Chapter 21
I’d always thought it, but Yu Chanhee’s room was absurdly spacious for one person. The emptiness of the house felt even more suffocating as I sat hunched in the corner of the bed, staring blankly into the air. I finally called out to the system.
“Is the hidden route gone?”
No answer. It had clung to me like a shadow when I wanted nothing to do with it, but now that I needed it, it vanished. Still, I refused to give up. At first, I whispered the words in my mind, but soon they spilled from my lips, growing louder, more desperate.
“Answer me. Hey. Come out.”
Finally, as if it had no choice, the system chimed in with a cold beep.
<‘Yu Hyunjae’ Hidden Route ending collection failed. Would you like to continue?>
“Would I…?” I echoed, genuinely confused.
The system hesitated before delivering the words I’d been dreading.
<‘Yu Hyunjae’ Hidden Route has been discarded.>
But it didn’t stop there. More lines flooded the space in front of me, each one worse than the last.
<You have failed to establish a relationship with ‘Yu Hyunjae’!>
<A penalty for failure will be applied.>
<‘Yu Hyunjae’s’ affection for you has decreased.>
<‘Yu Hyunjae’s’ affection for you has decreased.>
<‘Yu Hyunjae’s’ affection for you has decreased.>
The repetition drove the point home—his affection had plummeted to nothing. I watched the text dissolve into the air, then collapsed onto the bed. Beneath the flicker of relief was a crushing, hollow ache. The thought of having to distance myself from Hyunjae again, of pretending he meant nothing, made my head throb. The pain sharpened with every second. I forced myself up, limping toward the medicine cabinet. Normally, the painkillers were in Hyunjae’s room, but I wasn’t ready to face him yet.
Of course, the world had other plans. I ran into Hyunjae head-on on the stairs and froze. He stared back at me. After everything—after finally opening up to someone, only to hear those words—he must have been furious. But the look in his eyes wasn’t the usual sadness or loneliness I knew. It was raw, undisguised hostility. I’d never seen him like this, and it threw me. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to confront him.
“…You go first.”
His voice was ice. He brushed past me without another word, and my headache flared as I slowly descended the stairs. Even that short flight felt endless. I couldn’t bear to look back, hiding behind the living room wall instead. Leaning against it, I slid to the floor and buried my face in my hands. I wanted to grab his arm, demand to know what that expression meant. But I couldn’t drag him back into my mess. I couldn’t do that to him. Tears slipped through my trembling fingers. Would I ever reach a point where I didn’t have to see these wretched tears?
***
I rubbed my stinging eyes and climbed the stairs again. When I reached the second-floor living room, something felt off. The four-seater sofa had been replaced with a single-seater. Once I noticed that, other changes became obvious—the decorations, subtly altered, all reduced to accommodate just one person.
Ignoring the pain in my leg, I rushed to my room. It looked mostly the same, but one wall was covered by a large blind that blended into the wallpaper. I pulled it aside.
The wall was lined with firearms—dozens of them, all shapes and sizes. It looked like something out of a spy movie. I stood there, stunned. What was all this? I’d never been interested in guns, let alone collected them.
Then, a line I’d buried deep in my mind resurfaced:
“Yu Chanhee’s room was neatly displayed with various firearms he had collected since he was seven.”
I rushed to the desk, yanking open the drawers. Notebooks, scribbled notes, stationery—nothing useful. But as I frantically searched, I noticed a book wedged into the narrow space behind the desk. I pulled it free. The hardcover, embossed in gold, was pristine yet heavy with time. I read the title slowly. It was in a foreign language, but I recognized it instantly—just like the first time I’d seen it.
“Why is this in my room…?”
A sudden fear gripped me. Where was I? Who was I in this situation? This wasn’t the life I’d built. This wasn’t the save point I knew. I called for the system, but of course, it didn’t answer.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out. Cha Suhyun, Oppa.
Seeing his name saved so casually made me even less eager to answer, but I swiped to accept.
