Chapter-10
After years passed...
Lee Cheon-Hwa was now fifteen—no longer the frail child once confined to bed, but a blooming figure beneath the spring sun. As the wind scattered soft petals into the air, a pair of jeweled magenta eyes gazed upward, half-lidded and unreadable. His midnight-black hair, now reaching near his back, swayed gently with the breeze. There was something ethereal in his presence—a beauty too delicate to be mortal, yet grounded in the quiet stoicism of someone who'd seen too much, too soon.
His sharp features, soft yet striking, held a faint boredom, the kind only geniuses or schemers wore well. With skin pale like porcelain and posture calm like a monk who'd taken a vow of laziness, Lee Cheon-Hwa leaned against the tree as if he were waiting for the world to align to his plans. And perhaps, he was.
He would've stayed there all day—watching flowers bloom and pretending to be mysterious—if not for the loud, familiar voice behind him.
"Dosaeng, what are you doing here again? Posing like a tragic poem?"
Cheon-Hwa blinked, half-turning, only to be greeted by the ever-smiling face of Chae Ryun, now eighteen, taller, broader, and more annoyingly cheerful than ever.
Cheon-Hwa sighed, deadpan. "I was appreciating the seasonal aesthetics. And also thinking about how tiresome life is."
Chae Ryun tilted his head. "That so? I thought you were just admiring the tree and plotting world domination again."
The younger boy rolled his eyes with grace. "Same thing."
Chae Ryun chuckled as he stepped closer and lifted a hand. The wind stirred gently at his fingers—light and controlled—before swirling around Cheon-Hwa. In one smooth motion, it gathered the younger's loose, slightly messy hair and tied it into a neat ribbon-like knot.
"Hey—!" Cheon-Hwa started, but his voice faltered when the wind tugged softly, brushing past his neck.
He stiffened. "Stop using wind magic as a hair stylist..." he muttered, ears turning slightly pink.
"But it suits you," Chae Ryun grinned, proud. "You look like a fairy prince who wandered out of a painting."
"I'd rather be a dead flower than a fairy."
"Still prettier than me though."
Chae Ryun laughed as he ruffled his adopted brother's tied hair and threw an arm around his shoulder. "Come on, Master made breakfast. He said it's the special one today—your favorite. You know, the one you pretend not to like but always finish faster than me?"
Cheon-Hwa clicked his tongue, walking beside him without complaint. "I don't know what you're talking about."
But his pace quickened ever so slightly.
Chae Ryun only smiled.
------------------
Cheon-Hwa sat cross-legged at the low wooden table, blank-faced as usual, chewing his breakfast like a man with a deadline to sleep. Chae Ryun, in contrast, practically sparkled as he poured him a second bowl of soup, his energy too blinding for someone who hadn't even had tea yet.
"After this, you're going to nap again, right?" Chae Ryun asked hopefully.
Cheon-Hwa blinked at him. "Not today."
Chae Ryun dropped his spoon.
"I'm going to the market," Cheon-Hwa said with grave seriousness, as if announcing a great expedition. "The books I ordered came in. I must retrieve them before the old merchant sells them to another illiterate brute."
"You—you're going outside? Willingly?!"
Cheon-Hwa only nodded like a war general heading into battle.
---
Ten minutes later, two cloaked figures in black strolled through the bustling mountain village market. They looked like suspicious nobles trying to pretend they weren't suspicious nobles. Cheon-Hwa walked with elegance and fatigue, eyes half-lidded, as he clutched his prized sack of thick novels. Chae Ryun stayed close, scanning the crowd like a worried babysitter.
"I don't understand why you needed six books," Chae Ryun whispered. "You only read at night."
"Because I can," Cheon-Hwa replied. "Also, three of them are limited editions."
Just as they turned the corner to head home—it hit them.
A wave of corrupted energy rippled through the ground, making the stones hum faintly beneath their feet. Birds scattered from trees. The sky, once blue, darkened just a shade.
Cheon-Hwa froze mid-step. His grip on his books tightened.
"…This energy," he muttered. "It's exactly like last time."
"Last time?" Chae Ryun blinked.
Ah. Right. He couldn't say past life out loud.
"Nothing. Just… a really inconvenient déjà vu."
From the shadows of the nearby alley, figures emerged—cloaked in blood-red, faces obscured, eyes glowing with malice.
The Demonic Cult.
Chae Ryun's lips curled into a grin. He pulled a black mask from inside his sleeve and tied it around his face in one smooth motion. "We can't let them hurt the villagers."
Cheon-Hwa sighed and slid his books carefully under a stall. "Of course they show up when I'm outside for the first time in a month…"
"Ready?"
"No. But I'll deal with it."
---
The fight began in a flash.
Chae Ryun surged forward like a storm unleashed, his steps light as feathers, a trail of wind following each movement. He ducked under a cultist's blade, twisted midair, and kicked the man square in the chest, sending him flying into a wall.
"Watch your left!" Cheon-Hwa called out lazily, side-stepping a blade that came swinging for him.
He didn't move much—but when he did, his strikes were clean, calculated. A jab to the shoulder, a tap to the wrist—every movement burst with sharp, contained qi that made bones crack and knees buckle. One cultist raised a scythe, roaring.
Cheon-Hwa exhaled slowly, lifted two fingers—and with a soft pulse of Flower Qi, sent a ripple of invisible force into the man's chest, knocking him unconscious in an instant.
"Still too flashy," he muttered to himself.
Chae Ryun leapt above two enemies, twisting with the wind, using it to knock one into the other like a crashing wave. "We're drawing too much attention—keep it small!"
"This is small," Cheon-Hwa said, jabbing another cultist in the throat. "If I used actual technique, there'd be a crater."
They fought back-to-back—wind and flower qi blending in the narrow alleyway, making the ground shake with each clash. The villagers stayed hidden, peeking through shutters in awe and confusion, watching as two masked figures fought like mythical warriors.
Another cultist came from above. Cheon-Hwa barely blinked. "Catch."
Chae Ryun jumped and slammed the man into the cobblestones with a burst of wind.
"Thanks, dosaeng."
"Don't thank me. I was talking to gravity."
---
Eventually, the last of the cultists lay sprawled and groaning across the square.
Just as Chae Ryun turned to celebrate—
Cheon-Hwa swayed.
Then stumbled.
Then collapsed.
"D-Dosaeng?!"
Blood trickled down his lips as he coughed once, then twice, the taste sharp but strangely dull. There was no real pain. Just an overwhelming tiredness, like he had finally run out of excuses to stay standing.
"Ah," he whispered, the world spinning. "I didn't even get to read my new book…"
And then—darkness.
---
"Dosaeng!!"
Chae Ryun caught him before he hit the ground, heart pounding. He looked around. People were starting to approach. Curious eyes. Risk of exposure.
No time to waste.
With strength powered by panic, Chae Ryun lifted the unconscious Cheon-Hwa in his arms and bolted out of the square, his black cloak billowing, a blur disappearing into the woods.
The villagers whispered for days about mysterious masked heroes who had saved them.
And as for Cheon-Hwa?
When he woke up, tucked in bed, with bandages and water beside him—he only sighed.
"Next time… remind me to nap after breakfast. The world can wait."
Quote:
From Lee Cheon-Hwa:
> "I didn't choose the hermit life. The hermit life chose me—right after I saw society and said, 'No thanks, I'll pass.'"
From Chae Ryun:
> "At this point, I don't follow Cheon-Hwa to protect him—I follow him to prevent him from becoming a headline: 'Mysterious Man Silently Judges Humanity into Oblivion.'"