Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I will take some time to upload this fic. I hope I can fo it soon!

Chapter Text

The new apartment was small but warm. Afternoon light spilled through the half-open curtains, brushing over stacked boxes and a mountain of bubble wrap.

“Hey, Roksoo, pass me that box,” Jung Soo called from the kitchen floor, voice muffled by the cardboard between his teeth. “I can't with my hands full." 

Kim Roksoo sighed and handed it over. “You don't need to explain, you know.”

“I don't,” Jung Soo grinned, setting the box down, “but then you might start thinking I’m impolite.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already think so.”

That earned him a playful scold, followed by Lee Soo Hyuk’s soft chuckle from the living room. “Be careful with that microwave, Jung Soo. It looks heavy.”

“Don’t worry, hyung! I’m strong unlike Roksoo,” Jung Soo replied, flexing dramatically.

“All muscles with zero brain,” Roksoo muttered.

“Yah! Watch your mouth.”

Roksoo ignored him and continued unpacking, stacking books neatly by size and color. But then, halfway through a random box, something unexpected caught his eye.

A novel.

It was in perfect condition, but looked old. The cover was dark green, the title written in ornate gold letters. “Birth of a Hero.”

“Hey, Jung Soo,” Roksoo called. “This yours?”

Jung Soo peeked over his shoulder, wiping dust off his hands. “Oh, that thing. Yeah, I think so.”

“You think so?”

“I bought it a while ago. Or… maybe someone gave it to me? I don’t remember.” He crouched beside Roksoo, squinting at the cover. “Anyway, it’s some fantasy novel. I skimmed a few pages. The main character’s cool. He’s a swordsman like me. Oh, and get this, his name’s Choi Han.”

Roksoo blinked. “Another Choi?”

“Exactly!” Jung Soo grinned like he’d found a long-lost cousin. “A heroic swordsman with my family name. And his life-story miraculously came to me. Sounds like destiny, right?”

Soo Hyuk’s voice floated from the other side of the room. “You’re calling a mere coincidence destiny now?”

Jung Soo shrugged. “Don’t ruin my moment, hyung.” Then, turning back to Roksoo, “Anyway, I didn’t read the whole thing. Just the first part. But I think you’d like it.”

Roksoo studied the book, fingers brushing the spine. “Hmm. I will read it after we finish everything.”

“Great!” Jung Soo said cheerfully. “So, how about a deal? I lend you the book—”

“No.”

“—and you call me hyung just once.”

“No.”

“Come on, Roksoo! I’m older than you by…what? three hours?”

“Four hours,” Soo Hyuk corrected.

“Four, then!” Jung Soo threw his arms up dramatically. “That’s a whole lifetime of seniority!”

“Then use your seniority to finish making food like a responsible adult,” Roksoo said dryly. “Go back to work.”

Jung Soo gaped at him. “Unbelievable. This kid—”

“Kid or not. Still not calling you hyung,” Roksoo interrupted.

Soo Hyuk laughed softly. “Let it go, Jung Soo. You’ve been fighting this battle forever.”

“It’s not over yet,” Jung Soo grumbled, trudging back toward the kitchen. “One day, I’ll make you call me hyung.”

By the time evening rolled around, the apartment looked almost like a cozy home. They ate a simple dinner— ramen with kimchi. (a/n: I only know these two Korean foods.)

After washing his bowl, Roksoo stretched and slipped away to his small bedroom. The night air felt cool against his skin. He sat on the bed, turned on the small lamp, and stared at the book lying on his desk.

“Birth of a Hero,” he murmured, tracing the letters again. The cover looked different than any other books he had read.

He hesitated for a moment, then flipped it open.

The first chapter began simply enough: A boy named Choi Han found himself in another world.

Roksoo leaned back against his pillow, eyes scanning the words.

The story wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t special either.

The main character Choi Han, a seventeen year old high school student— woke up in another world after some random teleportation incident. Roksoo had read this setup too many times to count. 

Kid lost in another world. Kid learns to survive. Kid grows strong. Kid lost new family. Kid seeks revenge. He’d read it all before.

He yawned, pressing a hand over his mouth. “So cliché,” he murmured, though not unkindly.

Still, the writing was strangely easy to follow. The pacing smooth, the descriptions vivid enough to keep him from closing the book. So he kept reading.

