That single silence was answer enough. If there had been any solution reachable by methods an ordinary person could think of, this illness would never have been classified as incurable in the first place.
Yu Segwon knew that too. Even so, he bit down hard on his lip once. His jawline went rigid, and his gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before coming back up. He had no intention of backing down easily.
“The hospital said he can hold on for at least a year.”
He spoke again. This time the tone was closer to confirmation than persuasion.
“Then… it’s possible the illness hasn’t progressed to a critical stage just yet, isn’t it?”
The doctor shook his head. A brief, definitive denial. Then he turned his gaze to Seo Yungyeom.
“You said you examined his condition with your mana?”
“…Yes.”
Seo Yungyeom’s answer came out small. The end of his voice, drained of strength, was slightly hoarse. Like someone who already knew what was coming next.
The doctor took a breath as if choosing his words, then spoke calmly.
“If he’s coughing up blood at this level, the lungs and stomach are likely already significantly weakened.”
His gaze flicked briefly toward the bed, then returned.
“The liver as well, most probably. Is that right?”
“…Yes.”
A short confirmation. That single syllable fell heavily into the room.
“Looking at the irregular pulse, the heart doesn’t appear to be in good condition either.”
“……”
This time, no answer came at all. Seo Yungyeom’s gaze dropped to the floor, and his fingertips trembled faintly.
The doctor didn’t press for a response. Instead, he continued in a low voice.
“I haven’t conducted a full examination myself, so I can’t say with precision… but the one-year prognosis was likely given under the assumption that he would be admitted to a hospital immediately.”
Yu Segwon’s gaze shifted to Park Taehan — the only one who had been at the hospital with Cha Inhu.
The message Park Taehan had sent to Seo Yungyeom and Yu Segwon had been very short. It contained only the name of the illness and a note that his condition was not good — no further detail.
That was because Park Taehan hadn’t had the room to write more. And because he had been afraid to put the truth into words. The moment it existed as text, he felt as though everything would be irrevocably, permanently confirmed.
Yu Segwon seemed to pick up on that, and let out a short, hollow sound — something between despair and disbelief. A brief, pressed-down exhale.
Park Taehan’s expression had been falling apart since earlier. His tightly shut lips and wavering eyes said enough to confirm that the doctor’s words were correct.
“Given that he’s here right now… it seems he refused to be admitted.”
“……”
“……”
“……”
No one answered.
Three S-ranks — unable to say a word, unable to do a thing, unable to do anything at all.
In that silence, the doctor prescribed a narcotic painkiller, and then stepped out of the room.
“…I’m taking him to my place.”
A long while later, Park Taehan was the first to bring up what came next. The one to respond immediately was, again, Yu Segwon.
“No.”
“Then what. You want to just leave Cha Inhu alone like this?”
“Hear me out.”
Yu Segwon took out his phone and sent a message to someone. The action was brief and direct.
“Sensei needs to be somewhere with trained staff and medical equipment. I’ll have everything set up at my pension, so…”
The rest — that anyone who wanted to come was welcome — didn’t need to be said. There was no one here who would want to leave Cha Inhu alone.
Where I live is a semi-basement unit. On a normal day, the sound of motorbike engines, passing cars, and voices that stretch on until dawn should have been filling my ears.
But now it was different. Through the closed window, the clear sound of birds chirping came through distinctly.
I curled up instinctively in the soft bed. Warm heat rising from an unfamiliar blanket wrapped around my back. It was too comfortable. For a moment — just a brief moment — that warmth actually felt pleasant.
But that was genuinely just a moment. The sense of wrongness came late, and when it did, it hit precisely.
…Something’s off.
I snapped my eyes open.
It wasn’t a familiar ceiling. Clean, without any moisture stains or cracks. When I turned my head, the walls and furniture in my line of sight were all unfamiliar as well. This was neither my place nor the Hunter Association’s medical room.
Tension flooded my entire body in an instant.
I reflexively raised my upper body and assumed a combat stance. I lowered my breathing and found my center. Even as I registered that my mana wasn’t flowing properly yet, my body had already moved first.
At that moment. Creak — the sound of a door opening.
I fixed my gaze on the door.
“Sensei. You’re up?”
The one who walked in was Yu Segwon.
He stepped into the room with an expression that paid zero attention to my wariness. His manner was no different from usual. He was holding a cup in one hand, his stride unhurried.
Like this situation was entirely, perfectly normal.
“…Where is this?”
The end of my voice cracked slightly. Less the sound of someone who had just woken up, more the sound of someone who had just come out of a state of high tension.
Yu Segwon glanced over me briefly. The half-raised posture on the bed, and the mana I’d gathered — ready to activate a skill at any moment. A brief, faint bitterness crossed his face.
“My pension.”
That one word fell into the room.
In that instant, the tension holding my body dissolved. Like releasing a rope I’d been clutching for a long time. My shoulders dropped, and the breath I’d been holding came out belatedly.
