When Jeong Tae-ui tried to get up, there was a faint fluttering sound beside him — something falling over. Only then did he realize someone else was in the room. He startled and turned around. The moment he looked, his wildly pounding heart stopped cold again.

Ilay.
Since when had he been there? Probably sitting quietly before Tae-ui even woke up, flipping slowly through what looked like a notebook. His expressionless face gave no sign he knew Tae-ui was awake; he didn’t glance once.

Damn. I’m screwed. Now that he knows I’m awake, will he try to kill me immediately? No, he said he wouldn’t kill me. That’s even scarier.

—He said he hated having me around so much. Then let me live that misery till I die—hating every day, suffering every day.

Suddenly, Tae-ui recalled Ilay’s low voice from some time ago. He had said “until you die.”

Tae-ui quietly glanced sideways to look at Ilay. No way he’d really do that until death. Unless he beat him to death and said, “You suffered until you died?” just before killing him, he couldn’t torment him forever. Even under 24/7 surveillance, there’d be moments the gaze would loosen—then he could escape.

He pitied himself for thinking about running away the moment he opened his eyes. How did he get into this mess? Then again, he half blamed himself for having to run like this.

He quietly regretted it. Why did I do that? I should have just packed quietly and left the branch. Why did I have to get revenge on that bastard and do all this? I didn’t know fear back then, he thought gloomily.

But if the same thing happened again, Tae-ui was certain he’d make the same choice. His choice was right at the time. If someone asked seriously whether he truly regretted it, Tae-ui would pause and shake his head. Choices always leave room for regret. The way to live well, he thought, was to minimize choices you truly regret looking back. And thankfully, he hadn’t made truly regrettable choices yet.

Yeah. No regrets. Considering what that bastard did to me, it’s a small price. So be it—grit my teeth, take a lot of hits like a man, and make sure this time I get far enough away to never get caught.

Though he realized his resolve to run and his ‘manly heart’ were somewhat disconnected, he immediately erased that thought. Yielding pride temporarily for peace of mind was a hard, manly decision. Though it felt like a fallacy, he erased that thought too.

Tae-ui sighed quietly, then sneaked a glance. Ilay still flipped through that palm-sized notebook lazily. Curious what he was looking at, Tae-ui followed his gaze.

“...”

Ugh. He swallowed a groan. The green-covered notebook was a passport. The golden hibiscus emblem on the front—the Republic of Korea passport belonging to the identity Tae-ui carried: Kim Young-su. His own photo was neatly placed inside.

After flipping through all the pages, Ilay returned to the front and stared silently for a moment, then said,

“Hmm... Kim Young-su... Passport number JR0203314, born June 12, 19xx, resident number 1365814…”

“...”

“The only real thing here is the date of birth.”

“...”

Ilay tossed the passport onto the table. Tae-ui clicked his tongue inside—he’d definitely put it in the bag, but that damn bastard took it out at will.

Ilay sighed long and deep, remained silent for a while, then glanced at Tae-ui. Feeling that gaze, Tae-ui closed his eyes instinctively—even knowing it was futile.

“Going back to sleep?”

“...”

Hearing Ilay add, “You’re awake anyway, so why sleep again?” Tae-ui bitterly opened his eyes. Ilay leaned back in the chair and quietly watched him.

“When were you here?”

Tae-ui muttered. Ilay raised an eyebrow and replied with a noncommittal “Who knows.” Tae-ui eyed him suspiciously. Maybe the strange dreams were because Ilay was nearby. The demon in his dream, and the brief dream he’d just had—Ilay had appeared in both. Yeah, just like sitting there in that chair, watching him.

Thinking that far, Tae-ui tilted his head oddly.

“...?”

Though it felt strange, he couldn’t pinpoint why and just tilted a few times. Ilay watched Tae-ui quietly. Tae-ui sighed deeply, feeling the sharpness of that gaze. Then he looked straight at Ilay, daring him to kill if he wanted.

Ilay glanced at Tae-ui’s face, raised an eyebrow again, muttered “Oh,” then crossed his arms. Tilting his head slightly, he scrutinized Tae-ui with thin eyes as if searching for something.

Noticing the difference from before, Tae-ui met that gaze with a sullen face. Though he wished not to show it, Ilay was not unaware of the faint tension in Tae-ui’s expression. Ilay suddenly chuckled.

“Regret?”

The sudden question made Tae-ui silent for a moment. Regret? He had no regrets about some things. At least, he wouldn’t choose differently if returned to that situation. Same for Ilay.

“...”

Tae-ui studied Ilay’s expression before answering, as a timid thought stirred: maybe if he said he regretted it, Ilay would hit him less hard. But no, Ilay’s dictionary didn’t include forgiveness.

When Tae-ui frowned, Ilay looked briefly puzzled but didn’t ask.

“No... I don’t regret it.”

Tae-ui sighed and shook his head. Ilay looked at him gently and smiled faintly.

“You don’t regret it? You seemed to hesitate a bit just now.”

“Hmm... I thought saying I regretted it might make you hit me less. But thinking back, I don’t really. People have to live sincerely.”

Tae-ui said plainly. Ilay looked like he’d just been slapped, stared at Tae-ui, then laughed softly—like he was very pleased. But Tae-ui knew the ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) gaze started to darken ominously.

