mories co flooding back.
Most of them are from my previous life.
The days following my mother’s departure. I see myself gradually falling apart.
Breaking things, throwing tantrums. Bullying the servants relentlessly.
The wretched days when I’d scream over trivial matters.
The version of that couldn’t accept anyone’s concern or even my own feelings, seeing only malice in everything.
As I deteriorated day by day, soone was watching from afar.
"Father?"
I was crouched down, drying out like a withering plant, unsure if I was sobbing or angry. From a distance, my father stood watching.
When was this mory from? I couldn’t tell. It was hard even to call it my mory.
I hadn’t known this mont existed.
If not a mory, then perhaps an illusion? That seed logical, but it didn’t feel right.
So, was it truly a mory? A mory I wasn’t aware of?
"Why?"
Why was this resurfacing now? I couldn’t understand.
And furthermore—
"Why does he have that expression?"
Why was my father looking at like that? He usually wore the sa impassive face, but this was different.
What kind of look was this?
Hatred, or perhaps disdain? I had always assud those were the only emotions he held toward back then.
But now, his eyes appeared different—calm and expressionless, yet tinged with worry.
Worry? My father, worrying about ?
He didn’t approach but stood at a distance, his hands and feet hesitating, as if debating whether to co closer.
After staring at for a long ti, he finally closed his eyes tightly and turned away.
Why?
Why didn’t he co closer? Why did he turn back with that expression?
I couldn’t understand anything.
And then, suddenly, the scene shifted.
When was this? Judging by my appearance, it seed to be around the ti I beca the successor.
Ah, I think I know.
It was probably shortly after I rose to the position of Successor.
"You still haven’t pulled yourself together. How long do you intend to live like this?"
My father’s face, rare in its anger, appeared before .
Why was he so upset? While I could place the timing, I couldn’t recall the context.
Then again, there were plenty of tis he got angry at after I beca the successor.
To his scolding, I had replied, pouting my lips.
"Why? Are you planning to start caring about now?"
Even to my own eyes, I looked insufferably arrogant.
How could I make such a face? And, before my transformation, my appearance was even less appealing.
"Why bother with sothing you’ve never done before? Just leave alone, as you always have."
"..."
My father, furious monts ago, fell silent at my words.
Back then, I was probably trembling inside, scared out of my wits.
Yet I lashed out because I too was filled with resentnt.
Still—
"If you’re trying to act like a father now, don’t bother. I don’t need it."
That despicable attitude of mine was anything but justified.
What a fool I was.
"..."
My father said nothing. After glaring at for a long mont, he finally spoke.
"Leave."
He ordered out.
"Until you leave for Hanam as punishnt, remain confined."
"Fine. As you wish."
With those defiant words, I slamd the door behind and left.
What had I done to deserve such punishnt? What had I done wrong?
I couldn’t rember. Too many incidents blurred together.
But one thing I knew now…
After I left, my father pressed his hand to his forehead and sighed deeply.
That expression—it felt oddly familiar.
"Why..."
Why was I being shown this?
The scene shifted again.
This ti, it was a rainy day.
My heart sank. I imdiately knew what day this was.
My father, bleeding out, lay collapsed.
His body, suddenly frail and aged, covered in wrinkles and white hair.
His once-vivid red eyes were fading.
This was it.
The day I killed my father with my own hands.
Our final conversation as his breaths grew faint.
This was unmistakably that mory.
"I forgive you."
The day my father forgave for making him raise his hand against his own child.
"Live."
His last command to his wretched son: to live.
It was a mory I didn’t want to see.
I wanted to erase it forever, so vile and unbearable it was.
If I could, I would intervene and destroy that younger .
"You never escaped this mont."
The words of the Gu Flas Firewheel Technique echoed in my mind.
I understood now. I was still stuck in that mont.
The rain fell, the cold weather dampening everything.
My father’s breath beca shallower as his lips slowly closed.
His life was ending.
I had been kneeling, silently watching him.
And he had been watching in return.
My eyes widened as I watched the scene unfold.
Maybe it was because I had seen earlier mories.
Finally, I realized—
"…His eyes."
From the first mory until now, my father’s eyes as he looked at had been the sa.
I had thought they were filled with disdain, anger, and hatred.
But they weren’t.
His eyes had always held worry.
Why did he worry for ?
Why didn’t he hate or resent ?
Or had he never hated in the first place?
My mind spun. If this was true of my past life, then—
"What about now?"
What kind of eyes does my father have now when he looks at ?
As I wondered, I realized—
Ah, I had never truly looked my father in the eyes, either in my past life or in this one.
That’s why I didn’t know. That’s why I couldn’t be sure.
The thought churned in my gut.
At the sa ti, I questioned myself.
Had I been ignorant of this? Or had I simply refused to acknowledge it?
"…The latter, most likely."
