Chapter Text
The sight that greeted Yoo Joonghyuk outside was chaos. Crew members were scrambling, shouting orders, and loading the cannons in haste. Smoke curled up from where a cannonball had struck the side of the ship, the wood splintered and charred. A column of thick black smoke rose into the sky, mingling with the scent of salt and gunpowder.
“Captain! It’s the navy! They’ve brought reinforcements!” Lee Jihye shouted, running up to them. Her face was flushed with panic, but her eyes were clear. With her sword drawn, she took a protective stance in front of Yoo Joonghyuk. Her shoulders were broader than he remembered. “Get below deck, Mister. We’ll take care of this.”
“No need. I’m not sitting this one out.” Yoo Joonghyuk spoke with conviction. He had caused this mess, and he should put some effort into fixing it too.
Kim Dokja gave him a look, but didn’t say anything else. Instead, Kim Dokja unsheathed his sword and held it out. Ignoring the sparks that ricocheted down his arm when their fingers brushed, Yoo Joonghyuk took the weapon in his own hand.
Yoo Joonghyuk turned to face the chaos unfolding before them, trying to get a read on the situation. A quick glance over the starboard side confirmed Lee Jihye’s words—one, no, two navy ships, their flags flying high, were closing in. They had come prepared, the narrow slits of their cannons gleaming ominously.
His mind raced. There was no way they could easily win against a fleet that size. Even with Yoo Joonghyuk’s military experience, the crew was outnumbered and outgunned. Fighting might be a death sentence. But running, with ships that fast on their tail… It would take a miracle to pull off.
“Ready the crew for combat,” Kim Dokja ordered, voice steady despite the surge of adrenaline coursing through him. “And get the younger ones below deck. We’re not giving up without a fight.”
“But Captain—” Yoo Joonghyuk started, but Kim Dokja cut him off with a sharp shake of his head.
“Trust me,” he said, the words quiet but commanding. For a split second, their eyes met, and something passed between them, something unspoken but understood. There was no time to sort through the complicated mess of feelings and words hanging between them. Not now.
Yoo Joonghyuk hesitated, then nodded, a slight, reluctant dip of his head. The crew, too, obeyed without question, moving with a speed and precision that came only from having faced death together time and time again.
“Demon King of Salvation!” A voice called out from above. Yoo Joonghyuk’s head whipped around, alarmed, but Kim Dokja’s face was set like stone as he watched one of the enemy officers—a man in a crisp navy uniform—step forward, the insignia on his shoulder marking him as high-ranking.
The officer’s voice rang out over the din of battle preparations. “Surrender now, and we’ll offer you mercy! But if you resist, we’ll sink you and your crew to the bottom of the ocean!”
For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of flames and the distant roar of the waves. The crew paused, looking at Kim Dokja for direction.
Kim Dokja’s gaze flickered to Yoo Joonghyuk, standing a few feet away, his expression hard and unyielding. Yoo Joonghyuk wondered if Kim Dokja could see the doubt, the fear, and the fierce determination mingling in his eyes. He wondered how it was that Kim Dokja’s gaze harbored none of those emotions, eyes as calm as the morning shore.
“No,” Kim Dokja called out, voice carrying clear and strong over the water. “We’re not surrendering.”
The officer’s face twisted in a snarl, and he raised his hand—probably to signal the ships to fire again.
But before he could, Kim Dokja took a step forward, his voice ringing out over the water, carrying the weight of everything he had survived to get here.
"Raise the flag—let them know exactly who they’re dying to." His gaze shifted, landing on Yoo Joonghyuk one last time, a brief, fleeting glance filled with something raw and fierce.
Just like that, the clash of swords and the crack of gunfire rang out in brutal symphony across the ship’s deck. Yoo Joonghyuk moved with the ease of someone long accustomed to violence, Kim Dokja’s sword flashing in the dim morning light as he blocked and parried the incoming strikes of the navy officers. Even though his mind whirred with doubt, his body acted on instinct—dodging, weaving, holding back just enough to avoid harming the men before him.
