Ilay hadn’t shown any unusual behavior since that incident.

However, it wasn’t as if everything had been forgotten in their conversations. Since then, Ilay seemed to be busy with one thing or another, so they rarely had a chance to run into each other.

“…….”

After all, no one would easily brush off being hit by someone else, so this silence was even stranger. Could this be the calm before the storm?

Taeui paused mid-bite, slowly lifted his head, and sneaked a glance at Ilay. At that moment, Ilay was eating salmon over a salad and quickly noticed Taeui’s furtive gaze. When their eyes unexpectedly met, Taeui just stared straight forward, unable to look away in time.

Could this be the scene of a frog facing a snake? With this vague thought in mind, Taeui stared at Ilay without blinking. After a long moment, Ilay merely glanced at him briefly, then picked up a thick slice of cheese from his dessert plate and placed it onto Taeui’s plate.

“…….What’s this?”

“You were looking at me with such a pleading expression. You like this, don’t you?”

No, his eyes held no hint of pleading at all, and he certainly wasn’t looking at the cheese, but……. he did like it…… Taeui was a bit surprised but relaxed, quietly chewing the cheese Ilay had offered him. As Ilay watched Taeui absentmindedly nibbling on the cheese, he even picked up an unopened can of beer and placed it on Taeui’s plate. Yes, now that he really did like it.

Setting his meal aside, Taeui immediately opened the beer can and took a long drink until it was nearly empty. He exhaled with a refreshed sigh, feeling his heart lighten. Noticing Ilay eating his salmon with the same blank expression, Taeui unexpectedly spoke up.

“This morning, I overslept and couldn’t make it, but when you didn’t show up either, I figured you must’ve been talking to Horgan about the access code for the system management room.”

At that moment, Ilay’s eyes shifted toward Taeui. He stayed silent for a while, then set his fork down. Afterward, Ilay reached over and picked up the glass of water from Taeui’s tray.

“I did go.”

“Huh?”

“As soon as the alarm went off at 6, I went to your room. I’ve been up since 4, actually, thanks to a rather restless dream, and I’ve been waiting for you since then.”

Taeui stopped chewing his cheese and blinked at Ilay.

“…….But why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Because I saw you taking supplements recklessly, then sleep-talking complaints about your headache while you were dead asleep. I figured it would be hard to wake you up. Besides, I happened to see the person giving you those unhealthy supplements sneaking out.”

So that faint figure passing by in the hallway and then disappearing hadn’t been an illusion. Horgan had truly been teetering on the edge of hell. He wasn’t sure if the food had expired, but the cheese suddenly tasted quite bitter.

“So, when exactly is he planning to connect to the internal line? He’s been waiting endlessly without any sign of it?”

Taeui mumbled as he chewed the cheese, trying to swallow it even though he couldn’t quite taste it. Ilay merely shrugged.

“He definitely can’t get past that barrier. But I figured if I tried, I wouldn’t have to wait long and could just get it over with. But then—out of nowhere, someone with a pounding head and groaning in pain managed to sniff me out and angrily rushed over to me like that.”

“Thanks for the compliment.”

“You’re welcome.”

Taeui took a sip of beer and fell silent.

Indeed. Horgan had started making his move, and this man had also begun taking action. It made sense, really, since he himself was becoming busier too.

Taeui checked the time and saw there was still plenty before he needed to meet Horgan, so he continued his meal. He snuck another glance at Ilay.

He had thought Ilay’s mood might have improved, but although Ilay spoke calmly, his expression didn’t show it. There was still a glint of coldness in his eyes.

“Don’t just mess around with the salad. Eat something with a bit of nutrition.”

Taeui tilted his head slightly toward Ilay’s tray, on it, aside from a few pieces of salmon atop the salad, everything else was mostly untouched. He made the remark—but clearly had no intention of returning the finished cheese slice or the half-empty can of beer. Ilay lowered the fork he had been idly using to poke at the salmon.

“Maybe I don’t have much of an appetite due to lack of sleep.”

