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Sung Jinwoo was escorting a female guest when he spotted a pitch-black silhouette heading their way. The parking lot next to his newly-established office wasn’t at all crowded, so he knew immediately that he was the target of the similarly dressed agents.
The Hunters Association’s saloon car was just as extravagant as Yoo Soohyun’s luxury van. Go Gunhee had never cut corners with the company budget, whether for mitigating the gate emergencies or establishing their public image. The long-haired lady’s politeness surfaced as soon as she saw the Chief’s insignia in his breast pocket, whose arrival coincided with her farewell. Woo Jinchul courteously bowed back despite not recognizing her in person, pondering where he’d seen such a pretty face.
This neighbouring street was poorly lit at night, causing him to be less vigilant. It was either that or his own fault for still wearing sunglasses even though the sun had long gone down.
“Chief Woo,” Jinwoo addressed him in his usual laid-back manner.
“Hunter Sung,” Jinchul nodded. “I hope I’m not keeping you from any evening plans.”
The soon-to-be guild master shook his head, “You’re not.”
“This final inspection is merely a formality, so it shouldn’t take too much of your time. You must’ve heard from President Go himself that your gate-entry permit has been authorized,” diplomatically, Jinchul informed. “Is Young Master Yoo present? I heard he’ll be your deputy.”
“I’m here!” Yoo Jinho cheerfully welcomed the visitor as he emerged from the building. “Chief Woo, good evening. Sorry, the office is still a bit of a mess. We just finished interviewing a prospective candidate you see—ah, well, she’s actually an official member now!”
“Good evening, Vice Master Yoo-ssi, and congratulations. That was pretty quick, wasn’t it?” Jinchul remarked, a thin smile graced his face. “I wonder what kind of person she was.”
There was an imperceptible emphasis in the word ‘she’.
If Jinwoo’s perception had been even slightly lower, he wouldn’t have noticed. His attempt to signal Jinho so that he wouldn’t talk too much proved unsuccessful. The rich kid was overly excited by the guild’s activities, as evidenced by his buoyant steps and boisterous voice.
“Yoo Soohyun-ssi,” for some reason, he preempted Jinho in providing additional intelligence, thumb pointing toward the high-roofed vehicle that had just faded beyond the intersection, “The woman who greeted you. She’s Jinho’s cousin. The third and final member of my guild.”
“I was wondering what kind of business a lady as gorgeous as her could possibly have with your guild,” the veteran hunter said, discarding his sunglasses. His tone was terrifyingly calm. “I see that she’s in the same line of work as us. No wonder she seems familiar.”
“She’s also a celebrity, if that helps,” Jinho added proudly.
“I apologize for my limited knowledge of pop culture, but it doesn’t ring any bells,” such a predictable response from someone whose mind was preoccupied with only work. “But I’m convinced that I’ve seen her photo in the Hunter’s database. What’s her rank, if I may ask?”
Jinho raised his hand, “Soohyun-ah is an A-rank. Isn’t that amazing?”
“The same rank as me,” Jinchul acknowledged. “You two do have an incredible resource.”
“Oh, you won’t believe this, Chief Woo. Hyung-nim just turned down Hunter Cha!”
Instead of being modest, Jinho casually poured oil on the fire. He was unaware of the subtle shift in the mood of the association’s high-ranking official and continued to show off.
“Cha Haein-ssi, can you imagine? A famous S-rank hunter, strong, beautiful, but Hyung-nim said that she wasn’t the—eek,” Jinho gulped hard before he could even finish his sentence.
Behind Jinchul, Jinwoo was glaring at him with his bright, burning blue eyes.
Apparently, having a silver spoon in his mouth doesn't guarantee he’ll keep his mouth shut.
“Dinner, Chief?” Jinwoo smoothly changed the topic, ignoring the vice-guild-leader who was fearfully rubbing his neck. “Though I can’t offer anything fancier than a takeout box.”
“Don’t let me inconvenience you, Hunter Sung,” the well-dressed man faintly chuckled, “No matter how humble you are, I can’t let a guild master do the work of an errand boy.”
“The Chairman might come to me personally If I let his right-hand man starve,” shrugging, Jinwoo attempted to relax the atmosphere. “Besides, I never said I’m the one heading out.”
“Please allow this little old me the honor of purchasing takeaway dinner for the distinguished representative of the Hunters’ Association,” comprehending the indirect request, Jinho lowered his head in an exaggerated, comical bow. “Do you have any special preferences?”
