TSBIRBV Ch 135

Chapter 135 A Stolen Kiss (12)

Stepping into the room, Yegyeol glanced around, searching for his Senior Brother, who had not answered his calls.

A faint fragrance hung in the air, something that left the mind strangely hazy.

‘A lavender candle for sleep, perhaps?’

His gaze fell upon a flowerpot. At any other time, he would have passed it by, but now it drew his eye.

Placed by the sunlit window, the pot held nothing but withered, dried stalks.

‘So he can’t keep plants alive.’

Such people existed, it was said—those who even killed succulents everyone else managed easily, the so-called cursed “minus hands.”

To think that his flawless Senior Brother had one weakness, that he could not raise a plant, struck Yegyeol as oddly endearing.

The shriveled yellow leaves, like autumn ginkgo, might well have been thrown away. But to keep it close and still tend to it—that was so very like Je Haryang.

‘Once he takes something to heart, he never abandons it.’

He was steadfast by nature, unwaveringly sincere.

‘Stubborn, guileless… If someone tried to cheat him, they’d strip him down to the last coin.’

And so Yegyeol had resolved to be the first to “cheat” him. Once he claimed Haryang wholly for himself, no one who came after would find anything left to take.

Twenty years apart, Yegyeol had trembled at the thought that Haryang might have someone else. But recently, even that fear had been dispelled. Now he was like a ship with the wind at its back.

He stepped further in, and the bed came into view, half-hidden behind furniture. Long drapes hung down, veiling the silhouette beyond.

“Senior Brother?”

No reply.

Yegyeol truly wondered. Even asleep, a martial master such as Haryang should stir at the presence of another. And Yegyeol had called him more than once.

‘Is he really sleeping so soundly? Should I just turn back now?’

He hesitated, then glanced again toward the bed.

The sheer canopy half revealed, half concealed his outline—just enough to tease the eye.

What would his Senior Brother’s face look like in true sleep?

‘Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him fully asleep.’

Even in Hangzhou, sharing a bed, he had only ever looked drowsy, never truly surrendered to slumber.

I want to see it.

The face of Je Haryang, unguarded, lost in dreams.

‘Hmm. My conscience doesn’t hurt.’

Yegyeol placed a hand on his chest. No guilt stirred there. Having swiftly struck a bargain with his instincts, he crept toward the bed.

He reached out and drew the drapes aside.

Beyond them lay Haryang.

Leaning at an angle upon the bed, eyes closed, he looked hardly like a man asleep. Yet the long lashes casting shadows upon his cheeks, the even breath, the impassive lips—all said he was, indeed, asleep.

‘Seen like this… his face seems cold.’

Yegyeol held his breath and stared. It looked carved, like a blade-honed statue.

And knowing how often this same face warmed into smiles and gentleness when turned toward him—Yegyeol nearly laughed aloud.

‘But still…’

His eyes strayed to the small table beside the bed.

Upon it burned a soft candle, and a smoking pipe rested in its stand.

So the scent in the air came from that pipe.

‘I never had much thought for pipes or cigarettes.’

Not just indifference, but aversion—ever since becoming an Esper, his sharpened sense of smell had made him avoid smokers.

But the heart is fickle. Imagining Je Haryang with the pipe in hand, he found himself oddly curious.

It was said smoking soothed the nerves, and this scent was unlike any harsh tobacco he knew.

‘Time to leave. I’ll give the gift tomorrow.’

He pulled himself together. If he lingered, he might never move until Haryang awoke.

As he turned to go, he noticed the candle, half melted down.

Had Haryang dozed off while smoking, forgetting to put it out?

‘Fire safety above all.’

He leaned forward and blew. The flame died, and darkness pressed in.

Casting one last look at Haryang’s shadowed face, Yegyeol swallowed his reluctance and crept back out.

Then—

“…Ah.”

A faint groan sounded behind him, not clear, but unmistakably one of pain.

“Senior Brother?”

Yegyeol leaned back into the dark.

Haryang still lay with eyes shut, but his face was twisted.

His brow knotted tight, lips parted to murmur, sweat beading upon his skin.

Too sudden and stark a change to be anything ordinary.

He shook his shoulder urgently.

“Wake up, Senior Brother.”

No matter how he urged, the closed eyes did not open.