Hearing that, Taeui unexpectedly blurted: “Lack of sleep?” then furrowed his brows in surprise. This wasn’t the kind of thing he’d expect to hear from someone like Ilay, a man with nerves strong enough to sleep soundly in the middle of a rain of bullets. Thinking back, Ilay had mentioned having a rather restless dream, but it was hard to imagine any nightmare severe enough to disturb his sleep.

Just as he was about to ask: ‘Why suddenly bring up sleep?’ Ilay beat him to it. Lost in his thoughts for a moment, Ilay lightly stroked his chin before lowering his gaze to Taeui.

“On top of that, thanks to someone throwing two punches straight into my jaw, it hurts so much that I can’t even sleep.”

Ugh……. Taeui held his breath. Even though he could feel Ilay’s gaze fixed directly on him from across the table, there was no way he could control his expression in just a few seconds. Still, he quickly regained his composure, but he was sure that this sharp observer hadn’t missed a single reaction.

“…………..”

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

Ilay suddenly dropped the question. Taeui nearly dropped his beer can. If he spilled the little beer left, he’d probably regret it for the rest of the evening……. but the bigger issue was the current situation.

“What……. what are you talking about?”

How foolish—he was stammering even now.

This time, however, he managed to control his expression, looking directly at Ilay with a calm nonchalant gaze, without a hint of embarrassment. In response, Ilay gave only a faint smile, or perhaps a mocking smirk.

“Are you feeling regret?”

That question made it impossible for Taeui to reply with something dismissive like: “Regret for what?”

Yes, if he could turn back time, Taeui would go back to himself in that forest and say, no matter how angry you are, don’t resort to violence. Those who live by violence will perish by violence……. damn it, even though he’d never ‘lived by’ it even once, that saying still made him burn with frustration.

Although he didn’t respond, his silence was answer enough.

Ilay merely watched Taeui as he quietly drank his beer, lightly rubbing his chin. The sharp narrowed eyes directed at him made Taeui break into a cold sweat b’cause unsure of what they held, leaving him tense and pretending not to notice the gaze.

“Sorry.”

So when those words unexpectedly came from Ilay’s mouth, Taeui didn’t even register who had spoken. No, the voice was unmistakably Ilay’s, and it was his lips that had moved, but Taeui felt as though he were watching a dubbed film come to life. He never would have imagined this man would say such a thing.

“What…….?”

“Say it like that.”

“…….What?”

Finally, he fully grasped that this was reality.

Right, how could those words ever come from this man’s mouth? But, if he were to ask himself whether he was the one who should be saying them……. well, not exactly…….

“Say it like this: ‘From now on, I will always be on Ilay’s side unconditionally and stay by him no matter what happens.’ If you say that, I’ll consider that day as if it never happened.”

Ilay’s eyes narrowed, his words becoming sharper with every sentence. Taeui stared at him, dumbfounded for a few seconds, then slowly closed his mouth tightly.

He thought it was a joke, but it turned out it wasn’t.

What to do? He suddenly felt the urge to punch him one more time. (Or, if he could go back in time, he’d encourage himself: ‘If you’re going to hit him, then make it count!’)

Although Ilay wasn’t joking, he didn’t seem to genuinely expect that answer from Taeui, either. After all, just as Taeui understood him, Ilay understood Taeui just as well.

Ilay didn’t seem inclined to wait long for Taeui’s response; he stood up and walked away. Taeui watched him quietly as he left the table after barely touching his salad, a slight frown forming on his face. Instead of signaling that he’d finished, Ilay habitually reached into his pocket and took out another pair of clean gloves, entirely different from the ones he’d worn earlier that day. He’d probably just discarded another pair.

“Taei, the training might be ending soon. It’s best if you don’t take your eyes off Horgan and keep a close watch. My mood hasn’t been great lately, and he might end up being the perfect target for me to vent on.”

Ilay’s voice was much the same as usual. Maybe just a bit lower than normal. It didn’t convey any anger, but there wasn’t a hint of cheerfulness, either.