He wasn’t on their side anymore. The thought echoed in his head like a warning bell, one he hadn’t yet internalized. But still, he couldn’t bring himself to strike them down. Even now, with chaos and death all around him, part of him resisted that final step, resisted making the break with his old life definitive.
An officer lunged at him, blade aimed for his throat. Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm snapped up, deflecting the attack, sending the man staggering backward. He stepped in close, twisted his opponent’s wrist, and disarmed him in one fluid motion. Another flash of metal and the sword hilt struck against the man’s temple, sending him sprawling unconscious to the deck.
It was a temporary solution. These weren’t all low-level soldiers, after all—though the crew was likely thrown together haphazardly, many were trained officers, their stances and techniques ones he knew all too well. They wouldn’t all stay down forever. Already, more were closing in around him, eyes narrowed with determination.
“Dammit,” Yoo Joonghyuk muttered under his breath, teeth gritted as he swung his blade up to parry another strike. The edge of his sword caught against his opponent’s, sending sparks flying as they struggled for dominance. He could feel his grip slipping, the strength of his stance weakening.
And then—
He heard it.
The faint creak of wood, high above him. His gaze flickered upward instinctively, catching a flash of movement in the ship’s rigging.
Shin Yoosung.
She was perched in the bird’s nest, bow at the ready, her small figure silhouetted against the morning sky. Despite the chaos below, she looked calm, focused. But she was dangerously exposed, a lone figure with no cover amidst the storm of cannon fire and smoke.
A surge of cold fear shot through Yoo Joonghyuk, the kind that hit him low and hard, knocking the breath out of his lungs. His gaze snapped down just in time to see one of the navy officers—a stocky man with a scar running down his cheek—glancing up at her. The man’s lips curled in a smile that made Yoo Joonghyuk’s blood run cold, and then his hand darted into his jacket.
He’s reaching for something.
Time seemed to slow. There was no mistaking the glint of metal in the man’s hand as he pulled out a pistol, aiming it squarely at Shin Yoosung’s vulnerable figure. The world around Yoo Joonghyuk blurred, the shouts and cries of battle fading into a dull roar.
He didn’t think.
His hesitation vanished, burned away in a flare of fury.
In a heartbeat, Yoo Joonghyuk surged forward, cutting down the officer in his path with a single, ruthless strike. The man barely had time to react—barely had time to widen his eyes in shock before Yoo Joonghyuk’s sword cleaved through him, the blade carving a red path across his chest.
The man stumbled back, clutching at the wound with a choked gasp, eyes wide with disbelief. He crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him, pouring over previous dark stains on the wood.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s breath came fast and harsh, the adrenaline roaring in his ears. He turned, wild-eyed, to the scarred officer who had aimed at Shin Yoosung.
The man looked up, hand still raised with the pistol half-drawn. But it was too late.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s sword flashed again, cutting through the air with lethal precision.
The officer fell with a strangled cry, the pistol slipping from his grasp and clattering uselessly onto the deck.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood over him, chest heaving, the sound of his own heartbeat thunderous in his ears. His blade dripped crimson, the blood pooling around his feet. He stared at the body at his feet, unblinking, something dark and unyielding settling into place inside him.
He had crossed the line.
The realization hit him with a strange, almost hollow clarity. The divide between the man he had been and the one he was now seemed to close in on itself, erasing the boundaries that had once kept him tethered to his old life.
There was no going back.
Slowly, Yoo Joonghyuk lifted his gaze, searching the rigging for any sign of Shin Yoosung. She was still there, her small form motionless. He could see the way her hands gripped the railing, knuckles white, the look of shock etched onto her face.
But she was alive. Unharmed.
Relief crashed over him.
“Get down,” he shouted up at her, voice rough and strained. “It’s not safe!”
She hesitated, eyes wide and fearful, but then nodded, scrambling down the ropes as quickly as she could.
