Joon-seok's mother clutched him tightly like he'd disappear again. Then her eyes drifted to the woman awkwardly standing nearby—dust-covered, red-faced, and holding a purse like it was a weapon.
"Who might you be?" she asked sharply. "And why is my son half-naked? Where are your pants?"
Han Joon-seok blinked. So did the reporter.
"Ah—!" She gasped, instinctively covering her mouth. "Don't tell me... my son is a pervert!"
"W-What? No!" Soo-yeon quickly stood, brushing off her skirt, then gave a deep, practiced bow.
"My name is Han Soo-yeon, ma'am. I'm a small reporter—well, independent. I wanted to ask your son a few questions regarding the tower."
She offered her business card with both hands.
Joon-seok's mother took it carefully, squinting at it.
"Metub...? You're a Metub influencer?"
Soo-yeon froze. "Yes, ma'am."
"I see," the mother nodded solemnly, as if confirming something deep and spiritual. Then she turned to her son.
"But really now. Why are you naked?"
Joon-seok glanced down at himself. Still barefoot. The hoodie barely counted as coverage.
"I... had my clothes devoured."
"...Huh."
"Come inside first. We need to talk properly."
The courtyard was small and cracked, with fading paint and uneven stone. The house itself was humble—one story, tiny windows, the smell of aged wood and spicy broth wafting faintly from the kitchen walls.
The living room was no bigger than a closet, with an old cooking stove in the corner and three plastic chairs around a metal table.
Joon-seok stepped inside and paused. On the wall was a photo—a young boy and a woman smiling next to a man with thick eyebrows and a quiet expression.
His father, he realized.
The face wasn't familiar to him. But the memory was—echoes from the boy's soul. They were faint. Blurry. But enough to sting something deep in his new chest.
"I should make some tea," his mother said warmly, walking toward the stove.
"No need, ma'am," Soo-yeon waved her hands quickly. "I just wanted to ask a few things. Really, thank you for your hospitality."
"I see. Then go put some clothes on," she said, giving her son a sideways glare.
"Clothes..."
He turned and walked down the hallway.
The door creaked open.
A small room. A mattress on the floor. Dirty clothes in the corner. A cracked mirror. A wooden cupboard. On the table sat a wrinkled notebook and half a pen.
But he wasn't alone.
Rats. Insects. A spider in the corner.
They all froze.
He stepped in.
They trembled.
"Why... are there wild things in this space?" he murmured.
The insects scattered. The rats squealed and launched themselves out the window. Even the spider dropped and ran like its life depended on it—which it did.
He opened the cupboard, pulled out a pair of grey joggers and a wrinkled white shirt, sniffed it, then shrugged and changed.
Back in the Living Room
"I see," his mother said, sipping tea she brewed anyway. "So my son was lured into the tower by those criminals... and now, the boss room has been cleared?"
"Yes," Soo-yeon said. "And that's why I'm here. No one's ever survived the first floor, but suddenly it collapses, and he—" she glanced toward Joon-seok as he walked back in, fully clothed now, "—walks out like nothing happened."
He sat down quietly, looking at both women.
Soo-yeon leaned forward. "Joon-seok, can you please just tell me what you saw? Did anyone else survive? Did someone defeat the boss? Was it an ambush? A weapon?"
"I told you," he said. "The tower started collapsing after I escaped them."
"But—"
"Miss Han Soo-yeon," his mother interrupted, voice calm but firm. "Let's stop here. My son's clearly been through a traumatic event. He can't talk about it now. Maybe another time."
Soo-yeon blinked, surprised. "Ah... I see. Of course, ma'am."
She stood up, brushing her skirt flat again, and bowed deeply.
"If he ever wants to talk, my contact info is on the card. I'll be waiting."
His mother nodded. "Next time."
Soo-yeon turned to leave. As she opened the door, she looked back at Joon-seok one last time.
"You're different, you know," she said. "Not just the strength. Something's... off."
