As soon as I zoomed in on the video, I realized one side was not human.

Two bright yellow pupils shone with a chilling light. The whites of its eyes had burned black. A dark wave-like aura rippled around its body, and from the spearhead lodged in its [N O V E L I G H T] back, red blood was flowing out.

Its skin looked scorched as if burning away. In its charred hand, it held a long spear bristling with sharp blades.

On the other side stood Yehyeon, holding nothing.

He wore the black hood of his combat uniform pulled low. His face, half-hidden in shadow, looked pale and exhausted.

But hadn’t they said he used a sword?

Narrowing my eyes at the screen, I spotted a large sword hanging at his waist.

But he hadn’t drawn it.

Instead, an earring glowed from beneath his hood.

“No.”

The earring shifted shape, like Ricardo’s snake-shaped ring.

The silver earring melted, dripping down onto the ruins below. The fallen silver liquid sprouted into sharp spikes that spread out around him. Some of it ran down Yehyeon’s arm, hardening into a silver gun.

Watching him grip the gun, I muttered in shock.

“Weren’t you using a sword?”

“Actually, Yehyeon oppa uses a shapeshifting weapon, like Rick.”

Ami looked up at me with her wide round eyes as she explained.

“Among the Badgers, Yehyeon oppa is the best at using shapeshifting weapons. He only ever wore a sword at times like that.”

My eyes widened.

In the blink of an eye, the fight began.

The silver spikes raced across the bloodstained ruins toward the creature. The creature swung its spiked spear wide.

Kwagwagwagwang!

A shockwave rippled along the spear’s path.

The ground was shaved away, rubble blasted backward. Debris caught in its path crumbled to dust.

At the same time, Yehyeon’s silver spikes shifted into the form of a solid wall. But even the silver wall shattered under the impact.

Bang, bang!

Through the collapsing silver wall, bullets fired. Too fast for my eyes to catch, but the two-eyed creature deflected them by whipping its spear.

Another heavy shock split the air.

The shockwave slammed into Yehyeon’s charging body. Blood sprayed in a sharp line. I cried out without meaning to, but Yehyeon did not stop. He closed the distance.

The small gap created by the creature’s swing.

The man stepped in and froze for an instant.

Yehyeon drew his blade in a flawless stance.

[There! Done!]

Trevain’s sudden voice made me jump.

[Stab him!]

The massive blade glinted, catching the sunlight.

And I saw the creature’s body hesitate. The instant it noticed the human slipping into its blind spot, it lowered its gaze to strike with the spear, only to suddenly freeze. From a position where one strike could have skewered Yehyeon’s head—

A split-second hesitation.

Yehyeon’s blade struck into that hesitation.

Puk.

The sword pierced through the creature’s chest.

The creature’s spear came too late, driving through Yehyeon’s back. Blood gushed out of him in a flood.

At the same time, the creature’s body darkened, crumbling into brittle fragments. Wind scattered the disintegrating remains.

The sword embedded in its body clattered to the ground.

Yehyeon, leaning against the sword, collapsed with it.

Thud, his body hit the ground.

The video ended there.

I stared blankly at the phone screen.

Standing in the silent corridor, I forgot how to move. The image stuck behind my eyelids refused to fade: the flawless draw, and that fleeting moment of hesitation before the stab.

If the creature had not hesitated, the outcome might have been reversed.

“Whoa.”

Ami, pulling the phone toward herself, gaped.

“Hilde, are you crying?”

“Ah...”

I touched my damp face.

Even through blurred vision, I could see Ami’s eyes widen. Slowly, I wiped away the tears streaming down.

She panicked and rushed toward me.

“Why are you crying? Hilde! What happened!”

Good question.

I kept wiping, but the tears wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t tell what this surging emotion was.

It was grief, that much was clear—but which part of it was sad? Why did it hurt so unbearably?

I tried to recall the reason, but once again failed.

Exhausted, I gave up resisting the emotions.

Overcome by grief, I forgot to wipe my tears and just stood there, crying for a long time.

***

I lifted my heavy eyelids.

My swollen eyes took in the familiar sight of Room 304. The same as this morning. Ami sat on the chair by my bed.

Blinking, I slowly raised my upper body.

Ami, who had been looking at her phone, lifted her head in a rush.

“Hilde!”

Her eyes widened as she looked at me.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

I gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing my neck under her worried gaze.

“Sorry. I kind of lost myself...”

“No.”

She answered firmly, then tilted her head to peer at me.

Her dark eyes, full of concern, scanned my face carefully.

“Feeling calmer now?”

“Yes.”

“Your eyes are super swollen.”

She spoke as though carrying the sorrow of the whole world in her eyes.

“Do you remember crying yourself to sleep?”

“No. Actually, from a certain point, I don’t remember well.”

“Do you know why you cried?”

I closed my heavy eyes, then opened them again.

The video replayed vividly in my mind. Along with it, the stabbing grief returned. But still, I could not understand why it had risen.

Struggling not to cry again, I shook my head.