Yoo Joonghyuk turned back to the battle raging around him. The crew was fighting fiercely, but they were outnumbered, struggling to hold their ground against the naval officers pushing their way onto the deck. He could see Kim Dokja’s figure through the smoke, directing the crew with sharp, efficient gestures.
Kim Dokja flowed through them, every step measured, blades dancing in his hands. His face was calm, almost detached, as he cut down the men surrounding Yoo Joonghyuk. There was no hesitation in his movements, no mercy in the way he struck. Within seconds, three officers lay sprawled at their feet, bodies crumpled and still.
The others faltered, uncertainty flickering in their eyes as they faced the pirate captain. Even the most battle-hardened of them seemed to hesitate, edging back a step.
Kim Dokja turned, gaze meeting Yoo Joonghyuk’s for a fleeting moment.
“Taking your sweet time, aren’t you?” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips. It was the only warning Yoo Joonghyuk received before Kim Dokja was gone again, lunging at the remaining officers with terrifying speed.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s breath hitched, but he shook off his shock and dove in beside him. Their movements fell into a strange, seamless rhythm—Yoo Joonghyuk’s powerful strikes offsetting Kim Dokja’s swift, precise cuts. They moved like they had been fighting side by side for years, falling into each other’s rhythm without the need for words.
Yoo Joonghyuk blocked a heavy strike, knocking an officer’s sword aside with sheer force, and Kim Dokja’s blade slipped in under the man’s guard, slicing across his side. Yoo Joonghyuk spun, catching another officer with a crushing blow to the shoulder that sent him sprawling to the deck, and Kim Dokja’s sword flashed again, finishing the job before the man could rise.
The deck was a battlefield littered with bodies, splintered wood, and the stench of gunpowder and blood. Yoo Joonghyuk stood at its center, breath coming in harsh, labored bursts as his gaze landed on a figure of his past. Commander Lee stood with his shoulders squared, bloodied sword gripped tightly in his hand, staring back at Yoo Joonghyuk with a mixture of disbelief and anger.
“Lieutenant Yoo,” Commander Lee spat, voice low and tight with barely controlled fury. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Kim Dokja watched from the sidelines, leaning against the ship’s rail with an unreadable expression. Yoo Joonghyuk turned to stare at him, and Kim Dokja stared back. He gave no orders, made no move to interfere, and his silence was an unmistakable command: This is your fight, Joonghyuk. Your decision.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s throat felt tight, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at Commander Lee—at the familiar, authoritative stance, the harsh, unyielding lines of his face.
“How did it come to this?” Commander Lee growled, a deep crease forming between his brows. “You—fighting alongside pirates. Turning your sword against your own people. Are you out of your mind?”
Yoo Joonghyuk took a step forward, his boots slipping slightly on the blood-slick deck. He could feel the eyes of his crewmates on him, feel the weight of their expectations. But it was Kim Dokja’s gaze—calm, unwavering, watching him with that piercing intensity—that anchored him.
“Leave, Commander Lee,” Yoo Joonghyuk said, his voice low but steady. The command sounded hollow even to his own ears. “Take your men and go.”
Commander Lee’s eyes blazed with something like disbelief. “You think I’ll retreat? You’ve thrown your lot in with pirates, Lieutenant. Traitor. You should know better than anyone what happens to traitors in the navy.”
The words struck deep, like a blade sliding between his ribs. Yoo Joonghyuk’s grip on his sword trembled. “You don’t understand. I—”
Commander Lee’s lips twisted in a snarl, a mixture of rage and something like betrayal flashing in his eyes. “This isn’t you. You’re a soldier—an officer. This is not who you are.”
The tension crackled between them, a taut wire stretched to its breaking point. Yoo Joonghyuk swallowed, throat dry, and cast a brief, fleeting glance at Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja didn’t say a word. He merely lifted an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. An unspoken challenge, laced with something else—something like trust.
What will you do, Joonghyuk?
A bitter taste filled Yoo Joonghyuk’s mouth. He turned back to Commander Lee, forcing himself to stand tall, to keep his voice steady even as a storm of emotions churned inside him.