Choi Han wandered through a forest crawling with beasts and fighting with hunger. He trained with makeshift weapons, learned to fight, and grew stronger. By the time he escaped that place, he was no longer the lost boy who’d arrived there by accident.

He became a sword-master. A strong one at that.

When he finally reached civilization, he stumbled into a small village called Harris Village. A peaceful place full of kind people. They took him in, nursed him back to health, and taught him to smile again.

For a moment, the story remained peaceful.

Roksoo found himself exhaling quietly, his thumb brushing the corner of the page. ‘At least they didn’t all die. Yet,’ he thought absently, though he already suspected what was coming.

And he was right.

When Choi Han left one morning to collect herbs in the forest, an evil organization named ARM attacked. The village burned. Every man, woman, and child was killed.

Roksoo felt his chest tighten as he read the words.

“The air smelled of ash and blood. Choi Han stood still, the wind dragging the cries of the dead into silence.”

He turned another page.

Choi Han buried the villagers with trembling hands. He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak. Then, he picked up his sword and ran. Three days and nights through mud and storm, until he reached the Rain City— the capital of Henituse Territory.

There, he planned to meet the count and report what had happened.

Roksoo’s expression remained calm, but there was a faint crease between his brows. He could already guess what would happen next. 

The protagonist would meet the count, get some quest or moral challenge, and start rebuilding his world while gaining power and allies.

“In the Rain City, Choi Han sought the Count Henituse, a man known for his kindness and fair rule.”

The story shifted from Choi Han’s tragic solitude to the description of the noble territory where he had arrived.

“But first, he met the Count’s eldest son— Cale Henituse, the trash of the count's family.”

Roksoo's lips tugging slightly upward. “Of course,” he muttered. “Every perfect family needs a black sheep.”

He expected the usual routine. Spoiled brat, drunk, selfish, reckless, the kind of character who gets a few lines before vanishing from the story. Nothing unusual.

But then—

“Cale Henituse, though infamous for his temper and wasteful habits, possessed a beauty unmatched even compared to dragons.”

He stopped reading.

“…What?”

He stared at the page. Then reread it. Slowly this time.

“His hair was red like a sunset bleeding across the horizon, his skin pale as fine porcelain, and his eyes— those reddish-brown eyes— were deep enough to drown a man’s thoughts. And his soft lips were like rose petals…”

Roksoo blinked once, then twice, expression blank.

“What kind of minor villain introduction is this?”

It was unusual. Fantasy stories rarely lingered on minor villains, especially on their looks. Yet here, the author had written nearly half a page describing Cale’s red hair, the beautiful curve of his jaw, the way light caught in his eyes.

He glanced at the earlier paragraphs describing the main character Choi Han. They barely got a single sentence about his appearance

Black hair, cold eyes, baby face’. 

But this minor noble brat was getting nearly a page of poetic prose dedicated to his complexion.

Roksoo frowned, flipping back a few lines to make sure he hadn’t missed something. “Did the author change mid-story or something?”

He read on.

The narrator spoke of Cale Henituse with both disdain and… admiration. A strange mix. He was introduced as a drunkard, a troublemaker, a noble with a terrible reputation— but described in oddly poetic detail.

“Cale’s reflection in the gilded mirror of his marble-tiled bathroom revealed the delicate balance between decadence and decay. A tragic beauty. Even his disheveled hair fell with precision, as though chaos itself adored him.”

The author even specially mentioned the large mirror in his bathroom.

Roksoo huffed softly, almost amused. “Why do I need to know about his bathroom mirror?”

He flipped the page again, half expecting it to move back to Choi Han’s journey. But NO, there it was again!

“As sunlight spilled across the crystal sink, the eldest son lifted a glass of wine with hands far too elegant for a trash.”

Roksoo groaned softly and rubbed his forehead. “Why are we still here?”

The narrator went on, detailing Cale’s posture, the way he poured wine, even the faint sound of glass against marble. Every word carried an odd fascination, like the writer couldn’t look away from this man they were supposed to dislike.

And slowly, against his will, neither could Roksoo.

The annoyance in his eyes turned into curiosity. A faint crease formed between Roksoo’s brows.

“That’s weird.”

He leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm. “Why write all this about a side, no, a background character?”

He knew the author’s habit. Sometimes they rambled, describing colors of curtains or irrelevant ancient power. But this was different. 

