By Zephyria 
“Hyung, really? You won’t?”
Hyung… Upon hearing this sweet resonance, which he hadn’t heard from Tae-un since the latter was very young, Kim Si-baek’s defenses crumbled into a mush. Just a moment ago, he had claimed there was no way to tempt him, but the strength in the hand that had firmly gripped Tae-un’s cheek slowly faded.
Looking down from above, the corners of Tae-un’s mouth curled up suggestively. The aegyo brimming in his narrowed three-hundred eyes, the lips pressing softly against his eyelids, and the hand stroking down his waist—every gesture approached Kim Si-baek as an utterly seductive invitation. The sound of his heart thumping heavily against his ribs felt so foreign it was as if it didn’t belong to him.
Despite uttering the spoiled words, “Hyung,” the breath fussing over the nape of his neck was searingly hot.
“Ugh.”
The sharp sting of pain racing across his skin barely allowed Kim Si-baek to snap back to his senses. Simultaneously, a wave of self-loathing surged. To be captivated by a kiss was one thing, but what kind of pathetic display was this?
Kim Si-baek struggled to push away Tae-un’s face, which was biting his neck, and sat up on the sofa. He completely avoided looking at the other, fearing that seeing a sorrowful, crestfallen face would make him feel pity and shake him even further.
“You’re my younger brother.”
“We aren’t biological brothers.”
“….”
Kim Si-baek recalled Tae-un’s reaction in the past when he had felt hurt after being told they weren’t legal family while buying a phone. The way he shamelessly flipped the very words he had once blurted out was incredibly shrewd… and truly intelligent, just like whose brother he was.
“Put yourself in my shoes. If it were you, could you sleep with Eun-ho or Han-gyeol?”
“Hmm…”
The question posed through empathy made Tae-un groan. After frowning for a moment, his expression shifted into one of determination.
“Does that mean if I sleep with Eun-ho or Han-gyeol, I can have sex with you, Hyung?”
“…What?”
“Just wait a moment. I’ll go take care of it quickly—”
This kid, really! Horrified, Kim Si-baek grabbed hold of Tae-un. Whether Tae-un actually intended to sleep with those two or not was unclear, but he had succeeded in making Kim Si-baek more serious. A sigh escaped as soon as he opened his mouth.
“You don’t have to share blood to be real family, right? Where in the world do family members sleep with each other?”
“Ancient Egypt. They did it in Goryeo, too.”
“….”
…Ah, there were actual examples recorded in history books.
“Zoroastrians encouraged incest in the past. You’re a priest, Hyung. Isn’t there a doctrine in your religion that encourages incest?”
“…Do you think something like that exists?”
“Then you can just put it in the doctrine. Since you have a direct line to God, can’t you just add it immediately, saying it’s God’s word?”
“Don’t put weird things into our doctrine.”
Whether it was because he was exceptionally soft on Tae-un or because the boy was simply cunning… chewing over the thought that it was likely both, Kim Si-baek looked back at Tae-un.
Judging by the mention of Ancient Egypt, there seemed to be a fair amount of playfulness, yet there wasn’t a hint of a smile on his face. It was as if he didn’t even have the leisure to wear the faint smile he habitually showed in front of Kim Si-baek.
Kim Si-baek recalled the sensation of Tae-un gripping his wrist last night. What had made this child so desperate?
“Un-ah, I couldn’t forget you for not 21, but 68 years.”
Even after completely giving up hope of returning to Earth, Kim Si-baek could not forget the younger children at the orphanage, nor could he forget Tae-un. As he clenched his fist, the ring on the middle finger of his left hand—which he always wore even on Earth—felt engraved into his skin, pressing against his palm.
This was Kim Si-baek’s long-held memory, the largest cornerstone constituting him as a human being, and the evidence of the family he finally gained after being abandoned by the parents who gave birth to him and failing to protect his younger brother.
“You are the brother I love most, and you are my family.”
“….”
“I don’t want to lose you, my family.”
Tae-un had said that nothing would change just by having sex, but could that really be true?
Kim Si-baek’s sole selfishness yearned to prevent this relationship from being corrupted by pouring Tae-un’s desired lust over the name of family.
He wanted to return while holding onto the intact memory of them being family.
〈I hope that child slowly forgets the time spent with me, so that eventually, it fades into a shadow of a memory.〉
He was someone who would leave. Not disappearing like he did 21 years ago, but departing on a path from which he would never return. Someone who would be completely forgotten.
