TSBIRBV Ch 200

Chapter 200. Forgiveness (2)

“What would you use me for?”

At Haryang’s question, Yegyeol blinked as if he had not considered it.

“Well… to read books to me, to take walks together, and to share meals.”

One by one, he counted off whatever came to mind, his voice gradually thick with emotion.

“To sing me lullabies. To put me to sleep.”

Haryang’s back shifted faintly.

Judging that he had sufficiently unsettled him, Yegyeol pulled loose the ribbon that bound Haryang’s hair. As the neatly gathered strands spilled free, Haryang reflexively turned his head.

Yegyeol seized the chance, wrapping his arms around his Senior Brother’s neck. His eyes shone bright with the thrill of a child’s first hunt as he captured his lips.

Haryang collapsed beneath him, helpless as their bodies pressed together.

Perched atop him like a victor, Yegyeol pulled away briefly with a triumphant smile. Suckling lightly at his lower lip, he guided Haryang’s hand to the bedpost and bound it with the silk ribbon he had taken.

Though the knot was somewhat clumsy—he had learned it at the Center and never properly practiced—it tightened the more it was pulled, trapping the wrist securely.

‘As expected, anything learned proves useful someday.’

Ordinarily, Haryang would have torn the ribbon and freed himself. But the fabric, being the very silk gifted by Yegyeol, left him discomposed.

Straddling him, Yegyeol tugged open his robe and slid his hand across his chest.

As always, it was not only pleasing to look at, but delightful to touch. His skin was smooth, springing back elastically beneath each press. Each twitch of the firm body under his fingers lit a cruel glimmer in Yegyeol’s eyes, as though slotting each sensation into his private treasury.

Lowering his head again, Yegyeol kissed Haryang once more. It was nothing extraordinary. And yet, though steel itself could not pierce him, Haryang’s strong body trembled and writhed beneath him, pinned down. His gaze glowed with a feral hunger that belied any thought of fleeing.

Nibbling his lower lip, Yegyeol smirked. As he shifted his hips, he could feel the hardening shape of his Senior Brother’s arousal pressing through the cloth.

He had pinned him down deliberately, but had not expected such a swift response.

“Ah…”

A low sigh escaped Haryang’s teeth. Yegyeol nipped at the tip of his nose, licked his cheek, watching every flicker of reaction.

The man’s usual composure had vanished. His cold face was stained with turmoil. He had tried, briefly, to free his hands, but his attention had been stolen by Yegyeol and the effort failed.

That blue ribbon, the one Yegyeol had gifted him, proved an excellent hostage. The man who once so easily overturned every situation, even climbing atop his disciple to toy with him, now lay motionless.

His flushed, disordered face was that of one thoroughly teased. Stroking his reddened eyes, Yegyeol whispered breathlessly,

“You’re beautiful.”

Part of him wanted to prolong this moment.

With hazy eyes, Yegyeol leaned down when Haryang parted his lips slightly, kissing him again as if bewitched.

This time, Haryang had mastered his discomposure. His kiss was skilled.

When he had shared a night with the Black Ghost, it had been rougher, almost beast-like. But now, knowing every one of Yegyeol’s weak points, even the kiss alone felt enough to make him damp beneath.

“Mmhh…”

A swallowed moan slipped free under the pressure of Haryang’s tongue stroking his palate.

Sweet.

Breath rising in excitement, Yegyeol accepted the kiss more deeply. Yet he stiffened when hands wound around his waist.

Looking down, he realized Haryang’s hands—once tied—were free. While Yegyeol had been distracted, Haryang had already loosened the knot.

“Ah. I thought it would last longer.”

Yegyeol stared at his freed hands with lingering regret, eyes dripping disappointment.

Haryang chuckled low.

“It took long enough, being careful not to tear the ribbon.”

“Still.”

Even as he revealed such open greed, Yegyeol remained seated firmly upon him, showing no sign of escape.

On the first day of their return to the Ten Thousand Great Mountains, Haryang, having imprisoned his disciple and claimed him, had thought such lewd playfulness—let alone ordinary conversation—would forever be beyond their reach. He had even consoled himself that simply keeping him nearby would be enough.

But now, his disciple acted as though they were lovers in the midst of a honeymoon. There was no pretense of fear to be swallowed, no desperate struggle to forget reality.

It felt as though they had returned to Cheonghae, to that time.

“It’s strange.”

Haryang’s voice came thick, unsteady.

“All of this feels like a dream.”

A sigh fell into his brightened eyes.