But as Taeui watched him clench and relax his fists two or three times, testing the fit of his gloves, he realized Ilay was genuinely serious about what he’d just said.

“See you later.”

With that, Ilay left the table first. Taeui sat alone, watching his retreating figure for a moment before resuming his meal, chewing with a sense of bitterness. His appetite had vanished long ago, but he forced himself to eat. Losing strength now was not an option he could afford.

A mixture of tension and a sense of looming crisis weighed heavily on him.

How did things turn out like this? No, when would his foul mood finally pass? Would it fade once the training was over? …….Though, it felt as if his irritation wasn’t entirely about this incident. If the root of his issues was something fundamental that couldn’t be resolved with a single conversation, then Taeui didn’t know what more he could do.

“Ah——damn it.”

Taeui muttered as he chewed his rice, lifting the beer can. The beer was almost gone. The frustration and suffocating feeling in his chest were now accompanied by the looming edge of despair.

Even in a situation like this.

Even after Ilay Riegrow left, no one came near the table. In the end, Taeui sat alone at the table, with no one daring to approach within a 5-meter radius, and continued his meal in hollow solitude.

It wasn’t as if he had to eat with someone, but this situation felt blatantly isolating. Almost as if he were being ostracized. (Though he had no intention of getting up and moving to sit with the teammates who’d chosen to sit at a safe distance.)

At the very least, people were only watching him with cold eyes; no one was charging at him with a .50 caliber revolver, which was a small mercy.

Taeui glanced around the dining hall, a place where a terrible incident had once taken place – though it was now fully repaired, with no traces left – and let out a quiet sigh.

He kept scooping his food, telling himself to just finish eating and leave quickly. The thought of having to go monitor Horgan afterward made him feel utterly drained, but he quickly brushed that thought away.

“Is this seat taken?”

At that moment, a figure appeared and placed a tray across from him, in the spot where Ilay had just been sitting.

“Why is this the only empty table here?” – Yoon Changoh muttered in confusion, glancing around in puzzlement before setting down his tray and taking the seat. It seemed he had just entered the dining hall.

“Oh, it’s fine.” – Taeui replied, pulling his beer can closer, the same can he had just pushed forward earlier. Yoon Changoh said nothing further as he placed his tray and settled into the seat.

Since returning from the march, Taeui had hardly had a chance to talk with Yoon Changoh. They hadn’t been training together much, so they rarely saw each other, only occasionally crossing paths in the hallway, where the atmosphere would often turn awkward. In fact, Taeui understood all too well just how intimidating the current rumors within the group could be. If a classmate was seen as the ‘partner’ of a deranged killer, keeping a distance was understandable. He was even surprised that Yoon Changoh had chosen to sit at this table.

“Why are you eating alone? Where’s Kim Jeongpil?”

Taeui asked, though he wasn’t particularly interested; he just wanted to create a shared topic to start a conversation, then continued shoveling food into his mouth.

“Oh, he wanted to shower before eating.”

“Is that so?” he replied, though he wasn’t genuinely interested.

Although Yoon Changoh was a bit awkward, he still tried to make conversation. As for Kim Jeongpil, however, he showed an obvious distance, almost to the point of complete disregard.

Since that incident – after returning from the march and the one-on-one struggle – Taeui hadn’t exchanged a single word with Kim Jeongpil. They hadn’t crossed paths, and if they did, Kim Jeongpil was always the one to avert his gaze first. This was vastly different from his usual behavior, where any encounter would spark some conversation, enough that even Taeui found it strange.

But it seemed Kim Jeongpil simply didn’t want to face Taeui directly, as every time Taeui looked away, he could still feel the intense, lingering gaze of hatred fixed on him. They didn’t talk or look at each other, but that gaze was far more intense than before. No, it couldn’t even compare to before. It was a look of true resentment.

Luckily, Taeui was rooming with Horgan, so he only had to deal with supplements spiked with sleep aids. If it had been that guy, who knows—he might’ve slipped in some pesticide…….