Ami furrowed her brows, quietly studying my face.

Silence fell. Afternoon sunlight poured into the room. It hadn’t been that long, the day was still bright.

Ami, standing beside the bed, patted my shoulder.

I accepted the warm touch without protest.

Until someone knocked and opened the door.

“What are you doing?”

A low, raspy voice broke the stillness.

“Ami?”

Yun strode into the room. Ami whipped her head around to look up at her older brother. Stopping by her side, Yun arched one brow at her.

He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Why are you in his room?”

“Hilde kept crying, so I brought him back here and let him sleep.”

Ami spoke clearly.

“He went crazy crying after watching a video.”

“What video?”

Instead of answering, Ami held out the phone.

The mentor lowered his head to look at the screen, blinking slowly once. His expression showed puzzlement. Understandably so—there was nothing in that video to make someone cry.

After staring at the screen, he raised his head.

“Why would you cry watching this?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

“You don’t even know why you cried?”

“Exactly. That’s what I’m saying.”

“He was sobbing like crazy. I think there was some reason, but maybe he can’t remember. But don’t treat him like that, oppa. His memory’s gone.”

“Still, even if his memory’s gone, this doesn’t make sense.”

Yun’s point was logical.

And maybe it was my imagination, but wasn’t there a faint irritation in his voice?

No—it wasn’t my imagination. He glanced around the room, then reached for a sharp pen.

“Why would you bawl after seeing Yehyeon’s video?”

“Oppa!”

Yun could turn even a simple pen into a weapon.

My grief vanished instantly, replaced by alarm. Thankfully, Ami smacked his arm before he could point the pen at me.

“Stop it!”

“Ah.”

“I’ll tell Yehyeon oppa!”

She snatched the pen from his hand.

Then she started tapping his hand with it.

“I’ll tell Yehyeon oppa that you’re bullying your mentee for no reason!”

Tap tap tap tap tap! Faster and faster.

Yun sighed.

With a resigned exhale, he pressed down on Ami’s head, ending it there. Terrified, I let out a relieved breath once it was clear he wouldn’t harm me. Only after Ami confirmed that did she leave, apologizing: “Sorry. Yun oppa gets extra touchy about Yehyeon oppa. Please understand.”

Once again, the room grew quiet.

Yun gestured for me to get up.

I instantly leapt from the bed.

“We’re going to the medical wing.”

His curt order.

I obediently nodded.

***

The hospital was connected to the research building.

Yun said he had something to do there first and dragged me along. Our appointment wasn’t for a little while anyway.

The research building was crowded as always.

People in lab coats. People in ragged hoodies. A few neatly dressed in shirts. Yun walked straight through them without pause.

I was watching the way people cleared a path for him when he suddenly stopped short, and I nearly ran into him.

He glanced at me.

“My desk.”

Standing before an automatic door with a fingerprint scanner, he spoke coolly.

“It’s in here. If you ever need me, come here.”

“Whoa.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise. I hadn’t expected him to tell me where his desk was.

As usual, he ignored my reaction.

“I need to grab something. Wait in front of my desk.”

“Ah, yes.”

“And don’t touch anything.”

He pressed his finger to the scanner.

“And don’t sit in the chair if you can help it.”

Even if you told me to, I wouldn’t want to.

Ding! The scanner beeped. Whirr, the door slid open.

My vision cleared.

“Don’t block me! Don’t block me!”

“Don’t yank that cord, my computer will crash!”

“What does that cord have to do with your computer?”

“That’s the hub!”

“Where can I find that report from last time? It was excellent.”

Noise exploded.

The instant the door opened, a flood of sound and sensation washed over me. My mouth fell open at the sight. I had expected a place as obsessively neat and quiet as Yun himself—but what I saw was nothing like it.

A vast space. Countless desks, decorated with strange plants. Odd-colored liquids, bizarre machines. Researchers in all sorts of outfits, frantic at their stations.

Chaos.

Yun, face calm, strode right into it.

“Wait here.”

He walked through the chaos to the cleanest-looking desk (not completely bare, but far neater than the rest) and stopped.

“Don’t touch anything.”

“Ah. Yes.”

I nodded down at the silver-gray desk.

“This is your spot, then. I’ll wait quietly. Please go ahead.”

Without a word, Yun left, disappearing deeper into the frenzied lab. I watched until he vanished from sight, then turned my head.

He really worked here? In this madness?

It didn’t suit him at all.

He seemed more like the type to demand a private marble-walled room to himself.

I looked around, dazed.

Huge monitors. Binders. Keyboards. Ashtrays. A desk that seemed wider than the others. To the right of Yun’s desk was another, equally large. Unlike Yun’s spotless one, this desk was buried under a mountain of papers.

And at it stood a gray-haired man, reading documents.

He was extremely thin. Tall, gaunt, his skin pale from lack of sun...

Thud.

Suddenly, the man toppled backward.

I stared in shock as the gray-haired man fell straight like a tree.

“What the—”

What was that.

“Wh—what’s happening all of a sudden?”