“Why?”

Yegyeol, too, had felt the same, so he pressed for his thoughts.

“Because you would never forgive me.”

Then everything Haryang felt must surely be an illusion. He still remembered vividly the despair and grief on his disciple’s face in the alleys of Seyeong.

That expression had been too raw to be fabricated, too sharp to be swallowed.

Seeing again his disciple’s face, shaken, Haryang let a bitter smile curve his lips at how quickly the fragile happiness shattered.

He felt like a fool—like someone who had built a castle upon unstable ground, praying it would not fall.

“…There is no reason for me to forgive you, Senior Brother.”

The verdict was merciless.

Just as Haryang’s eyes began to darken, Yegyeol’s grip on his shoulders tightened.

“It isn’t you I cannot forgive, Senior Brother. It’s myself.”

His voice came out like words spat between clenched teeth, steeped in contempt and rage.

Startled, Haryang tried to see his face, but Yegyeol turned aside, bowing his head and refusing to show him.

“Yegyeol.”

Drawing one of his disciple’s hands up, Haryang pressed a kiss to the fingertips.

“…Yegyeol.”

Even as he repeated the name, soothingly, Yegyeol gave no answer.

He could not. He did not want to reveal himself.

No mirror was needed to know how wretched his face looked. He had hidden it so long, pretended so well that nothing was wrong. Watching Haryang’s reactions today, he had thought he had managed it, more or less.

But the moment his Senior Brother spoke in self-reproach, he could not endure.

The knot of venomous emotions he had shoved down screamed within him. He had thought it long dead, but it was loud, unbearably loud.

And because Je Haryang was here, in this space, it all burst free.

“Yegyeol, please—look at me.”

Again his lips brushed Yegyeol’s fingers.

“Mm?”

His voice, coaxing, carried an uncharacteristic plea, almost childlike. Yegyeol finally understood—this was desperation, in his own way.

“What do you mean? Why… why say you cannot forgive yourself?”

Haryang fell silent, unable to continue.

“…How could you put such terrifying words into your mouth?”

He would not let go without an answer.

Biting his lips, Yegyeol muttered weakly,

“I don’t want to say it.”

How could he confess that being bound to the Heavenly Demon suffocated him?

How could he dare admit that sometimes, he regretted saving him?

The first thought was no different from condemning Haryang’s desperate fight to survive.

The second was a lie so foul that even Yegyeol could not utter it aloud.

Yes, it hurt, feeling responsible for what Haryang endured because he lived. But never, never did he regret dying in his stead.

What he despised—what he wanted to excise—was the selfish satisfaction that followed.

Even after hearing all from Samrang, he had still, in the end, been glad Haryang lived. That was the kind of selfish man he was.

No matter how generous Senior Brother might be, if he heard this, he would find his disciple abhorrent.

“Even if I wish to know?”

“…No.”

Yegyeol’s voice trembled endlessly.

He gathered a little courage to look at Haryang. His Senior Brother, with eyes gentler than any man’s, gazed up at him.

He wanted to rise, but Haryang would not release him. Drawn close, Yegyeol fell into his grasp.

Buried against him, Yegyeol gave up struggling, his back enclosed in those arms.

His hands, restless, traced over Haryang’s chest, over the loosened collar he himself had disheveled, over the hair that spilled down.

Clearly, it was a silent protest: Push me away.

But Haryang said nothing.

“…I thought this unworthy Senior Brother would never be forgiven by you. And it seems that is truly so.”

“What wrong have you done to me? Forgiveness is what the guilty ask of those they’ve wronged.”

Yegyeol’s reply was sharp, incredulous.

Haryang held him tightly, burying his face.

A man who had committed countless sins yet still faced the sun—now he could not bear to face Yegyeol. To be precise, he could not stand to see his reflection in those brown eyes.

“Because I deceived you.”

His voice was heavy with pain.

“I told you I was a merchant, concealing that I was the Heavenly Demon. That, and countless, countless other lies. Each time, I buried truth under falsehoods, unable to hide the one without adding another.”

When could he ever confess to being the Black Ghost?

The guilt already weighing on him was vast—he dreaded piling more atop it. For if Yegyeol’s balance tipped further, he feared what it might mean.

Most of all, he did not regret what he had done to bind Yegyeol to him. Given countless chances, he would choose it again. He would never renounce his claim.

That was the man he had become.

Or perhaps, the man he had always been, and only now admitted.

“Even so, would you still say there is no reason to forgive me?”