A Taste That Can’t Be Replaced

(Samuel's POV – Missing the Past, Living the Present)

The bar lights cast a dim glow over the polished counter as Henry and I leaned back in our seats, whiskey glasses in hand.

The drinks were good—smooth, aged, expensive.

But they weren't Murim drinks.

I swirled the whiskey in my glass, letting out a slow exhale. "You know… for all the wealth and luxury in this world, they still can't make a drink like the ones we had in Murim."

Henry chuckled, taking a sip. "You're telling me. Nothing beats the firewine from the Martial Sect."

I smirked. "Or the Dragon Brew from the Eastern Peaks. That stuff could knock out even a Grandmaster."

Henry leaned back, tilting his glass. "And yet, we drank it like water."

We both laughed, the sound carrying a sense of nostalgia.

Murim.

Our second life.

The life where we were warriors, rulers, legends.

A world of power, bloodshed, and honor.

A world where we had drunk side by side before battle, toasting to victories before they even happened.

And now?

We sat here, in a luxurious bar, surrounded by the richest elites of this world—

Yet no drink could ever match the ones from Murim.

I took another sip, shaking my head. "We should've smuggled some into this life."

Henry chuckled. "Who knows? Maybe when we reach Level 105, we can brew our own version."

I raised an eyebrow. "You really think this world is ready for Murim alcohol?"

He grinned. "Probably not. But I still wanna see Joshua or Bardot try it and pass out after one sip."

I burst out laughing. "Now that would be worth it."

The thought of Abigail Bardot choking on Murim firewine was almost enough to make up for how much we missed it.

I took another sip of my whiskey, setting the glass down with a smirk.

"You know, Henry… imagine Katerina Maa and that bastard Oberan trying to drink Murim alcohol."

Henry, who had just taken a sip of his drink, choked mid-swallow.

He coughed once, then threw his head back and burst into laughter.

Loud, unapologetic, deep from the chest.

"Oh my god—" He wheezed between laughs, gripping his forehead. "That pathetic cheating wife of mine? Drinking firewine?"

I smirked, leaning back. "She'd take one sip and pass out instantly."

Henry shook his head, still grinning. "No, no—she wouldn't even get to swallowing. The fumes alone would knock her out."

I chuckled, picturing it—Katerina lifting a Murim drinking cup, acting all high and mighty, only for her eyes to roll back the second the liquor hit her lips.

Henry smirked. "And Oberan? He'd probably cry for his mother before he even tasted it."

I grinned. "Or worse—he'd pretend to handle it, then puke all over himself in the next five seconds."

Henry slammed his fist on the bar, still laughing. "I swear, that visual alone just made my entire night."

I exhaled, shaking my head. "That's what happens when cheaters think they can handle things out of their league."

Henry smirked, lifting his glass. "Well, here's to that, brother. To the fools who thought they could ever be on our level."

I clinked my glass against his, smirking. "To their humiliation."

And as we drank, we knew—

No matter how much they tried to act strong, they would never survive a world like ours.

The ice in my glass clinked as I swirled my whiskey, my mind drifting for a moment.

"From normal high school students to living three lives," I murmured, leaning back against the bar. "We've come too far to stop now."

Henry nodded, taking another slow sip. His golden eyes flickered with something distant—something thoughtful.

Then, after a pause, he asked:

"What do you think… how might our parents be after our deaths?"

I stilled for a second.

I hadn't thought about them in so long.

Our first life felt like it had been centuries ago.

Because, in truth, it had been.

I exhaled, my fingers tapping lightly against my glass.

"I don't know," I admitted. "All I hope is that our siblings are helping them move forward."

For a brief moment, there was silence.

It wasn't heavy. It wasn't painful.

It was just… there.

A reminder of the lives we left behind.

Henry nodded, but his expression was unreadable. "Yeah. Same here."

We didn't dwell on it for long.

Because we had chosen this path.

Because there was no turning back.

And because, after everything we had seen—after everything we had become—

The past was nothing more than a memory we refused to carry.