“Maybe it isn’t,” Yoo Joonghyuk murmured, half to himself. His gaze dropped to the blood staining his hands, the crimson streaks that would never truly wash away. He took a deep breath and lifted his head, meeting Commander Lee’s gaze squarely. “But I’m not coming back. Not with you. Not after this.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them—thick, oppressive, broken only by the creak of the ship and the distant calls of seagulls.
Then Commander Lee let out a harsh, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a fool, Yoo Joonghyuk. Do you think you can just walk away from this? The navy will hunt you down. No matter where you go, what you do—they’ll never stop.”
Yoo Joonghyuk clenched his jaw, his fingers digging into the hilt of his sword. “If that’s the price I have to pay, then so be it.”
Commander Lee took a step forward, sword raised. “Then you’ve made your choice. If you won’t come back willingly, I’ll—”
“Enough.”
The single word was quiet, but it cut through the air like a blade. Yoo Joonghyuk’s head snapped up, and he realized with a jolt that it had come from his own mouth.
“Enough,” he repeated, louder this time. His sword remained raised, pointed at Commander Lee's chest, but he didn’t move to strike. His chest ached with the weight of the decision—the finality of it. “Take your men, and leave . Before I decide not to let you go.”
Commander Lee stared at him, shock and fury warring across his face. “You—”
“I’m sparing you,” Yoo Joonghyuk interrupted, voice like steel. “And I won’t offer you this mercy twice.”
A long, tense silence stretched between them. Yoo Joonghyuk held his breath, muscles coiled tight, waiting for Commander Lee's response.
Finally, slowly, Commander Lee's shoulders slumped. He lowered his sword, eyes narrowing as he studied Yoo Joonghyuk’s face.
“Very well,” he bit out, voice dripping with bitterness. “But remember this, Lieutenant Yoo—you’ve made an enemy today. And I won’t forget it.”
With that, he turned sharply on his heel and barked out a command to the few remaining officers. They hesitated for a fraction of a second, casting uncertain glances between Yoo Joonghyuk and Commander Lee, before obeying.
Yoo Joonghyuk watched them go, heart pounding in his chest like a drumbeat. He felt something unravel inside him, a knot of tension loosening, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
As the last of the navy soldiers disappeared over the side of the ship, Kim Dokja finally moved. He stepped forward, stopping beside Yoo Joonghyuk, and looked up at him with that same enigmatic smile.
“So,” he said lightly, “you let them go.”
Yoo Joonghyuk exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “You left it up to me.”
“I did.” Kim Dokja’s gaze softened, the smile fading into something more thoughtful. “And you made the right call.”
The words were simple, almost casual. But they were like a balm to Yoo Joonghyuk’s battered soul. He turned, meeting Kim Dokja’s gaze with a fierce intensity.
“I’m not going back,” he said quietly, the resolve in his voice unshakable. “No matter what happens. I’m staying with you. With everyone.”
Kim Dokja’s eyes flickered, something unspoken passing between them. Then he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement.
“Good,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “Because I don’t intend to let you go.”
For the first time since he stepped foot on the Unbroken Faith, Yoo Joonghyuk allowed himself to breathe. He lowered his sword, the weight of the decision still heavy on his shoulders, but there was a strange lightness, too—a sense of freedom that hadn’t been there before.
He looked out over the empty waters where the navy ships had disappeared, and for the first time in what felt like years, he felt a sense of certainty about the path he’d chosen.
The crew gathered below deck around the scarred wooden table, piled high with steaming dishes and bowls, mismatched cutlery clinking against dented metal plates as they dug in with unabashed enthusiasm. Conversation flowed easily, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional shout as someone tried to snag an extra portion from a neighboring plate. The air was thick with the mingled scents of roasted fish and spice, the food warm from Yoo Joonghyuk's meticulous touch.
Yoo Joonghyuk sat near the end, half-listening, his own plate only barely touched as he watched the crew around him. They were boisterous tonight, maybe more than usual—there was an air of celebration, a looseness in the way they laughed.
