Adapting to Everyday Life
Even from the days when Cheok Jun-gyeong's memories still lingered faintly in me, I had already begun to sense, however vaguely, the weight of words like "promise" and "responsibility."
But back then, I had no confidence I could bear that weight.
Especially not when a future of certain death lay ahead.
The face of ten-year-old Seoa rose in my mind.
Those round, dark eyes.
The way she used to smile so brightly whenever she looked at me.
A child who knew nothing at all.
I could not bind a girl like that with the shackles of "fiancée" and then leave for a battlefield from which I might never return.
If I truly never came back… that child would spend her entire life chained to a promise made with a dead man.
She would waste her youth and grow old in misery.
The mere thought was unbearable.
I can't let that happen.
So I made my decision.
I would become the villain.
Even if it meant making her resent me and hate me, I had to free her from the chains of that unjust promise.
I believed it was the only path I could offer her.
The next day, I went to find Seoa.
She was squatting in a corner of the yard, watering a small flower.
The small, slender back of a ten-year-old girl.
I swallowed dryly and forced my voice into something cold and cruel.
Just as I had practiced.
"Yoon Seoa."
Startled by my voice, she spun around.
Confusion filled those round eyes.
"I'm sick of this engagement the adults decided on their own."
I spat the words out as coldly and emptily as I could.
I saw her expression freeze for an instant.
"I don't want to be responsible for a little kid like you. It's a pain."
Tears began to well in Seoa's eyes.
Her small lips trembled.
"So… it's over! Don't come looking for me anymore, and don't bother me."
I deliberately made my tone even colder.
When I shook off her small clinging hand and turned away, the sob that burst out behind me felt like it was clawing at my heart.
My chest felt like it would split, but I forced myself to ignore it.
I did not look back.
I'm sorry, Seoa.
I repeated it inwardly.
But this is what's best for you. Forget a guy like me and live freely. Be happy.
I believed it.
I believed it was the best choice I could make.
The only consideration I could offer her.
"…Ha."
A long sigh escaped me on its own.
Waking from the memory and returning to the present, I sank deeper into the bed.
Outside the window, the darkness was still thick.
From the next room, I could faintly sense Seoa's presence.
So faint that even her breathing was almost inaudible, yet it was unmistakably there.
She had not lived freely the way I had hoped.
She had not resented me either.
Instead, for ten long years, she had filled the empty place I left behind and taken on an even heavier burden.
Caring for my parents, keeping this old house standing.
Something ached in a corner of my chest.
Not quite guilt—something deeper and heavier.
Regret, maybe.
Had I really… made the right choice? For the first time, the decision I had never once doubted over those ten years began to waver.
Perhaps I had not given her freedom at all. Perhaps I had only left her with deeper wounds and loneliness.
I pulled the old smartphone from my pocket.
When I turned it on, the familiar wallpaper appeared.
The only photo I had taken just before being dragged into the Gate ten years ago.
Twenty-year-old me smiling awkwardly, and ten-year-old Seoa pressed close beside me, beaming.
The eyes of the little Seoa in the photo were pure and bright, untainted.
They were filled with pure trust and affection directed at me.
I gently brushed my finger across her face in the picture.
Back then I had no idea.
That the depth of feeling this small child carried was enough to endure ten years.
Or the weight of everything I had abandoned.
The smiling face of young Seoa on the screen overlapped with the calm face of the twenty-year-old woman I had seen that afternoon.
I quietly turned the phone off.
In the thick darkness, I listened once more to the faint presence in the next room.
As if determined not to miss even a single breath, every nerve in my body focused that way.
Beyond the wall, her presence washed over me like a wave.
So faint that I would never have noticed it if I were not deliberately paying attention.
Yet all my senses locked onto every tiny breath.
The survival instincts honed over ten years now stood razor-sharp for an entirely different reason.
In the dark, I concentrated solely on the presence of one person in the next room, like a child newly born into the world.
In the end, the future I had hoped for never came.
Seoa had not resented me and lived free.
Instead, those ten years had only loaded heavier burdens onto her shoulders.
Looking after my parents, guarding this shabby old house.
Even taking on the responsibilities that should have been mine.
At twenty, I had been certain.
That it was the best choice.
The only path for her.
But the me of now… no longer knew.
What was this feeling crushing my chest?
Something deeper and more aching than simple guilt.
The weight of the choice I had made crossed ten years of time and pressed down on my shoulders now.