“Anything that isn’t too much trouble,” he replied after blinking in bewilderment, referring his meaning to both the price and the ease of consumption. “Thank you in advance.”
“My utmost and greatest pleasure. Hyung-nim, I’ll be off now,” Jinho bowed as deeply as he possibly could. Before he headed off to the nearby shop, he managed to say confidently, “And—I’ve always been wanting to say this—welcome to the Ahjin Guild, Chief Woo.”
The youngest of the group left with his chest puffed out.
“I’m not bothering the guild master, but I’m getting the Yoo conglomerate’s crown prince to buy me dinner,” he exhaled inaudibly. The world is indeed a strange place.
They’d just reached the main entrance of the office when Jinwoo’s figure stepped in his path. The broad-torsoed, raven-haired man barricaded the doorway, forcing Jinchul to remain where he was. Their gazes locked, and after more than three seconds of intense eye contact, he realized Jinwoo was about to convey something of great importance.
“What Jinho meant earlier is that I refused her request to join our guild,” Jinwoo stated. The fact that he was volunteering this information was already uncharacteristic of him, coupled with his already-deep voice dropping a full octave lower. There was a piece of him that wished to add, ‘not a rejection in the typical sense,’ but it took him too long to decide if such clarification was warranted, and the momentum was gone by the time he made up his mind.
Jinchul, on the other hand, understood instantly, “You don’t need to explain anything, Hunter Sung. I’m here purely to supervise, not to interfere with your decisions.”
“I suppose,” he gave a slight nod. “Just making sure there are no misunderstandings here.”
“If this is about you being surrounded by not only one, but two good-looking ladies who just happen to be certified high-ranked hunters, then rest assured. I swear I’m not getting any funny ideas,” the seasoned agent’s tone didn’t waver. “You can count on my work ethic.”
“...of course,” Jinwoo replied, dismissing the concern. Jinchul was the most professional and emotionally mature person he’d ever known, after all. “By all means, Chief Woo.”
He reached for the doorknob and swung the door inward, revealing the simplistic interior of the small office he and Jinho had officially registered with the Association.
Despite the fact that the establishment was only possible due to Sung Jinwoo’s efforts and Yoo Jinho’s support, Woo Jinchul couldn’t help but share in the pride of this remarkable achievement. How could he not, when he’d been following the rapid development of the person labeled as ‘the weakest hunter of all time’, since the very beginning?
He performed his duties in a leisurely but thorough manner; walking slowly across the room, perusing through documents, ticking seemingly-endless checklists on his notepad, posing a few questions; all of which sounded businesslike. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary,
On the surface, at least.
However, in Jinwoo’s mind, something began to feel… unsettling.
This workaholic gentleman had kept information regarding his abilities hidden from other guild members, evacuated him from journalists, and protected his family from international espionage. Sung Jinwoo had declared his willingness to be an integral part of South Korea, showing no interest in the conveniences offered by other countries or in changing his citizenship. Jinchul continued to do his job and devote himself as usual.
So why did he feel that something between them had changed?
“—!”
Jinwoo was alerted by a sudden surge in Jinchul’s mana.
Or, to be precise, it came from the shade under the surveillance team manager’s feet.
It wasn’t unusual to see Iron standing behind Jinchul. After all, it was Jinwoo’s order as the Shadow Monarch, which he hadn’t revoked in the past few months. Still, the fact that his loyal warrior had come out unprompted puzzled Jinwoo. Iron didn’t even show any desire to return to his side; he simply bowed respectfully toward his true lord, then resumed trailing wherever Jinchul strolled. Jinwoo might’ve been overthinking it, but he swore Iron wasn’t just curiously peeking at his ‘second master’s’ work—he was also trying to console him.
Is it just me, or does he seem to be annoyed with me as well? Jinwoo thought.
He parted his lips, intending to call out to Iron.
“...” but something stopped him.
“Woo Jinchul speaking,” the disruption came from the inspector’s cell phone.
Its buzz resonated through the empty air, and Jinwoo registered it even before the gadget actually rang. He monitored how Jinchul conversed with the person on the other end without diverting his attention from the printed papers on the desk—methodical and efficient in equal measure. A professional tone colored the blond’s speech, and, truly, Jinwoo had no intention of eavesdropping. If anything was to blame, it was his overly keen perception level.