The author wasn’t just describing Cale. They were admiring him. Lavishing him with detail like an artist painting a saint instead of a minor background noble who’d probably appear once to cause trouble.

The narrator might call him “trash,” but every sentence beneath that label was painted with fondness, fascination… almost respect.

Roksoo’s heart ticked a little faster without reason.

This Cale Henituse didn’t feel like a villain at all. He felt like something else.

Something important.

Something the author wasn’t telling him yet.

---

Roksoo kept reading. His lamp flickered slightly, but he didn’t notice.

“Cale Henituse did not get along with his stepfamily. He disliked them openly. But he never caused them any trouble. He simply treated them as strangers, polite enough to be distant, distant enough to avoid care.”

Roksoo narrowed his eyes.

‘That… didn’t fit.’

A man who was supposedly trash. A spoiled, self-centered noble who broke things, drank, and caused chaos— shouldn’t also be described as someone who avoided conflict.

He sat up straighter, the book balanced on his knees.

“Wait, wait,” he murmured, half to himself. “So he doesn’t like his stepfamily but doesn’t make trouble for them either? Then why does everyone call him trash?”

He frowned, thinking about it.

If Cale truly hated them, wouldn’t he at least make their lives miserable? He was the firstborn of the house, wasn’t he? He would have the status, the authority, the power to do it easily.

But he didn’t.

He just kept to himself.

That wasn’t the behavior of a brat.

‘Weird,’ he thought again for the nth time.

Then, with a small shake of his head, he turned the page and kept reading.

“Whenever Cale drank, he broke things. Furniture, glassware, sometimes entire tables. The city’s taverns feared his visits but welcomed the aftermath, because Count Deruth always compensated for the damage. Five times the cost.”

Roksoo gaped.

“Five times?” he repeated quietly. “That’s too generous.”

He imagined it. A so-called delinquent son wrecking a place. And yet, instead of punishment, his father sends over money. More than enough to repair everything and still leave the owner richer than before.

“Looks like his habit of breaking things actually helps them at the end,” Roksoo muttered.

He began reading again, eyes darting through the next lines.

“Cale Henituse was also known for throwing bottles at gangsters when drunk. He always missed though. Every. Single. Time. By the smallest margin.”

Roksoo parted his lips slowly.

“…Every time?”

He read it again carefully. The narrator’s tone was almost amused. Something about how Cale’s aim was “atrocious” and how his drunken temper made him a nuisance. But the detail refused to leave his head.

Every throw missed. Barely.

Not a single hit. Not even by accident.

He set the book down on his lap, tapping the cover thoughtfully. “That’s impossible,” he whispered.

Even a child, someone throwing blindly— would hit a target once in a while. But Cale? He never hit anyone. Not once.

"Isn't barely missing the target more difficult than actually hitting it?”

He sat there for a long moment, his mind replaying the lines again and again.

‘When drunk, he breaks furniture— but the owners are always compensated more than enough.

When drunk, he attacks gangsters— but never actually hits them.

When sober, he avoids trouble with his family.’

Every single “trash” thing he did somehow benefited others.

Roksoo felt something tighten in his chest. A spark of excitement.

“This isn't a coincidence,” he said quietly. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

He turned another page, eyes darting across the paragraphs as if searching for proof.

The more he read, the more deliberate everything felt. Each scandal, each drunken act, each insult described by the narrator— it all carried this hidden pattern.

It was almost like Cale Henituse had built a careful wall of chaos around himself, perfectly measured, and perfectly harmless.

“You’re not that bad, are you?” Roksoo whispered, almost smiling.

He didn’t realize how late it had become. The lamplight had dimmed, the clock had passed midnight, and the city outside had gone still.

But Roksoo kept reading, eyes tracing Cale’s name as though it held gravity. His earlier boredom had vanished completely.

---

Roksoo’s pillow was propped behind him, the room was quiet except for the soft turning of pages. His eyes had grown a little tired, but his mind was far from sleepy.

The more he read, the stranger it became.

“Despite his temper and frequent drunken outbursts, Cale Henituse had never been known to harm another person. Not a servant, not a noble, not even the gangsters he threw bottles at. He was foul-mouthed, arrogant, but never cruel. And surprisingly, he respects women.”

Roksoo felt even more excited.

‘How could someone be trash and respect women at the same time? It didn’t match.’

