I Let My Guard Down
He'd been careless.
Jay Jenkins — in another life, Yoon Jae-hee. He'd enlisted the moment he turned eighteen, and by the time he mustered out he was a war hero with a string of successful operations behind him.
One unusual footnote: he had once been an actor, the youngest man ever to take Best Actor at an international awards ceremony. That, of course, was a past he wanted buried forever.
Am I here already?
Returning to the mainland aboard a military transport, he frowned at the scene unfolding before his eyes.
"...I wasn't exactly expecting a welcome party."
Yoon Jay walked a gauntlet of saluting soldiers and went to file his discharge paperwork.
"Sergeant Jenkins."
"General."
If Lieutenant Colonel Phil had been the one to recognize his talent back in the SEALs, then the man standing before him now was the one who'd received reports of his abilities during his Delta Force years and granted him one unconventional privilege after another.
Which was why Jay was somewhat more at ease with him. He'd heard rumors that the general would soon be leaving the military for a career in politics — maybe that was why his motives were so transparent.
"Things were loud out there."
"A hero's homecoming. Of course it's loud — and that's with the coverage scaled back."
"Would've been better if you'd skipped it entirely."
"I'm sure you feel that way. If I were you, I'd have enjoyed the spotlight."
Jay could tell the general had some other agenda, but it was no longer his problem. He wasn't military anymore.
Once the LIS affair was fully wrapped up, this man would probably be the first to come knocking, looking to put Jay to use in one campaign or another. His side did love manufacturing heroes. But that would take years.
"Thank you for your efforts and your devotion in service to your country."
My country? Fair enough — he had lived in America longer now than he'd ever lived in Korea.
Half of that time he'd spent in the military. Leave had come a few times, but stepping back into civilian life always felt impossibly awkward.
Where do I go now?
Jay leafed through the packet someone had handed him. There were all kinds of support programs for discharged veterans. Maybe he'd start by calling one of them.
"Son."
"...Dad? What on earth are you doing here?"
"My son didn't bother telling me his discharge date, so I came to collect him myself."
Jay held his father in a long, fierce embrace.
"Thank God I wasn't too late. Get in."
"Where are we going?"
"Home, obviously. It's not like you have anywhere else to go."
The stiffness in Jay's face loosened, and a laugh slipped out of him. Having somewhere to return to, it turned out, was a better feeling than he'd expected.
"What's your plan, dragging your grown son home and keeping him under your roof forever?"
"Fine by me. I'm getting old — I can't throw my weight around like I used to."
"Does Mom know?"
When he pulled up to the house he'd missed so much, a beloved figure was already standing out front.
"JJ."
"Mom."
"My son."
After the tearful reunion came a warm family dinner.
"So — are you all right? That classified operation, we could hardly reach you at all."
"It was... nothing much. Caught some terrorists, same as always."
"That's all it was?"
Henry and Maria didn't believe a word of it. Jay had always been a wonderful son — never once caused trouble, a steady older brother to his younger siblings.
But hadn't they already been burned once, lulled into ease only to watch him vanish into the army overnight?
"Oh, this. Could you two hold onto these for me?"
Jay handed over the medals he'd received before his discharge, along with a framed commemorative photograph. As his parents examined them slowly, their eyes went wide.
"And you called this nothing?!"
"When did you even receive this?"
"It was classified. They kept the ceremony brief."
"Let me see — you're not hurt anywhere?"
"I'm fine, Mom."
"I'm not fine. Stand up. Let me look at you."
Maria hurriedly turned him this way and that, scrutinizing him. In her agitation she yanked the collar of his T-shirt down — and revealed a mass of scars neither of them could have imagined in their worst nightmares.
"Th-this is..."
"Son."
Jay gently pried his mother's fingers from his shirt.
"...It really is nothing. It's all healed."
"That's — that's not the point, is it?"
"No. I'll go up first."
He couldn't bear to look at his parents' despairing faces, so he retreated to his room.
And for the next several days, staying at his parents' house, he dreamed.
[Hahaha! Ugh— hack!]
[What's so funny?]
[Hh... you think killing me ends this?]
[...Where's the chief? Where's the nest?]
[No — I'm not dying.]
Unable to listen any longer, he went back to working the man over.
LIS's deputy leader. Its torture specialist. Asad was a mangled wreck — barely more wrecked than Jay himself, who stood swaying in front of him, torturing him with what little strength remained.
Miraculously freed, Jay had overpowered Asad and was now repaying him, injury by injury, for everything he had endured.
[Heh— hek... hack. You think I'm dying here?]
[You think I'm letting you live? Lift your head. I've been careful — only enough pain to keep you breathing.]
[Heh heh, hahaha! What a fine teacher you must have had. Your technique is exactly like mine.]
I wanted to know where that uncanny skill came from, that's all. The man just sneered at him.
[Heh heh... you think those scars are all I left you? No. I carved myself into your mind.]
[...Where's Ahmad. Your brother. Head of LIS. Where is he.]
[You'll never forget me. Not even when I'm dead. You'll see my face again and again and again!]
He'd tried not to take the bait. But those words — those he could not swallow.
He killed Asad in a blaze of fury, and at that moment he felt movement outside — many people. Coming to capture him? Or to save him?
[...Ten!]
It was his comrades.
They froze at the sight of Jay's wrecked body, then checked the face of the man collapsed on the floor.
[That's the Lion. Dead?]
[He's dead.]
[You okay?]
[Tried to get the nest's location. He wouldn't open his mouth to the end.]
[Forget it. We'll find it ourselves. Can you move?]
Jay shook his head. Standing upright was all he could manage.
[...You know, I never get tired of that ugly mug of yours.]
[Cracking jokes — you must be all right for now. Let's go!]