Only then did everything around me come into clearer focus. The clean walls, the wide window, the texture of the rug on the floor. Looking more carefully, it wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar sight.
After saving the world. No — to be precise, after finishing all the quests, the place we’d all come to take a short break together.
My breath caught quickly. A pressure squeezing quietly from somewhere inside my chest pushed a cough out past the point it could hold.
“Why am I— cough…”
I kept talking with one hand covering my mouth.
“Why am I here— cough…”
The coughing wouldn’t let the sentence go until the end. The more I tried to breathe in, the tighter my chest became, and the metallic taste that had lingered at the tip of my tongue came back.
Hearing that, Yu Segwon approached without a word. He held the cup he was carrying out toward me. A careful movement.
I took the cup reflexively. Warm heat wrapped around my palm. It spread slowly from my fingertips up the inside of my arm. Quietly — like a signal to settle my breathing.
Lemon tea. I stared at the pale yellow liquid in the cup in silence for a while, then lifted my head and met Yu Segwon’s eyes.
“This is… Gangwon-do, isn’t it?”
“Drink first.”
Short and clean. It wasn’t an answer to the question, but it wasn’t telling me not to ask, either. It meant that this came first, right now.
I did as he said and lifted the cup. I brought it to my lips for a moment, then pulled it away without managing a single sip. The lemon scent drifted around my nose first, and warm steam grazed my face.
Yu Segwon watched that quietly. His gaze was neither too pointed nor indifferent. The eyes of someone trying to assess a condition.
A bitterness crossed his face again. The corners of his mouth dropped, and the line of his eyes went faintly rigid. But that feeling didn’t stay long. He composed his expression as if by habit, and then spoke in the same unhurried tone as always.
“I know. You were really out.”
Which meant I hadn’t woken up once during the entire trip from Seoul to Gangwon-do.
I finally processed the situation properly and let out a small sound of disbelief. Sheer incredulity was the first thing that surfaced.
Clear Reward (1) – Pain Suppression
Not being able to feel pain was undeniably convenient. It blocked out everything — the suffocating agony, the sensation of organs twisting.
But that convenience came with a clear cost. The fact that I had absolutely no way of gauging for myself how far my body had deteriorated, what state I was actually in right now.
Should I… turn this off?
The thought flickered through me for a moment. In that this was a reward I could toggle on and off like a skill, the option clearly existed.
But I shook my head inwardly almost immediately. Feeling the pain again, gasping, experiencing my body breaking down piece by piece — honestly, I didn’t want that anymore.
I looked back down at the cup. Steam was still rising.
But something overlapped in the corner of my vision — a window different from the familiar reward notification. Without a thought, I reflexively moved to close it.
It was because I’d remembered that the side quest was still pending. It was optional anyway, and I had no space to look at it right now.
But just before I moved my hand, I noticed the wording was strange.
Side Quest (1) – Secure a Safe Location
Side Quest (1) has been cleared!
“……”
Nothing came out.
I blinked. I tilted my head slightly. The window stayed. It wasn’t an illusion. The completed marker was right there, clearly. As if it had already been finished — casually, without ceremony.
“Sensei?”
I hadn’t done anything. I hadn’t fought, hadn’t chosen, hadn’t made any kind of decision. And yet the first side quest was already showing as cleared.
My mind went blank, like something had emptied out. The steam rising from the lemon tea, the warmth of the room, even the fact that Yu Segwon was right in front of me — all of it blurred out in an instant. All that remained in my field of vision was that one sentence.
Quest cleared.
I slowly breathed in. But the air wouldn’t come in properly. Something inside my chest felt blocked, and my breath caught halfway. I kept breathing, forcing it through like I was swallowing something down, but my throat was slowly closing in.
And then I dropped the cup.
Thud — the cup slipped from my fingertips, fell onto the blanket, and tipped over. Lemon tea spilled out completely. A rush of hot steam rose all at once.
“Sensei!”
Yu Segwon’s voice came instantly. Without hesitation he swept the blanket back. He shoved aside the soaking fabric and quickly looked over my knees and the back of my hand. His touch was careful but hurried.
I was watching all of it like I was observing from far away.
My gaze was fixed on empty air, and my hand was trembling where it had dropped the cup. I tried to will the trembling to stop, but it wouldn’t do what I wanted.
“I’m fine… I’m fine.”
The words came out by reflex.
Yu Segwon gave no answer. He would know, too — that what I’d just said was my body reacting out of habit, a reflex to smooth things over.
“…Is the pain still bad?”
The words came carefully. Like someone standing before something that might shatter if touched the wrong way.
I shook my head. Also a habitual response. I’d always done that every time someone worried. But this time it wasn’t a lie. It genuinely didn’t hurt.
Side Quest (1) has been cleared!
The text was still clear. It didn’t flicker, didn’t fade. As if it would wait right there until I accepted it.
I stared at that sentence blankly.
If Yu Segwon hadn’t been here, I would have been cursing up a storm.