“Cale Henituse always treated the ladies of noble houses with courtesy. He never raised his voice at them, nor used their names lightly.”

Roksoo exhaled a quiet laugh through his nose. “That’s not trashy. That’s chivalrous.”

He turned the page again, almost impatient now. His curiosity was burning through his usual calm.

“He was known to obey his father, Count Deruth Henituse. Despite his ‘trash’ reputation, he never once disobeyed an order or spoke rudely to his father.”

Roksoo froze mid-turn.

He stared at that line for a long moment.

‘Wait…! What?’

He read it again, then again, and again.

Cale always listened to his father. Never once talked back.

Roksoo was lost for words. “Then why… why wasn’t his father stopping him from acting like this?”

If Cale really respected and obeyed his father, then all Deruth had to do was tell him to stop drinking, stop breaking things, stop wasting his potential.

And yet, the Count didn’t.

“Why?”

Roksoo frowned deeper, his thumb tapping restlessly against the page.

“Cale started acting like trash when he was eight, and started drinking at fifteen.”

Eight. 

Fifteen.

‘He was a child.’

His mother was gone by then. And his father, the “kind, gentle Count Henituse”, just let him do it?

Roksoo’s jaw clenched slightly. “That’s not right,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s… neglect.”

He didn’t even realize he was defending Cale, but every new line felt heavier, more unfair.

It wasn’t just the way Cale was described. It was what was missing between those descriptions. The small gaps in the narration that felt too deliberate, as if the author didn’t want readers to look too closely.

And then—

“When the title of successor was transferred to his younger stepbrother, Basen Henituse, Cale Henituse did not object even once.’”

No anger. No jealousy. No drama.

Just acceptance.

Roksoo sank back into his bed, staring at the ceiling in disbelief.

Every fantasy novel he had ever read, every single one, would have turned that into a blood feud. Brothers killing each other for inheritance. Betrayal, revenge, rebellion. That was how it always went.

But Cale?

He gave up the title willingly.

He didn’t even seem to care.

Roksoo laughed softly, a half-breath of admiration slipping out before he realized. “You’re really something else, huh?”

His eyes traced the name “Cale Henituse” like it was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit anywhere.

Because as someone who always figured out stories long before the ending, someone who could read a single chapter and predict the rest, Roksoo found himself completely lost for once.

He couldn’t predict this man.

Couldn’t understand his motives.

Couldn’t tell what he wanted.

He wasn’t pure. He wasn’t evil either. He wasn’t even a proper tragic character.

He was just… different.

So different that Roksoo’s heartbeat felt oddly quick whenever the name appeared again.

Cale Henituse, “trash,” “nuisance,” “problem child.”

But to Roksoo, he was quickly becoming something else.

A mystery wrapped in contradictions.

A man pretending to be something the world wanted him to be, for reasons no one cared to understand.

Roksoo smiled faintly, his voice barely a whisper against the quiet room.

“Are you really trash, Cale? Or are you hiding something?”

And with that thought, he turned another page.

---

The clock ticked softly beside Roksoo’s bed. He was halfway through another paragraph when another line made him stop dead. 

It feels like this is happening a lot.

“Cale Henituse’s alcohol tolerance was known to be abysmally low, though in truth, his body possessed a remarkable resistance to intoxication. It was simply a trait he was born with.”

“What?”

He looked closer, rereading it carefully, making sure he hadn’t misread the words because of being sleepy.

‘Cale has a high alcohol tolerance?’

But everyone said he got drunk easily. The narrator said it! The entire reason people called him a drunken mess was because of his “low tolerance.”

‘So, he wasn’t drunk at all?’

Roksoo froze.

The realization hit him like cold water.

‘If he wasn’t actually drunk…’

Then every bottle he broke, every loud word, every swaying step— was just an act.

A perfect, deliberate performance.

Roksoo sat upright, the blanket sliding off his legs. His mind spun through every line he had read so far, every odd little inconsistency that had made him frown earlier.

He never hurt anyone.

He respected women.

He always listened to his father.

He gave up his title willingly.

He threw bottles but never hit anyone, not even by accident.

He couldn’t get drunk!

Roksoo’s pulse picked up, excitement fluttering through his chest.

“He’s pretending,” he whispered.

It was too perfect to be a coincidence.

Cale wasn’t trash. He was acting like trash. That would explain all of his contradictory actions.

‘But why?’

