Time: 3:04 AMLocation: Baek Ryeo-woon's Private Quarters – Oblivion Guild Tower
The lights were off. The room was quiet.
Baek Ryeo-woon lay on his bed, fully dressed, arm over his face, finally allowing himself to sleep for the first time in two days.
It was blissful.
Peaceful.
Almost suspiciously so.
Until…
Click.
Somewhere, a hidden camera lens adjusted.
Thud.
A soft bump against the bed frame.
Whispered breathing.
Something was wrong.
--
Clad in what could barely be classified as sleepwear—because sleep was clearly not the goal—Seo Yuri had scaled the side of the tower (with assistance from a stealth climbing spell), snuck past six security checkpoints, disabled the floor sensors with a kiss-blown mana disruptor, and entered Baek Ryeo-woon's room through the window.
Because of course she did.
She had come prepared: lip gloss, a silk robe that did nothing to hide her curves, a perfume called "Fatal Heartbeat," and a delusional fantasy based on zero mutual interactions.
She crawled into his bed like a movie villain in love, fluffed her hair dramatically, adjusted the angle of her portable "moment-capturing orb," and posed on top of him.
"Ryeo-woon oppa," she whispered seductively, her voice pure velvet wrapped in insanity. "I dreamed of you, and now… we're together...~"
She gently leaned down, her perfume cloud thick enough to stun a wyvern.
--
His eyes snapped open.
He didn't scream.
He didn't flinch.
He simply stared.
Then blinked.
Then stared again.
Seo Yuri smiled down at him, arms delicately caging his sides. "Don't be shy—"
Thud.
She wasn't on top of him anymore.
She was now across the room, mid-spin, launched by a disgust-powered full-body reversal that defied the laws of physics.
She hit the wall with a yelp and slithered to the floor like a badly aimed pancake.
Baek Ryeo-woon shot upright, horrified. He checked his pulse. His breathing. His soul.
He ran to the sink, turned on cold water, splashed it on his face, and muttered, "I've been touched. I've been—contaminated."
Seo Yuri groaned dramatically. "But oppa, I just wanted to be near you…"
He looked at her like she'd confessed to being a cultist.
"You broke into my room, laid on my chest, and nearly activated my trauma response."
She crawled toward him. "Just admit it—you secretly like me—"
He reached for his sword.
She froze.
"Leave," he said calmly. "Before I add 'accidental murder' to my evening routine."
She pouted. "But we have chemistry!"
"No. We have chemicals. Yours are leaking."
This guild needs stricter HR policies.I need a new lock.Or a flamethrower.
Meanwhile, in the hallway...
Ji-hwan, Ryeo-woon's second-in-command, leaned against the door outside, sipping coffee and shaking his head.
"She tried the 'sleep invasion' method again?" he muttered.
The guard beside him nodded. "Third time this month."
Ji-hwan sighed. "He's going to apply for outer space relocation at this rate."
--
After a full day of dodging insane guildmates, rejecting illegal seduction attempts, and obsessing over a mysterious dungeon returnee, Baek Ryeo-woon decided to do something he hadn't done in nearly two months.
He went home.
District 7, his personal fortress of high-tech order and elite guild drama, was one thing.
But the Baek family home?
That was a battlefield of its own.
It sat in the inner core of the district: a quiet, walled residence surrounded by trained garden beasts, mana-filtered koi ponds, and the kind of tranquility that made you feel guilty for breathing too loudly.
Ryeo-woon stepped through the automated gates, his coat flapping behind him in the evening wind, looking every bit the emotionally constipated super-soldier he was.
The moment the door opened, a sharp voice snapped through the air.
"Baek Ryeo-woon. You still remember this house exists?"
Standing in the entrance hall was a tall man in his early sixties with streaks of silver in his jet-black hair, posture straighter than a blade, and eyes that could cut through steel.
Baek Joon-seok.General. War hero.And Ryeo-woon's father, aka: "The Human Disappointment Radar."
Behind him, walking out from the kitchen, was a gentle-looking woman with soft brown curls and the kind of warm eyes that made soldiers lower their weapons.
Im Hae-rin.Mother. Retired healer. The only person Ryeo-woon ever allowed to touch his hair.
"Woon-ah!" she gasped, lighting up. "You came home!"
Before Ryeo-woon could deflect with a cold shoulder, she zoomed across the marble floor and hugged him like a mother squeezing her firstborn back into the womb.
"Mom," he mumbled, stiffly patting her back. "I'm still mortal. You might crack a rib."
"You've lost weight," she scolded, pulling back and squinting. "Are you eating properly?"
"He has protein bars in his coat pocket," came a deadpan voice from the stairs.
Ryeo-woon looked up.
His younger brother, Baek Ryeo-min, now the freshly appointed commander of the 3rd Military Group, descended with the poise of someone who just finished writing three strategic battle plans for breakfast.
Unlike Ryeo-woon, Ryeo-min smiled often. He was charming. Sociable. A PR team's dream.
Also infuriating.
"You still hoarding rations like a war squirrel?" Ryeo-min added, crossing his arms.
Ryeo-woon rolled his eyes. "It's efficient."
"And sad."
"Gentlemen," Joon-seok said coldly. "If you two are done comparing your childhood trauma—Ryeo-woon. Why are you here?"
Silence.
Ryeo-woon considered his answer.
He could say he was here to rest.To recharge.To report.To analyze the rising instability between dungeons.
But instead, with all the seriousness of a brooding antihero, he said:
"Life is tough for a handsome man."
...
There was a pause.
His father stared at him with the look of a man questioning all his parenting decisions.
His brother snorted and walked into the kitchen. "I'm boiling your ego in tea."
His mother just smiled lovingly. "I'll make your favorite soup."
Ryeo-woon blinked. "So no one's going to validate me?"
"You get enough validation from your mirror," Ryeo-min called from the fridge.
Joon-seok turned and walked toward his study. "He's your problem now, Hae-rin."
.
They sat around a pristine table lit with mana lanterns.
Ryeo-woon stirred his soup quietly, refusing to admit it was comforting.
"So," his mom said sweetly, "are your guildmates still insane?"
"I might expel half of them next week."
"Good. Set boundaries."
His father didn't even look up from his tablet. "Any leads on the fluctuation anomaly from District 8?"
Ryeo-woon paused. "Possibly. There's someone… unusual there. But I haven't approached him yet."
"Handle it soon," Joon-seok said. "Before one of the other guilds poaches the opportunity."
Ryeo-min slurped his noodles and said between bites, "Is this about the hoodie guy?"
Ryeo-woon glanced up. "You know about him?"
"He's on everyone's radar," Ryeo-min replied. "People think he's a returnee. Or a myth. I think he's an internet prank."
"He cleared a sealed S-Class dungeon without a scratch."
"Alright, I'm intrigued."
Im Hae-rin sipped her tea and smiled at her two sons, both talking shop like cold-blooded commanders.
Then she looked at her eldest.
"You're staying the night."
"That wasn't a question."
Ryeo-woon sighed, but nodded.
Later, he sat in his childhood room, untouched, organized, still full of old books and zero personality.
He looked out the window toward the moons.
"...I am handsome though," he muttered.
From downstairs, someone yelled, "NO ONE CARES."
And that someone was his younger brother..