“Do you think he was telling the truth?”

Gilbert, Yehyeon’s second aide, murmured quietly.

The Commander slowly nodded.

“He knows how important Hilde is.”

Then, after a brief silence, he continued.

“And Falcon—by his own standards—really does think of Hilde as his friend.”

“Surprisingly, it seems so. Even though he’s the kind of man who could kill an old friend without blinking if things didn’t go his way.”

“Right. The only person who could never die by Falcon’s hand is Jaeyeon.”

At Ska’s reply, Yehyeon responded in a tone almost like talking to himself.

His gaze, heavy with thought, floated somewhere in the air.

“He doesn’t permit Jaeyeon to die....”

The conversation paused there. Yehyeon propped his forehead against his clasped fingers, sinking into thought.

A heavy silence filled the headquarters office.

Only the notification sound of an incoming report broke through the stillness.

After a long pause, the Commander finally spoke in a low voice.

“So, it seems it has fully awakened.”

Judging from the organized and hostile surprise attack, there was no mistaking it.

“Let’s reclaim the territory before the year ends.”

His aides agreed with quiet nods.

***

Hilde was sick for three days.

The surgery had gone well, but his fever refused to drop. Samuel said it was probably stress. It wasn’t a side effect of the Portal—just something like a severe cold.

Even an enhanced body could show strange symptoms under extreme stress.

So, on the third day since Hilde’s hospitalization, Ami came to visit him without expecting to find her junior in his right mind yet. She knew many people had been in and out of his room, but when she arrived, it was empty.

A spacious single room.

She closed the door, sat down on the chair beside the bed, and, without much thought, began tapping at a mobile game—ding-dong-ding-dong.

“Ah....”

Until the motionless junior suddenly turned toward her.

“Ami....”

“Eek!”

Ami was so startled she almost dropped her phone.

She jumped reflexively, clutching her pounding chest as she stared blankly at him. Hilde was half-awake, his eyes half-open, looking up at her.

His white hair, damp with cold sweat, clung to his skin.

Ami blinked for a moment before snapping back to herself.

“Hilde! You’re awake!”

She reached for the nurse-call button.

But before she could press it, Hilde caught her arm.

“I’m fine,” he murmured.

“I just want to sleep a bit more.”

“Oh—okay. Sleep more. I’ll give you space.”

“Ami.”

Ami blinked, leaned forward, and met his eyes.

“What?”

“Were you in a coma for two years?”

Confusion flickered in Ami’s round eyes.

She looked at her sweat-soaked junior, then nodded.

“Yeah. My fighter crashed.”

“The final battle?”

“That’s right. The last battle of the First War. I was watching the ground rushing up when I blacked out, and when I woke up, two years had passed.”

The junior stared at her quietly, expression unreadable.

Ami wondered why he would ask that—but perhaps he’d heard something from someone. It wasn’t strange to be curious. She didn’t mind. If he wanted, she could tell the whole story from beginning to end.

After a pause, Hilde asked another question.

“Who took care of you?”

“Yehyeon-oppa and Yun-oppa did. The Choi family helped financially.”

As she spoke, memories came flooding back.

It had been so long ago, yet whenever she thought of it, it felt like only last month.

“When I woke up, I didn’t know two years had passed. But the moment Yehyeon-oppa saw me, he just burst out crying. He cried so much I thought Yun-oppa had died.”

She laughed brightly.

“But he was fine.”

“How did Yun react?”

“The youngest oppa? He didn’t cry, but he stayed by me for a long while. Then he kept waking me up all of a sudden, over and over—it was exhausting.”

Still, she had never forgotten their kindness.

The fact that they hadn’t given up on her for two whole years while she was in a coma. How they’d split their time from impossibly busy schedules to care for her every single day.

The warmth in the arms that held her when she awoke.

The hands that lifted her every time she stumbled, unsteady from not walking for so long.

Hilde’s hoarse voice pulled her out of the recollection.

“I’m sorry.”

Ami’s eyes widened.

“Why are you sorry?”

Hilde didn’t answer.

He only smiled faintly—sadly. The same kind of smile he’d worn when Ricardo questioned him outside the Core.

Watching her still-pale junior, Ami added softly,

“It’s fine. I’m perfectly okay. Those two were the ones who suffered. When I woke up, Yehyeon-oppa had become the national hero. I was so shocked.”

“Was he already the Commander then?”

“No. He was an aide at the time.”

“Was it something he wanted?”

It felt like a question he couldn’t ask anyone else.

Ami smiled faintly as she replied.

“I don’t think so. There were two or three others who were more qualified, and Yehyeon-oppa even said he hoped one of them would take the position. But after that video spread, the one that made him famous, he ended up in the Commander’s seat. The justification was perfect.”

Hilde’s expression darkened.

Ami could see it clearly—something like guilt glimmering in his golden eyes.

Why was this junior acting like this?

There was nothing to be sad about. People said, “You woke up after two years—it’s a miracle,” and “It’s lucky that video survived and made him a hero.”

