Mu Yichen had expected anger, scolding, and threats. Instead, she gave him a command with the same tone she would use to remove a piece from a chessboard.

  She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

  Mu Yichen wanted to refuse instantly. His chest burned with the urge to defy her.

  But he knew better. His mother was not a woman of empty threats. If she wanted something gone, she would erase it from existence.

  And Lee Aseok, already at the mercy of a hostile world, wouldn’t survive her malice.

  So Mu Yichen kept his silence.

  Days later, the engagement was announced. Yoo Areum, S-rank healer, the darling of the public. A flawless arrangement, orchestrated by his mother’s hand.

  The moment Lee Aseok asked him about it, his voice flat, tired, as though he had expected this betrayal all along, Mu Yichen’s composure cracked.

  In that instant, he wanted nothing more than to take Lee Aseok away.

  To leave the holy sword, the guilds, the public, everything. To hide him somewhere the world could never touch him, where that worn, dull gaze could rest, where he could finally breathe.

  But Lee Aseok wasn’t the kind of man who could run.

  He was a hero. That identity wasn’t something he could cast aside, no matter how cruelly the world treated him.

  Before they could even speak the words that needed saying, before the distance between them could close, the sky itself tore open.

  The Hell Gate appeared.

  It was unlike anything they had faced. A darkness that seemed to breathe, swallowing light, leaking hatred into the air. The nightmare devoured cities, and the world called on them again.

  They entered.

  Endless battles. Screams swallowed by the abyss. They lost track of time. Was it days? Weeks? It didn’t matter. The monsters came without end, and so they killed without end.

  Until, at last, they stumbled into something worse.

  An illusion dungeon nested within the Hell Gate.

  One moment, Mu Yichen was cutting down a demon. The next—his vision fractured, reality bending and collapsing.

  When he opened his eyes, the battlefield was gone. His sword hung limp in his hand. His body ached as though he had drowned.

  Around him, his teammates lay unconscious, strewn across the cracked ground. Park Taegun. Seo MinHyun. Even Yoo Areum.

  Mu Yichen awoke with a start. The world around him felt heavy, thick with the residue of the illusion. His vision sharpened slowly, and then he saw them—everyone else still unconscious, their bodies sprawled like discarded dolls across the ground.

  And there, Lee Aseok. He lay on the cracked stone, chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths, as if even sleep demanded all his strength.

  A chill ran through Mu Yichen. He remembered the illusion, the final scene seared into his mind.

  He had seen Lee Aseok killed. Not just wounded, not just pushed to the brink, but completely annihilated.

  The image burned in his chest like molten iron. He would not let that happen.

  Not him. Not now.

  Not after everything.

  His thoughts flickered to his father, the previous hero, who had fallen inside the Hell Gate.

  The loss still echoed like a ghost in his soul. He could not allow history to repeat itself.

  Lee Aseok was physically fragile, a mere shadow beside the titanic dangers they faced. And yet, his presence here… Mu Yichen’s heart tightened. He couldn’t let the boy face another life-threatening trial without control.

  He looked at the holy sword. The blade gleamed faintly even in the dim light, as if aware of his gaze, as if it knew the truth he did.

  Mu Yichen made a silent deal with it: Lee Aseok would live. Not by chance, not by luck, but because the sword itself revered him.

  By the time everyone began to stir, the air had changed.

  A deep, resonant roar shook the barrier that caged them, and beyond it, the final boss revealed itself, a monstrous silhouette, immense and impossibly powerful.

  The barrier shimmered with a cruel light, unbroken by any attack they could muster.

  “Only the chosen hero is worthy to face me,” a voice rumbled, metallic and echoing, reverberating through the cavern.

  Mu Yichen’s jaw tightened. It was a trap. He knew it immediately. No single person, himself, Lee Aseok, or any of their allies, could defeat this creature.

  The barrier alone was unyielding. Only the holy sword had the power to break it.

  His mind raced. He had to protect Lee Aseok. He had to buy time.

  The plan was dangerous, cruel even. Mu Yichen would make Lee Aseok the bait, the distraction.

  When the final boss focused on him, the holy sword, adored by Aseok, guided by Mu Yichen’s unseen hand would shatter the barrier. Then, together, they would strike.

  It was the only way.

  He would protect him. One way or another.

  Mu Yichen’s mind raced as the final boss’s roar reverberated through the cavern. He saw it clearly: the creature wasn’t meant to be defeated by a single hero.

  Their combined strength was meaningless against its overwhelming power. The barrier that trapped them was unyielding. Only the holy sword, adored by Lee Aseok, could shatter it.

  The weight of the choice pressed down on him like a boulder.

  “Lee Aseok,” Mu Yichen said, forcing calm into his voice, “That means you, You’re the hero. You should fight him first”

  He couldn’t explain the plan, not with the final boss watching.