Kim Si-baek hoped that Tae-un would not cling to someone like him, who was destined to leave and be forgotten. Tae-un had suffered enough over the past 21 years. Those 21 years, clinging to memories alone in a world where everyone had forgotten him, must have been a time of endless, grueling pain.
Having confirmed each other’s survival, they realized that the journeys of their lives built in their respective places over the long years were nothing to be ashamed of. Kim Si-baek felt this was more than enough, and he wanted it to be enough for Tae-un as well.
Even after returning to mak slechtro, he would keep the ring and cherish the old memories, but he hoped Tae-un would not do the same—that his grueling pain would not continue. He hoped it would slowly fade under the name of a memory.
Until that moment arrived, Kim Si-baek wanted to remain his family.
“Un-ah, I will always be your Hyung.”
✽ ✽ ✽
‘Ugh, my shoulders are stiff.’
Pi Min-hyeong let out a long yawn and headed toward the sleep chamber. Yesterday, while hunting magical beasts in the field, he had to return hurriedly to Daejeon because of the giant vine incident. Then, he spent four days raiding the Id Portal created by that incident.
Because time flowed differently in the Id Portal compared to reality, it was morning by the time he cleared it and returned. He had gone straight to the meeting room and had only just been liberated.
‘I don’t even know how many Id Portals appeared in Daejeon alone yesterday.’
Broadcasts regarding the Id Portals continued to play through his Bluetooth earphones.
Only one night had passed in reality, but it felt like four days. Even for an S-class hunter, running continuously without a break was quite exhausting. Still, it was better for hunters to be tired and injured than to face the horrific results of leaving an Id Portal unattended.
Nothing makes people as anxious as disaster accidents. Moreover, since the majority of the generation had experienced the Great Cataclysm either directly or indirectly, they reacted extremely sensitively to disasters involving magical beasts. Last night, warning sirens announcing the creation of Id Portals must have been incessant, not just in Daejeon, but all across the country.
‘Thinking about it now, it’s a relief that the system settled in so well in our country.’
Id Portals are grueling spaces where one cannot expect profitability other than magic stones, and if unlucky, one could wander for days, potentially dragging civilians along. Furthermore, unlike the fields where magical beasts are distributed somewhat evenly according to rank, beasts appear randomly regardless of rank within a portal, making the difficulty higher. It was natural for private guilds or hunters to avoid them.
To clear Id Portals, various countries implemented policies such as providing government subsidies or forming government-led raid teams, but there were no remarkable results. They only responded properly in dictatorial states where the government controlled the hunters.
Korea, on the other hand, was different.
Korea was also in chaos during the early stages of the Great Cataclysm, but the situation changed when Tae-un led the refugees out of Seoul. As an S-class hunter, Tae-un cleared Id Portals without compensation wherever he stepped. The members of the 7777 Guild, who shared an exceptionally strong bond after experiencing hell in Seoul, followed him faithfully without complaint.
At the time, Tae-un was still a minor. In Korea, where stereotypes about age are strong, Tae-un was perceived as a child first rather than an S-class hunter. Since a child was clearing Id Portals while getting injured, it was an obvious result that public opinion soured toward the other hunters and guilds who stood by with their arms crossed.
On top of that, hunters from the Seoul refugee group, such as Justina of the Tobazishu Husarski Guild and Jo Byeong-seok of the Gabyeolcho Guild, joined Tae-un in clearing Id Portals. The government, which had been struggling with the disposal of Id Portals, did not miss the opportunity and manipulated the media.
〈The refugees of Seoul, whom we abandoned and left isolated, are still sacrificing themselves for us.〉
The words left by a famous announcer as the closing remark of the news stimulated the conscience the public had ignored and evoked a deep sense of shame. It also gave the illusion that if other guilds cleared Id Portals for free, they could overcome that shame. Public opinion toward other guilds plummeted to the worst level day by day.
Eventually, the hunter community had no choice but to wave the white flag. The regulation stating that guilds must prioritize clearing Id Portals upon the request of the Supernatural Phenomenon Response Agency was created this way.
While strolling along with these various thoughts, he saw a familiar figure from behind. It was Kim Si-baek, looking out the window with a somewhat troubled expression.
Pi Min-hyeong was about to greet him warmly, but he flinched at the low voice that drifted over.