Chapter 18: The Swamp of the Underworld

Lee Doha lightly suggested making seaweed soup, but the concoction that emerged from such a process was, naturally, anything but. Fortunately, even he recognized this; its appearance bore no resemblance to seaweed soup whatsoever. They stood in silence, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

Images of culinary disasters he had once seen flashed through his mind: ‘Claymore Jjajang,’ ‘Twisted Underworld Fried Food,’ ‘Chickpea Bread from Hell.’ His own failed dish, an attempt to force it into becoming seaweed soup, seemed poised to rank among the top contenders. What should he even call this? Perhaps, ‘The Swampland to the Underworld’?

“Hwiram,” Siohan began, his gaze fixed on the bizarre creation as if he had never witnessed such a grotesque dish in his life. “Is ‘hangover food’… supposed to make you throw up?”

“…No.”

‘No… but it feels right now.’ The thought crossed Lee Doha’s mind that eating this would likely result in immediate vomiting. He began to chuckle, a bewildered sound. What on earth was this? The black, square, crispy bits he had so casually assumed were seaweed turned out not to be seaweed at all.

As the water boiled, they did not expand but instead grew increasingly limp, dissolving into a gooey mess. The half-cooked meat, tragically butchered by Lee Doha’s scissors, floated like tortured flesh. The shriveled bits he had mistaken for anchovies remained stubbornly hard, resembling larvae spawned from this hellish bog.

The food was utterly inedible, even for a king’s ransom. Just looking at it made his stomach churn. Born in South Korea, a nation that greets with rice, he couldn’t believe he possessed such inept hands. He had seen it made more than once and thought he could at least create something palatable by simply imitating the process.

Lee Doha, though somewhat shocked, quickly conceded. ‘I must never set foot in a kitchen again.’ He gestured towards the pot, and Siohan picked up a spoon. Before a question mark could even fully form in Lee Doha’s mind, Siohan dipped his spoon into the swamp of hell without a moment’s hesitation.

“Uh, uhh, uh…”

Lee Doha let out a startled sound. Siohan put a slimy, gooey, green substance into his mouth. Lee Doha’s eyes widened. ‘Ugh!’ He gasped silently, horrified.

“…Mm.”

Siohan groaned softly, his eyes closed and body perfectly still. The thought of the slippery, squishy, gooey meat mixed with unidentified, fine grains in his mouth made Lee Doha break out in a cold sweat.

“Hey… spit it out. Siohan, spit it out!” Lee Doha urged frantically.

But gulp—Siohan’s prominent Adam’s apple moved up and down his long, elegant neck. Startled and flustered, Lee Doha momentarily forgot the situation, captivated by Siohan’s throat. ‘Wait, this man’s bones are… No, this isn’t the time! Siohan just swallowed a spoonful of that swamp leading to the underworld!’

“Si-Siohan.” Lee Doha touched Siohan’s shoulder, then his back, unsure what to do. ‘Should I pat his back?’ But the thought of that food churning in his stomach was horrific. He feared a monster might burst from Siohan’s mouth at any moment. His own stomach churned in sympathy. ‘What should I do? Should he really throw up?’

Siohan slowly opened his eyes, with his characteristic deliberate movement. His golden irises were revealed like a rising sun. As always, he was beautiful, but his gaze lacked focus. “Siohan?” Lee Doha gently shook his shoulder. Siohan then spoke.

“…It’s delicious.”

They stood in silence. Though he spoke calmly, his voice trembled at the end, utterly devoid of conviction. Lee Doha was dumbfounded. He’d called Siohan crazy before, but this was a new level of madness.

“…Want another bite?” Lee Doha asked.

Siohan flinched, taking a small step back. He didn’t seem to realize he’d moved, forcing a smile. He was clearly choosing his words carefully. It was baffling why someone, especially the supreme emperor of a vast empire, would try to sugarcoat something so obviously inedible, a dish even its creator, Lee Doha, abhorred. It felt almost… ticklish.

“Khuh.”

Lee Doha, watching him in disbelief, finally burst into laughter. A small, balloon-like chuckle erupted spontaneously, then swelled to fill the entire kitchen. Every time he tried to calm down, just looking at Siohan’s face set him off again. Siohan’s expression had shifted from clear agony to one of relieved yet slightly dejected resignation, making it impossible not to laugh. He looked… a little cute.

“Ahahaha… Why did you eat that?” Lee Doha asked, clutching Siohan and burying his forehead in his shoulder, trying to stifle his giggles. Siohan sighed.

“You made it. It would be a waste to throw it away.”

“Haha. Even so. What am I, anyway? But seaweed soup really isn’t like that. Next time, I’ll learn to make it properly. You eating it like that gives me a sense of mission.”

“No… Hwiram. It would be better if you didn’t cook again.”

Siohan’s genuine sentiment finally slipped out, and Lee Doha burst into laughter again, just as it was subsiding. ‘See? It was awful.’ Siohan responded to Lee Doha’s question with a cough.

“You’re right,” Lee Doha said, lifting his head, his face still alight with laughter.

“I guess I like cute things.”

