Across the room, Mu Haejoon watched silently.

  The man hadn’t said a word since they entered, but his gaze moved slowly, first to Lee Aseok, who now sat wordlessly on the bed with his usual deadpan expression… and then to his own nephew, who looked more tired than he had in years.

  Mu Haejoon narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

  He already knew something was off.

  For over months now, his usually diligent and consistent nephew hadn’t once visited home, even when his mother demanded updates.

  She kept asking Mu Haejoon whether he was assigning Yichen dangerous or secret missions again.

  But no. He hadn’t.

  So when he’d received a report, an odd one, hidden in the stack of regular intel, he thought he must have misread it.

  A report stated that Mu Yichen, Seo MinHyun, and Park Taegun had been living in the West Zone under the radar, doing nothing official, and keeping to themselves.

  When he confronted Mu Yichen with a call, the answer was vague and unsatisfying:

  “We’re investigating the decrease in gate frequency. Something feels strange.”

  Mu Haejoon didn’t press.

  He trusted his nephew.

  But he knew that wasn’t the full story.

  And earlier today, a private message came from one of the hospitals under the Mu Family’s name stating that Mu Yichen and two of his companions had stormed in, demanded a VIP room, cleared the entire top floor, and brought in an unconscious patient…

  …Mu Haejoon had decided enough was enough.

  He came in person.

  He met Yichen downstairs in the hospital lobby.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  But Mu Yichen… didn’t answer.

  He just looked at his uncle for a long second.

  And sighed.

  That was the moment Mu Haejoon knew, whatever this was, it was far beyond the scope of a simple investigation.

  He had never seen his brilliant, calm, confident nephew look like this.

  Troubled.

  As if no matter what he said, it wouldn’t reach the person it was meant for.

  And now, standing here, Mu Haejoon’s eyes shifted back to the long-haired youth seated on the bed.

  Expressionless. Still.

  But there was a peculiar energy around him, like storm clouds that hadn’t gathered yet but were waiting on the horizon.

  There was something about him.

  Something not quite explainable.

  Mu Haejoon tilted his head slightly.

  He’d trained countless swordsmen. He’d watched Yichen grow from a boy into the current wielder of the Moonlight Sun blade. But this youth…

  His instincts were telling him something strange.

  “Is he the reason you haven’t been home?”

  Mu Haejoon finally asked in a low voice, addressing Yichen without looking away from Aseok.

  Mu Yichen’s lips parted, then closed again.

  He didn’t answer.

  He didn’t need to.

  Mu Haejoon was surprised, truly surprised.

  He had seen countless talented people in his life. Some gifted from birth, others refined through hardship. He had seen arrogance, genius, ambition, and madness.

  But never, not once, had he seen his nephew Mu Yichen look troubled.

  Yet now, standing in a hospital room that smelled faintly of disinfectant and sterile floors, watching the long-haired youth sit blankly on the edge of the bed… he finally understood.

  Because the moment they walked in, Mu Yichen’s eyes never left that boy.

  Even now, his nephew stood near the window, arms crossed, gaze unwavering and silent, as if any sudden movement might startle the creature into disappearing.

  Mu Haejoon shifted his eyes from Aseok to Yichen, then back again.

  He was no fool. He’d lived long enough to recognize that look.

  It wasn’t the fiery kind of love that sparked over roses and wine.

  No.

  It was the quieter kind, the kind born from watching someone for far too long without saying a word.

  The kind of affection that rooted itself deep, wordless and persistent.

  Mu Haejoon nodded inwardly.

  “So it’s that age, huh.”

  He clapped a hand gently on Yichen’s shoulder, giving a small smile as if to say, ‘Don’t worry, uncle’s got you.’

  Mu Yichen blinked, face perfectly calm, but his fingers twitched slightly.

  “Uncle, wait..!”

  Too late.

  Mu Haejoon was already walking across the room, steps graceful, confidence exuding from every line of his tall figure. His voice softened as he neared the bed.

