Jae-woo felt the world shatter around him as the full weight of reality set in. He slumped against Minho, his body going completely limp, like a marionette with its strings cut.

"So, this is how it ends?" he said, his voice flat and hollow. "We fight our way through this mess, and you're just going to... vanish?"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Minho murmured, his voice barely audible, blood trickling from his lips. He clung to Jae-woo as if he could somehow merge their fates together.

"You're... sorry?" Jae-woo repeated, his voice cracking with disbelief. He tried to pull away, but his body felt like it was made of lead. He shook uncontrollably, his world collapsing into chaos.

"You're sorry?" he demanded again, anger and bitterness intertwining. He forced himself to meet Minho's gaze, the grief and frustration boiling over.

"You don't get to say you're sorry," he choked out. "Not when you're leaving me like this."

Jae-woo's hands were clamped onto Minho's shirt, wrinkling the fabric between his fingers. He buried his face in Minho's shoulder, clinging to the warmth as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

"I... I hate you," he rasped, the words jagged and raw. "I really, really hate you right now."

His grip tightened, almost painfully.

"Please," he whispered, voice breaking. "Please don't leave me. I can't... I can't lose you too."

He wasn't even sure what he was pleading for anymore. A miracle? A loophole in fate? But deep down, he knew that wasn't coming.

Fate? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. Then, a memory flashed into his mind.

Jae-woo's thoughts raced. One of his ability—Reality Wrapping... Could he use that to save Minho?

But the risks were massive. Jae-woo had once used this ability before, years ago, to bring back his friends—his only family. The price hadn't been too high—physically speaking—because the change hadn't affected the overall timeline significantly. But, damn, it was so painful, so terrifying... It hurt so much.

Now, if he tried to use that power again, he faced far greater dangers. Not only could he fail to save Minho, but he might also reverse the collapse of the Banshee. Doing so would likely ripple through the entire timeline, potentially devastating humanity. The consequences could be catastrophic, far worse than losing Minho. It could erase his own existence or tear the reality apart.

Reality Wrapping had always been a high-stakes gamble. It could alter everything, but the cost was unknown and potentially ruinous.

No, there had to be a way. He couldn't—he wouldn't—lose Minho like this.

With his heart pounding, he pulled back just enough to look Minho in the eye. His hands shook as they tightened around Minho's shirt.

Jae-woo knew Minho would never agree to using such a dangerous ability. The risks were too high. He might even erase himself from existence.

But none of that mattered now. The risks, the world—none of it mattered if it meant losing the one person he couldn't live without.

He gritted his teeth, fighting back the tears. He didn't care about the consequences or the potential destruction. All he cared about was the man slipping away from him.

"I'll make it work," he said, voice hoarse and determined. "I'll find a way. I won't... I won't let you go."

He closed his eyes, focusing all his willpower on his ability. He felt the chaotic force inside him, something he had never pushed this far before.

He had no idea if it would work or if it would end in disaster. But he had to try. He had to save Minho, even if it meant breaking reality itself.

Minho, barely conscious, managed to deliver a precise jab to the back of Jae-woo's neck. He held Jae-woo's unconscious form against his chest, leaning against a rock. "I'm sorry. I made the decision for you again," he murmured.

The blow came out of nowhere. Jae-woo felt a searing pain before everything went black.

He didn't have time to protest or argue. So focused on using his powers to save Minho, he hadn't seen the attack coming. He slumped into Minho's arms, his body going limp.

Minho's words echoed in the silence, filled with regret. "I made the decision for you again." It was a familiar refrain, a pattern Minho had repeated throughout their time together.

Now Jae-woo lay unconscious in the arms of the very man he was trying to save. The bitter irony felt like a punch in the gut.

Minhoo slumped back against the rock, a peaceful smile spreading across his face—an expression he never thought he'd be wearing. "You know, Jae-woo, I'm not exactly what anyone would call a good person. I'm sure you figured that out pretty quickly. I thought you'd be just another face in the crowd, a pawn in my grand scheme for my so-called greater good."

"But apparently, I underestimated everything, especially myself—my own stupid heart. I don't even know when it started beating just for you, only for you," he whispered, his gaze drifting somewhere far off.

A small, pained chuckle escaped him, mingled with a trickle of blood from his mouth. The Banshee was thrashing violently as it was collapsing, but Minhoo barely registered it. His fingers, trembling with the last of his strength, worked through Jae-woo's messy hair—maybe for the last time.