He blinked. "Thank you."
She shook her head, half-smiling. "I don't know if that's a compliment."
With that, she stepped into her tiny red car and drove off.
Joon-seok stood by the door, watching the car disappear around the corner.
His mother walked back into the living room with a soft smile on her face. She looked tired, but lighter than she had just minutes ago.
"Do you want some tea, son?"
Tea. He had heard the word before, but had never tasted it.
He didn't know what to expect, but he nodded anyway.
She shuffled into the kitchen corner, pulled out a kettle that whined like it hadn't been used in weeks, and poured steaming liquid into an old chipped teacup.
She handed it to him.
He took a sip.
And then everything... stopped.
The bitterness. The heat. The strange, earthy scent. It was like his entire existence—millennia of hunger, rage, isolation—was suddenly muffled. For the first time, he didn't hear the whispering void inside his head. He felt something else.
Peace.
His entire body relaxed.
Like the warmth of that single cup of tea had melted a thousand years of hate.
"I see you love that tea," she said, smiling at him.
"Yes," he replied slowly. "This... this thing tastes good. I want more of it... mother."
She laughed—a small, gentle sound. But as she poured another cup, her hand slowed.
Then she looked up at him.
"Are you really... Joon-seok?"
The tea shot from his mouth in a messy spray.
"Shit—sorry, mother, I mean—"
She was already wiping her face with the edge of her apron.
"It's okay. It's not your fault."
But the room went still. Silent.
He froze. She knew. Somehow... she knew.
His mind scrambled. He had never possessed a human before. Trees, animals, spiritual entities—but this? This was new. He could mimic behavior, but not memory. Not heart.
"Is Joon-seok dead?" she asked, her voice quiet.
He looked away, eyes down, guilt blooming in his chest like a parasite.
"...Damn it," he muttered. Then he nodded.
"I see," she said. "How did he die?"
He hesitated. Then:
"He was killed by those criminals in the Tower. Before he died... he told me to protect you."
He finally dared to meet her eyes.
She was no longer smiling.
Tears slipped down her face, slowly, silently. A moment ago she was a strong, joking woman calling him a pervert—and now, she looked like someone carrying the weight of the world in her bones.
He stood up suddenly.
"I'm sorry. I'll leave. I shouldn't have—"
But she reached out and gently grabbed his arm.
"Don't go," she said. "If my son really told you to protect me, that means he must have trusted you."
Trust?
The word rattled around in his skull like a foreign object.
What does that mean?
I am something humans fear.
Even gods flinch when they sense me. I devour everything. I ruin everything. I don't get trusted.
Yet she was still looking at him like... he belonged.
He swallowed. Hard.
"But I'm the monster," he said quietly. "I'm the one she was talking about. The boss monster... on the first floor."
Her expression didn't change.
Instead, she smiled again and gently placed her hand on his cheek.
"I know."
He stiffened.
She knows?
How? How could she know?
He couldn't understand. Humans were unpredictable. Illogical. Fragile.
Yet... somehow stronger than anything he'd ever known.
"Maybe..." he muttered, "you're just seeing your son through me."
"Maybe," she whispered, not letting go.
He placed his hand over hers.
"He told me to protect you," he said. "Even if you don't take me as your son... I will protect you. Always."
Her tears returned—but not the kind soaked in grief. Softer. Trembling. Real.
"Because of this," she said, "I know my Joon-seok must have really loved me. I always thought he hated me... thought I ruined his life."
He didn't know what to do. Her crying unsettled him more than battle, more than divine war.
But then he remembered something.
The hug.
Earlier, when she hugged him—he had felt... warm. Safe.
Maybe that could help.
So, awkwardly, arms stiff like wooden planks, he leaned forward and hugged her.
She sobbed harder, but it wasn't the kind that broke a person. It was the kind that healed one.
And for the first time in his long, cursed existence, he whispered the one word that had once meant nothing...
"...Mother."