The Name That Became a Promise

It meant that if we found the kid here and made him use his ability a few times, we might experience the apocalypse outright.

‘…Does it really have to be that way?’

I let out a long sigh while staring at the silent system.

The fact that I had to step into something this dangerous of my own accord was completely unbelievable.

We decided to go look for the kid late at night.

There were fewer people around then, though higher-ranked security personnel would be on duty.

But the ones moving on our side were S-rank hunters.

From the start, the security system here was designed in a way that S-ranks could breach it.

No—anywhere would be the same. Who could possibly stop top-tier hunters, after all?

At least, based on what I’d seen so far, the physical abilities of S-ranks were light-years beyond those of ordinary people.

‘If they could be stopped, they’d be famous hunters, not security guards.’

Still, the fact that the Hunter Association had been built at the center of the rifts was fascinating.

They’d chosen the most efficient location to block massive rifts before they could absorb one another.

It made sense.

If rifts formed near the Association—where hunters constantly came and went—they could be dealt with immediately.

Standing beside Won-gyeong,

I covered my left eye with my hand and shared his field of vision as I thought.

People moved about in a view that wasn’t my own.

Sharing someone else’s vision was far more disorienting than I’d expected.

Before night fell, I was practicing beside Won-gyeong to get used to peeking into another perspective.

His gaze stayed forward most of the time, but every now and then he turned, as if checking on me beside him.

We stood on a high floor overlooking the Hunter Association lobby, watching people bustle about below.

Seen like this, they were no different from people in reality.

The only clear proof that this place was still a simulation was the system window floating in my field of vision.

‘It’d be nice if I could find solid evidence I could show the others.’

To open a rift and bring about the apocalypse in this world, we needed proof that everyone could accept.

If we caused the apocalypse without evidence, we’d just be lunatic doomsday cultists.

‘Well… even if we did find proof, that’s probably how we’d look to the people living here anyway.’

When I opened my eyes again, my vision split in two.

I’d gotten fairly used to seeing only Won-gyeong’s view, but handling two perspectives at once was still difficult.

When I lowered my hand from my eye, Won-gyeong turned to look at me.

My reflection filled his elegant violet eyes.

Peeking into someone else’s gaze felt like peeking into a corner of their heart.

I began to notice a few things—where Won-gyeong’s eyes lingered longer than usual, and what they drifted toward without him realizing it.

Ju Noeul had stepped away to scout the infiltration route in advance, and there was no one else nearby.

It was the perfect moment to ask something personal.

But before opening my mouth, I hesitated.

‘Is it okay to ask this?’

It was an extremely personal question—possibly rude, or something he might not want to answer.

I thought about it, but no clear answer came.

Still, I knew one thing.

The place his gaze lingered the longest… was me.

If his feelings were sincere, then I needed to respond sincerely as well.

Even if I didn’t love him, I felt I should at least know what he liked and disliked.

After a long moment of deliberation, I finally spoke.

“Won-gyeong… do you have any siblings?”

The places his eyes occasionally drifted toward were people who looked alike—close relatives, like siblings.

And when I’d first met Won-gyeong, he’d casually mentioned that he was looking for someone.

Putting that together with the direction of his gaze, I wondered if the person he was searching for might be family.

It seemed my guess had hit the mark.

Won-gyeong’s relaxed expression stiffened slightly.

Leaning against the railing, he twitched his lips as if biting them, then let out a low sigh before speaking.

“…I don’t know if you’re perceptive, or if I’m just easy to read.”

“I wouldn’t have known if we weren’t sharing vision. If it’s hard to talk about, you don’t have to.”

“That hard part ended a long time ago. And it’s something a lot of people already know.”

I waited quietly for him to continue.

Still leaning on the railing, Won-gyeong reached out and began to wind the ends of my long hair around his fingers.

Jeong Iheon did it too, and so did Won-gyeong—whenever they were thinking deeply, they tended to fidget with my hair.

Since it wasn’t wearing out, I didn’t stop him.

I let him play with my hair and looked at him calmly.

Won-gyeong lowered his gaze and said,

“I have an older brother. He went missing after being swallowed by a rift.

Everyone tells me to give up, but how could I abandon my only family?”