—Yu Chanhee.
Cha Suhyun’s voice was surprisingly normal, devoid of his usual mocking tone.
—You not checking your messages?
“I was… asleep.”
I forced out a reply, my mind racing. I grabbed the medicine and swallowed it dry, waiting for the pain to dull. On the other end, Cha Suhyun continued.
—I sent it anyway. What you asked for.
“What I asked for?”
—Cut the act. It doesn’t suit you.
“……”
—I don’t even know if this is right.
“…What do you mean?”
—No matter how much you hate him, it’s ridiculous to think like that at your age.
Cha Suhyun sighed, exasperated, and hung up. I pulled the phone away and opened the messenger app. The recent contacts were filled with names I barely recognized. I tapped on Cha Suhyun’s and scrolled through our conversation.
[Cha Suhyun: You’re really fucking ruthless.]
[Me: Better than you. I didn’t go abroad to kill someone.]
[Cha Suhyun: Fuck you, I don’t do drugs either.]
[Lol]
[Cha Suhyun: (File)]
The conversation ended with the file he’d sent. I put off digging deeper and opened it. Instead of what I expected, it was just an address. I checked the map—some industrial building.
Right on cue, another message from Cha Suhyun:
[Cha Suhyun: Just be there by 2.]
[Cha Suhyun: I’m telling you this so you don’t get the wrong idea.]
[Cha Suhyun: It’s 2 AM.]
I hesitated before replying: Got it. Then I threw my phone onto the bed. Relationships I never made, messages I never sent, guns I never collected—what the hell was happening? I couldn’t even begin to guess.
“This is fucking torture.”
If it wanted to torment me, the least it could do was tell me why. But the system wasn’t that kind. There was only one thing left to do: go to the address Cha Suhyun had sent. I was uneasy, but I had no choice.
Before that, though, there was one thing I needed to confirm. Even in this twisted situation, I needed to know: Had Hyunjae really changed his feelings toward me? Was he not the Hyunjae who had once remembered the past, who had trusted me without question? I just needed to know, even a little, if that Hyunjae was still there.
It wasn’t that I wanted to be with him again like before. I hadn’t died again for that. So even if I found out, nothing would change.
But I knew that if it were the Hyunjae I knew, he wouldn’t abandon me just because his affection points dropped. And if he did, things would get complicated. That’s all I needed to confirm.
“Don’t you dare laugh at me.”
I glared at the empty air, as if someone were there. Even if he wasn’t the Hyunjae who had believed in me no matter how much I pushed him away, I hoped that at least the Hyunjae who had vaguely remembered liking me was still there. The system would probably mock me for it.
So, I decided to pick a fight—to talk to him. I knocked on Hyunjae’s door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me.”
My heart pounded for no reason. In every life, Hyunjae had forgotten me, but he had never hated me. That look earlier had to be a lie. Hyunjae couldn’t possibly dislike me. He was hurt, sad, lonely, but he had never hated Yu Chanhee.
The door opened slowly. Hyunjae stood there, and I was about to blurt out what I’d come to say—until I saw his room.
Nothing was intact. Everything was broken, torn, ruined. The pathetic blanket on the floor, the books stacked where a desk should have been, the wallpaper clawed and scratched. The school uniform hanging in the corner was stained with dried blood, reduced to rags.
Hyunjae watched me silently. His face was painfully familiar, like looking in a mirror. He was exhausted. His arms, exposed by his short-sleeved shirt, were covered in wounds—fresh, brutal. I grabbed his arm, my own face draining of color.
“What the hell…?”
I needed a reason. I wanted to ask what this world had done to him. But Hyunjae didn’t seem to want to talk. He gently shook off my grip and spoke, hollow and detached.
“You don’t have to act like that at home.”
“What…?”
“No one’s watching.”
With that, he closed the door. I wanted to knock again, to see his face. But the instinct I’d honed through these repetitive, exhausting lives told me one thing:
Hyunjae hated me.