‘The fire—was it the fire?’

Only one thing had changed between calm slumber and this.

What if the candle had not been left burning by mistake? What if it had been lit on purpose?

Yegyeol’s face went pale.

He scanned the room desperately, but saw nothing to rekindle the flame.

Though he had learned much of controlling energy while crafting red sandalwood, he could not yet strike a spark fine enough to light a candle.

“Hurry, wake up. You shouldn’t stay here…”

He tugged at Haryang.

Suddenly, Haryang’s hand seized his wrist.

“…You’ve come again.”

“Ugh!”

The grip was crushing, enough to wrench a cry from him. Caught so off guard, he hadn’t sensed it coming at all. His master’s strength was that of a martial man, not a guide. Yegyeol staggered under it, the bundle falling from his arms with a dull thud.

But he could spare no thought for it. One wrong move and his bones might snap.

‘This is going to bruise.’

He didn’t mind being hurt—he healed quickly. What worried him was the guilt Haryang would feel upon waking.

Then Haryang yanked him close. Toppling forward, Yegyeol barely braced himself with one free hand upon the bed.

Something was terribly wrong.

He scanned Haryang’s face in alarm.

His Senior Brother’s eyes were open, yet unfocused, gazing into emptiness.

With a slight tilt of the head, he murmured,

“Strange… so quiet today.”

“Wh—whom are you looking for?”

He seemed lost in some nightmare Yegyeol could not enter.

“No… that’s not it. Wrong.”

Haryang chuckled low, whispering,

“I should say the one-eyed ghost and the viper are coming.”

The chill of that deep voice brushed his ear, and gooseflesh rose across his skin.

“What are you saying? What does that mean?”

Yegyeol asked, but instead of answering, the man’s hand gently caressed his face.

“Well. Perhaps this isn’t so bad…”

Half to himself, Haryang muttered.

Yegyeol forced calm into his voice.

“I’ll go fetch help. Just wait here—just a moment…”

Leaving him like this was too dangerous. With determination, he pried off Haryang’s grip, revealing the bruise already darkening his wrist.

“Leaving so soon?”

Tilting his head, Haryang whispered,

“Leaving me again. Always.”

The broken cadence of his words was ominous.

Talking to someone trapped in a nightmare was useless, but Yegyeol could not help but answer, sorrowful.

“I’ll be right back—”

But before he could finish, Haryang hauled him close again.

This time he did not merely topple him. He rolled with Yegyeol across the bed, rising slowly with his disciple trapped between his arms.

Black hair spilled down like a curtain.

Yegyeol realized he was caged in Haryang’s embrace.

“Why did you save me?”

Haryang’s voice was soft, as kind as ever—yet accusing.

“You should have let me die then.”

The naked resentment in those words froze Yegyeol.

A tender hand stroked his cheek, then slid down his throat. Pausing as if to feel the heartbeat, Haryang closed his eyes—then pressed harder.

“Se… Senior Brother.”

Yegyeol’s lips moved. The pressure at his neck was real, but the situation itself felt unreal.

Je Haryang was strangling him.

“There, there. Be good.”

His tone was coaxing, like soothing a stubborn child, his eyes curved gently.

His parted lips spoke pity, his smile radiated kindness.

And his hands closed mercilessly upon Yegyeol’s throat.

None of it was false.

“It will be over soon… Only if you are gone… can I die.”

Yegyeol clawed at his wrist, but Haryang did not budge.

Surely he should have been able to break free, to subdue him. But his limbs would not move.

Unimaginable strength crushed down upon him.

“Kh—hah… ah…!”

His insides twisted, his limbs quaked.

More than the choking, it was this inner torment—

The guiding energy, once his comfort, now ripped him apart from within, tearing, battering, rending.

Reverse guiding.

‘How? How is this…?’

Yegyeol gasped, writhing, seized by pain he had never known.

It was instinct, not reason, that drove him to struggle.

‘If I don’t break free… I’ll—’

Vision blurring, he forced his eyes wide—and saw Haryang’s hand. Scratched raw, red marks marred it.

Traces he had left in his desperate struggle.

“Se… nghh… Senior Brother…”

Suddenly Yegyeol stopped.

He even loosened his hold on the hands crushing his throat.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around Haryang.