“So, Captain Yoo, ” Han Sooyoung grinned, tilting her glass his way, “got any tales about being one of those fine, upstanding military police we kept running from?”
Everyone stilled for a moment, then burst into laughter as Yoo Joonghyuk bristled, giving her an icy stare.
“Right, right, and what about those strict early morning drills?” piped up Kim Namwoon with a smirk. “The training must’ve been so grueling if you ended up like this.”
"Maybe he has a soft spot for the navy," Lee Jihye added, barely containing a laugh as she nudged Lee Gilyoung, who giggled beside her.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s brow furrowed further, his mouth opening to counter with something sharp, but for once, he found himself caught off guard. The ease, the lightness of their teasing was new, directed at him as though he were any other crew member.
Before he could think of a response, the sound of footsteps approaching hushed everyone. Kim Dokja entered the room with an awkward smile, grabbed an empty plate, and squeezed himself into a spot across from Yoo Joonghyuk.
“Don’t let me stop you,” Kim Dokja drawled, his voice amused. He reached across the table to grab a bowl, meeting Yoo Joonghyuk’s gaze with a spark of something mischievous. “What was that about our upstanding Lieutenant? Surely he’s got at least one story?”
A quiet laugh escaped, but then it turned into something warmer, sincere. This was their family. Yoo Joonghyuk looked away, muttering something under his breath as the teasing grew, but he couldn’t help the smallest, reluctant smile breaking through.
As plates emptied and refilled, even Yoo Joonghyuk started sharing moments from his training days, little anecdotes that were greeted with groans and laughter. The teasing grew gentler, turning into more shared memories, hints of battles and hard times that softened in the warmth of the crew.
At the end of it, as the laughter faded into comfortable quiet, Kim Dokja lifted his glass. His gaze swept over his crew, lingering on each of them before settling on Yoo Joonghyuk.
“To us,” he said simply, his tone steady yet soft. “And to the home we make, wherever that might be.”
Glasses clinked around the table, and for the first time, Yoo Joonghyuk felt himself lifting his own glass—no hesitation, no discomfort, just the calm, simple acceptance of a man who had finally found a place to belong.
As the meal wrapped up, the crew returned to their jobs on the deck. Yoo Joonghyuk eventually made his way there too, and was greeted by a new sight.
The port of Sol loomed on the horizon, cloaked in the misty haze of a pale afternoon. From a distance, the town looked almost ethereal—small, almost insignificant against the vastness of the sea. But it was a place that hummed with old memories, threads of the past tangled in the very air they breathed.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood at the bow of the Unbroken Faith, staring at the faint silhouette of his birthplace. He felt strangely numb. There should have been a swell of something—nostalgia, maybe, or some visceral connection to this land where he’d once been tethered by blood and history. Instead, all he felt was a deep, hollow blankness.
Beside him, Kim Dokja stepped forward, his gaze locked on the town as if it were a long-lost lover. There was an unusual softness to his expression, a wistfulness that Yoo Joonghyuk had rarely seen in him.
“Sol hasn’t changed much,” Kim Dokja murmured, breaking the silence between them. “I half expected it to look different after all these years.”
Yoo Joonghyuk said nothing. He didn’t know what to say. A breeze swept across the deck, carrying with it the scent of salt and brine, and he closed his eyes, letting it wash over him.
“What do you remember?” Kim Dokja asked quietly, voice a gentle probing.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s jaw tightened. “Nothing. Just… flashes. Sensations.” He opened his eyes and turned to look at Kim Dokja, a furrow forming between his brows. “Why did you bring us here?”
Kim Dokja’s smile was faint, almost imperceptible. “We need a spot to repair the Unbroken Faitha after that last battle. I also thought you might want to see where it all began.” He glanced at the town again, his gaze distant. “And because you deserve to know.”
“Know what?”
“Where we came from.” Kim Dokja’s voice was soft, almost hesitant. “Where you came from.”