I was certain of it.
"I hate you."
I understood the words of the flas now.
I hated myself too.
"Why are you alive?"
I wanted to ask myself the sa thing. Why was I alive?
I said it was simply because I wanted to live, but that answer felt hollow.
Even knowing that, I had to live.
Or rather, I needed to live.
Why? I had struggled with the fla’s question countless tis, but only now did I think I understood.
"Live."
My father’s words resonated deeply in my chest.
"Stay alive."
"Keep living."
"Survive."
Words spoken to the broken resurfaced, sticking like a thorn in my chest.
Different voices, different tones, but all expressing the sa sentint.
Why were these words coming back to now?
It felt as though they were trying to explain why I was still alive.
Narrow-minded and pathetic.
Rembering their words now and using them as a reason to keep going—it was disgraceful and utterly insignificant.
Was this okay?
I didn’t know.
At that mont, none of it mattered. I just… suddenly missed my father.
That thought alone made my blurred vision clear.
*******************
Wooong.
My eyes were cloudy, and my ears were ringing.
The sound of tinnitus filled my head.
All my senses seed blocked, and the suffocating feeling pressed in on .
But it was only montary. Slowly, very slowly, my senses returned.
The first was my sense of sll. Like unclogging a blocked nose, I began to detect scents.
A musty, dusty odor mixed with the faint aroma of flowers.
What was this? Why could I sll flowers?
As I puzzled over this strange contradiction, my sense of touch returned.
It felt stifling. Sothing was wrapping tightly around my body.
What now? Why did it feel so constricting?
Though I still couldn’t see, I tried moving my body—and just as if on cue, my vision returned as well.
It was hazy at first but gradually sharpened.
Finally, I realized the source of my discomfort.
I was literally bound.
Not by ropes or chains, but by people—arms and bodies holding tightly.
…So that explains the mix of dust and flowers.
The strange sll made sense now.
The musty scent ca from the surroundings, but the floral aroma was from the ones holding .
The first thing I saw was the top of soone’s head.
Golden and white hair tangled together in a ss.
It was, of course, Namgung Bi-ah and Wi Seol-ah.
They were both clinging to with all their strength.
I could feel their trembling through the faint vibrations of their bodies.
Watching them quietly, I finally spoke.
“…What are you doing?”
Flinch!
Both of them visibly jolted at the sound of my voice.
Then, the golden-haired Wi Seol-ah hesitantly lifted her face, which had been buried in my chest.
When our eyes t, it was my turn to be startled.
Her face was a ss.
Fear filled her wide eyes, red and swollen from tears that left streaks down her cheeks.
“…You?”
I was about to ask why she looked like that when—
“Sniff… Hic…”
“Wha… What the hell?”
Wi Seol-ah suddenly started crying in front of .
And not just a few tears—her sobs were accompanied by a torrent of tears streaming down her face.
“Hey, what…!”
It was the first ti I had ever seen her cry like this.
I was completely flustered, unsure how to handle the situation.
But before I could even try, I realized I still couldn’t move.
Grip.
While Wi Seol-ah’s hold on had loosened, Namgung Bi-ah’s grip had only grown stronger.
Her hands were clamped onto with even more force than before.
“What’s going on? Why are you crying?”
“Waaaahhh!”
It was a complete disaster.
Now Wi Seol-ah was outright wailing, her voice rising as she clung to .
What was I supposed to do? I needed to calm her down, but with my body restrained, there was little I could do.
Should I try to free myself? That would an using strength, but—
Fwoosh!
“Huh?”
“Hic! Wha—!”
“...!”
The mont I thought about escaping, sothing changed.
My body effortlessly slipped through their hands as if it were intangible, like passing through air.
The two of them, suddenly unbalanced, collapsed to the floor with a thud.
Lowering my gaze, I examined my hands.
Fwoosh…
They were made of flas.
Not just my hands—though my body appeared normal, I could feel it.
If I willed it, I could transform my entire body into fire.
I didn’t understand how this was possible, but instinctively, I knew.
…I’ve reached it.
This was it.
The na given to those who reached the ultimate mastery of a core technique.
💥 Completion .
I had reached the pinnacle of the Gu Flas Firewheel Technique.
There was no other explanation for this sensation.
How?
How had I suddenly achieved this?
While I had brushed against the edge of the sensation, I had neither fully grasped it nor made it my own.
…Could it be?
Was it because of what just happened?
The battle with the Gu Flas Firewheel Technique, which had taken my form—
Had defeating it been the key?
It seed likely. I couldn’t think of any other reason.
But then—
“What’s with this?”
Not only my body, but the flas themselves had changed.
Fwoosh—!!
The rippling fla that blood from my hand…
It wasn’t the black fire of demonic energy.
Nor was it the blue fla I had gained through my transformation.
It was white fire—a brilliantly radiant white fla.
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