Why would someone like that, someone clever enough to fake drunkenness so convincingly— want everyone to think he was a fool?

Why wouldn’t he protect his image, his status, his dignity?

Roksoo’s thoughts tumbled one after another, faster and faster.

‘Why wouldn’t he create problems for his stepfamily when he could easily do it?

Why give up the successor’s seat so peacefully?

Why treat people gently, even when they mocked him?

Why hate gangsters but spare them every time?

Why always follow his father’s words without rebellion?

Why build this entire reputation just to seem pathetic?’

And above all— why pretend to be drunk when he couldn’t even get drunk in the first place???

The realization felt like thunder in his head.

“He’s definitely acting,” Roksoo repeated, firmer this time. “He’s hiding something.”

He set the book aside, running both hands through his hair. His heart wouldn’t stop racing.

For someone who could predict every twist in every story, this… this was new.

Cale Henituse didn’t make sense.

And that was exactly what made him fascinating.

He reached for his notebook, flipping to a blank page.

The pen hovered for a moment before he began to write. His handwriting was neat and steady at first:

Cale Henituse Analysis (a.k.a. My theory that he’s not actually trash):

• Never harms anyone → deliberately avoids it.

• Breaks things → Father compensates people generously. (Possible planned outcome?)

• Respects women → consistent with someone raised with morals.

• Hates gangsters → maybe a moral code?

• Listens to father → obedience or guilt?

• Gives up succession willingly → hiding? protecting someone?

• Pretends to be drunk despite high tolerance → deliberate act to hide something.

•Conclusion: Cale Henituse = not trash. Possibly the opposite.

He stared at the words for a long moment, then wrote one more line beneath it.

• But why destroy his reputation on purpose?

The question hung there, heavy and unanswered.

Roksoo leaned back in his chair, tapping the pen against his notebook.

It didn’t make sense. Every action pointed to a carefully controlled plan. But to what end?

With a sigh, he closed the notebook and picked up the novel again.

There was only one way to find out.

He turned to the next page, eyes sharp with curiosity.

For the first time in a long while, Kim Roksoo wasn’t just reading a story.

He was investigating someone.

Someone named Cale Henituse.

And he had no idea that this quiet obsession was only just beginning.

---

Roksoo’s lamp was the only light in the apartment still burning. Jung Soo and Soo Hyuk had long since gone to bed, but Roksoo sat cross-legged, the book open before him, his expression tense.

He’d reached the part where the novel’s main character, Choi Han, finally met Cale Henituse.

Roksoo’s pulse quickened. ‘Finally,’ he thought. ‘I may get to see what he’s really like.’

Roksoo turned the page.

“Cale Henituse, lounging with a half-empty glass of wine, smiled lazily. His crimson hair caught the light as he raised his glass. ‘Harris Village?’ he said. ‘You’re talking about that nameless place beside the forest? Hah. Those peasants were worth less than the wine I’m drinking.’”

The pen in Roksoo’s hand slipped from his fingers and hit the desk.

For a second, he thought he’d misread it. His mind refused to process what his eyes had just seen.

“…He… said that?”

Cale— annoying but apparently good-hearted, brat but not cruel— had mocked the dead?

The same Cale who never hurt anyone, who hated gangstars, who gave up his title and lived quietly?

Roksoo’s stomach twisted. He wanted to think it was a misunderstanding, maybe something taken out of context, but the words were printed right there, cruel and cold.

He flipped to the next page quickly, as if some explanation might appear in the next paragraph.

“Choi Han’s expression twisted with rage. The glass shattered. A moment later, his fist met Cale’s face.”

The scene spiraled quickly. Choi Han’s fury, the broken furniture, the shocked onlookers.

And through it all, Cale didn’t fight back.

He didn’t even try.

“Cale Henituse took the blows without resistance. Even as his nose bled, even as his lips split, he didn't change his mind.”

Roksoo’s hand gripped the book tighter.

“Why aren’t you defending yourself?” he whispered.

He knew Cale wasn’t drunk. He knew every single action was calculated. So why… why choose to say something that cruel, and then not explain himself?

He didn’t beg for forgiveness. Didn’t try to justify his words.

It was as if he truly believed what he said. As if he truly believed those villagers weren't worth much.

Or maybe… as if he believed he deserved to be beaten for saying it. Or maybe not?