Yoo Joonghyuk felt a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe, or fear—curl low in his chest. But he swallowed it down and turned back to the town. The Unbroken Faith drew closer to the docks, the creak of wood and the slap of waves against the hull breaking the quiet. From this distance, he could see the crumbling stone buildings, the dilapidated shacks clinging to the shore like barnacles.
Kim Dokja stepped closer, his shoulder brushing against Yoo Joonghyuk’s. “Let me show you,” he said softly.
The rest of the crew busied themselves with docking procedures, but Yoo Joonghyuk hardly noticed. He followed Kim Dokja off the ship and onto the docks, his gaze flickering over the familiar shapes of ships moored along the harbor. People bustled about—dock workers hauling crates, fishmongers shouting out their wares. It was a scene he should have remembered, one that should have stirred something inside him.
But he felt nothing.
Kim Dokja led him through the maze of narrow streets and alleyways, turning corners with the ease of someone who knew them well. He moved with purpose, but his pace was unhurried, as if he wanted to give Yoo Joonghyuk time to take it all in.
“This is where we first met,” Kim Dokja said, coming to a stop in front of a small, unassuming restaurant. The sign above the door was faded and chipped, the paint peeling at the edges. “You were working here, scrubbing tables. I’d just arrived on shore with my crew.”
Yoo Joonghyuk frowned, studying the building. A strange sense of familiarity prickled at the back of his mind, but it was hazy, out of reach.
“You were the one who served me that night,” Kim Dokja continued, a wistful smile playing on his lips. “You had that same look on your face, as if you were daring the world to cross you.”
Yoo Joonghyuk blinked, startled. “I don’t remember.”
“It’s okay.” Kim Dokja’s gaze was gentle. “It was a long time ago. But I remember it clearly.” He chuckled softly. “You looked so lost back then. Angry and lost. Just like I was.”
He turned and began walking again, leading Yoo Joonghyuk through the winding streets. They passed a dilapidated orphanage, its windows boarded up and its walls crumbling.
“You came from here. I came from somewhere similar.” Kim Dokja murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “From this place that chewed us up and spit us out.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stared at the orphanage, a strange tightness building in his chest. “You hated it,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
“I did.” Kim Dokja’s smile turned bitter. “More than anything.”
They walked in silence for a while longer, the weight of the unspoken words hanging between them. Dokja led him up a narrow path that wound its way up a hill overlooking the town. At the top, they stood side by side, gazing down at the sprawling port below.
“This is where we used to come,” Kim Dokja said, voice soft and low. “We’d sit up here and watch the ships come and go.”
Yoo Joonghyuk felt a strange ache in his chest, a longing for something he couldn’t quite name. He glanced at Kim Dokja, and for a moment, he thought he could see it—the ghost of the past flickering in the depths of Kim Dokja’s dark eyes.
“Why are you telling me this?” Yoo Joonghyuk asked, his voice rough.
“Because I want you to know that you’re not alone.” Kim Dokja’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “Even if you don’t remember, even if the past is gone—we have this, Joonghyuk. You have me. You’ve always had me.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s breath hitched, the truth of those words sinking deep into his bones. He turned his gaze back to the town, to the place that had shaped them both in ways they were still trying to understand.
For a long moment, they stood in silence, the wind tugging at their clothes, carrying the scent of the sea and the promise of something new. Yoo Joonghyuk felt the weight of the years pressing down on him, the burden of memories lost and found.
But he also felt a strange, fragile hope—a sense of belonging that had nothing to do with the place he’d come from, and everything to do with the man standing beside him.
Kim Dokja reached out, his fingers brushing against Yoo Joonghyuk’s in a fleeting, almost tentative touch. “Welcome back.”
Yoo Joonghyuk looked down at their hands, at the calloused fingers intertwined with his own, and felt something loosen inside him.
Maybe he didn’t remember. Maybe the past was gone, shattered into pieces too small to ever be put back together.
But here, in this place where it had all begun, he could feel it—the beginning of something new, something that belonged to both of them.
And for the first time in a long while, Yoo Joonghyuk allowed himself to believe that it was enough.