from the sofa. “Let’s begin with some shopping.”

He gestured with his chin towards Yeowon.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Am I to accompany you?”

“We’re going to buy *your* things, of course you are.”

Yeowon’s expression alone posed the question: ‘Why are *you* buying my things?’ Sagyeol merely ignored him.

“Ah, yes, that’s right,” he added, as if suddenly remembering.

Instead, he spoke as if an important detail had just occurred to him.

“I am not Lee Myeong-hwan’s son.”

His tone was not merely refreshing; it was almost invigorating. In sheer astonishment, Yeowon’s lips parted slightly.

“Wait,” Yeowon stammered. “What do you mean by—”

“The elevator’s here.”

“Hold on, properly explai—”

“Oh, oh. The door. It’s closing.”

Even after they settled into the sedan, Yeowon’s persistent questioning continued. Sagyeol, who had intended to explain from the outset, found himself playfully prolonging the answer, simply charmed by Yeowon’s fresh display of eagerness.

“If you hold my hand, I’ll tell you,” Sagyeol teased.

Without a second thought, Yeowon took his hand.

“Intertwine our fingers too.”

Fingers delved into the spaces between fingers, intertwining tightly. Sagyeol couldn’t help but laugh. In the front seat, Lee Hyun-su, naturally positioned there as the third large man, found himself fervently wishing to avoid accidentally witnessing whatever transpired behind him.

“Where should I even begin?” Sagyeol mused aloud, a passing thought.

He let out a contemplative “Hmm,” then spoke as if an afterthought.

“My mother is a Returnee.”

Yeowon froze instantly. This revelation struck him with as much force as the confession that Sagyeol was not Lee Myeong-hwan’s biological son.

The man chuckled faintly, then began to unveil a story that had long been shrouded in secrecy.

Lee Myeong-hwan had a biological son afflicted with mana addiction. The man, who typically seemed capable of ruthlessly discarding anything he deemed useless, evidently harbored a deep-seated attachment to his own bloodline. Consequently, he spared no expense or effort in seeking a cure.

“More precisely, he couldn’t tolerate the ‘defect’ in a child who carried his blood. He firmly believed mana addiction was a weakness, a disease. It was around the time it became widely known that enduring exposure to demonic energy or magic could transform one into a Hunter.”

Time drifted by without any notable breakthroughs. Ultimately, the last resort he turned to was, surprisingly, a Returnee.

Sagyeol lifted their intertwined hands, pressing a kiss to the back of Yeowon’s. This tender gesture, so utterly at odds with the gravity of the tale, only served to heighten the sense of incongruity.

“The plan was to transplant a Returnee’s heart into his son. A Returnee’s heart is, in itself, a formidable magical organ, supposedly simple to transplant if only a few specific conditions were met.”

Fortunately for Sagyeol’s mother and him, but tragically for Lee Myeong-hwan, she failed to meet those stringent conditions. Lee Myeong-hwan’s relentless focus then shifted elsewhere.

“When my mother proved unsuitable, his gaze immediately fell upon me instead.”

He added that his adoption had occurred at that very time. A chilling sensation spread through Yeowon’s chest.

“While I couldn’t compare to a true Returnee, I had inherited some of their traits. My resistance to demonic energy, for instance, was notably high…”

“The researchers were skeptical, but Lee Myeong-hwan was never one to heed such reservations. He was the sort of man who would grasp at any straw once truly desperate. My mother, it seems, understood this perfectly. So, she was the one who first proposed it: the Snow White Project.”

The objective was singular: to artificially cultivate the heart required for Lee Myeong-hwan’s biological son. Thus, Project Snow White was born.

There would be no hunters to deliver the heart. Instead, Lee Myeong-hwan meticulously designed the project to ensure countless Snow Whites would come to him of their own accord.

“You must survive, and then seek out the Three Crescent Moons of Grisha.”

The revelation struck him like a blow to the back of the head. Reflecting on it, he found it peculiar. Would someone orchestrating such a scheme typically reveal their identity so openly? It seemed tantamount to inviting future repercussions. Yet, Lee Myeong-hwan had done precisely that.

[This was the reason.]

The catalyst, whatever it might have been, was irrelevant. Questions? They didn’t matter. Revenge? That was acceptable too. After all, there were no hunters involved. Lee Myeong-hwan’s grand design extended only to forcibly seizing the heart of a Snow White who arrived of her own volition.