Roksoo’s mind ran in circles. “That doesn’t make sense. He’s not heartless. He’s not stupid. So why?”

He flipped ahead again, pages turning faster, searching for Cale’s next appearance. He read through the aftermath, Choi Han’s talk with the count, the Count’s household in chaos— but Cale’s name never came up again.

Volume 2— still gone.

Volume 3— no mention.

Volume 4— nothing.

Volume 5— nothing.

It was as though he’d been erased.

“...No way,” Roksoo muttered, flipping back through the pages. “That can’t be it. That can’t be all.”

He had only appeared for maybe five minutes of story time. Just long enough to insult a devastated protagonist, get beaten bloody, and vanish.

That was all.

But somehow, those few minutes refused to leave Roksoo’s head.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the quiet ticking of the clock loud in the room.

A single appearance.

Five minutes of dialogue.

And yet, Roksoo couldn’t stop thinking about him.

He reached for his notebook again, flipping to a fresh page.

Cale Henituse — Theories:

• Shows restraint in everything except this one moment while talking with the MC.

• Provoked Choi Han intentionally. Why?

• Didn’t fight back → guilt? purpose? 

• Conclusion: Cale’s insult wasn’t random. There must be some reason.

Roksoo stared at the last line, the pen trembling slightly in his hand.

He couldn’t explain it, but he felt it— deep down, a quiet certainty.

Cale wasn’t cruel. He was acting cruel.

Maybe to protect someone.

Maybe to shift the story’s path.

Maybe to shoulder something alone.

But definitely not out of malice.

Roksoo sighed, closing the notebook and rubbing his eyes.

Five minutes of dialogue. That’s all Cale got.

And yet, those five minutes were enough to consume his thoughts completely.

Cale Henituse—

A man too beautiful, too strange, too carefully written to be what the story said he was.

He wasn’t a villain.

He wasn’t trash.

He was an angel wearing a sinner’s mask.

Roksoo smiled faintly at the thought, tracing the name “Cale Henituse” on the cover of the notebook with his thumb.

“Five minutes of screen time, huh?” he murmured. “That’s all you needed to make me curious.”

---

The apartment had grown quiet over the last six days. But not because anyone wasn't home.

Kim Roksoo hadn’t slept properly once since discovering Cale Henituse.

Currently, he was hunched over a notebook, eyes wide and wild, mumbling to himself as his pen moved at impossible speed.

From the hallway, Choi Jung Soo and Lee Soo Hyuk exchanged worried glances.

“He hasn’t slept in six days,” Jung Soo whispered.

Soo Hyuk’s brows knitted. “I know. And he hasn’t eaten properly either. He barely touches his meals. And he keeps muttering… something about a ‘trash noble, but not trash’”

Jung Soo shivered slightly. “That’s not good. I didn't think it would… affect him this much. It’s just a novel.”

“Just a novel?” Soo Hyuk echoed incredulously, his gaze returning to Roksoo. The younger man was hunched over the notebook, mumbling something about “the deliberate trash act” and “high alcohol tolerance.”

“And look at his eyes,” Soo Hyuk continued quietly. “It’s… a little scary.”

Jung Soo stepped closer. “Roksoo, what are you doing?”

Roksoo jerked upright so fast that his neck almost broke. His hair stuck out in all directions, and his eyes burned like fire.

“Don’t disturb me,” he snapped. “I’m busy! Can't you see I'm busy?!”

Jung Soo froze for a moment. Roksoo’s voice had that sharp, feisty-cat edge— one that meant any interruption would be met with teeth and claws, metaphorically speaking. Or maybe not.

He snickered nervously. “Roksoo, calm down. It’s just us.”

“Go back to your work,” Roksoo hissed, eyes again fixed on the notebook. “Or don’t bother me!”

“He’s… really out of it,” Soo Hyuk muttered under his breath.

He gave a slow, defeated sigh. He should have known better. He should have let Roksoo be. But curiosity, combined with concern, finally got the better of him.

He sat down across from Roksoo and waited patiently, hoping the younger would settle. But after a few moments, he finally spoke.

“Roksoo,” he said calmly but firmly. “What are you doing? What is all of this?”

Roksoo’s eyes lit up like a cat spotting prey. He threw his pen down and grabbed the notebook, holding it out to Soo Hyuk and Jung Soo with trembling hands.

And at that moment, Lee Soo Hyuk knew he fucked up.