Chapter 2
His surname is Nam, and his name is Hae.
He used to complain that he was a victim of his grandfather’s mischievous naming sense.
I thought I had long since forgotten—after all those years of fiercely, or perhaps numbly, fighting monsters in the Tower. But the moment I saw his face, his name slipped out of my mouth before I even realized it.
So naturally, as if it had always lingered on my tongue, waiting for the chance to be spoken.
Even though it was quiet, Chief Choi somehow heard it and lit up in recognition.
“Oh, you know Hunter Nam Hae? He’s pretty popular as the youngest S-rank Hunter in the country, but if you got caught in a Gate four years ago, that would’ve been before he became famous… Ah, were you acquainted before?”
I parted my lips for a moment, then closed them again.
We were acquainted. In fact, just earlier I had said there was no one I could contact—but thinking about it now, Nam Hae was someone I probably should contact.
Nam Hae is my boyfriend.
…No, it would be more accurate to say he was my boyfriend.
Four years is a long time. Objectively, yes—but even more so when you’re young.
If a fifty-year-old becomes fifty-four, not much really changes. But between a one-year-old baby and a five-year-old child, there’s a world of difference—they learn to walk, to run, to speak.
Likewise, for us back then, four years must have been an incredibly long and eventful stretch of time.
The last time we saw each other, we were both only nineteen. As for me, inside the Gate, I couldn’t even tell how many years had passed, living in a state where even my growth had stopped. But the Nam Hae in that small thumbnail had clearly aged properly.
A lot must have changed between nineteen and twenty-three.
While I was gone, Nam Hae became a legal adult, adapted remarkably well to this insane world, became a Hunter, and rose to fame—someone whose name everyone in the country recognizes. And during that time… he probably forgot about a high school girlfriend who dated him briefly and then disappeared.
“Forgot” doesn’t mean he has no memory of me at all. We only dated for a short time, but we had been friends for quite a while before that.
What I mean is that over time, whatever feelings or lingering attachments remained must have naturally faded away.
There are plenty of people who drift apart even during two years of military service. We’ve been separated for more than twice that long, with no contact, not even knowing whether the other was alive or dead. It’s more than enough time to move on.
We weren’t married adults. Just high schoolers who had only recently started dating after being friends.
And look—without me, Nam Hae became a Hunter and is living his life just fine. I don’t fully understand how this world operates yet, but being S-rank must be a good thing. He must be doing well.
I’m not upset. If anything, it’s a relief that I returned after enough time had passed for him to truly let go.
The only thing that worried me was the fact that he had become famous over the past four years. Even celebrities get into serious trouble when scandals about former lovers or school days surface. And from what Chief Choi said, Nam Hae seemed to enjoy a similar level of popularity and reputation.
And then suddenly, his ex-girlfriend from school shows up out of nowhere? What if he’s dating someone new now? That would be beyond inconsiderate.
He’s too kind to ignore me completely—but at the same time, we’ve both changed too much to pretend the gap doesn’t exist. I’d only end up stirring emotions he’s already put to rest.
So, in conclusion—
Let’s pretend we don’t know each other.
We never hid the fact that we dated back then, so classmates or family might know, but unless we bring it up ourselves, things should stay quiet for a while.
So—
“No.”
I blinked slowly and scrolled down again, covering Nam Hae’s face.
“We don’t know each other.”
It wasn’t entirely wrong.
Because I don’t know the current you—the twenty-three-year-old Nam Hae.
And that’s fine. He seems to be doing well. That’s enough.
It really is.
…At least, that’s what I thought.
Even after arriving at the Hunter Association headquarters, we couldn’t get out of the car. We could only stare blankly out the window.
Because a commotion had broken out in front of the building.
“Hunter, you can’t do this here!”
“Let go, move! Seriously—if I hit you by mistake, I might kill you, so I can’t even push you!”
Correction. It wasn’t a crowd rioting—rather, a single person causing chaos while several suited guards desperately clung to him, trying to stop him.
“Ah, come on! I just want to confirm if she’s really ‘Yeo Juhyeon’!”
“There are procedures and regulations—!”
“Please calm down, Hunter Nam Hae!”
I had decided—less than ten minutes ago—to pretend not to know him for his sake.
And now the man himself was shouting my name at the top of his lungs in public.
What exactly was I supposed to do about that?
My same-aged (former) boyfriend—now twenty-three—was causing a scene, quite literally taking on what looked like a seventeen-to-one situation against guards old enough to be his father. Chief Choi, sitting beside me, could only break into a cold sweat, unable to step out of the car. I, too, stared out the window with my mouth slightly open.