A man’s voice. Familiar. Friendly, even.
“I’m at Hunter Sung’s office right now,” the statement caused Jinwoo to frown. He wasn’t sure if he liked the situation. “Oh? No. It’s alright, you’re not interrupting anything.”
It was indistinct, but his ears picked up on the hesitation behind the call.
“I see,” Jinchul seemed to be weighing his options. “Fine, then. I’ll call you back later. Yes. Of course, I’ll make time for it. Good evening, Hunter Baek.”
Baek Yoonho.
Jinchul tucked his phone back into his pocket, then resumed his inspection as if nothing had happened. Iron remained by his side. The scene gave Jinwoo an uneasy feeling in his chest. Jinchul was an Association official performing his duties. Yoonho was a guild master phoning a colleague. Iron was a shadow who sometimes behaved strangely and had recently found solace in the person Jinwoo had ordered him to protect. It shouldn’t be a big deal.
Ironic, wasn’t it? Just a few minutes ago, he’d been trying to clear things up with Woo Jinchul regarding himself, Yoo Soohyun, and Cha Haein. But now, Sung Jinwoo felt weird hearing Baek Yoonho’s voice. He huffed, realizing just how absurd his thoughts were. And during the surveillance, he couldn’t figure out why his attention kept returning to the same person.
Woo Jinchul only had enough spare time to contact Baek Yoonho the next day.
The following evening, to be precise; after sending the exploration final permit to the Ahjin Guild. Jinchul decided to seclude himself in his office for the rest of the night. A brief text he received from the White Tiger Guild’s top official had put him on high alert.
Is it possible for us to talk without Hunter Sung knowing?
Fortunately, his back was facing Sung Jinwoo when the message popped up the previous night. Had they been face-to-face, the black-haired man would’ve sensed that something was amiss.
“Iron-ssi.”
In no time, Iron materialized from the dark shade underneath his feet. The shadow warrior waited for orders, his helmeted head tilted at the odd expression Jinchul was wearing.
“Is it possible for you to sever your connection with Hunter Sung?”
Iron looked startled. The two glowing spots that replaced his eyes shone even brighter.
“I mean, temporarily. I didn’t mean to ask you to go against him,” Jinchul explained. “Just for a while. Can you make sure Hunter Sung won’t discover our conversation, or hide what I’m about to do?”
The silhouette clad in armor bowed its head, then gave a weak shake.
Unsurprising, but still disappointing. Jinchul offered Iron a comforting smile. The armor-clad silhouette looked guilty for failing to fulfill his second master’s request. “It’s fine, Iron-ssi. I understand. At least, warn me if Hunter Sung is heading this way, alright?”
Iron gave a vigorous nod. He could assist with this one thing, for sure.
“Good.”
Sighing, he dialed Baek Yoonho’s number.
// “Chief Woo.” //
It took less than two rings before their discussion began.
The talk with Yoonho was direct and practical, like two colleagues exchanging daily reports. Jinchul listened, face flat. But gradually, his eyes grew wider and his mouth gaped open. The stylus pen slipped from his grip as his fingers trembled from the shock. He had watched and analyzed the Jeju Island events over and over, but never had he come across this detail.
About Sung Jinwoo and a retired hunter who lost his life in the process,
Min Byunggu.
// “Hunter Sung ordered the cameraman to stop recording.” //
Jinchul recalled that the broadcast halted when the evenly matched battle between the Korean S-rank hunters and the swarm of mutated ants turned into a one-sided massacre. However, the moment Yoonho was referring to was the one that followed—right after the entire crisis had been resolved and the dying Hunter Cha was lying on the ground.
// “He brought Byunggu-ssi back to life.” //
Baek Yoonho said that, but he swore that Min Byunggu wasn’t truly alive. It was just enough to speak. Only sufficient to heal. Barely adequate to vanish shortly afterward.
On the other side of the phone, Jinchul didn’t respond right away.
“Hunter Baek, I mean no disrespect to your testimony,” countless questions swirled in his brain, such as, ‘why didn’t you share these important details sooner,’ only to be reminded yet again that the one they were dealing with was Sung Jinwoo. Jinchul didn’t feel justified in pressuring Yoonho and the other survivors when he himself had kept everything regarding the re-awaker the highest-level classified matter. “But, are you certain about what you saw?”