Minhoo painstakingly braided Jae-woo's hair, doing his best to make it perfectly neat—and he remembered how the man would always complain about him taking it so long but still patiently sitting there, watching Minhoo do his hair attentively. "Don't forget, the key to my place is hidden in the slit of the window counter, not the fake one under the plant pot by the door. I've stocked up on combs so you won't lose them again. And seriously, ease up on the sleeping pills, alright? Just see a doctor."

"Such a bad man am I, huh?" Minhoo murmured, pressing Jae-woo's braided hair against his nose. "Breaking my promise to you."

Just then, the A-rank healer from before stepped closer, her face etched with hesitation and sorrow. "May I...?" she asked softly.

Minhoo didn't respond immediately, his eyes lingering on Jae-woo's face one last time. After a long silence, he finally spoke. "Take care of him for me," he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on Jae-woo's forehead—one filled with all the tenderness he had left.

"Good night, my dearest," he murmured, his voice trailing off into the cacophony of the collapsing dungeon. "I'll always be with you in your dreams."

When Jae-woo finally came to, everything was a blur. He felt stiff and achy, a sure sign he'd been out for quite some time. As his vision slowly cleared, he realized he was lying on something soft—probably a bed.

Moving was a struggle. Every part of him protested as he tried to get his bearings.

"Minho..." he croaked, his voice rough and dry, like he'd been asleep for far too long.

The room was dim, lit only by a small lamp on the bedside table. He looked around, noting that he was in a bedroom, but not one he recognized.

Everything was fuzzy, his mind struggling to piece together the events. His last clear memory was focusing intensely on using his reality-warping powers.

After that... nothing. Just an aching head and a blank space where memories should be.

The realization hit him: if he was in a hospital VIP room, it meant the raid was over. They had made it out. But how? And, more importantly, what had happened to Minho?

Jae-woo fought through the fog of pain and memory loss, desperate for any clue about what had happened. Had they won? Had they saved everyone? Was Minho...

He tried to sit up, struggling with the tubes and cords attached to him. He had to know.

Jae-woo tried to prop himself up in bed, but his efforts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of a nurse. She was a middle-aged woman with a face that radiated kindness, though right now it was also etched with concern.

"Hey, slow down," she said, hurrying over to him. "You're going to yank out that IV if you're not careful."

Jae-woo grunted, his body protesting every movement. "I'm fine," he snapped, though his head was already doing its best impression of a spinning top. "Where's Minho? I need to see him."

The nurse's expression softened as she gently pushed him back onto the pillows. "Take it easy. You were seriously hurt. You need to rest."

Jae-woo's frustration surged. Seriously hurt, sure. He might be the one in bed, but that wasn't the point. Minho was the one who mattered right now, and no amount of soothing words was going to change that.

"I need to see him," Jae-woo insisted, trying to sit up again. The nurse placed a firm hand on his shoulder, making it clear that his efforts were in vain. "I have to."

"You're not going anywhere," she said firmly. "You were out cold for several days. You need to give yourself a break."

Finally, she added, "If you sleep for a few more hours, I can get you to him."

Jae-woo froze at the mention of those few more hours. "A few more hours?" he echoed, his voice tinged with hope. "You mean I can see him if I just sleep a bit longer?"

Despite the pounding in his head and the ache in every muscle, the thought of seeing Minho again made the idea of resting seem almost tolerable.

The nurse nodded, offering a reassuring smile.

Jae-woo relaxed back into the pillows, though his mind was still racing. If a little more sleep meant getting to see Minho, then he'd do it.

But sleep didn't come easily. Every time he closed his eyes, his brain replayed the chaos of their ordeal—the Banshee, visions of hallucinations, fierce battles, and Minho's self-sacrifice.

It took hours for him to finally drift into a restless sleep, his dreams a chaotic mess of everything he'd been trying to avoid.

But then a familiar silhouette appeared, chasing away all the darkness. That person had a striking snowy hair with deep blue eyes that could swallow anyone who look it for too long.

Jae-woo found himself laying on a soft and fresh grass, his limbs tangling with the other's. They smiled at each other, and he had never felt so safe and so peaceful like that. So he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation around him to the fullest.

"Are you going to fall asleep right now?" The man's voice was warm and soothing, with a strange note of haziness in it. But Jae-woo decided not to focus on that.

"No. Later. A little bit later," he whispered back.