When he’d put the rabbit headband on Siohan, it was visually striking, but when Siohan asked ‘Am I cute?’, Lee Doha had thought ‘Damn it all.’ This, however, was different. His heart felt warm, as if touched by something soft and downy, a ticklish sensation in his gut and fingertips. He felt as though he might burst into foolish laughter at any moment, just thinking about it.

Siohan, taken aback by the unexpected remark, looked at Lee Doha with slight confusion before letting out a soft laugh. He reached out, embracing Lee Doha’s back and pulling him close. Having been laughing heartily, Lee Doha was momentarily bewildered by the sudden embrace.

Siohan buried his face deep into Lee Doha’s shoulder, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it. The warmth of Siohan’s breath on his neck made the fine hairs on Lee Doha’s skin stand on end.

“I’m sorry, Hwiram.”

“…Suddenly?”

“I have to go now.”

‘Ah.’ Lee Doha, still in a daze, found himself speechless. His joyful mood, like that of someone who had just had a blast, instantly plummeted as if doused with cold water. To his own surprise, Lee Doha felt a profound sense of disappointment.

Considering all their previous encounters had ended with Siohan losing consciousness, this was the first time they were having a normal farewell. Each time, Lee Doha was abruptly ‘bounced’ back to his own world, feeling as though he were being expelled from Oz. It was an unpleasant sensation, like being spat out.

He stood silently for a moment, then relaxed and leaned against Siohan’s shoulder.

“You know.”

“Yes.”

“Just… rest enough before you call me. It’s not like I’m running away; I’m already hooked. I have no interest in nursing.”

‘Don’t get a fever, get sick, or collapse every time.’ But he couldn’t bring himself to say those embarrassing words. Siohan chuckled softly at Lee Doha’s grumbling. The vibration through their connected bodies felt strange.

“I can’t, Hwiram.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t wait for you.”

Siohan’s hand calmly stroked Lee Doha’s back. Lee Doha tried to say something, but Siohan was quicker.

“I really have to go now.”

Thankfully, it didn’t end in a faint, but it was clear Siohan had held on until the very last moment again.

“I’ll see you soon, very soon, Hwiram. I’ll call for you… so please answer.”

“…Okay.”

Their bodies were pressed together, radiating warmth, but it shouldn’t have been a fever. Lee Doha raised his hand, intending to check Siohan’s forehead, but his hand only met empty air.

He was back in the club room. Crushed cabinets, a dirty sofa, textbooks, comics, club jackets, and shirts were strewn everywhere. A stale smell hung in the air. The warmth that had filled his arms was gone, replaced by only cool air, like a dream.

Lee Doha stood blankly, then touched his face, feeling beneath his eyes. It felt no different from the rest of his skin, yet his name was clearly etched there. ‘Hwiram’—the name Siohan called him. Strangely, this brought a sense of relief, a warm, settling calm within him, like sipping hot tea on a cold winter day.

Lee Doha immediately pulled out his phone to check the time: 7:42 AM. Dialing a speed-dial number, he practically flew out of the club room.

–”Lee Doha, I haven’t even started work yet. No calls outside business hours.”

“I’ll buy you food.”

–”Deal.”

“How do I use Alkiora’s special ability, anyway?”

The warmth that had filled his embrace was gone. Siohan slowly lowered his arms. He gazed down at his hands, then gently cupped his fingertips, as if trying to grasp the warmth that was already fading.

He looked around the silent surroundings. There was no one. Only the echo of laughter from moments ago remained, like a phantom.

His gaze stopped at a specific spot. A red outfit and a rabbit headband were draped over a chair. He, Hwiram, had brought them to the kitchen and forgotten them. ‘What was he planning to do with them?’

Siohan picked up the rabbit headband with a faint smile. Its soft fur yielded delicately under his fingertips, scattering.

‘He wore something like this here. What on earth was he doing that he wore such a thing?’ He wanted to know, yet also didn’t.

The rabbit headband in his hand began to fade. Siohan’s eyes lowered. The headband, blurring from its outline, soon dissolved completely, its form scattering and vanishing from his hand. Like smoke, it dissipated with a single breath, leaving no trace.

The red clothing draped on the chair likewise disappeared. All items left behind by contractors in this world vanished without a trace, just like the contractors themselves—uninvited guests not originally created for this world, who only stayed for as long as their summoners could sustain them.

Siohan suddenly smiled faintly. He truly felt unwell. He turned his head to look at the grotesque object still filling the pot. As much as he regretted it, he could only describe it as grotesque.

The proud head chef of Etreze might even fall ill from shame, knowing such a thing was created in his kitchen. Siohan picked up the spoon he had tossed aside and scooped another mouthful. The green seaweed dangled miserably, limp and elongated.

After sitting for a while, it had even become slightly sticky. Though not intentionally, Siohan, who had never consumed anything less than perfect since birth, found his stomach utterly refusing this new experience.

Yet, despite this, Siohan tasted the tip of the spoon. A lingering warmth, not yet departed, touched his lips. The truly awful taste was intensely bitter, sweet, and fishy all at once.

“I’m sorry, Hwiram… I can’t eat it twice.”

With a soft chuckle, Siohan finally put the spoon down. It was fortunate that Hwiram was such a terrible cook. It was fortunate that he had created something no one else in this kitchen could ever have produced. If he had left behind something plausible, then Siohan’s own memories would have been the only trace of his stay.