On the receiving end, the fighter’s distinctive, hearty chuckle rang out. Still, his sadness was louder than his laughter. Hunter Min must’ve been worth that much, so very precious to him.
// “As a hunter, I’ve never been so skeptical, so terrified, and yet so relieved all at once, Chief Woo. You can verify this with Choi Jongin-ssi; I bet he’ll say the same thing.” //
The line went silent for a moment.
// “But you know why we’ve all chosen to say nothing, don’t you?” //
The call was over shortly after, but those words lingered. Haunting.
Jinchul slammed the back of his neck against the chair’s headrest, uncertain of what to do with this information. The investigator pondered for a long time, his muscles stiffening until a wave of realization hit him. If Hunter Sung was able to resurrect not only magic beasts, but also humans—his strength betrayed him. For the first time since it was officially concluded, Jinchul’s thoughts returned to a heartbreaking incident that occurred several months ago.
The Red Gate.
He exhaled. A long one.
Jinchul eventually managed to get himself together and walked over to one of the cabinets labeled as ‘top secret-complete’. He retrieved several bundles of thick documents and photo albums, then accessed the corresponding data on his computer. A brief glance went to the lower right corner—it was too late at night for Jinwoo to visit him. Considering that tomorrow was his first mission as a new guild master, he and Jinho were supposed to be resting.
Despite this, Jinchul believed he couldn’t let himself be careless.
“Please keep watch by the window, Iron-ssi.”
Nearly all of the Association’s personnel had finished reviewing the Red Gate investigation report months ago. But unlike the last time, Jinchul approached it as a detective. The list of victims. The sequence of events. Survivors’ statements. One name written at the end—an A-rank hunter declared dead in the line of duty. His body vanished with the gate, and it was never properly buried. His face was stern. Full of conviction. A man accustomed to leading.
Kim Chul.
Chul. Iron. That’s simply the English equivalent.
Jinchul almost lost his footing.
How could he have overlooked such an important detail? He first caught sight of that colossal figure inside the A-rank gate, swinging his massive axe and taunting his enemies. The plate armor he was wearing. The battlecry he was shouting. Even though Jinchul didn’t know him personally, he’d surely heard about the late Kim Chul’s temperament during his time alive: fierce on the front line, eager to show off his capabilities, almost bloodthirsty.
Iron isn’t just a mere shadow.
He’s the deceased Kim Chul, but not exactly him. Not anymore.
Baek Yoonho wasn’t accusing Sung Jinwoo of anything; he left the decision entirely up to Woo Jinchul. Though what he suspected wasn’t yet definitive, the new fact was sufficient to leave him deeply shaken.
“Iron-ssi.”
Upon hearing his name, Iron eagerly approached. The heavy footsteps echoed in the nearly silent room, except for the faint hum of the computers. The exuberance, unfortunately, didn’t last long. His blank sight fell upon a photograph of a man labeled ‘killed in action.’
“Is this you?” Jinchul inquired, his voice heavy with an incomprehensible grief.
Typically, Iron would’ve flexed the muscles beneath his chest plate proudly . How he loved to be recognized. To be admitted. But not this time. He didn’t nod nor shook his head. No cries of excitement, no comical expression of fear, no explosive outbursts of anger.
Nothing.
Iron’s silence was more heartbreaking than any reaction could’ve ever been.
“Oh.”
Sung Jinwoo could hardly blink as the black suit slipped off Woo Jinchul’s shoulders and was replaced by armor plated with gold and silver. He thought that the Association’s envoys were only responsible for crowd control, so he didn’t expect to see Jinchul in his hunter mode.
“Just for today,” he said, referring to his mission as Go Guunhe’s second-in-command. Today was Jinwoo’s debut as a guild leader, so he needed to investigate. “Wouldn’t you mind?”
“I’m fine with the inspection,” Jinwoo nodded. “And, I hope Chief Woo will be alright.”
He didn’t grasp Jinwoo’s implication until they were inside the gate.
The operation was clean, swift, and absurdly efficient. One might even say it was one-sided. Sung Jinwoo moved as if he already knew the outcome of the conflict before it even began.
Jinchul was no amateur hunter. His track record as one was remarkable, which later became his primary asset in solidifying his position within the Association. He’d once observed how skillfully Jinwoo commanded his shadow troops while possessing a terrifying speed. Still, Jinchul couldn’t fathom how a human could be capable of such talent, mastering various combat techniques and ranges. It didn’t even take ten minutes before he was overwhelmed and stopped analyzing altogether. A spectacle which made him a little envious of Yoo Jinho.