As Taeui half-jokingly thought about that, Yoon Changoh, after hesitating for a moment, finally spoke up cautiously.

“Taeui, are……. are you okay?”

Taeui looked at him, giving the empty beer can a regretful shake, then turned to meet Changoh’s gaze. Seeing the concern in his eyes, Taeui merely smiled softly.

Why didn’t Yoon Changoh feel uneasy around Taeui? Despite Taeui’s inclination toward the same gender, and the fact that his closest companion right now didn’t resemble a normal person at all. Yet Yoon Changoh continued to offer Taeui genuine sincerity.

‘Maybe having someone extremely negative right beside me brings a bit of luck with the people around me’ – Taeui thought.

“What? Are you planning to speak up for me?”

He teased by repeating what Yoon Changoh had seriously mentioned a few nights ago, making Changoh’s face fall slightly. Taeui understood well enough that he wouldn’t be able to go through with it.

“Come on, you wouldn’t have any peace left. And you’ve got your family to think about.”

Taeui smirked and waved his hand dismissively. Although it was a joke, there was a hint of truth in it. While he couldn’t promise to speak on his behalf, Changoh couldn’t hide his concern and continued to look gloomy as he sullenly chewed his food, eventually speaking up again.

“The fact that you’re sitting here alone—isn’t it because you’re too close to that person? I even heard he’s got a terrible reputation around here.”

“A terrible reputation”—that was putting it mildly. If Carlo were sitting with Tou and Alta at the table over there, he’d have no hesitation in saying: ‘Even drinking his blood wouldn’t quench our hatred.’

At that moment, Taeui glanced toward that table, where the group occasionally shot glances his way, whispering among themselves. He only managed a bitter smile.

“Well, 70% of what you said is probably right, and the remaining 30% is wrong.”

He was certain that at least 30% of those sitting at that table would eagerly place bets on him regardless of whether he overheard them or not. They were probably chatting animatedly about the reason and outcome of Ilay’s abrupt departure. In a few days, they might even bet on whether he’d be carried to the infirmary—or straight to the cemetery. That’s just the kind of people they were.

However, Yoon Changoh couldn’t fully grasp Taeui’s thoughts or the true nature of those people, so he sat there with a serious expression, lost in his own thoughts.

Taeui looked at Yoon Changoh and sighed softly.

He was usually someone who didn’t care how others thought or misunderstood him, but it was clear that the teammate in front of him was genuinely worried for him. And toward people like that, Taeui knew he needed to show respect and sincerity. He couldn’t treat them casually or deceive them.

“Changoh.”

“Hm?”

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

Taeui smiled and spoke briefly but with genuine sincerity.

He truly felt he was fine.

No matter how much pain or frustration he was carrying now, it would eventually pass with time, and things would settle down. Just like always, and like most things in life.

So, he was fine.

Yoon Changoh seemed to understand what Taeui was trying to say, and the stern furrow on his face softened slightly. Yet the trace of worry in his eyes hadn’t entirely faded. Looking at him hesitantly, Changoh spoke up.

“But, you know……. it’s not just your close teammates. It seems you also have some friction with your supervising instructor……. Won’t that be a real headache later on?”

“Ah…….”

Taeui frowned instinctively as he remembered Horgan, whom he had briefly managed to forget.

Perhaps due to an increasingly evident sense of unease, Horgan had started openly ignoring him in front of everyone. Those who paid attention had already noticed it.

In any case, this training session would end in just a few days, and he wasn’t someone who would be staying here long-term. Not only Horgan, but Taeui himself wasn’t an official member here. Naturally, there would be some matters that would weigh on him in the coming days.

Taeui shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“What tension? You know, we’re close enough that he even has me on sleeping pills.”

Yoon Changoh laughed, assuming it was a joke.

“Seems like Jeongpil might be a better fit with that instructor than you. I just saw them standing by the water cooler together during the break, having a drink.”

“Hmm……. if the two of them are getting along, it’s no surprise. They say the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“What?” – Yoon Changoh chuckled, unable to suppress his amusement.