  “Hey there,” he said in his most relaxed tone. “What’s your name?”

  Lee Aseok blinked once.

  Then slowly..deliberately, turned his gaze to the wall.

  Silence.

  Mu Haejoon paused.

  His smile twitched.

  “…Huh.”

  Still no response. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

  Lee Aseok simply blinked again, this time slower, as if the weight of human interaction were simply too heavy to entertain.

  Mu Haejoon chuckled quietly. He hadn’t been ignored like this in decades.

  He crouched a little, lowering his posture to meet the youth at eye level.

  “I’m Mu Haejoon. Heard you gave my nephew a scare.”

  No answer.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  No movement.

  Just that same blank, emotionless stare fixed vaguely toward the white hospital wall.

  Behind them, Mu Yichen silently covered half his face with a hand and sighed inwardly.

  I told you…

  Mu Haejoon straightened up and crossed his arms.

  “Well, I tried,” he muttered, then turned back toward Yichen. “He’s got guts, I’ll give him that.”

  Lee Aseok’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around the bedsheet, but no one noticed.

  “Are you sure this one’s not mute?” Mu Haejoon asked dryly. “Or perhaps allergic to conversation?”

  Mu Yichen sighed and shook his head.

  “He talks when he wants to.”

  “Which is?” Haejoon raised a brow.

  “…Almost never.”

  Mu Haejoon gave a dry laugh and glanced at the youth again.

  “Then you have your work cut out for you, nephew.”

  Lee Aseok, still silent, shifted just a little, pulling the blanket over his lap like he was slowly trying to disappear inside it.

  Mu Haejoon stood by the bed, hands behind his back, voice gentle yet firm as he asked once again,

  “What’s your name, young man?”

  Silence.

  Lee Aseok blinked once.

  Then, very purposefully, tilted his head slightly toward the wall, as if the grainy texture of the paint was far more captivating than a living, breathing human speaking to him.

  Mu Haejoon’s lips twitched.

  “…Hm.”

  He blinked. Once. Twice.

  Then chuckled, low and incredulous.

  “Interesting.”

  He was a man who had once stared down an enraged wyvern with a smile.

  He had lectured arrogant S-rank hunters into submission and once silenced a boardroom of Guild Leaders with a glance.

  And yet.

  Here he was.

  Being utterly ignored by a twig-limbed youth with long hair and dead eyes.

  At the far end of the room, Mu Yichen sighed, long and deep, already resigned to what would follow.

  Mu Haejoon straightened his shoulders.

  Fine. If he couldn’t get a name, he’d go for the old route.

  The elder’s wisdom.

  “You know, young man,” he began smoothly, stepping back a little and folding his arms. “Living is a gift. The world may be cruel, but even cruel days can become memories. And sometimes, surviving is enough to change fate. Treasure your life. Don’t throw it away like it means nothing.”

  The words were delivered with practiced sincerity, the kind that made even rebellious teenagers feel guilt, and left reporters quoting him like scripture.

  Mu Haejoon finished his heartfelt speech.

  Silence.

  A second passed. Then two.

  Then..

  “Tsk.”

  It was quiet.

  But it rang through the room like a bell in a funeral.

  A single, sharp sound, dismissive, effortless and devastating.

  Mu Haejoon froze.

  The noise was soft, but to his ears, it may as well have been a slap.

  He slowly turned his head to face the long-haired youth.

  Lee Aseok, still seated on the bed, had not moved.

  His face was neutral. His gaze was unfocused, lost somewhere in the plaster of the wall. But his lips, ever so slightly, had curled in disapproval.

  “Tsk.”

  Another one.

  Just for good measure.

  Mu Haejoon inhaled deeply.

  His jaw tightened.

  “You…!”

  Mu Yichen quickly stepped forward and placed a calming hand on his uncle’s shoulder.

  “Uncle. He…doesn’t mean it.”

