No one else could make their decisions for them.
In that moment, Yun Qi finally grasped Yu Jin’s good intentions. He’d forgotten just how wonderful his boyfriend had once been—always making things easy for him. Even without that title now, Yun Qi should remember: back when he was a teenager, he’d picked up a real treasure. Yu Jin wasn’t just good to him; Yu Jin was good, period.
He wouldn’t treat someone poorly just because they weren’t close.
“I’ll behave,” Yun Qi repeated. “I promise. Never do this to yourself again.”
No one else could sway Yu Jin—and neither could he. If following others’ advice and pushing him away seemed like the kind thing to do but actually hurt him, wasn’t that stupid? Three years ago, their love had burned so fiercely that even after the breakup, he couldn’t erase it. He couldn’t bear Yu Jin’s cold stares himself—how could Yu Jin endure his hot-and-cold treatment?
He had been wrong.
Yun Qi finally realized.
“Do you miss Tata?” Yu Jin asked amid the glow of the setting sun. The bleeding in his palm had stopped, and though the pain persisted, it was far more bearable now.
Because he’d found another kind of solace—one that momentarily distracted him from his body’s agony.
Stunned, Yun Qi stared at him. Yu Jin had brought up Tata first. These past few days, he’d been quietly fretting over it but hadn’t dared ask. Now that Yu Jin had raised the subject, Yun Qi felt a surge of grievance and nodded. “…Yes.”
“We’ll pick it up tomorrow,” Yu Jin said.
Yun Qi paused in his task and looked up, his eyes lighting with joyful surprise. “Where is it?”
“At my place. My parents are looking after it,” Yu Jin replied.
The hopeful light in Yun Qi’s heart dimmed at once. “Oh.” He’d imagined Tata was suffering. He’d even half-convinced himself that Yu Jin had sold it off—and dreamed just nights ago of it being mistreated. Now he could finally exhale in relief.
He’d misjudged Yu Jin too harshly.
Even if Yu Jin didn’t care for Tata, it was the pet that had borne witness to their shared past. There was no way he’d simply cast it aside.
Catching the disappointment in his tone, Yu Jin asked, “Don’t you want it back?”
Yun Qi finished wrapping the gauze around his hand. “I do. But if it’s at your house… maybe I shouldn’t go.”
“My parents know you,” Yu Jin said, piercing his concern with a single stroke—as if he’d seen it coming.
Yun Qi flushed in panic. “They know me?”
Yu Jin shrugged it off lightly. “They’ve known about you for three years.”
Yun Qi’s face filled with shock. Three years ago? So Yu Jin’s parents had known of him even then? In what light? Had they objected? Had they… berated him?
Gazing into his eyes, Yu Jin laid bare every anxious thought. “I don’t like cats. Mom picked up on Tata ages ago and sensed something was off, but she figured I was seeing a girl and never pressed. She only pieced it together after the breakup. We had a short family chat, and that was the end of it. She’s open-minded—just told me to treat you right.”
Was that true? Yu Jin’s parents had said that to him, while his own family saw it as a disgrace. They were hearing worlds apart.
“Mom likes cats in general, but not Tata,” Yu Jin went on. “We have to admit, we let it run too wild. Once we bring it back, don’t spoil it. If it scratches you again—no matter how much you plead—we’ll keep the two of you separated for good.”
Yun Qi nodded readily. “Yeah, I’ll be careful.”
Yu Jin watched his gentle, compliant demeanor and knew he’d truly learned his lesson this time—that he’d been genuinely frightened. He looked like a fawn just born into the world: eyes wide and shimmering, face lost and adrift.
Beneath this sunset glow, wrapped in such a warm atmosphere, Yu Jin had half a mind to coax a kiss from him. He knew Yun Qi wouldn’t turn him down, no matter what he proposed. But in that instant, something else stirred in his chest. Lifting a hand, Yu Jin brushed Yun Qi’s eye corner and murmured tenderly, “No more tears.”
Yun Qi met his gaze and managed a strained smile.
Take it slow.
The man was already secured at his side. Why rush now? He’d waited three years—what was a little longer? Especially when the prey was practically leaping into his trap.
Any moment would do.
And last night… he hadn’t walked away empty-handed.
“My injury can’t become common knowledge,” Yu Jin said. “So changing the dressings these next couple of days? That’s on you.”
Yun Qi agreed without hesitation. “Of course. Just call, and I’ll come.”
Yu Jin smiled, pleased. “Wipe up the bloodstains on the floor.”
Yun Qi rose and mopped the floor with a towel. His slim figure moved freely through Yu Jin’s room now—nothing like the furtive skulking of the night before.
Yu Jin sat there, watching. Watching.
His heart swelled with quiet waves of emotion.
