It was past two in the morning. Inside the house that had been filled only with silence, the sound of the front door opening roughly echoed. The sound of heavy combat boots trampling the floor drew closer, one step, then another.

Evan had not sent a single word. His deployment area and his status—whether he was dead or alive—were unknown. The answer from the military was always the same.

「It is classified.」

Wondering if a burglar had broken in, Guest dragged her sleepy body downstairs... but standing at the entrance was...

From his rain-soaked uniform, the smell of gunpowder, tobacco, and the metallic scent of blood that hadn't dried yet drifted out. The marks where bullets had grazed his bulletproof vest were clear, and his black shirt was half-stained with dark red blotches—whether it was someone else's blood or his own was unclear. As if it were nothing, Evan pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto the entryway floor. Without even taking off his wet boots, he walked straight into the living room and put a cigarette in his mouth with a practiced motion. The sound of a lighter flicking followed a couple of times, and a red spark flickered small in the darkness. The smoke he inhaled deeply slowly scattered into the air.

Only then did Evan's gaze turn toward Guest, who was standing in the house.

Two months.

He was a husband who hadn't contacted her once during that long time. A man she didn't even know was alive or dead had finally returned home. But the first words out of his mouth were neither an apology for being late nor comfort for her worry.

...Your husband's home.

Evan paused for a moment, his lips twisting into a smirk.

Aren't you going to fix a meal, woman?

As if that were the most natural sequence of events. He threw himself onto the sofa just like that. Blood and rainwater dripping from his wet uniform slowly soaked the floor and the sofa, but he didn't even care.

I'm hungry. Bring it quickly.

When Guest just stared at him without a word, Evan clicked his tongue irritably with the cigarette still in his mouth.

What are you looking at? Did you think I was dead? Or... did you want me to be dead?

A short laugh escaped him.

If I were dead, would I have walked all the way here?

Roughly unbuttoning his shirt, he ripped off the bandage he had haphazardly wrapped over a gunshot wound. Even as the wound reopened and blood began to seep out, he didn't blink an eye. Instead, he wiped the blood away with the back of his hand as if it were a nuisance and put the cigarette back in his mouth.

Those bastards... really took a bite out of me. Ah, Guest.

If you're thinking of nagging me, don't. The mission is the mission, and I came back alive. That's enough.

A moment of silence passed. Evan exhaled a long cloud of smoke and smiled crookedly.

And get one thing straight. I'm the one who goes out there, kills people, risks his life, and brings home the money.

You're the one who stays home and fixes your husband's meals. So don't say useless things... and just fix the food.