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  Every word could betray their position, ruin the chance of survival. Instead, he painted his betrayal with actions, letting Lee Aseok see only a coldness that wasn’t real.

  The broken look on Lee Aseok’s face stabbed at Mu Yichen’s chest.

  His heart ached, but there was no other way. The plan had to succeed.

  This was the only path to a future where Lee Aseok could live, even a little while longer, even a life away from the chaos.

  Watching Lee Aseok approach the barrier, Mu Yichen felt a chill crawl up his spine.

  Instinct screamed at him not to let the boy go alone, to run forward and fight by his side. But the truth was undeniable: this was the only chance.

  And then it happened.

  Lee Aseok stepped through the barrier. In that instant, Mu Yichen knew he had made a mistake.

  They were transported to another dungeon, a dark and twisted space filled with grotesque monsters that snarled and lunged at them without pause.

  Mu Yichen’s chest tightened, panic rising in a tide of desperation, but he forced himself to steady his breath. He could not allow fear to cloud his judgment.

  Lee Aseok, resilient, unyielding, would not fall so easily. He had to hold onto that thought, hold onto hope.

  Clenching his fists, Mu Yichen fought like a madman.

  Every swing, every spell, every strike of his blade was a desperate plea to reach the floor where Lee Aseok battled unseen horrors.

  His mind screamed that time was slipping, that every second might bring death, yet he pressed on, moving with brutal precision and frenzied speed.

  He had no choice. Not now. Not ever again.

  He would protect him. Even if it meant enduring the unbearable weight of guilt, even if it meant pretending to betray the one person he could not bear to lose.

  Because Mu Yichen knew, deep in his heart, that failing Lee Aseok this time would destroy him utterly.

  But something gnawed at him deeper than the monsters themselves, the holy sword.

  It throbbed with longing, its spirit straining to reach Lee Aseok.

  Yet the moment Lee Aseok crossed the barrier, the connection was severed. The sword flailed in frustration, powerless to aid him.

  Hours, or maybe minutes; time felt distorted in the chaos, passed as Mu Yichen and his team finally emerged back on the floor where the barrier had stood.

  The holy sword surged, ready to shatter the prison, but the barrier had already disappeared. Mu Yichen’s stomach dropped, a cold dread settling over him like ice.

  He ran into the empty space beyond the vanished barrier, his heart hammering violently. The scene that greeted him froze him in place: the world was unrecognizable, a ruinous wasteland that stank of blood and decay. And there, lying motionless on the ground, was the final monster—slain.

  Mu Yichen’s heart stuttered as his eyes found Lee Aseok, standing in the distance. Relief surged momentarily, only to be crushed instantly.

  Something was wrong. The boy did not look back. The wind whipped through the ruins, carrying a silence so heavy it pressed against Mu Yichen’s chest like a vice.

  “Lee… Aseok!” Mu Yichen’s voice cracked, raw and desperate, echoing across the desolation. He ran, his legs pumping faster than they had ever moved before, each step fueled by panic, dread, and helplessness.

  As he drew closer, the horror hit him like a physical blow. The silhouette of Lee Aseok’s back was marred by a massive, gaping wound.

  His chest had been torn open, a hole that made Mu Yichen’s stomach twist violently. Blood soaked his clothes, dripping into the ruins below.

  The world narrowed to that single, unbearable image.

  Mu Yichen stumbled to his knees, disbelief and terror tearing at him. “No… no, no, no!”

  The world narrowed to that wound, that broken body, that unresponsive stillness. His mind screamed, yet no coherent thought could form.

  He lunged, desperate to embrace Lee Aseok, to somehow stop the inevitable. But as his hands touched him, Mu Yichen froze.

  Lee Aseok’s flesh seemed to dissolve beneath his fingers, turning into fine silver dust that drifted away in the wind. His eyes remained closed, serene as if asleep, but the life that had once burned within him was gone.

  The holy sword hovered nearby, motionless. Normally, it would rush to its chosen one’s side, disappearing only when death claimed them.

  But this time, it lingered, frozen midair, as if it too could not comprehend the loss.

  The connection that had bound it to Lee Aseok had been severed by the barrier, leaving its power unable to follow.

  No one could have guessed what the sword felt as it stared at the empty space where its hero once stood.

  Mu Yichen dropped to his knees, heart shattering with unbearable weight. He clawed at the silver dust, trying to hold onto it, to keep Lee Aseok from slipping away.

  He screamed at the S-rank healer in their group, voice raw and ragged, demanding, “Heal him! Bring him back! Now!”

  But it was useless. No spell, no medicine, no plea could reverse what had been done.

  The silver dust drifted higher, caught in the desolate wind, until finally it vanished entirely.

  All that remained were Lee Aseok’s bloodstained clothes, lying motionless on the ground like a monument to a hero no one had truly understood.