  “Doesn’t mean it?!” Mu Haejoon whispered sharply. “He clicked his tongue at me. I’ve had S-rank lunatics beg me for advice..”

  “I know. But he’s like this with everyone,” Mu Yichen said calmly, like he was explaining the weather. “Don’t take it personally.”

  “…Don’t take it..”

  Mu Haejoon took a deep breath. He was a refined man. A leader. A mentor. He would not let a moody teenager get under his skin.

  Even if that teenager had just “tsk”-ed him like he was a mosquito buzzing too loud.

  Mu Haejoon took a deep breath, trying to calm the frustration bubbling under his composed exterior.

  The long-haired youth on the bed still hadn’t moved, still sat there, back straight, gaze glued to the pale hospital wall like he was watching something invisible no one else could see.

  A quiet sigh escaped Mu Yichen’s lips.

  He knew this would happen.

  He knew exactly how this would end.

  And yet, part of him still hoped this time, maybe, something would change.

  Mu Haejoon’s mouth opened, ready to launch another round of “elderly wisdom,” but just then..

  The long-haired youth slowly turned his head.

  His movements were almost mechanical, unhurried, deliberate.

  And then those eyes..those lifeless, hollow eyes, met Mu Haejoon's.

  Mu Haejoon froze mid-sentence.

  It wasn’t the youth’s appearance that stunned him, though Lee Aseok’s delicate features would’ve stood out in any crowd.

  It was his eyes.

  They weren’t simply tired.

  They weren’t angry or guarded.

  They were void.

  Empty.

  Soulless.

  They were the kind of eyes worn by old warriors who had seen too much blood, too many deaths, and too little hope.

  But this young man couldn’t have been older than twenty at most. And yet…

  It was like he had walked through all eighteen levels of hell… and decided he preferred it to reality.

  Mu Haejoon’s breath caught in his throat.

  For the first time in decades, words failed him.

  His mouth closed. His body stiffened. Slowly, like a clockwork machine being wound backward, Mu Haejoon turned toward his nephew.

  Mu Yichen met his gaze and simply shook his head.

  There was no need to explain. It wasn’t something you could explain.

  Instead, he spoke calmly to the young man who had just stared them both down like ghosts in his peripheral vision.

  “You’ve been unconscious for three days,” Mu Yichen said, his tone light and even, as though they were discussing the weather. “You don’t need to worry about people, this floor’s already cleared. No one will bother you.”

  Lee Aseok didn’t respond.

  He just blinked slowly, as if calculating whether waking up had truly been worth the effort.

  Mu Yichen continued, ignoring the heaviness in the air.

  “The doctors said it was stress. That you need rest.”

  A beat of silence passed.

  Then came the reply, dry, slow, drained of warmth or weight.

  “You’re noisy.”

  Mu Yichen paused.

  “…Huh?”

  Lee Aseok shifted slightly on the bed, pulled the blanket up to his lap, and leaned back against the headboard. His tone was as lifeless as his gaze.

  “You… are noisy. Go away.”

  There wasn’t even a trace of gratitude. No "thank you for saving me," no "where am I," no curiosity, no acknowledgment.

  Just a lazy demand to get lost.

  Mu Yichen looked at his uncle, lips twitching upward into a small, defeated smile.

  “Told you,” he muttered.

  Mu Haejoon, still shaken, didn’t reply. His eyes remained fixed on Lee Aseok’s face.

  That boy wasn’t just cold or antisocial. He wasn’t just being dramatic or edgy.

  That boy was broken.

  And Mu Haejoon, for the first time in years, didn’t know how to fix something.

  Mu Yichen didn’t mind the rudeness.

  He didn’t argue or scold.

  Instead, he simply placed the neatly packed container of warm food on the table beside the hospital bed. There was no explanation, no expectation, not even a glance back.

  He just turned and walked out.

  Mu Haejoon lingered at the doorway for a second longer. Something, some strange, wordless tug, held him in place. He cast one last glance over his shoulder.