The sunset glow matched his mood perfectly.
For more than a thousand days and nights, he’d dreamed of moments just like this every single evening.
~~~
Word of Yu Jin’s hand injury spread quickly through the KRO Base, though it never reached the neighboring one. Only those in the villa had witnessed it firsthand.
When asked, he brushed it off as an accidental cut. No one dwelled on it—they could hardly demand to unwrap the bandage and check. Keeping it quiet was simple.
But folks did notice Yun Qi sticking close to Yu Jin lately, drifting in and out of his room at all hours. The base crew picked up on the vibe but didn’t pry too deep.
Then there was the weird part: Yun Qi had suddenly taken a massive dislike to Ziwu. Out of nowhere. Like barging into the Training Room and announcing, “I want to 1v1 you.”
Everyone shot him puzzled frowns, pointing out that a warrior dueling a mage wasn’t fair—Ziwu stood no chance against him.
Yun Qi shot back, “Then we’ll 1v1 as mages.”
He was dead set on it, like he was facing some random noob in a pub match.
Ziwu sat watching him, and for once in his life, he actually agreed. Ziwu had never liked picking on noobs, but he’d lost these two solo duels to Yun Qi. Liu Ying looked at him and said, “Don’t joke with me.”
“He’s pissed at me,” Ziwu replied. “Beating me in-game gives him a way to vent.”
So mid laner against mid laner, Ziwu’s loss to Yun Qi had been deliberate—and entirely willing.
Yuan Lele never showed up again.
He hadn’t made it onto the Second Team. Headquarters had shipped him off somewhere else, to some esports team in Hangzhou. The higher-ups stayed in touch, shuttling any promising talents under their wings to wherever they were needed most.
All in all, things were finally heading in a positive direction.
It felt like an invisible hand was at work, gently nudging everyone onto the right path.
That hand was called time. It was called mindset.
For the past couple of days, Yun Qi had been in charge of changing Yu Jin’s bandages. He always came at night now—earlier, he kept getting caught in the act, which was awkward to explain, so he’d switched up the timing.
That evening, he changed the bandages as usual and noticed the wounds were starting to scab over. He was thrilled.
“What’s this about soloing Ziwu?” Yu Jin asked about the rumor he’d heard that day. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it straight from Yun Qi anyway.
“I don’t like him,” Yun Qi said as he tossed the used gauze into the trash bin. “Been that way for a while.”
“I told you, that issue’s settled,” Yu Jin replied. “Don’t keep targeting him. Team discord gives me a headache.”
“There’s no team discord,” Yun Qi said, pausing for a beat. “It’s just… a little personal grudge between us.”
“What grudge?”
Under Yu Jin’s piercing gaze, Yun Qi guiltily dropped his eyes. There was no way he’d tell Yu Jin that Ziwu had walked in on him during a Intimacy Starvation Syndrome episode. He didn’t want Yu Jin knowing about that humiliating condition of his.
It was too embarrassing to bring up.
But Yun Qi, convinced he’d pulled off the perfect cover-up, had no idea how terrifying Yu Jin’s expression was in that moment. Without exaggeration, that look could have swallowed him whole.
Head still bowed, Yun Qi wallowed in shame over his ridiculous affliction, oblivious to the sinful depths in Captain Yu’s eyes—those eyes that saw right through him with every glance.
The scissors snipped through the gauze, and Yun Qi set them down on the table.
Yu Jin didn’t press the issue and changed the subject instead. “You said before that you wanted to compete with me?”
Yun Qi didn’t hold back anymore. “Yeah.”
Ever since that incident, he’d stopped acting all high and mighty. Whatever Yu Jin asked, he answered—anything except the stuff too mortifying to admit—which amounted to a full confession in all but name.
“The International Server tournament’s starting soon,” Yu Jin warned him. “Earn your spot on the Starting Roster yourself. Don’t hold back.”
“I know.”
Yu Jin gazed at the neat little bow in his palm, then after a moment asked, “Berlin or Seoul—which one do you want?”
Yun Qi thought it over. “I heard the EU Server’s tougher?”
“Yeah.”
“Then let’s do the tough one.”
Yu Jin raised an eyebrow. “Not scared of losing?”
“I am scared of losing,” Yun Qi admitted. “But I don’t think we will.” His confidence was unshakable. Even after years of hearing about the EU Server’s dominance, he answered with pure conviction.
He knew his own strengths. And the man standing before him had once swept that very stage—how could he not feel confident? Of course he could.
“Good,” Yu Jin murmured.
Then they’d take on the EU Server. They’d head to Berlin. To a foreign land, to no-man’s-land, to a place where no one would hear their cries—
And there, laden with sin, he would devour his lamb.
