By Zephyria 
“Wiping them all out at once would be quite the thrill. Section Chief Gwak, what do you think?”
At the words mixed with a low, hushed laugh, Gwak Yun-sang finally recovered from his shock and trembled.
“N-n-no way… If the spores spread, Daejeon is finished! I’ll get fired and thrown into the Awakened special prison!”
It seemed Gwak Yun-sang wasn’t the only one startled.
[ㅇ0;ㅇ]
Whoa, you scared me. Kim Si-baek jumped as the status window popped up unexpectedly.
[It is indeed a bold method, but Earth is fragile… I recommend clearing this using a method that minimizes the sacrifice of living beings (shiver shiver)]
It seemed that instead of using the diverse MZ Generation emoticons, it had decided to use parentheses for emotional expression. However, there was a problem: the Kim Si-baek from 21 years ago had never once used parentheses like that.
“Stop using parentheses,” Kim Si-baek muttered lowly so Gwak Yun-sang couldn’t hear. The message in the system window shifted slightly.
[It is indeed a bold method, but Earth is fragile… I recommend clearing this using a method that minimizes the sacrifice of living beings (ㅇㅅㅠ) Hmph…]
Why is it pretending to be cute?
Since this was just as distracting, he wished it would just use a professional tone without any emoticons. Though, adopting a professional attitude now wouldn’t exactly grant it any dignity.
Regardless, Gwak Yun-sang, the person in charge of the scene, decided to follow the standard hunting procedure: eliminate the giant vine before the fruit ripened and burst.
✽ ✽ ✽
The guilds that received the emergency support request began to arrive one after another. Among them were the dispatchers from the 7777 Guild—who had manipulated their schedules by claiming they were on outside duty—Seo Gae-un and her attack squad who had been training, and Yang Eun-ho and Lee Han-gyeol, who had rushed over barely having time to change into their guild uniforms.
After reporting to Tae-un, Yang Eun-ho first set down the long sword case he had been carrying on his back.
“I heard that your mentor uses longswords, so I brought a few blades from the guild’s armory.”
From Western-style swords to shamshirs and hwandos, they were magnificent blades that could impress even Kim Si-baek, who had long since surpassed the stage of being limited by the type of weapon. Yang Eun-ho explained the enchantments placed on each weapon one by one.
After a moment of consideration, Kim Si-baek picked up a sabre made from the bones and magic stones of an S-class magical beast. Since his swordsmanship had been refined in mak slecht, he no longer strictly needed a sabre-style sword, but being on Earth made him miss them. He liked the enchantment magic as well, as it simply maintained the blade’s sharpness and hardness.
Tae-un, who had been watching over his shoulder, saw the sword he chose and softened his gaze with satisfaction.
“I commissioned a French blacksmith to make that just in case you’d use it after I met you. I’m glad I did.”
“Is he a famous blacksmith?”
“He’s someone who reached S-class based solely on his ability to enchant weapons.”
“Huck. Daebak.”
The one who let out the exclamation wasn’t Kim Si-baek. Lee Han-gyeol, who had been looking at him with strangely sparkling eyes for a while, was the most surprised by his own voice and quickly covered his mouth.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Han-gyeol in person, so it’s nice, but why did he come all the way here?
As the mage Lee Han-gyeol appeared on site, the memory of his death—which he had seen in a vision—naturally surfaced, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Since this was Daejeon and not Seoul, he felt there was likely no danger severe enough for Han-gyeol to die on the spot, but he couldn’t help the anxiety.
Tae-un, noticing Kim Si-baek biting his lower lip slightly, shifted his gaze.
“You’re supposed to stay in the back. Why are you here?”
“I heard the magical beast is a giant vine. I think it was early this year, an American magical beast scholar published a paper on the analysis of plant-type magical beasts. Cloud Carter—you know him, right, Hyung? Anyway, thanks to him, I improved a reagent that can inhibit the growth of their stems and tentacles, so I brought it. It would be great if you could test its effectiveness…”
Even as he spoke, Lee Han-gyeol kept glancing at Kim Si-baek. Kim Si-baek felt a bit relieved that he didn’t seem intend to engage in direct combat, and when he responded with a smile, Han-gyel let out a “Kyaaa!” like a fan meeting an idol, clutching both hands tightly in front of his chest.
“You remember me, right?! We met in front of the sleep chamber last time!”
“Of course.”