  There, beneath the pale lights and white walls, was the outline of a youth hunched slightly forward, unmoving.

  His shoulders were thin, too thin for someone still so young. His hair fell messily around his face, obscuring it in a curtain of silence.

  Mu Haejoon couldn’t shake the strange sensation in his chest.

  A quiet, almost suffocating familiarity.

  But he didn’t know where it came from.

  He left the room.

  Outside the hospital room, the soft hush of expensive shoes against the polished floor filled the hallway.

  Mu Yichen’s gentle expression was gone. His eyes, so calm moments ago, now looked sharp and stormy.

  His fingers were clenched at his sides.

  He didn’t speak, but every breath he took sounded like it was keeping him from exploding.

  Mu Haejoon narrowed his eyes.

  He had known this boy since birth. Mu Yichen never lost control, not even in the face of monsters, political sabotage, or family disputes.

  But now?

  Now his entire body seemed to be holding back something fierce.

  “…Yichen,” Mu Haejoon finally said, his voice low. “Who was that?”

  Mu Yichen closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “Not really.”

  Then slowly, he recounted everything: the suspicious warehouse, the bizarre supply hoarding, the collapsing ride, the unexpected gate, the unconscious body, and the emotional breakdown that followed.

  Mu Haejoon listened in silence, not interrupting once. By the end, his usually composed expression had shifted into something unreadable.

  “…Three days unconscious, and still refusing help?” Mu Haejoon muttered. “That’s not just arrogance. That’s…” He trailed off.

  Mu Yichen didn’t fill the silence.

  Mu Haejoon clicked his tongue and crossed his arms.

  “If it were anyone else, I’d tell you not to waste your time,” he said with a faint scoff. “But…” His mind flashed to that moment again, the one when he saw those eyes.

  So empty.

  So exhausted.

  So ready to disappear.

  “…I don’t think I can say that now.”

  He was an elder. A leader of a guild. A man who had long since passed the age where sentiment swayed him.

  But those reddish-brown eyes clung to the back of his mind like an echo in a vast cave.

  He sighed heavily.

  “Let me guess,” Mu Haejoon said, rubbing his temples. “Seo MinHyun doesn’t know yet?”

  Mu Yichen’s lips twitched.

  “No,” he said. “If he did, the entire hospital would’ve been shaking by now.”

  Mu Haejoon let out a low chuckle. It faded quickly.

  “Keep him out of this for now,” Mu Haejoon said, looking toward the sealed hospital door. “That one inside… if you want to help him, it’ll take more than food and kindness. Whatever shattered him… It won’t be fixed by treating him like a rescued stray.”

  Mu Yichen said nothing.

  But his eyes, deep and quiet, held a fire even though he didn't quite understand.

  He didn’t know who Lee Aseok really was.

  But he knew this much…

  If that boy tried to vanish again…

  Mu Yichen wasn’t going to let him.

  Mu Haejoon stood by the elevator with his arms crossed, staring blankly at the slowly closing doors.

  That youth…

  Those eyes.

  They reminded him of a battlefield after the war, silent, destroyed, and empty. The kind of emptiness that couldn’t be spoken about with words.

  He wasn’t some over-sentimental fool. He’d buried comrades. He’d trained broken men.

  But those reddish-brown eyes, dulled with lifelessness, clung to the corners of his mind like ghost smoke.

  Mu Haejoon rubbed his chin and muttered, “Not simple… definitely not simple.”

  His instincts, sharpened by decades of survival, whispered the same thing, Lee Aseok wasn’t someone to underestimate. Not because of strength. But because of the quiet storm in him.

  And yet… scolding that boy?

  Mu Haejoon exhaled heavily.

  How could he even think of criticizing someone when they looked like they were only barely staying alive?

  “Yichen,” he murmured to himself, “…if you really have feelings for that kid, you’re going to suffer more than I can teach you to endure.”

  But his nephew had always chosen the harder path. Just like his father once did.

  every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Yes, every week!