TSBIRBV Ch 133

Chapter 133 A Stolen Kiss (10)

Since Samrang had not blocked the presence outside the door, Yegyeol assumed it must be a patient who had rushed to the clinic—and his heart plummeted.

At the doorway stood his Senior Brother.

“I heard you had come to find a physician.”

Haryang’s face was utterly pale.

Without thinking, Yegyeol hurried to his side. He lifted Haryang’s hand and pressed it to his own cheek.

“I’m perfectly fine. I only came because Young Lord Namgung was injured while protecting me…!”

Suddenly—

Haryang pulled Yegyeol into his arms. Both hands gripped his shoulders, with no sign of letting go.

The facts had somehow been garbled in transmission, but this was hardly cause for such extreme worry.

“I went to the Trading Group to find you, and Samrang had sent word—that you had run into assassins and were headed to a physician.”

True enough, there had been assassins. And true, they had come to the clinic because of it. But clearly Haryang had only heard the first half, then dashed here without pause.

“No, this is a complete misunderstanding!”

Haryang’s grip was desperate. Yegyeol ignored the pain, patting his back a few times.

“My lord, there seems to have been some mistake. Lord Mun was not harmed in the least, so you may rest assured.”

Samrang, arriving belatedly, tried to dissuade him. Since there were others present, she addressed him again as “lord.”

‘Is there some kind of protocol for this?’

At last Haryang straightened slowly. As if even releasing Yegyeol caused him anguish, he pried his fingers away one by one. His eyes fixed on his disciple’s face with the persistence of one gazing at something unknown to this world.

The atmosphere he brought with him was so heavy that neither Namgung Un nor the physician dared intrude.

Only then did Haryang seem to notice them. He drew Yegyeol to his side, one arm settling across his shoulder. Yegyeol folded his hands meekly.

Though this uproar had sprung from Haryang’s misunderstanding, it was still Yegyeol’s fault for planting such anxiety in him. The first time they had met after twenty years, Yegyeol had been a half-dead wreck. The second, poisoned to the core, nearly surrendering his body to the Black Ghost.

This might have been the third.

Yegyeol had no right to say a word.

“So—you protected my disciple.”

Haryang showed no intention of hiding their master-disciple bond.

“I am Namgung Un of the Namgung Clan.”

With his arm bandaged, Namgung Un cupped his fist in a polite bow.

Haryang regarded him with a faintly cold gaze.

‘This doesn’t seem like a mistake.’

Yegyeol was startled to recognize the chill in his Senior Brother’s eyes.

‘Haven’t they never met before?’

Perhaps relations between the Namgung Clan and Je Haryang were poor. Namgung Un was of a benevolent sort, but maybe the current clan head had once provoked Haryang’s anger. Or perhaps he thought Namgung Un was to blame for the assassination attempt. Otherwise, why would his usually gentle Senior Brother show hostility to a stranger?

“It is good to meet you.”

Haryang’s voice dropped low, yet strangely it sounded like one who had longed for this moment.

“I am Je Haryang.”

Je Haryang.

Namgung Un rolled the name on his tongue. He had never heard it before.

When Haryang first entered, Namgung Un had doubted his eyes. He could not fathom the man’s level.

The aura that had surged when he kicked the door open proved him a martial artist. Yet once calm returned, before Namgung Un stood a man from whom no trace of internal energy could be sensed.

As they spoke, he searched carefully, but found no protruding veins, no swelling of blood, no aura.

Never having met a peer close to his own age who could rival him, Namgung Un was unsettled. Outwardly, Haryang seemed only slightly older, or perhaps of similar years.

Could he be a master who had reached Reverse Bone Marrow Cleansing? Namgung Un checked for hair white at the temples, but Haryang’s was black as ink.

Then that would mean he had entered the realm of Returning to Childhood—an impossibility.

‘Ridiculous.’

A master who had surpassed the Transformation Stage, stepping into the Enlightenment Realm, was nothing but legend.

A warrior might cleave a river, but never the sea. There were limits that could not be crossed.

‘Was it just my imagination?’

If Haryang truly was such a master, he would be hailed as the foremost under heaven. For the martial world to produce such a figure without a whisper of rumor was inconceivable.

“Still, Yegyeol never mentioned having a Senior Brother. Might I ask which sect you hail from?”

