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The floor of the tall building was riddled with cracks. The light of dusk slipped through the darkened sky above, falling like pale shards of gold among the scattered bodies—members of Caligo who had been defeated, and those who had sacrificed everything.
The footsteps of a young man with black-and-white hair echoed softly, nearly swallowed by the roaring silence between the rubble and the mist. His body was exhausted; the sleeve of his jacket was scorched, his shoulder bleeding.
But it wasn’t the wounds that made him falter.
He smelled human blood—too familiar, too real.
Then his eyes found him.
In the middle of the ruined battlefield, among piles of debris and fallen bodies, a pink-haired young man lay still. His breaths were shallow. Blood seeped from the wound in his abdomen, spreading into the ground like spilled ink across a fractured canvas.
Eunho froze.
“… Bamby?”
No answer.
The sole of his black shoe stepped into the red pool beside that body—and for a moment, time itself seemed to stop.
“What happened …” His voice came out hoarse.
Bamby slowly opened his eyes. The gaze that was usually bright and warm was now clouded, dim like a fading light. Yet even at the edge of the end, a faint smile still lingered on his lips—thin, almost painfully so.
“Bamby—hey! I was only gone for a moment!” His voice cracked. His trembling hand brushed aside Bamby’s messy hair. “I told you to wait for me, didn’t I?! Just for a moment … why do you always have to be this stubborn?!”
Bamby lifted his gaze to look at him. Faint. Tired.
“Eunho …?” His voice was barely more than a breath.
Eunho grimaced. “Yeah, it’s me. The person you always call annoying.”
He forced out a broken laugh. “So get up. Say something—anything. Tell me I’m being noisy, or … shove my hand away like you usually do.”
But Bamby didn’t lift his hand. He didn’t push Eunho away. He didn’t grit his teeth like he normally would.
He simply watched the black-and-white-haired young man slowly crumble while holding him close.
Then his eyes drifted elsewhere.
“Yejun, Noah, Hamin … they managed to escape, right?” he whispered.
Eunho nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure. “Yeah. They’re all safe. And you will be too—”
“Don’t lie,” Bamby interrupted with a faint smile. “I know my own body …”
“Don’t say things like that …” Eunho’s hand tightened around Bamby’s growingly cold one. “I’m strong, Bamby. I’m the strongest here. But why this time … why wasn’t I fast enough to help you?”
“What kind of nonsense is that … you fought alone over there and came here without even resting.” Bamby tried to laugh, but it turned into a small cough stained with blood.
“… You already did everything you could. So don’t blame yourself.”
Eunho lowered his head. “But if I had been faster—if I had defeated them sooner and come here in time—maybe you wouldn’t have been alone, you wouldn’t have—”
“Eunho.”
He flinched and fell silent. His expression was a mess—brows knitted, lower lip bitten, eyes hollow with despair. Slowly, he leaned forward until his forehead rested against Bamby’s. His eyes closed, as if the world around them had ceased to exist.
His mind echoed with guilt that refused to fade.
“I’m sorry … I’m so sorry. Bamby … I’m sorry I was late …”
“This isn’t your fault. You’re strong … sometimes too strong.” He exhaled softly.
“I should be the one apologizing. Looks like we won’t get to eat that pasta you promised after all …”
Ah. That promise.
A small promise born from a trivial bet a week ago—when Bamby lost to the youngest.
“Don’t worry,” Eunho had laughed back then. “This time I’ll make a special pasta just for you!”
“Ng?” Bamby had raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah. You’ll go along with whatever I want, right?”
“Ah, fine,” Bamby had said, a small smile curving his thin lips. “Then I’ll look forward to it.”
A simple promise.
A promise that now felt far too distant to reach.
“Don’t say that. You’re the one who said you were looking forward to it, remember? So you have to keep your promise,” Eunho whispered.
He couldn’t hold it back any longer. Tears finally slipped down his cheeks.
Bamby slowly lifted his hand, wiping away those tears with a touch that was growing colder by the second.
“I’m sorry …”
Then he smiled—warmly, the same smile he had always shown him.
But the light in his eyes slowly faded.
“Thank you … for coming after me …”
His voice grew softer.
Until, at last … it disappeared.
The cold hand that had been raised fell to the ground along with his final breath.
Eunho froze.
The world suddenly fell silent—as if it had lost its voice.
It’s only him.
And Bamby, now lying motionless in his arms.
Moments later, the sky finally broke into tears. Rain began to fall, washing over the blood that had not yet dried. But it could not wash away the guilt now buried deep within Eunho’s chest.
He held that body tightly, his own trembling.
“If I’m really as strong as you say I am … then why do I always fail to save the people who matter most to me?” he murmured quietly.
Once again—
His strength wasn’t enough to save the person who meant the most to him.