“I heard on the way here—is it true that you’re Tae-un Hyung’s mentor? Daebak, daebak! I knew you two seemed close, but I didn’t know it was to that extent! If I’d known, I would have gotten an autograph!”
“…Excuse me? My autograph?”
“It’s not just anyone; how many chances in a lifetime does one get to meet someone Tae-un Hyung would call his mentor! You’re definitely the first and last!”
Kim Si-baek flinched as Lee Han-gyeol—looking scruffy with dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, bloodshot eyeballs, and greasy, clumped hair—lunged toward him with an intensity that seemed to shoot beams from his eyes.
“C-can I call you Hyung-nim too? No. You’re Tae-un Hyung’s mentor, so Hyung-nim isn’t enough! Please be my fathe— mmp! Mmmph!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll make sure to educate this brat properly!”
As Tae-un’s eyes narrowed, Yang Eun-ho quickly covered Lee Han-gyeol’s mouth. He then hoisted the struggling boy over his shoulder and vanished quickly.
Dazed, Kim Si-baek saw them off and then let out a hollow laugh.
“Cute. Han-gyeol still follows you around well, doesn’t he?”
“It’s because Pi-min Hyung is always bonking him on the head for playing around.”
Since Tae-un’s expression looked somewhat sulky, Kim Si-baek lightly pinched and shook one of his cheeks with his index finger and thumb.
“Why is your face like that again?”
“That brat… the Commissioner’s son is one thing, but Lee Han-gyeol too… I don’t know why everyone wants to call you ‘Dad’.”
“Maybe I just give off an old man vibe.”
“I’m the only one who should be feeling the immorality of a father-son relationship with you.”
Tae-un muttered something incomprehensible to himself and narrowed his brow.
“Surely there wasn’t some guy in mak slecht who called you ‘Dad’ too, right?”
[Death and Beauty urgently cover your mouth…]
But before Biyendwe could even fly in, Kim Si-baek answered nonchalantly.
“Hmm? How did you know?”
“…What?”
Kim Si-baek, failing to notice that Tae-un’s expression had turned bleak with a single sentence, became immersed in memories of Nasluik.
“It’s not that he actually called me ‘Dad,’ but it was cute how he followed me around and threw tantrums. I wonder if he’s doing well.”
“…Hyung. This is a really important question, so please answer seriously.”
“What is it?”
“Did you… have a child? I don’t mean the brats who follow you like a father, but a child born from your genetics. Priests aren’t allowed to date or marry, right? Right?”
[Death and Beauty gives up in despair and perches on your head.]
“…?”
He didn’t know why Tae-un was suddenly curious about this, nor did he understand Biyendwe’s reaction, but Kim Si-baek answered honestly. It wasn’t something he particularly needed to hide.
“Some sects forbid it, but it doesn’t matter for us. Whether one marries or not, it is all beautiful, is it not?”
“…Your doctrine is incredibly arbitrary.”
Biyendwe flinched at Tae-un’s murderous gaze—which seemed to ask why the priesthood didn’t forbid marriage—and buried its face under its wing.
“It might seem like whatever you want it to be, but for a small sect to survive in the cracks, flexibility is necessary.”
“So, about the child?”
“I can’t have children. Mak slehctians and Earthlings look similar, but our genetics are significantly different, making mixed blood impossible.”
“Wait, does that mean you actually tried to have a child?”
Only then did Kim Si-baek look up at him, wondering why he was so agitated.
“I’ve met people here and there, but I never tried to have a child. I only found out later that I couldn’t have children in mak slecht.”
Kim Si-baek couldn’t clearly define for himself why he had never harbored the greed to start a family and have children. But there was something he suspected.
It was probably because of the children.
Kim Si-baek slowly touched the ring he always wore on his left middle finger. The ring, which held photos of Tae-un and the children from the orphanage, was a cherished memory and the foundation that composed the human known as Kim Si-baek.
It was likely because he didn’t want to overwrite the memories of the children who were like his own family with a new family.
Even though the ones who had actually forgotten him were the children. Kim Si-baek habitually suppressed the fishy pain surging from the depths of his heart.
“Does that explain it?”
He figured this would be enough for him to understand.
As he stared up at him, Tae-un’s eyes darted back and forth; he clenched and unclenched his fists, tapped the ground with the tip of his shoe, and then finally spat out a question as if forcing it up.