Though they hadn’t been together long, Tae-ui felt he now knew Ilay well enough.

“Yeah, so... no regrets, huh? Then tell me, about what exactly?”

“Hmm?”

Tae-ui opened his eyes wide. He didn’t immediately understand. After blinking twice and rubbing his chin, he pondered, tilting his head cautiously.

“About what... hitting you? Or assaulting you? Or tying you up? Or drugging you?”

Listing so many points made Tae-ui feel like he was digging his own grave. Why was he naming those things? But by then, it was too late. Ilay’s face—who had calmly watched Tae-ui after waking—broke into a smile that wasn’t a smile. Tae-ui knew from months of experience that was no good.

Damn. They say alcohol and cigarettes destroy brain cells—maybe it’s true. I should drink less beer. …No, beer isn’t really alcohol; it’s barley tea. Maybe I should quit smoking.

Tae-ui truly regretted aloud for a few seconds, foolishly listing memories that forced those unpleasant thoughts back.

“Haha... that’s quite a lot. Well, since you started, say some more. There must be plenty more.”

Ilay beckoned him impatiently. Tae-ui looked at him blankly, doubting whether Ilay genuinely wanted to hear it. But when Tae-ui remained silent, Ilay said threateningly, “Speak.”

Tae-ui frowned. He had too many things he didn’t regret about what he’d done to Ilay. But in this context, Ilay wanted to hear things that would anger him.

“...You hated that I cursed at you?”

Tae-ui hesitated. Ilay raised an eyebrow and again said, “Say more.”

Was Ilay just trying to torment him by making him say it again and again? If he kept listing, it wouldn’t hurt Tae-ui as much as it would bother Ilay himself—whether he truly suffered or not was another matter.

Tae-ui never thought he had a strange desire to recall his own insults or unpleasant past. Maybe this was Ilay’s way of saying, “Say everything you want to say before you die.”

He stared silently at Ilay, then sighed and shook his head.

“I don’t know what you’re most angry about, but I don’t regret what I did to you.”

“Not at all?”

“Not at all.”

Ilay asked once more as if giving a last chance, but Tae-ui shook his head firmly. Ilay hummed thoughtfully and just watched him.

Only then did Tae-ui suddenly wonder: what was the thing Ilay was most angry about?

All the things Tae-ui just named were enough to enrage him. He’d seen the man beaten bloody for cursing at him. Hitting, assaulting, tying, drugging—those were much worse. Surely those alone would be enough to enrage him.

But Ilay’s question seemed to expect a particular answer—whether there was some specific point he did not regret.

Tae-ui didn’t know what that was, but now he wanted to know. Which of his actions had angered Ilay most?

“...Then you?”

Tae-ui opened his mouth, then hesitated. Maybe it was better not to ask.

What was Ilay most angry about?

If he found out, would he regret it? No. Ilay’s anger was entirely his own, and Tae-ui’s anger at having made Ilay angry was entirely his own.

A cold emptiness settled in his chest.

Ilay and Tae-ui exchanged anger.

After months—almost half a year—what remained was only anger. He planted the seed of anger; Tae-ui nurtured it.

“...But I wasn’t like that.”

Tae-ui muttered to himself. It wasn’t like that. He had felt more than negative emotions with Ilay. From the start and even now, Tae-ui had memories of anger at him, but holding those memories and continuing to feel anger were separate matters.

Even a friend can hate someone; everyone has flaws. Tae-ui had been hurt and angry from those flaws and carried those memories. But holding memories and continuously feeling the old pain and anger were different.

Tae-ui lowered his head and fell silent.

Ilay frowned slightly, puzzled by Tae-ui’s occasional mutterings.

He was silent for a long time, then suddenly twisted his lips.

“Well, fine. Regrets or not, it’s useless to think about it now. It doesn’t matter.”

Ilay got up from the chair and approached the bed. He rested a hand on the pillow beside Tae-ui, tilted his head crookedly, and looked down at him with an amused expression. A faint smile hovered on his lips.

“No matter what you think, from now on, you’ll be by my side regardless of your will... I told you. Live miserably every day by my side, the one you hated so much.”

His lips came so close they almost touched Tae-ui’s forehead. His low whisper slid down Tae-ui’s skin and landed on his heart.

Suddenly Ilay stopped smiling. After staring for a long moment, he whispered softly—barely audible:

“Tae-i, I’ve never been this angry before.”

Tae-ui looked at Ilay, who was barely in focus so close above his head. He couldn’t read the expression behind that smooth, soft voice.

“Really, very—terribly angry.”

Maybe he was even smiling. His voice, chilling to the bone, sounded like faint insect laughter.

“For about a week after you disappeared, I barely remember. What state of mind I was in. When I came to, I’d killed two people. I don’t remember it.”

That’s why he was in the mental ward a few days. Probably the first instructor in UNHRDO history to be admitted, Ilay laughed.

He fell silent for a moment, maybe recalling that time.

“But it was good to be there. I had time to think. But even inside, my anger didn’t go away. I was so mad I didn’t know what to do. Then, maybe the day before I left, you appeared in my dream.”