As the only one Jinwoo trusted when it came to the gate activity, Jinho didn’t ask a thing. His job was to carry basic excavation tools and maintain a safe distance, occasionally marvelling at how cool the guild master was. If only Jinchul could keep his thoughts so simple.
And that was the moment he realized it.
Jinwoo didn’t require extra assistance. He disliked sharing his actions with anyone, pushing away those who might disrupt the equilibrium he’d established for himself. The reason he wasn’t interested in joining any guild, cooperating with other hunters, or synergizing with any groups. He needed someone who wouldn’t ask questions. Someone who’d obey his orders. Someone who’d operate with him as the sole commander, the absolute decision maker.
Jinchul was never afraid of Jinwoo. Indeed, he admired and respected him. He wasn’t sure if he felt pity, considering that the life Jinwoo had chosen must surely be a lonely one. And yet, when he watched first-hand how Jinwoo dealt with the gate all by himself, Jinchul noticed that he felt something deeper, more personal: a desire to follow. To believe.
To stay.
Jinchul had seen enough of how joyful Iron was when he fought alongside his master.
Iron, who looked so hollow the night before, had today fully returned to being a formidable fighting machine. Had he relied solely on logic, Jinchul would’ve never figured anything out.
Hunter Sung isn’t only capable of bringing the dead back to life, but also securing their loyalty until the very end. And those silhouettes—they were content in their devotion.
Jinchul inhaled deeply, steeling himself not to report the particular piece of information to Go Gunhee. Call him selfish, egotistical, but there was a part of Jinwoo he didn’t wish to share with anyone. Not even the Association president himself, to whom his allegiance should’ve been his top priority. Jinchul confined his report to what he’d seen, documenting each incident with precision. He was clueless to the pair of burning blue eyes scrutinizing him.
Sung Jinwoo was aware of it. He just didn’t know how to proceed.
The Hunters Association was the only legal authority that allowed him to continue leveling up without interference, but he realized that Jinchul was of even greater value than all of that.
Iron placed his trust in Jinchul. One of Jinwoo’s most faithful servants emerged to fight from Jinchul’s shadow that day. He repeatedly left his side to shield the ‘second master’ from enemy attacks. Jinwoo couldn’t ignore the mutual concern between the two of them. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried Jinchul might suspect something. At first glance, the investigator’s work ethic seemed no different, but Jinwoo sensed a hint of restlessness coming from him. It was more than the shock of the various skills he’d demonstrated.
Jinwoo had intentionally shown off more than usual, hoping Jinchul would focus solely on his abilities and not on anything else. Things that Jinchul might comprehend with his high level of intelligence. Despite it being inevitable, Jinwoo wasn’t prepared for that day to come.
“...”
“Arise.”
He could feel a penetrating gaze on his back as he extracted the shadow from the gate’s boss. ‘Jima,’ Jinwoo named the giant naga, as he detected a subtle fluctuation in the energy coming from Jinchul. His heartbeat, his breathing, the flutter of his eyelids—they resembled what the blond man had shown when he heard the names Yoo Soohyun and Cha Haein. Too delicate to be called jealousy, yet illogical to categorize as envy. Then again, Jinwoo couldn’t fathom what there was to be envious of in such an easy battle and his army of phantoms.
Huh,
Jinwoo was paying an inordinate amount of attention to Jinchul.
And that bothered him.
It disrupted his sense of balance. Yet unlike magic beasts and dungeon creatures, Jinwoo couldn’t use brute force to resolve the problem—the only primordial language he mastered.
That evening, Jinchul was forced to swallow an uncomfortable truth, and Jinwoo unwittingly discovered feelings he didn’t wish to possess. They didn’t discuss it, but felt equally uneasy.
Each for their own reasons.
Shortly after, Woo Jinchul delivered his report to Goo Gunhee.
‘It wasn’t a raid, but a massacre,’ he remarked, ‘I almost felt sorry for the magic beasts.’ His pallid face was authentic. Jinchul didn’t deny the assumption that he was overwhelmed by what he’d seen. The Chairman didn’t hold him up any longer and told him to get some rest.
He asked for leave.
Instead of heading home, however, Jinchul made his way to the rooftop.
