Date on Parole

“Take off your shirt.”

That was the first thing Cha Eun‑ha said when we reached her office.

Not “Sit.” Not “Rest.” Just that.

“…At least close the blinds first,” I said.

“They’re tinted,” she replied. “Arms up.”

I let out a breath and did as she asked.

The mana suppression here was weaker than in the basement, but it still hummed under my skin. I pulled the blood‑stiffened, torn uniform over my head and dropped it on her couch.

Her gaze ran over my chest. Bruises blooming yellow and purple. Old scars. The faint puncture on my shoulder from her knife.

Her fingers hovered over that one, then stopped a breath away.

“…Does it hurt?” she asked.

“Only when you touch,” I said.

Her jaw tightened.

She turned to the garment bag on her desk and pulled out a black shirt. Simple, high‑quality, high collar.

“Wear this,” she said. “It covers your neck.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Hides the strangulation marks.”

She didn’t rise to it. Just stepped in close and held the shirt so I could slip my arms in.

Her hands moved, straightening the hem. Tugging the collar. Knuckles brushing my throat.

It felt less like being dressed and more like being wrapped.

Next came a dark grey coat. She laid it over my shoulders, smoothed it down, then slipped something cold under the collar.

I felt metal kiss my skin.

I caught her wrist.

“What was that?” I asked.

“A charm,” she said.

“For what?”

“Location,” she said bluntly. “If you get too far from me, it lets me know.”

“Just ‘lets you know’?” I asked. “Doesn’t explode or burn or anything?”

“Yet,” she said.

Honest. Comforting.

She pulled free and stepped back, studying me from head to toe like she was checking an item off an inventory list.

“Better,” she said.

“Happy with your upgrade?” I asked. “From ‘chained in the basement’ to ‘leashed in public’.”

“I didn’t chain your mouth,” she said. “Maybe I should have.”

She reached for my wrist and wrapped her fingers around it.

No shackles now. Same result.

“Let’s go,” she said.

“Destination?” I asked.

“Somewhere you liked,” she said. “Back then.”

Back when he liked her, she meant.

That narrowed it down to everything I didn’t remember.

I shut up and followed.

She took a staff‑only elevator straight to the underground parking. No one else got on. No one else saw my very not‑dead face.

We surfaced in a side alley near the guild. Evening crowds flowed past the mouth of it, heads bent over phones, a sea of people with better problems.

Eun‑ha didn’t let go of my wrist.

“If you dig your nails in any deeper, I’ll start charging by the puncture,” I said.

“You can’t afford me,” she said.

We slipped into the flow of people.

Neon signs, honking cars, the usual noise.

If I ignored the charm at my throat and the S‑rank at my side, it almost felt normal.

She moved with purpose, weaving through streets that got narrower and shabbier. After a few turns, she stopped in front of a tiny bar‑restaurant wedged between a PC bang and a nail shop.

The sign was half burned out. The door looked like it had stories.

“Here,” she said.

I squinted at it.

“Wow,” I said. “So this is where you want to come?”

“You said this place was special,” she said. “You refused to go anywhere else.”

She pulled the door open.

The smell of grilled meat, alcohol, and old grease washed over us. The inside was cramped. Low tables. Scuffed floor. Flat screen in the corner showing a muted raid stream.

“Welcome— ah. Guild Master.” The middle‑aged owner looked up and brightened. His gaze slid to me, froze, then smoothed out like nothing had happened. “And you brought… a guest.”

“Two of the usual,” she said. “And soju.”

“Right away.”

She led me to a booth in the back. She took the seat facing the entrance. I got the wall.

Her hand finally left my wrist. It didn’t go far. settled on the table, close enough to grab me again if needed.

“You’re not going to give me a menu?” I asked.

“You always ordered the same thing,” she said. “You complained every time and still got it.”

“What was it?” I asked.

Trap.

“You tell me,” she said.

I looked at the greasy laminated menu stuck behind the napkin holder. Stews. Barbecue. Noodles.

“Spicy stew,” I said. “Extra chili.”

Her lips curved without humour.

“Right,” she said. “Because you love spicy.”

“Do I not?” I asked.

“You said,” she replied, “and I quote, ‘If I wanted my intestines melted, I’d drink poison, not soup.’”

“Hm,” I said. “I sound wise.”

“You sound like a liar,” she said.

The owner arrived with two bubbling pots of red, angry liquid and a bottle of soju. He set them down, gave us a quick bow, and wisely retreated.

I stared at the stew.

It gurgled back.

“Eat,” Eun‑ha said.

“Trying to finish what Black Sun started?” I asked.

She didn’t bother answering.

I took a spoonful.

The first sip punched my tongue. My vision wobbled. I swallowed before my pride could jump out the window.

“How is it?” she asked.

“Memorable,” I said thickly.

Her eyes warmed just a fraction.

“You always acted like that,” she said. “Hated it. Ate it anyway. Said suffering through it made you feel alive.”

He really was an idiot.

She poured soju into my glass, then hers.

“We came here after your first A‑rank clear,” she said. “Do you remember?”

I picked up my chopsticks.

