When Kim Su-hyun entered the room, Nabin was already clutching the object in his hand as though it were his lifeline. He had gripped it so tightly that the butterfly-shaped pendant had left deep imprints on his palm. Knowing how precious it was to him, Su-hyun had kept it safe until now.
Even in his half-conscious state, Nabin had desperately searched for it. Su-hyun carefully placed the pendant back into his hand.
What happened next was something even Su-hyun hadn’t expected. The fever that had left Nabin’s lips cracked and burning began to ease the moment the pendant touched his palm.
Each time the butterfly pendant pulsed with violet light, the fever faded further from his face. Su-hyun’s eyes widened in shock. This wasn’t just any ordinary artifact. He’d sensed its unusual magic when he’d retrieved it, and had assumed it was high grade—but he hadn’t realized just how extraordinary it was.
Every time Su-hyun used his own healing ability, Nabin’s fever would drop—but whenever the pendant glowed, Nabin’s condition stabilized even faster. His ragged breathing gradually evened out, and the blank gaze fixed on the ceiling disappeared as his eyelids slid shut.
The reason Nabin hadn’t been recovering was the deep scars left on his mind from Guiding S-rank Espers. But this artifact seemed to soothe those wounds, easing pain that healing abilities alone couldn’t touch.
It was proof that this pendant could heal psychological trauma. Su-hyun knew of only a handful of artifacts in the entire world capable of such a thing. He had never heard of one existing in Korea.
“…I’m relieved. At least Guide Kim Nabin has something that can comfort him.”
He didn’t know how Nabin had gotten hold of it, but right now he could only feel grateful for its existence. The artifact was doing for Nabin what he himself could not—mending mental wounds, offering solace.
After years of abuse, Nabin couldn’t even fully accept Su-hyun’s kindness. His life had been twisted so painfully that he could no longer recognize genuine goodwill.
And now, after what had happened, the fragile door to his heart that had barely begun to open might have slammed shut again. Su-hyun’s chest ached with self-reproach for not protecting him more decisively.
Whoever had given Nabin this pendant, Su-hyun was thankful. That person had given Nabin a lifeline—a place to breathe.
***
Tak.
Nabin’s fever finally dropped to normal. Su-hyun used his healing ability once more before stepping out of the room. The moment the door shut behind him, a shadow fell across his path. Han Jigang was waiting there, having paced the hallway restlessly.
Though Su-hyun wasn’t close to him, he’d seen him around often enough. And now Jigang’s expression was one he had never seen before.
This was the same man who had blown up a research building at the Center just months ago without a shred of remorse. Yet now guilt flickered openly in his eyes. Su-hyun let out a dry laugh of disbelief.
So he is human after all.
“How’s Kim Nabin?”
“What did you people do to him?”
Even as Su-hyun scoffed, Jigang pressed on, asking only what he wanted to know. He looked ready to barge into the room at any second. Su-hyun planted himself firmly in front of the door, staring him down.
Behind his cold glasses, Su-hyun’s eyes glimmered with open contempt. Normally, Jigang would have snapped at anyone daring to look at him that way. But now his gaze stayed fixed firmly on the closed door.
“That’s none of your business. I asked how he is. Did his fever break? Stop blocking the way and let me see for myself.”
When Su-hyun didn’t move, Jigang grabbed his arm and tried to shove him aside. Su-hyun dug his heels in, resisting.
“Leave him alone. Even if he wakes, seeing any of your faces could make him collapse again.”
Jigang had been ready to use his ability to force Su-hyun away, but at those words, he stilled—and stepped back.
For a moment, Su-hyun blinked in surprise. He had been prepared to risk everything to keep Jigang out.
“…So you do have a conscience.”
“…I don’t want him dead.”
Su-hyun had assumed they didn’t even see Nabin as human. But even this much showed Jigang cared more than expected. Su-hyun wasn’t close to him, but from what he’d seen and overheard, Jigang seemed the one most likely to listen.