At that question, cold sweat trickled down Yegyeol’s back. He had kept silent about his Senior Brother’s expulsion—never expecting the two to meet like this.

Yegyeol tried edging in front of him to block Namgung Un’s view, but with Haryang’s height advantage, it was useless.

‘At least I’ve grown taller than in my past life…’

“That, I cannot say.”

Haryang cut off firmly. Namgung Un’s brows twitched.

“My late master forbade me to reveal our sect, even in death. I must ask for your understanding.”

He had omitted certain facts, but it was not a lie. Expelled, he no longer had the right to call himself of Kunlun. And if it truly was Baekyang-jinin who had cast him out, then claiming his master’s order as the reason fit perfectly.

‘My Senior Brother… after twenty years in the harsh world of Jianghu, he’s picked up some guile. Still, thank goodness.’

Yegyeol breathed out in relief.

He had agonized over how to explain his Senior Brother’s existence to Namgung Un. In the end, Je Haryang had solved it himself with wisdom.

“I see… I had no idea. Since Yegyeol seems ignorant of martial arts, I never imagined he belonged to any sect.”

“I suffered an accident,” Haryang said, trailing off just enough to allow speculation. And it was not false, from his perspective.

Whatever conjecture he formed, Namgung Un’s expression darkened.

“If it pleases you, I would like to take my disciple back now.”

It was closer to a declaration than a request. Yet Namgung Un remained composed, turning to Yegyeol.

“And you, Yegyeol? What would you prefer?”

“I…”

Yegyeol glanced at him.

Namgung Un’s expression was calm as always, though his gaze lingered on the hand that rested across Yegyeol’s shoulder.

“…I think it’s best we return now.”

At those words, Yegyeol thought he heard Haryang exhale softly—a sigh like the first release of tension.

“I’m sorry I cannot properly host my disciple’s friend, being so unsettled.”

“Not at all. After what Lord Mun has been through today, he too should rest.”

What ordeal?

Yegyeol nearly clicked his tongue. Thanks to Namgung Un and Samrang’s protection, he hadn’t suffered so much as a hair’s breadth of harm.

“Un, you should focus on healing. Don’t forget to visit the physician until you’re fully recovered.”

Yegyeol scolded with worried sternness.

“Of course.”

Namgung Un smiled for the first time since Haryang’s arrival.

The problem was how close they looked—too close—in the eyes of an observer.

“Then, another time.”

Haryang cut the conversation short. Practically dragged, Yegyeol allowed himself to be pulled out, casting a parting glance toward Namgung Un.

Outside the clinic stood a carriage, hitched to fine horses that drew the eyes of every passerby.

At the reins stood Hongyeo, though Yegyeol had no chance to greet him. Haryang had already opened the door and pushed him inside.

His touch was uncharacteristically urgent, yet even then, he braced the door so Yegyeol would not strike the frame.

“Senior Brother.”

No sooner had they sat facing one another than Yegyeol called softly. But Haryang gave no reply, merely rapped the wall twice. With a shout, Hongyeo set the carriage moving.

“I’m sorry I worried you. That wasn’t my intention.”

The carriage jolted along, but still silence endured.

“Were you… very worried?”

Yegyeol ventured carefully.

“Worried?”

Haryang reacted at last, as though the word itself were foreign.

“If only it were that simple.”

His voice was slow, but beneath it simmered unease.

“Just days ago I told you to go wherever your heart pleased. Now, if my desire to retract that promise looks like worry to you, then I am fortunate.”

The light through the window cast oblique shadows across his face, swallowed and released again with each jolt of the carriage.

And Yegyeol thought—the stark chiaroscuro suited him all too well.

“…I am sorry.”

The words came softly, unlike him. Startled, Yegyeol shook his head quickly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I must apologize.”

Haryang lowered his eyes.

“Because I have realized my patience is worth far less than I thought. How could I not offer at least that much regret?”

Then, with his pallid face, he smiled.

But unlike the clear, gentle smile he had always worn—transparent as glass, brimming with kindness—this one was vivid, almost venomous in its brilliance.

Unfamiliar, yet uncannily fitting.

And Yegyeol’s heart lurched.

He knew too well that it was not the carriage’s jolting that shook him, but the man before him.

This trembling, this tightening in his chest—it was all because of Haryang.