Had the man still been alive, it was highly probable that events would have unfolded precisely as he intended up to this very moment. Yeowon slowly unclasped his hand, which he had clenched so tightly that the blood flow had been restricted.

“While I am not of Lee Myeong-hwan’s blood, I cannot claim perfect innocence in your eyes either. After all, my mother prolonged her life by cooperating with that project.”

With those words, the hidden truths were finally laid bare. Sagyeol offered no further commentary, placing the entirety of the judgment squarely in Yeowon’s hands.

“Whatever your decision, I will accept it.”

Outside, the sun had already dipped below the horizon. As evening bled into night, streetlights began to flicker on, one by one, and the vibrant city lights swept across Sagyeol’s contemplative face.

Yeowon considered his words for a long, silent moment. Then, his lips, which had seemed destined to remain sealed forever, slowly parted.

“What became of Lee Myeong-hwan’s biological son?”

Perhaps caught off guard by the unexpected question, Sagyeol hesitated briefly before answering.

“He was at the mansion during the disaster. He must have perished.”

“And your mother?”

“…Most likely.”

‘Most likely, she did.’ His softly added words were utterly devoid of emotion. It was precisely that detachment which allowed Yeowon to understand.

“Is your obsession with the flood due to your mother?”

“Yes,” Sagyeol affirmed.

Sagyeol readily admitted it.

“Everyone assumes I’m driven by a sense of mission, a hero complex, or some other noble cause to quell the flood,” he explained. “But the truth is, I simply don’t want to leave my mother in that damned mansion, not even in death.”

The words that followed were akin to a sudden, raw confession.

“A trivial, deeply personal reason, really.”

“Do not speak of it that way, when you clearly do not believe it yourself.”

Sagyeol’s lips pressed together. A belated thought struck Yeowon: his words might have sounded accusatory. He winced internally but did not retract his statement.

He felt a surge of anger. The phrase ‘trivial reason’ felt like a judgment leveled at Sagyeol himself.

“Isn’t worth determined by others, not by oneself?”

“What about deceiving people?”

“You mean those people who would have died if not for the flood’s magic stones?”

Yeowon’s wide, icy eyes met Sagyeol’s gentle void.

No more words were exchanged. Silence descended once more. Yet, this grey stillness, now devoid of sharp fragments and chilling cold, felt strangely comforting.

The void, its thoughts inscrutable, turned its gaze beyond the car window. The dazzling city lights shimmered, but he was looking at something else entirely. Somewhere far away. A past unknown to Sagyeol.

“That’s a lie.”

A hand shot out, gripping Yeowon’s arm. The pressure was neither strong nor weak—a grip that yearned to tighten but refrained, holding back. Feeling this, a small ripple stirred in Yeowon’s heart. He asked,

“What is?”

“Not the things I told you. The part where I said I’d accept whatever you decided.”

Sagyeol smiled bitterly.

“I probably won’t be able to.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll beg.”

The gripped arm tightened. Long, knotty fingers entwined around his arm like errant vines.

“I’ll plead with you to reconsider. I’ll insist that my share in your misfortune is small, and I’ll make irresponsible promises to compensate you with future time. I know better than anyone that the past cannot be changed, nor can it be truly compensated for. Yet, those are the only words I’ll be able to utter.”

Sagyeol could not hide his fear. It was like an ancient condemned prisoner, knowing the cliff lay ahead, yet still stepping forward, a spear piercing his back. Vast despair and terror flickered in his eyes.

Yeowon was seized by a peculiar sensation. In a way, Sagyeol was a survivor owing to his own sacrifice, yet this fact felt both deeply cherished and, paradoxically, rather welcome. It was a relief tinged with a certain low-grade satisfaction.

In his inner world, long since devastated, Yeowon had been a lighthouse in a boundless ocean. The sea was utterly black, and there were no blind ships. His golden light reached nowhere.

Having weathered such harsh waves for ages, Sagyeol was finally another lighthouse that had appeared. Their lights, with each rotation, illuminated one another.

“Only you can save me.”

It was only then that Yeowon belatedly realized it had been utterly inevitable that he couldn’t push away the man who had leaned his weight against him.