Missing after being swallowed by a rift—the same as my parents.

In cases like that, people were usually declared dead and given funerals.

That was my case too, which was why I’d ended up staying at Jaeyul’s place.

I didn’t have much attachment to the idea of ‘family,’ so it was hard for me to fully understand.

“Was it a long time ago?”

Instead of asking about feelings I couldn’t grasp, I asked something else.

Won-gyeong nodded.

“More than ten years ago. It happened before I even became an adult.”

More than ten years ago…

As I traced that period in my mind, Won-gyeong continued.

“Disappearances caused by rifts aren’t common.

Deaths are frequent, but disappearances are rare—special cases.”

I frowned at his words.

A special rift-related disappearance from over a decade ago—it made me wonder if it was the same incident in which my parents vanished.

“I thought it was lucky that his death wasn’t confirmed.

I believed he was alive and would be found someday. After all, he was a hunter.”

I snapped back to attention at that.

If his brother was a hunter, then the chance of survival wasn’t zero.

Minuscule—close to zero—but not zero.

I pushed thoughts of my parents aside and said,

“You must’ve been really close.”

“Maybe because the age gap was big? We didn’t really fight like other siblings.

Ah—no, wait. There was one time.”

Won-gyeong murmured with a faint smile.

He lifted his gaze, and when our eyes met, his face was filled with tender longing.

“What did you fight about?”

“My name.”

That was unexpected.

I’d assumed it was some ordinary sibling argument.

His name?

When I looked puzzled, Won-gyeong stepped a little closer and spoke in a voice meant only for me.

“When I was young, maybe because of my ability, I was apparently in such bad shape that it seemed like I could die at any moment.

I saw things others couldn’t, and I had frequent seizures.”

Given his ability, that made sense.

“So they were afraid I’d die soon. They didn’t even give me a name for years. Then my brother said we needed to name me.”

His voice carried a resonance that wasn’t quite laughter or tears—or maybe it was both.

He swallowed and went on.

“My brother suggested it. He named me himself. Won-gyeong.”

Ah.

Like me, Won-gyeong didn’t particularly like his own name. Now I understood why they’d fought.

When I nodded in understanding, he smiled softly.

“I don’t dislike the name itself, but once you add the family name, it becomes something that doesn’t suit me at all.”

“…That’s kind of like me.”

I smiled along with him and murmured.

I didn’t hate my given name either. It was the surname that made it a problem.

‘Still… what kind of surname could he hate that much?’

Maybe my curiosity showed on my face. Won-gyeong leaned closer to my ear.

“Dowon-gyeong.”

He whispered, like he was sharing a dangerous secret.

“That’s my full name.”

Dowon-gyeong.

A word meaning paradise, utopia—an ideal land.

It was a heavy name. Almost as heavy as mine.

Won-gyeong straightened and looked down at me with a smile.

“If you know my brother’s name, you’d figure mine out anyway, so there’s not much point hiding it.

Still—keep it a secret.”

He said it playfully.

Hearing the name only made me more puzzled. It was burdensome, sure, but it didn’t seem that ill-fitting.

“The name suits you.”

Won-gyeong had an elegant, gentle appearance. His speech and movements were soft, and talking beside him always made me relax.

Of course, that was after I realized he liked me.

When I said it so plainly, he smiled with his eyes crinkling slightly.

“Which part of it?”

“Your looks, your voice, the way you act—everything. I think your brother chose a good name.”

He seemed like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t quite find the words.

His lips twisted slightly instead.

I spoke again.

“But I get why you don’t like it.”

“I figured you would, Doya.”

He said it with a light laugh.

Unable to help it, I laughed weakly too—a sense of kinship slipping in.

“There was one time I fought with him after I found out my brother named me.”

“He must’ve cherished you a lot.”

“Yeah.”

He answered with a faint smile.

“That’s why I can’t give up on finding him.

Even if we hadn’t been close, I don’t think I could’ve given up.”

I looked up at his subtle smile and thought quietly.

Having a goal wasn’t a bad thing.

But if the outcome of that goal turned out to be cruel, the emotions he’d accumulated over ten long years would likely surface all at once—and that worried me.