No matter how much Su-hyun wanted to help, all he could do was come and heal Nabin when he collapsed. Since Nabin had already signed Dedicated Guide contracts with three S-rank Espers, he couldn’t walk away. If he broke them, support for his mother would end, and the Center Director—who had gone to such lengths to secure him—would never let him go.
“He survived years in an illegal Guiding den. But after guiding you three, his mind shattered in an instant. Even if he wakes, he may not be able to live normally for some time.”
“…I know.”
It had been Jigang who’d thrown Nabin into Gong Min’s room while he was in Beastification. He’d known Nabin would be hurt but had sent him in anyway. That was his choice.
“…I know it’s asking a lot. But at least until Guide Kim Nabin recovers, let him rest. Don’t make him guide you. Your Outbreak Risk Index has been high for a while, hasn’t it? You can last a few days.”
Su-hyun had already heard from a staff member that the Center Director forced Nabin into a contract requiring him to guide S-rank Espers daily. And knowing Han Chul-yong, he would personally make sure Nabin was doing it.
What Su-hyun asked of Jigang was simple: hold off that pressure and give Nabin time to heal.
“…Fine. Now go.”
Su-hyun wanted nothing more than to stay by Nabin’s side, but as an A-rank Healing Esper, he had missions only he could carry out. There was never a shortage of demands for his ability. With heavy steps, he left the mansion.
He longed to remain until Nabin was truly safe, but reality pressed down on him like a weight. For now, all he could do was trust Jigang to keep his word, whether he liked it or not.
***
After Su-hyun left, Jigang went to the kitchen to prepare food. If he were Nabin, he wouldn’t want to see their faces for a while either. So he packed enough for him to eat alone in his room.
He pulled out a large picnic basket and filled it with water and food to last several days.
Passing through the dim corridor, he stopped before the closed door. Staring at it as though it were watching him back, Jigang slowly and carefully opened it. He didn’t knock; he didn’t want to wake Nabin.
The room he had fixed up no longer looked like a storage closet. Now, at least, it resembled a place where someone could live. But Nabin still lay curled in the corner of the bed like a stranger.
The bed wasn’t even that big, but curled up tight like a fetus, Nabin looked painfully small and thin.
After setting the basket on the table, Jigang walked toward the bed.
Compared to when he’d dragged him out of the wardrobe, Nabin’s face looked calmer, his breathing easier. But still, he seemed as fragile as glass—ready to shatter at the faintest touch.
“…Hey. You okay?”
Jigang crouched beside the bed, unable to bring himself to touch him. The words came out almost like a murmur to himself. But Nabin lay motionless, eyes shut.
Each soft breath made his long lashes tremble like butterfly wings. It looked as though he might open his eyes any second, but those pale irises refused to reveal themselves.
***
The sun had set, and pale moonlight streamed through the wide window into the room where Nabin lay. At last, his eyelids lifted.
His hazy, light-brown eyes blinked sluggishly in the dimness. After a long moment, he pushed himself up, gaze drifting as though sleepwalking.
His unfocused eyes wandered aimlessly before he staggered to his feet, swaying toward the wardrobe.
His thin legs wobbled beneath the oversized T-shirt, but the moment the door opened, he slipped inside, vanishing into the narrow space.
Tak.
The door closed. Not even the moonlight could reach him now. In the pitch dark, Nabin curled up tightly, like a frightened child.
The artifact on his wrist swayed with his trembling. Only its cold touch offered him comfort through the night.
***
From then on, Nabin made his nest inside the wardrobe. He simply sat there, letting time swallow him whole. He didn’t touch the basket of food Jigang had left.
The apples inside slowly shriveled with age, and Nabin too withered in the same way—breathing faintly, brittle and frail.
He hadn’t eaten, so he didn’t even feel the urge to relieve himself. Whenever he opened his eyes, his hand instinctively searched for the pendant, clutching it endlessly. Then he would surrender to sleep again, only to wake and repeat the cycle.
More than once, Jigang and Gong Min found themselves approaching the closed door, drawn by the faint stirrings within. But every time, hearing the sound of Nabin curled up and trembling inside, they turned back.
