“Eh? Ah… It’s nothing serious.”His uncle’s sharp eyes must have noticed, even though the gore made it hard to tell wounds apart. Taeui ran a hand over his arm, already crusted with dried blood. A weight pressed on his chest, like food forced down refusing to settle.Damn it. Why had Ilrey snapped like that for no reason?He kicked at a fist-sized stone at his feet in irritation—only easing off when his uncle barked “Preserve the scene!” and he ducked his head, idly shuffling his foot over the rock.But it didn’t matter. Despite talk of “preserving the scene,” this wasn’t the first time. Everyone—him, his uncle shouting orders, any witness—knew the truth: Ilrey Regrow acted in self-defense, and the two attackers would die for their ambush.Taeui clicked his tongue in grim satisfaction.“You’d best return to camp and wash up. The stench of blood is overpowering. And put something on that arm.”He nodded and turned, glancing toward the direction Ilrey had vanished. No one was there anymore.As he sighed and walked off, he felt a familiar, stinging gaze on his cheek. He looked up to find Kim Jeong-pil standing there—forgotten until now, but glaring at him coldly. The moment their eyes met, Kim averted his gaze and, as if fleeing something, strode away. Taeui snorted in bemusement—since when did this foul-mouthed bastard have any shame?He didn’t care whether Kim had been unnerved by witnessing Ilrey’s brutality, or by the harsh reality of “homo bastards” they’d only heard rumors about, or by the blood-slick clearing. None of that mattered. What mattered was wondering where that dangerous man—now public enemy number one—had slipped off to in this pitch-black forest.Taeui knew better than anyone: worrying about Ilrey Regrow disappearing into the woods at midnight was pointless.At /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ dawn the next day, Ilrey returned to camp—as intact as ever, though dripping fresh blood. The first to spot him were Instructor Jung Chang-in and his adjutant, conducting their dawn inspection. As Jung frowned at Ilrey’s blood-soaked uniform and opened his mouth to scold him, Ilrey quipped with a bored shrug, “Not human blood.” The rumor spread through the base before sunrise.As expected, Taeui felt every gaze sharpen on him. He remembered how, the moment Ilrey became Jung’s adjutant, people had begun treating him coldly. Even those he’d gotten along with would grimace and shout, “Why are you next to that lunatic? Are you crazy too?” but their attitude never changed completely—some small comfort.Still, the real victim here was clearly him: dragged from the march straight into Jung’s office, surrounded by six instructors grilling him without so much as a moment’s rest.It was routine. When Ilrey’s adjutant, Taeui was always summoned for questioning—after that Dresden family affair, the Frankfurt uprising, any time violence flared. The length varied, but today felt interminable. Though he couldn’t see the clock behind him, it seemed three or four times longer than usual.Jung had a difficult job: two near-corpses, a case that demanded days in the brig, Ilrey’s duties, and the undeniable fact of self-defense. Yet why focus on Taeui for questioning?“Living with Regrow, you said? Does this happen often?”He’d answered that near the start of questioning, addressing the stern instructor half his age.“I suppose since moving to Berlin, I haven’t frequently witnessed people die before my eyes—aside from Dresden and the Frankfurt affair, as your records show. But these questions are going in circles. Surely you don’t think I’m so traumatised I’m mentally unfit?”“Mental unfit, living with that madman?” muttered McKin beside Jung. Instructors here had no grace.“Right. We have enough from you. Let’s hear from others,” Jung Chang-in said, tapping his notes with a pen. He had barely spoken until now.Taeui grimaced at the interruption. “Sorry, sir—no further comments.” He snapped a crisp salute and turned. The instructors’ disgruntled faces faded from view.He checked the clock on the wall: barely an hour had passed since lunch. Much less than his subjective “million years.”Slamming the office door on his way out, he exhaled deeply.He returned to the base earlier than usual. Marching back, he’d passed noon, but even after half an hour under questioning, it wasn’t lunchtime yet. Two men had been carried off—clearly they’d finish faster.“Christ… can’t even sleep,” he muttered, rubbing his heavy eyes. He longed for his bunk but had to shadow Hogan this afternoon. Maybe he could grab twenty minutes after eating.Hogan, who’d surely heard the commotion, would glower at him too. He already had no use for him—Hogan might lob a barb or two.“If stress could kill, I’d be dead long ago,” he sighed, heading for the mess hall. His stomach was iron—he could eat now to keep going; otherwise it’d cave in soon.Just a week more, he told himself, stepping down the stairs.He paused. A familiar figure was ascending. Even from the crown of his head, he recognized Ilrey—this was their first face-to-face since his dawn return.Ilrey was immaculate: no trace of last night’s blood on his hands, his uniform spotless. Now he understood why Kim had called him “administrative Rick”—he looked that composed.Ilrey’s gaze flicked to Taeui, as if he might slow—but he didn’t, climbing steadily, eyes fixed on Taeui.Taeui noticed the clean white bandage around Ilrey’s palm. No one would guess a blade had torn that hand. Ilrey’s gaze drifted down to Taeui’s wounded arm, but the cloth hid it.They closed the gap on the stairs—two steps, one step—so close that when they passed on the same stair, their knuckles brushed. The rough bandage against his blood-slicked skin made Taeui flinch; Ilrey must have felt it too. Then they split: Ilrey one step above, Taeui one below. Neither spoke nor met eyes.Ilrey’s steady footsteps receded up the stairs: tap, tap, tap. Once his footfalls faded into the corridor, Taeui stood rooted at the bottom, the mess-hall door before him unopened.“….”A foul mood settled over him. He wanted to storm up and sock Ilrey—just one blow would unleash everything he’d bottled up.“He really ignores people now,” he muttered. He’d dared to ignore him.A litany of complaints rolled through his mind: I lose sleep and suffer stress-induced ulcers because of you, you clean-cut bastard—yet you pass me by like I’m nothing.Maybe I’ll be the first documented case of stress-death… he thought, drawing three deep breaths, letting his pounding heart calm.First—eat. Then, if he could nab a nap, or else find Ilrey and decide whether to scrap.He stepped into the corridor…“Hey. Taeui.”A long bench by the wall blocked him. Kim Jeong-pil rose to his feet. His sallow, fiercely intent face made Taeui frown. He realized Kim had been waiting here. Of course—this corridor was the quickest route from the instructor’s office to the mess hall, and rarely used. Perfect for an ambush.Kim was gearing up for trouble again. Taeui’s chest tightened: he knew Kim’s temper guaranteed more nastiness.“Taeui. That Yankee homo they say you have ties with… is it him?”His first question. Taeui had half-expected it. He stared at the floor, then sighed. Looking up, his gaze met Kim’s without hesitation.“Yes.”Kim’s jaw dropped. “Really? Rick?”“Yes.”Kim exhaled contemptuously, fixing Taeui with a withering stare. Taeui met it.“Are you insane, you homo? If anyone’s gonna do that, why pick that guy?―Oh, I saw last night… he looked well-endowed. That’s why? Because it feels good? Because you want it?”“Yes—he kills. No joke, his tool is lethal, you asshole!”Taeui snapped back, his own complex pierced to the core. Though different from most, it was still a complex.Kim’s habitual sneer and crude jeers—naming a target—made Taeui’s stomach churn. But it was nothing to do with Kim. It was between him and Ilrey.Normally, Taeui would’ve retorted with witty insults—“Go ahead, enjoy. Want some? Why, jealous? Go get help.” But not now. He was spent.Stop it, Kim. You’re just slapping someone already in tears. Enough. I don’t need this anger.“…Ha. You’re really crazy, Taeui?”

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