Propped up by Tu-tu and Brian, Jay fled the scene at speed while the other squad members covered their retreat. Relief at being alive washed over him, and his consciousness began to dim.
He looked back. It felt as though a pitch-black shadow had coiled itself around his body. And then, distantly, came that man's voice.
[Remember me. I do not die. Until you do, I will own your mind. Remember the scars I carved into you.]
"Son, isn't this a little too sudden?"
Henry Jenkins watched anxiously as his son crammed his belongings into a bag.
"About what happened yesterday—"
"I threatened Mom."
He didn't own much, so the packing was over quickly. Yoon Jay looked up at his father with eyes gone wet.
"I— I—"
Gasping, disoriented — he looked so much like the child Jay had once been. The little boy who had come to a strange country and lost his birth mother at so young an age. Henry took his son by the shoulders.
"I know it was an accident. Your mother understands, too."
"No. No, Dad. This isn't normal."
"Then stay here and get counseling. Where would you even go? You have no other ties. Your mother's side of the family? Are you planning on going to those people?"
"Anywhere but here."
It had been no trivial mistake. He had mistaken his own mother for that hated monster — he had come within an inch of killing her.
If his father hadn't been there... Jay squeezed his eyes shut.
"I can't stay here."
"JJ. Son."
"I'm going."
Jay all but fled the house. He loaded his things into the car his father had given him and reached for the door handle.
"Promise me. Promise you'll call — every single time. You hear me?"
Henry spun him around desperately. Jay found himself thinking, Was he always this small? He could feel the faint tremble in the man's eyes and fingertips through the hands gripping his shoulders.
"If it gets hard, you come home. Anytime. Answer me. Now."
"...I'll try."
And so he left home and began his wandering. He drifted from job to job, trying to forget the past.
He was lucky with people — only good souls kept crossing his path. Which was exactly why he couldn't stay anywhere long. A quiet dread gnawed at him: that someday, like his mother, he might hurt them.
So he did keep up with counseling, off and on. It never lasted.
"Today will probably be my last session."
"I'm sorry — the therapy's only just begun. Surely you're not giving up?"
"No, I've found work in another state."
It was a lie. Even now, the residue of the past flickered behind the counselor's shoulders.
"But, son. You're not nearly finished healing."
He was the worst kind of patient. The moment rapport started to form, he would vanish — real treatment never stood a chance.
"Whew... well, I can't stop you. But wherever you go, you must keep seeing someone."
"I will. Promise."
But nothing could bend Jay's stubbornness. And so, without even a proper goodbye, he left the region he'd grown quietly attached to and drifted on.
"Aaaaagh!"
The time he'd seriously thought about putting down roots was when he worked as a safety officer with the Coast Guard.
"What's wrong?"
"My — my brother fell in the ocean!"
Jay dove into the water without hesitation and carried the child back to shore.
The boy wasn't breathing. He looked about the age Jay had been when he first came to America.
"Did anyone call 911?"
"Wh— what do we do!"
"Please. Please."
He began CPR immediately. Mercifully, the child vomited up seawater and came to. Jay rolled him onto his side and handed him over to the paramedics.
"If you hadn't been there, this could've ended very badly."
"That's a relief."
Jay gave the paramedic a faint, composed smile.
"Thank you so much!"
Before long the boy's parents burst into the hospital, heard how he was doing, and threw their arms around Jay, thanking him over and over.
Watching the family weep with gratitude beside their child, Jay murmured to himself.
"...This feels strange."
"Strange? You did a good thing."
"I don't know..."
In the military, he had killed many people. Some had deserved to die; others were people he simply hadn't been able to save.
So would saving a life make him feel a little better?
Jay stared blankly at the T-shirt of an LA Fire Department paramedic talking to the reception clerk.
Someone was moving in the house. Yoon Jay rose carefully from the bed, tracking the situation with his eyes alone.
Slipping silently from the covers, he opened the door. In the darkness, his sharp gaze gleamed.
His breathing deadened to nothing, he advanced on the intruder one measured step at a time. He was just about to ambush the intruder—
A sound of something colliding. The heavy thud of a body hitting the floor.
"...Hup."
The gleam in Yoon Jay's eyes wavered, and his expression changed. A heartbeat ago he had been Ten of the battlefield; now he was simply Yoon Jay.
When his mind cleared, he found his younger stepbrother sprawled right in front of him.
What is he doing here?
And so... Yoon Jay frowned against the headache crashing down on him.
There had been an afterparty last night.
Yoon Do-jun had passed out after barely two beers, and had whined that if he went back to the dorm like this, his manager would tear him apart — so he'd begged to sleep over at his brother's place. Jay had brought him in and put him up in the guest room.
Then came the suspicious sound, and he'd braced for an attacker—
Why on earth did I—
He looked down at the kitchen knife in his hand, went cold all over, and dropped it on the floor.
I didn't— did I?
Yoon Jay dropped to one knee in an instant and checked Yoon Do-jun over.
"Do-jun! Do-jun!"
He ran his hands over the boy's whole body in a rush. As far as he could see, nothing was wrong.
He pressed two fingers to his neck and found his pulse. Normal. Breathing out a sigh of relief, Jay scanned the surroundings.
What in the world happened—
The guest room door stood open, as did the bathroom door. Drunk out of his mind, Do-jun had probably stumbled to the bathroom and back, then collapsed on the way to bed.
Looking closer, he could see a lump forming on his forehead. He must have cracked his head on this pillar on the way back and gone down.
"Mmmmngh... didn't finish eatin'..."
At the easy breathing and sleep-talk, all the tension drained out of Yoon Jay's body and he sank to the floor where he stood. He buried his face in his knees and laced his trembling fingers together.
I let my guard down. All this time.