His conscience was gnawed by guilt that he’d somehow betrayed the President. Jinchul decided to manifest the awful taste through an act of destruction. Nothing major, just a small dose of poison disguised as a white-wrapped item that he hadn’t touched in a very long time.
A cigarette tucked between his lips. His fingers trembled as he flicked the lighter. One long drag was taken as soon as the tip ignited. The pungency of nicotine filled his taste buds.
Jinchul had always been a rational, disciplined, and well-controlled individual. He was never the type of stress-prone workaholic who’d resort to cheap escapes. Every single puff burning his lungs was a voluntary imperfection. A crack in the facade he always kept so flawlessly maintained. An embodiment of how desperately he needed to cope with the situation.
One intake,
Two, then three. Four.
Grey smoke billowed from his thin, parted lips. One exhalation for each step. The toes of his black loafers went beyond the safety line. Jinchul estimated the distance from the top of this building to the ground below. Any ordinary human would definitely split their skull open if they fell from this height. This wasn’t a big deal for him. Even if he were to throw himself off on purpose, his hunter reflexes would save his life just before his head hit the pavement.
Jinchul chuckled. Never mind himself; Iron would’ve rescued him as soon as he detected danger, just as he’d done throughout today’s exploration.
“Iron-ssi,” he murmured.
He hadn’t meant to summon him, but the enormous figure appeared nonetheless. Jinchul raised his head, then reached out to touch the metallic helmet. Like an obedient puppy, Iron ducked his head. Jinchul’s palm came into contact with an impossible coldness; solid, yet at the same time, lacking any distinct shape.
“I know who you really are,” Jinchul stared at the two glowing, confused orbs. “You are—”
“—exchange.”
Jinchul withdrew his hand as Iron disappeared into the ground, replaced by a male frame of similar height. A recognizable aura, an impassive countenance, and strands of black hair fluttering in the evening breeze. The bluish glint of his eyes was menacing enough in the twilight of the battle, let alone in such proximity. Jinchul was unsure where he’d gained his composure from, raising his cigarette just as Jinwoo’s glance fell on his fingers holding it.
“Old habits die hard,” he remarked.
Liar.
Sung Jinwoo didn’t, couldn’t approve of the scene before him, for reasons he couldn’t yet fully grasp. He’d witnessed death so frequently that he’d grown numb to it. He was skilled at ignoring the poor life choices of people around him. So what made Woo Jinchul different?
Why did he feel so… disturbed?
He didn’t decide to be soft. He didn’t plan to be close.
He simply acted.
Therefore, if Jinwoo snatched the cigarette from Jinchul’s fingers, it wasn’t a well-calculated action. Perhaps it was a basic instinct, or even a more primordial impulse. A strong feeling of distaste for something foreign existed between them. So, he removed it. Stole it. Used it.
Jinwoo pressed his lips against something where Jinchul’s had once lingered.
None of us were smokers, Jinchul was too perceptive not to notice such things. He could tell that Jinwoo wasn’t doing this because he wanted to savor the acrid bite of tobacco, but in order to break into his territory. To own what once belonged to him. A single gesture and a glimpse of his eyes were sufficient for him to understand what was going through Jinwoo’s mind. This prompted Jinchul to wonder if the younger man could read his thoughts as well.
Hence, there was no point in beating around the bush.
“Your shadow soldiers,” their eyes met. “They were once alive, weren’t they?”
Regardless, he couldn’t bring himself to openly accuse or corner Jinwoo. Not because of a lack of evidence, but due to the urge to trust him—even if that meant believing a lie.
Jinchul didn’t need a verbal confirmation.
With Jinwoo not denying it, for him, was already a solid answer.
“They stay with you,” Iron. Kim Chul. Jinchul inhaled deeply, “Even after death.”
Jinwoo’s quietness changed the course of his train of thought. If death wasn’t the end but rather the beginning, then it made sense that the shadows would remain by their master’s side. To Jinchul, who was accustomed to following orders and staking his pride on the success of a mission, the idea sounded intriguing. Tantalizing, even.
Jinchul found his own voice unnaturally calm as he inquired,
“Say if I fall,”
“Say if I die tonight,”
“Will you make me your shadow, Hunter Sung?”
That question was posed as a hypothetical scenario. A personal confession disguised as an utterly cruel metaphor. It was very Jinchul to suppress his emotions and take refuge behind a formal tone until the very end. An implausible premise Jinwoo rejected without hesitation.