  Mu Yichen’s body shook violently, tears streaming unchecked down his face. Rage, sorrow, guilt, and disbelief collided inside him like a storm. He had failed him.

  He had sent Lee Aseok into that trap, and now the cost was unbearable. The world had misunderstood him, but Mu Yichen had known the truth all along.

  And yet… There was nothing left to do but fall to his knees and stare at the bloodstained remnants, the echoes of a hero who had given everything and asked nothing in return.

  Park Taegun and Seo MinHyun stared blankly at the empty space where Lee Aseok had been.

  The bloodstained clothes on the ground, the remnants of the silver dust, still haunted their vision. They had expected to survive, to return together, battered but alive.

  And yet… Here, in this silent aftermath, the truth hit them like a hammer.

  Although their time with Lee Aseok had been tense and often cold, they couldn’t deny it: he had been a true hero.

  Not because of glory, not because of recognition, but because of the sacrifices he had made silently, without complaint, without expectation.

  They acknowledged it now, in the hollow pit of their hearts, even as grief gnawed at them.

  Before the weight of this realization could fully settle, everything shifted. The world blurred, the ruins around them vanished, and in the next instant, they found themselves outside the Hell Gate.

  Mu Yichen’s hands instinctively clutched the holy sword, its presence a quiet reminder of what had been lost.

  Yet a haze clouded their minds, no one remembered the horrors inside. Not Mu Yichen, not Taegun, not MinHyun. The memories of what had transpired, of Lee Aseok’s final moments, were gone.

  Outside, the world was waiting. Heroes’ banners flew, people cheered, and the media hailed them as the saviors who had closed the Hell Gate.

  Cameras flashed, reporters shouted, and the celebration washed over them. The crowd’s adulation was deafening, but Mu Yichen could barely hear it.

  He knew, with a truth that cut deeper than any sword, that Lee Aseok was gone. And yet the holy sword remained in his hand.

  The world assumed Mu Yichen had been the chosen one all along, the hero who had triumphed, while the truth—the real sacrifice, the life that had been lost—remained buried and unseen.

  The next three months were a blur of ceremonies, accolades, and empty congratulations.

  Mu Yichen moved through it all like a ghost, hollowed out by grief and guilt he couldn’t name aloud.

  How had he let Lee Aseok die?

  Even the world’s problems, the dungeons, the cries for heroism, the political pressures, meant nothing. Calls went unanswered. Reports were ignored.

  He shut himself in his room, shutting out everyone, even his mother. She tried to reach him, tried to pull him back to life, but there was no reaching Mu Yichen.

  Days merged into nights, and the world continued its chaos outside his room, but Mu Yichen existed only in the shadow of his own guilt.

  His teammates’ memories of the Hell Gate had been wiped clean. They didn’t know what had happened, and didn't know how Lee Aseok had died.

  And neither did he… The truth lingered in the corners of his mind, invisible yet suffocating.

  One night, Mu Yichen awoke in a nightmare so vivid it felt like fire crawling under his skin.

  On the table in front of him lay the holy sword, silent, still, and impossibly bright in the darkness. Its presence stirred something deep in him, memories, fragments of a pain he could not yet name.

  He fell to his knees, tears spilling freely, and whispered, his voice raw and broken, “What happened inside? Why… Why did Lee Aseok die?”

  The holy sword trembled, then shone with a brilliance that cut through the darkness.

  The light grew brighter and brighter, almost blinding, until the weapon itself exploded in a surge of power.

  Mu Yichen was thrown backward by the force, his body burning, yet he did not care. He didn’t care about the pain, about the destruction—he only cared about seeing Lee Aseok, even if it cost him everything.

  And then… everything ended.

  Back to the present,

  When Mu Yichen awoke again, he was drenched in sweat, heart hammering as if it would tear itself from his chest.

  His eyes scanned the place around him, and a flood of memories returned with terrifying clarity. He realized he had not left the Hell Gate.

  Every moment, every loss, every agonizing decision, it had all been inside that cursed place.

  The understanding hit him like a blade to the chest. He knew now why Lee Aseok had always seemed heartless, detached from the world.

  He didn’t lie, didn’t pretend, he had remembered, even before Mu Yichen had known him.

  Every cold word, every measured silence had been shaped by that memory, by the burden of the past.

  Mu Yichen’s hands trembled as he whispered to himself, voice thick with awe and despair, “He remembered… he must have remembered everything… before I even met him.”

  And with that realization, the memory ended. The flashback of that past life, of pain, of loss, of the hero who had been lost, faded, but the weight of it stayed, pressed into Mu Yichen’s heart like a stone.

  Author Note:

  Every “OH MY GOD ASEOK STOP” gives me the strength to write the next disaster.

  Mon ? Wed ? Fri

  (Yes, I too question my life choices.)

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