“Hard to forget an A‑rank clear,” I said.

“You were half dead,” she went on. “Literally. Blood everywhere. You sat there and laughed until you couldn’t keep your eyes open.”

“Sounds like me using humour to cover trauma,” I said. “How very me.”

“You passed out on the table,” she said. “I had to drag you upright. You grabbed my sleeve and said…”

She stopped.

Her gaze sharpened.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“Can’t you just tell me?” I said. “Save us both time.”

“No,” she said. “Say it.”

I looked at the table.

If he’d been drunk and stupid…

“I probably said something dramatic,” I said. “About us surviving anything, or buying this place, or you owing me dinner forever. Something like that.”

Her expression didn’t move.

“You said,” she said slowly, “even if the sky fell, you weren’t leaving me.”

Of course he did.

“Romantic,” I said.

“Do you remember saying it?” she asked.

I met her eyes.

I could lie. I was already lying. But very specific lies were what got people killed.

“I remember being exhausted,” I said. “I remember… this kind of place. Noisy. Cheap. You nagging me about my liver.”

“That’s not an answer,” she said.

“I took a sword to the chest and woke up in chains,” I said. “Some things blurred. Sorry I don’t recall my alcohol quotes word for word.”

Her fingers tightened around her glass.

“You’re not even trying to fake it now,” she said.

“That’s because you’re very good at catching lies,” I said. “I prefer my face unbroken.”

She stared at me for a long second.

Then she poured herself another shot.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she murmured. “Did you really forget? Or do you wish to see me bleed?"

“No, it’s nothing like that,” I answered, making excuse.

Her laugh cut in.

“Wasn't it enough? You left me and went straight to the Black Sun's embrace,” she said. “How much more do you want to hurt me?”

The glass trembled slightly in her hand.

“But this is worse,” she said. “You didn’t just leave. Now, you scraped me out of your head too.”

Her logic was impressive. Wrong, but impressive.

“If I wanted to hurt you,” I said, “I would’ve picked a method that didn’t involve me ending up as chain‑hanging.”

“Don't change the subject,” she snapped.

The crack in her voice betrayed her.

“I know what I did,” she said. “I know what I turned you into. The only one who stayed when Red Dragon was dirt. So I used you for everything. I told myself it was because I trusted you.”

Her eyes dropped to my hand on the table.

“I pushed and pushed until you ran,” she said. “And now your own mind can’t stand the sight of me.”

“If my mind couldn’t stand you,” I said, “I’d be screaming right now.”

She looked up, startled.

“I’m not,” I said. “Mostly because I like having working vocal cords.”

That got a weak snort.

Not much, but something.

I reached across the table and laid my hand over hers.

Her fingers jerked at the contact.

“Listen,” I said. “I lost my memories during that raid, I'm sorry I haven't told you.”

If she ever finds out that I'm not her Si-Woo, that would be the end of me.

Would she buy this lie?

“Why didn't—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “You should've told me earlier,” she muttered.

“I didn't want to make you worry,” I said. “But I remember this much: I always ended up where you were. Even now this hole.”

I squeezed her hand.

“Maybe that counts for something,” I said. “Even if my brain scrambled the paint colours.”

“You’re just saying that so I won’t drag you back downstairs,” she whispered.

“Of course,” I said. “I’m highly motivated.”

Her lips shook, then steadied.

“You said you’d answer if I called,” she said.

“I did,” I said.

“Say it again,” she said. “While you’re looking at me.”

She was greedy, I’d give her that.

“I’m here now,” I said. “If you call, I’ll answer. As long as I’m alive and not mid‑murder.”

“That’s a terrible promise,” she said.

“It’s the only one I can keep,” I said.

Her grip on my hand tightened.

“…Then I’ll do my part,” she said quietly. “As long as you’re alive, I won’t let anyone take you.”

There it was.

Not “I won’t hurt you.” Just “no one else gets to.”

Very on brand.

I lifted her hand and pressed my lips to the back of it.

Her breath caught.

People at nearby tables paused with chopsticks halfway to their mouths.

I ignored them.

“In public?” she murmured.

“You dragged me out for a date,” I said. “Might as well act like it.”

Colour rose in her cheeks. The guilt didn’t disappear, but it twisted into something softer. Needier.

“…Okay,” she said.

She didn’t let go of my hand again until we left.

Eating one‑handed with nuclear stew was a new experience. I survived it. Barely.

We stepped back into the street. Night had settled in properly. Neon bled on wet asphalt. The city buzzed.

This time, instead of grabbing my wrist, she slipped her arm through mine. To anyone watching, we probably looked normal. Just another couple leaving a cheap place after work.

Inside my collar, the charm against my skin was still cold.

“You checked it three times,” she said.

“You noticed,” I said.

“I notice everything about you,” she said.

“Should I be honored or scared?”

“Whatever.”

We walked.

For a few minutes, nothing tried to kill us.

Then the air shifted.

Old instinct, honed over too many worlds, crawled up my spine. It felt like the moment when the boss room door closed behind you.

I slowed.

Eun‑ha stopped with me instantly.