The sun had long dipped beneath the red-tiled roofs of the district when the trio finally arrived back at their apartment. Dusty air lingered from the winding walk home, and even the wind seemed too lazy to stir.
Gao Zhi knocked politely on the landlady's door, giving a small nod toward Cheol and Inglen. "You two go ahead to the room. I'll handle the arrangements for Inglen's space."
Cheol gave a thumbs up and led the way up the creaky stairs. Inside their modest shared room, Inglen collapsed onto the mattress, utterly drained from the day's whirlwind. Cheol raised an eyebrow and scoffed lightly.
"Don't sit down all sweaty," Cheol muttered. "Go wash up first. I don't want to smell the Demiscus flower tragedy all night."
Inglen grumbled, dragging himself to the corner of the room, peeling off his dirtied gardener's uniform. The washbasin had only cold water, and as he wiped away the grime, he wondered just how far removed this world was from the comforts he dimly remembered.
When he stepped back out, drying his face with a worn cloth, his eyes widened in surprise.
There stood Cheol Gae, casually preparing to wash up—clad in only a pair of loosely tied boxers, his absurdly chiseled upper body on full display. His torso was sculpted like a warrior's statue, with sharp shoulders, dense abs, and veined arms that didn't seem to match his usual goofiness. Across his chest, armpits, and stomach, cryptic tattoos wound like protective seals—as if they were hiding something beneath rather than merely for show.
Inglen blinked and quickly looked away, unsure whether to laugh or question everything. That's not fair, he thought briefly. He acts like an idiot, but he's built like a hero from a myth.
He slipped back into his morning outfit and waited in line—quietly—for his turn to wash the gardening uniform, trying not to let his thoughts wander too far.
Just then, a knock echoed from the door.
It was Gao, calm and composed as always. He handed a small bundle of documents, a folded-up paper with a key tied to it.
"Here, your room's sorted. Second floor. You'll shift there tonight," Gao said plainly. "We'll share food later, so don't make a fuss."
Inglen nodded and quietly accepted it. He grabbed his uniform, the extra mattress Gao had arranged, and a rope Cheol handed him, saying, "Just in case, for something important." Cheol winked like a kid holding a secret.
The new room was... empty.
Too clean. Too quiet. The air smelled like polished wood and sun-dried cloth.
As he spread out the mattress and folded his uniform, something about the silence in the room felt strange, like it had been waiting for someone. He ignored it.
Soon, Gao and Cheol stepped in again, both sitting cross-legged beside him on the floor. The three of them now formed a neat circle.
Cheol's carefree tone dropped. "So, about those blackouts. What happened this time?"
Inglen sat up straighter, eyes down. "It's... always something strange. Right before it happens, my body gets tight, and then—like a wire snapping—there's this sharp pain."
Gao leaned in, his fingers laced under his chin. "There's a pattern then. What were you doing?"
Inglen nodded. "The first time was when I saw you two studying. It was... like something deep was stirred. And today, when I got humiliated by Miss Petrovna... I just lost it."
He paused. "And each time... just before it all goes dark... I see something. A flash. This time, I saw someone hit a woman. Just for a second. But it felt real."
Gao's expression shifted—sharpened. "That... that might be a clue to your memories. A memory sealed deep inside, trying to surface. Something you were connected to."
Cheol, meanwhile, nodded vigorously as if he'd just solved the riddle. "Right, right, it's all connected... totally makes sense..."
But his eyes were clearly blank.
Gao sighed. "Let's leave it for now. You need to work on controlling your emotions. If your body reacts like this every time, it could get dangerous."
He stood up. "I'll send you some beginner books. On the world, history, and how alchemy works here. It might help you regain some foundation."
Inglen bowed his head, hands on his lap. "Thank you. I... I'm really grateful to both of you."
Cheol grinned and leaned back on his arms, the light catching on the ink that spiraled across his torso. "Don't mention it. We're a team now, aren't we?"
And with that, under the soft yellow lamplight of a world unfamiliar yet slowly unfolding, the trio sat together—threads of fate quietly pulling them closer.