Then, a thought suddenly popped into my head.
‘Choose the most appropriate action when your ex-boyfriend—whom you decided to ignore—is causing a public disturbance while shouting your name.’ (5 points)
And it’s not even multiple choice—it’s a written response.
I’m doomed.
It was almost ridiculous that I could think of something like this when I couldn’t even remember the social media IDs I used every day. But this wasn’t exactly a laughing matter.
As Nam Hae caused a scene outside the Hunter Association building, demanding to see me, Chief Choi glanced at me sideways. My claim that we didn’t know each other had become meaningless when Nam Hae was clearly and loudly emphasizing my name—“Yeo Juhyeon.”
I had nothing to say.
As I sat there blankly watching, Nam Hae somehow shook off nearly twenty guards and began approaching our car.
“Come on, back off, guys! That car’s been suspicious for a while—I need to check it!”
“Hunter, even if you’re S-rank, this kind of behavior—! I mean, you could handle the aftermath, of course, but still!”
Ignoring the guards clinging to him, Nam Hae dragged them along as he strode straight toward the car.
Without hesitation, he grabbed the handle and tried to open the door—but it was locked, and only rattled uselessly.
Frowning deeply, he bent down and pressed his face close to the window on my side. The heavy tint must have blocked his view; his brow remained furrowed.
Meanwhile, I quietly observed his face through the glass.
I had briefly seen it on my phone earlier, but seeing it in person was completely different.
Four years really is a long time during adolescence. The youthful softness I vaguely remembered had disappeared, his features now sharper. There were shadows under his eyes, and perhaps from frowning often, a deep crease had already formed between his brows.
Overall, the bright and lively impression he once gave had turned sharp. For someone who used to smile and cry easily, his expression had become strikingly sensitive.
…It didn’t seem like he had spent those years entirely well.
And that realization didn’t make me happy at all.
That surprised me, too. I thought I had lost all sense of humanity while struggling through the Tower—but maybe I hadn’t fallen that far. Or maybe I was simply too worn down to even feel twisted emotions like that.
As I drifted in thought, Nam Hae suddenly pulled his face back and knocked on the window.
With a sharp, impatient tone, he spoke:
“Whoever’s inside—open it. Before I break the door.”
…He wasn’t this reckless before.
Hadn’t I been the one who lost my humanity? Or was it Nam Hae?
The guards clung to his arms and legs, trying desperately to stop him, but it only seemed to have the opposite effect.
“Seriously, why are you all trying so hard to stop me? That just makes it more suspicious. Now I want to do it even more. I just want to confirm if that returnee is really Yeo Juhyeon.”
He let out a breath, then smiled sharply.
“I warned you.”
…What?
“Send the repair bill to the Haeshin Guild.”
Hey, wait—
The moment he finished speaking, a brilliant light began to swirl violently in his hand. The guards, startled, immediately let go and scrambled away.
I turned my head slightly to look inside the car—Chief Choi and the driver were both pale as ghosts.
No matter how I looked at it, this wasn’t something that would end with just repair costs. And yet, no one dared to stop him.
So this is the authority of an S-rank.
It didn’t really concern me, but still… out of old affection, shouldn’t I stop my ex-boyfriend from causing a scene right in front of the Association headquarters?
Suppressing a small sigh, I reached out, unlocked the door, and pulled the handle slightly.
Click.
The moment the door opened just a crack, the threatening light in Nam Hae’s hand scattered and vanished, as if he had been waiting for it. He quickly grabbed the car and flung the door wide open.
As the tinted window moved out of the way, sunlight poured in from behind him, making me squint.
Standing against the light, leaning into the car, Nam Hae looked overwhelmingly large—so much so that the passage of time became vividly apparent.
There had already been a noticeable height difference four years ago, but now, with me still in the body of an immature teenager while he had grown fully, the gap felt even greater. Sitting there and looking up at him made my neck ache.
I lowered my hand back onto my lap after opening the door.
I had opened it because he told me to—but after that, I had no idea what I was supposed to do. So I simply sat there, silently staring at him.
…
I was the one who had returned after being lost and battered, yet I remained calm.
But as Nam Hae looked at my expressionless face, his own froze—as if his breath had been taken away—before slowly contorting.
His clenched jaw trembled as it gradually loosened.
“…Yeo Juhyeon.”
“……”
“Juhyeon….”
Gone was the brazen man who had been threatening people just moments ago. His voice now sounded fragile, as if it might break at any moment.