Perhaps I had not given her freedom, but a prison of loneliness she could never escape.
…It was a sleepless night.
I forced my eyes shut, but my mind only grew clearer.
Outside the window, the deep blue of night still held.
Dawn was still far off.
I slowly sat up and got out of bed.
The creak of the wooden floorboards seemed especially loud.
Afraid of waking Yoon Seoa next door, I muffled my footsteps and carefully opened the door.
The next morning.
An unfamiliar ceiling was the first thing that met my eyes.
I could not tell whether I had already grown used to it after only a few days, or whether my body simply remembered.
On the battlefield I had always snatched short naps or gone without sleep entirely.
I could not even remember the last time I had fallen into such deep sleep.
When I sat up, my joints cracked loudly.
The price of driving my body without rest for ten years.
Wounds that had yet to fully heal still throbbed all over.
This was pure physical exhaustion, different from the mental aftereffects.
I rolled my neck lightly, working out the stiffness.
When I opened the door and stepped out, the savory smell of rice hit my nose.
Clattering sounds came from the kitchen.
Yoon Seoa.
She was already up and preparing breakfast.
A complicated mix of awkwardness and guilt rose again.
But I carefully composed my expression and walked into the living room.
"……."
"……."
Our eyes met.
A brief silence.
I was the first to look away.
I stared pointlessly out the window and cleared my throat.
Without a word, Yoon Seoa busily arranged side dishes on the table.
Steaming rice and stew, along with a few simple namul dishes.
A modest but neat country breakfast.
Mother and Father were already seated.
The sleepless worry of the night before was plain on both their faces.
They must have fretted over me again.
My head bowed of its own accord under the weight of apology.
"…You're up?"
Yoon Seoa set down a rice bowl and spoon for me and spoke quietly.
I answered with a short nod and took my seat.
The meal continued in silence.
Father and Mother occasionally spoke to me, but beyond short replies I said little.
Or rather, I had nothing to say.
I simply did not know what words to offer.
Before lifting my spoon, I found myself habitually scanning under the table and around the room.
My gaze naturally drifted toward the windows and the front door.
Any possible threat, any hidden enemy.
The battlefield vigilance that had soaked into my bones.
A habit I had not been able to set down for a single day in ten years.
My head knew this was a safe home, yet my body reacted first.
"……."
Had she noticed my small movements?
Yoon Seoa quietly slid a small plate in front of me.
Glossy brown jangjorim—braised beef.
The side dish I had loved as a child.
"Mother prepared it starting yesterday, knowing you'd be coming. Please eat plenty."
Her voice was calm.
Her gaze stayed on the plate of jangjorim, not on my eyes.
As if she had noticed nothing at all.
But I knew better.
There was no way she had missed my unnatural behavior.
Even so, she treated me as if nothing were wrong, the same as always.
Rather, it felt like she was being considerate so I would not feel uncomfortable.
Something ached in my chest again.
Her familiar care now landed on me as a debt too heavy to bear.
At the same time, I found myself strange for feeling a peculiar sense of stability in this "everyday" sensation after so long.
"…Thanks."
I forced the word out with difficulty.
Yoon Seoa only offered a small smile in reply.
For some reason, that smile looked sad.
After the meal I stepped out into the yard.
To loosen my stiff body, I began stretching without much thought.
I laced my fingers and stretched my arms high, then twisted my waist left and right.
Ordinary bare-handed exercises.
But to ease the fatigue and tension built up in my body, I unconsciously began drawing up and circulating my qi.
It was the routine I had repeated every day on the battlefield to keep myself in peak condition.
The air vibrated faintly.
Dust at my feet rose lightly, and the leaves at the edge of the yard trembled for no reason.
An invisible wave of force spread outward from my body.
A change so slight ordinary people would never notice, yet a familiar sensation to me.
"You've worked up a sweat."
A voice from behind.
Yoon Seoa.
She had approached without my noticing and held out a warm wet towel.
I paused for a moment.
Her expression was utterly calm.
There was not the slightest surprise or curiosity about the faint wave of qi from moments earlier, or the strange shift in the surrounding air.
…Did she not notice? Or…
Perhaps she already knew.
That I was no ordinary person.
Even as a child I had been a little different from other kids my age.
Stronger than most, sharper in my senses.
And then there were the rumors that had circulated these past ten years about the "Sword Demon" Kang Taejun.
The only one to return alive from an S-rank Gate, a powerhouse who had transcended the limits of humanity.
There was no way she had never heard those stories.