He crushed the still-lit cigarette into a shapeless mess.
Jinchul observed him with obvious concern. He noticed the burn on Jinwoo’s palm but saw no change in his expression, as if he was about to declare that pain was irrelevant to him. True enough, when he unclenched his fist, the supposed scorching wound had disappeared.
“...I won’t let you fall in the first place.”
The night breeze.
The bright city lights.
And Sung Jinwoo lost control for the first time.
They weren’t sure who started it. Was it Jinwoo who first grabbed his wrist, or Jinchul who reached out to make the pull easier? Who knows. They were way too emotionally drained to register the details. Jinwoo consciously felt his jaw tighten and his teeth grit, instinctively preventing Jinchul from actually falling. For someone who had lost so much, for Jinwoo, the question almost equated to a request to die. Turning Jinchul into his shadow is tantamount to absolute loyalty. A life after death that revolved solely around a certain figure. Himself.
The shadow army wasn’t merely a weapon, but also a curse. A double-edge sword.
This wasn’t about Jinchul being fearless in the face of death. It was about Jinwoo’s dread of losing him. It was ironic that, just when Jinchul offered to sacrifice himself, ready to risk it all, Jinwoo heedlessly refused the very mechanism that had saved his life from time to time.
“I will keep you,”
“Here, by my side,”
“—while you’re still alive.”
It was supposed to be easy for him to maintain his posture after a quick tug of the hand.
In other words, if Jinwoo lost his balance and Jinchul collapsed on top of him, it was a sure sign that someone had wanted that to happen. Probably Jinwoo. Probably Jinchul. Probably the two of them. All they knew was that the physical distance between two bodies had shrunk until it was practically nonexistent. Jinwoo’s emotions shattered, coinciding with the fracture of Jinchul’s composure. Through the cracks, unspoken words seeped out, erupting through the encounter of two lips: rushed, unsynchronized, and borderline violent.
Jinwoo abandoned his restraint, and instead of pulling away, Jinchul encouraged him to go further. It was as if Jinchul were proving to Jinwoo that his physique could withstand such an aggressive onslaught. The firm squeeze on his arm would’ve undoubtedly broken some bones if applied to a normal person. It’d likely leave bruises, but Jinchul couldn’t care less. He might actually desire this treatment, exceeding the limits he allowed himself.
And Jinwoo—he’d chosen the living Jinchul.
The way he kissed him was raw. Direct. Messy. Almost careless. And if he appeared to be dominating, overpowering Jinchul by gripping his wrist too forcefully or shoving his lips too roughly, it was simply because Jinwoo couldn’t accept his offer to follow him as a dead man.
And Jinchul took it all in. Everything. Jinwoo’s ragged breathing. Jinwoo’s irregular heartbeat. Jinwoo’s clenched jaw and quivering embrace. Like a sponge, he soaked up all the negative emotions they could never publicly express. He wasn't exaggerating when Jinchul said he’d been lost in time. Beneath him, Jinwoo gradually weakened his hold, still not intending to let go. He took advantage of the tiny gap to scrutinize the younger fellow. It was probably the first and last time he’d ever see this side of Hunter Sung. No; just a man named Jinwoo.
The mightiest warlord who carried the weight of the world now looked like just another man his age. Bewildered, uncertain, as if he were about to apologize, convinced that what he’d done was a mistake. Before he had a chance to do so, Jinchul broke through his defense.
“Jinwoo-ssi,” he called. His voice dimmed. “Do it again.”
He stared straight into Jinwoo’s eyes—filled with disbelief at what his ears had perceived. Jinchul could almost read the unspoken; how Jinwoo thought he’d react with anger, storm off, and that their connection would end abruptly, right here, right now, on this cold rooftop.
“Kiss me one more time.”
Not a command. Not a plea.
“Not because you’re afraid of me dying,”
His both palms cupped the sides of Jinwoo’s face, lips brushing lightly against each other. Jinchul wanted to rewrite the emotions involved in their first kiss, and their second one to be driven not by a sense of urgency, but by something more fundamental. More genuine.
“—do it because you want me to live.”
Jinwoo felt it first. Jinchul named it. Together, they bestowed these feelings with meaning. Their second kiss represented a conscious choice. An intentional act born of mutual desire.
When Jinwoo leaned in once more, his pace slowed. Calm.
Measured.