Although he didn’t particularly care how well those two, whom he could barely tolerate, got along, Taeui still felt a slight discomfort.

If Kim Jeongpil had said something like: ‘Taeui is gay’ to Horgan, then Horgan would likely have delighted in it endlessly.

“Hmph. Besides, that guy Jeongpil is always good at winning over his superiors. Isn’t he the type to flatter anyone ranked above him?” – Taeui scoffed with a mocking smile.

Hearing Tae-ui’s remarks, Yoon Changoh chuckled awkwardly and replied, “Not exactly. He’s pretty good at interacting with people above and below him—it’s not like he’s always sucking up to his superiors. And it’s not necessary to get along with every superior, anyway.”

“Remember when we were freshmen? The person who enjoyed it the most when you messed with the assistant instructor was Jeongpil.”

“Hmm…….? That happened?”

“What, you don’t remember? The parachute training instructor incident. That guy, Jo Jungmin—the one all the students complained about because of his terrible attitude. You rigged the canopy so he’d slip right into the mud, Taeui.”

Only when Yoon Changoh brought it up did Taeui dig up memories buried for over a decade. “Ah, that’s right, that did happen” – He muttered, wrinkling his nose.

“It seems that back then, Kim Jeongpil wasn’t happy because I messed with the assistant instructor but because I got punished and disciplined right afterward.”

Although he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he was sure that guy must’ve clapped in delight. Thinking that, Taeui smirked slightly.

Now that he remembered, there really had been such an incident.

When he first entered the military academy, there was a parachute training assistant instructor who was notorious for his incredibly unpleasant attitude. The training always involved physical punishment and mental discipline, but this instructor seemed to genuinely enjoy tormenting others, as if it brought him some perverse pleasure. Anyone who had gone through his sessions would shake their heads in dismay. His reputation was so bad that even the new cadets, those who weren’t even in the parachute training program, had heard about him and complained.

Around this time, it didn’t matter if a cadet was in his assigned class or not; if he happened to encounter someone in the hallway who caught his eye, he’d find a way to give them a hard time. Few escaped his torment, and eventually, a fellow cadet of Taeui’s crossed paths with him and was verbally abused over a trivial matter. As a result, that cadet was so traumatized he had to take sedatives. This incident sparked a wave of rebellion among the cadets.

On parachute training day, when the assistant instructor jumped from the helicopter to demonstrate, he panicked. Although his main parachute deployed, it made a rustling sound as if it might tear at any moment. Worse still, as he fumbled with the straps, he realized the reserve chute was also missing.

In a frenzy, he desperately pulled on the main line, and he ended up landing in a muddy patch far from the designated drop zone. The rain from the previous day had turned the area into a large bog, and his descent into the mud was truly pitiful.

As he was helped up by others, his legs shaking from exhaustion, Taeui, who had been silently observing the situation and enduring this instructor’s relentless harshness, stepped forward and peeled off a piece of tape from the parachute. (To be precise, it was the piece of tape he had ‘applied’ the night before.)

“Why is this here, I wonder? Looks like the equipment wasn’t properly inspected. That rustling sound must have been quite bothersome for you, huh?”

As Taeui spoke, he waved the piece of tape innocently, while the stunned expression on the mud-covered instructor’s face became a long-lasting story among the cadets. (And Taeui also received an unforgettable disciplinary session afterward.)

“Back then, I was really thoughtless to have done something so risky.”

Taeui shook his head. Although the day before, when he taped the parachute canopy and removed the reserve chute, he had thoroughly inspected the condition of the canopy, the straps, and the main line two or three times, even carefully reinforcing them, the act still carried significant risk. So he fully understood why the supervising professor had been furious enough to impose strict discipline on him. Thinking of the terrifying brush with death that the assistant instructor must have experienced, Taeui realized he had taken things too far and felt some regret for his actions.

Thus, even though those around him cheered and chatted about it with amusement – largely because the instructor had treated many with cruelty and harshness – in Taeui’s memory, the incident left an unsettling mark.