But his reaction was strange.

She watched him fidget, then said,

“You’ve gotten some of your memory back, haven’t you?”

Hilde choked mid-breath.

He coughed painfully, struggling for air.

Startled by how strong his reaction was, Ami quickly spoke.

“Sorry. Calm down.”

“...I’m sorry. But not all of it’s back.”

“Okay.”

She didn’t intend to pry.

It didn’t seem like something she needed to know, and Ami was good at keeping boundaries. Just as she hadn’t questioned Yehyeon’s father, Lee Seunghyun, even after meeting him, she decided not to ask about Hilde’s past either.

He didn’t seem like he wanted to talk anyway.

She only felt pity for how much pain he was in.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Someone who seemed like they could brush off any hardship was hurting this much—it had to be something deep. Maybe, as Ricardo said, it was like PTSD, some trauma resurfacing. She couldn’t guess what kind of past it was.

Either way, she didn’t want to see him suffer again like before.

Ami decided she’d treat him even better from now on—this peculiar junior of hers.

“But you know, Hilde, sometimes you weirdly feel like an older brother.”

The words slipped out without thought.

Hilde blinked at her, his golden eyes wide, then smiled faintly.

“Kid.”

“No way.”

Ami frowned hard at him.

“I’m seventy-one now. Call me grandma.”

Hilde burst out laughing.

After °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° that, he said nothing more. With a low laugh, the weary junior began nodding off again. Ami stayed quietly until his breathing evened out, then left the room.

She wondered absently why being called “kid” by Hilde didn’t annoy her at all.

Should we have sunk along with the world?

I remembered how often I used to think that.

I never told anyone. But at some point, I found myself asking it again and again. Should we never have entered the Portal? Should we have accepted our fate and turned to ashes with the old world?

Maybe tragedy began the moment we set foot on Earth.

But every time, I came to the same conclusion—no.

That was a foolish, arrogant thought. All living things have the right to resist death, to rise again, to seek a path toward life. The struggle to survive could never be a sin.

So I never regretted leading humanity to Earth.

What I regretted was...

“Oh, you’re awake.”

At the unwelcome voice, I reluctantly lifted my heavy eyelids.

For a while, I just stared blankly at the ceiling.

“I didn’t expect you to come here.”

“I heard you were terribly ill,” the voice said—sounding far too cheerful this time.

“I was worried, you see.”

“You don’t have to pretend. You came because you wanted to see me miserable.”

“My, my. You truly despise me, don’t you!”

He was quick on the uptake.

But he wasn’t the type to be offended by my contempt. If he were, he wouldn’t be sitting where he was.

...Ha.

I held out as long as I could before reluctantly turning my head.

Platinum-blond hair came into view.

Even today, the elegant middle-aged man looked impeccable in his flamboyant three-piece suit. He smiled brightly as he sat down in the chair.

The hospital corridor outside was eerily quiet.

The presence of his subordinates standing outside the room was palpable.

Their master widened his smile as soon as our eyes met.

A genuine smile of ecstasy.

“Prometheus! You look wonderful!”

“You’re truly one of a kind, a pervert among perverts.”

“Ah, I hear that a lot.”

Don’t answer that so proudly.

“It’s been a while. Good to see you.”

“Yes.”

“Really... ah, now I see why Falcon treats you so specially. Ha... I’d love to go back and slap my past self for brushing you off.”

“No, you still don’t get it. He may be a psychopath, but at least he’s not a pervert.”

“Since Sukhoi’s first servant was your disciple, that means you have ties to her faction as well.”

Erich Erhart, the third power of Center Core, had long mastered the art of ignoring what others said.

All of them up there were the same.

Colton wasn’t any different, and neither was Sukhoi. I’d never expected any of them to listen anyway, so I just pulled a blank face.

They were the kind of people who found interruption itself unfamiliar.

Erich’s gray eyes glimmered.

“I’m the only one without any connection to you, so I came to make one.”

“Do we really need to make that?”

“I do want to.”

“And I assume I don’t have the right to refuse.”

“Ha-ha.”

Look at that smile.

The perfect smile of a man who holds all the power. Truly an infuriating breed. That expression reminded me of Colton, of his rivals who had perished by his hand, and of the royal we once served—Kyle and I.

“Forming a connection with me won’t hurt you. I’m Falcon’s friend and Yehyeon’s ally; why would I harm you?”

“I just want to live quietly like a normal recruit. Trouble seems to follow me on its own.”

“Then live quietly. That’s fine.”

“I mean I’d rather you form that ‘special connection’ with someone else.”

“What if I said I could help you find your past?”

I bolted upright.

For a moment my head spun, vision warping, nausea rising.

But I ignored it.

Swallowing the dizziness, I propped myself up on my arm and stared at the man sitting before me.

The man who claimed to love the sight of the sick.

The deviant who took pleasure in lifting the miserable out of misery.

A successor to Colton Wiseman and Yekaterina.

Erich Erhart.

“How exactly would you help me?”

I asked quietly. Erich smiled radiantly.