His hands were the first to move. One crept along Jinchul’s waist, gently pressing against the fabric covering his lean frame. Detecting little to no resistance, he ventured to breach the outer layer. His palm cradled the white shirt beneath the black suit while his other hand trailed up Jinchul’s chin to his jawline. Jinwoo recalibrated the distance; his lips hovered just short of their target. Light pecks rained down on Jinchul’s cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, and his fluttering eyelashes before circling back to his slightly parted lips.
No more collisions. No longer accidental. Every contact harmonized, in perfect sync, igniting sparks all over the surface of their skin. The bitterness of nicotine flooded Jinchul’s mouth when Jinwoo captured his lips; his reflex was to reach behind the younger man’s head.
He didn’t move away.
But he wasn’t all that passive either.
Jinchul pulled Jinwoo toward him, shifting his reclining position into a sitting one. The Chief had never imagined that he’d do such a suggestive thing with ‘Hunter Sung’. Yet there he was, sitting on the dark-haired man’s lap with his fingers tangled in his hair, clutching it as an alternative to words. ‘More,’ Jinchul moaned as the innocent kiss transformed into an open-mouthed one. ‘Deeper,’ with his eyes closed and his head slightly tilted, Jinchul offered Jinwoo a clear path to conquer what no one else had ever touched.
Jinwoo had substituted nicotine with a poison far more intoxicating.
Jinchul repeatedly took short, shallow pauses to regulate his breathing, overstimulated by Jinwoo’s hands all over his body. And if they eventually did pull away, it was because they were afraid they wouldn’t be able to stop. Jinchul was the one who initiated the closure.
The only noise was the overlapping panting of the two men. Their arms, which had been reaching out to each other, now supported one another’s faces. Jinchul softly pressed their foreheads together as Jinwoo tightly closed his eyes, seeking solace from the contact. They communicated their worries through subtle touches and nods, exchanging words in silence.
Jinchul chose him.
Jinchul knew too much, and yet he still chose Jinwoo.
Perhaps, for that reason, they remained quiet for too long in the chill of the night. While no soul departed at that moment, though no tears were shed that night, both of them were still in a state of grief. They mourned for the future that might come, the price they would have to pay, and the people who’d already fallen. Among them was, of course, Iron—Kim Chul.
The stillness that enveloped them almost felt like a long-delayed burial ceremony.
Baek Yoonho was pleasantly surprised by Woo Jinchul’s visit to the White Tiger Guild base.
It wasn’t his place to pry too deeply when a high-ranking official of the Hunters’ Association showed up. He took Jinchul's explanation at face value regarding the final report of the Red Gate incident and his need to photograph the commemorative tablet. Yoonho personally escorted him down the rarely-visited corridors—even by fellow guild members: the Mortuary Hall. The guild master accepted Jinchul’s request to be left alone, on the pretext of offering his condolences in private. It was one of his objectives, so he wasn’t technically lying.
As the door behind him shut, Jinchul muttered the shadow’s name. He didn’t have to repeat himself; Iron materialized next to him, gazing in the same direction as his second master.
Before them, a black-framed photograph was mounted on the wall.
A memorial plaque sat beneath it, displaying details of the deceased’s information. A flower vase from colleagues and family members rested on the floor. No matter how many graves he’d visited, Jinchul still experienced the same feeling of heaviness. Standing beside him, Iron reacted similarly to a few nights prior; silent and unresponsive. Almost as if his former identity no longer held any significance, and it pained Jinchul in the most bizarre way.
Nonetheless, those left behind would continue to remember and yearn for the departed. That was the most painful aspect of any death. For that exact reason, Jinchul bowed his head. He reminisced and prayed, despite having no god to worship. Ingenuously, Iron mimicked him, like a child imitating his parents. Little did he know that he was praying for his own sake.
The shape of Jinchul’s shadow rippled on the floor beneath,
He nodded to Sung Jinwoo, who was present in the form of a whisper. Jinchul hoped that one day, regardless of his guilt and regret, the young hunter would come here in person.
On that day, Jinchul learned the truth about what it meant to be a shadow, and Jinwoo understood the actual price of his power. And, above all, he discovered that there were people who never truly left, even after death. The shadows Jinwoo commanded weren't merely soldiers. More than shields and weapons,
—they were also the echoes of those who had once lived.
“Hunter Sung is a walking guild.”
—Solo Leveling vol. 5, 3th chapter: Jinchul Woo’s Point of View