So that’s why Gong Min blew up earlier… This bastard’s even more obsessive than I thought.
Tae Yishin tried to slip to the side and get past Han Jigang, but Jigang blocked him again. His body filled the gap of the half-open door, making it clear no one would get through.
“Han Jigang. What you’re doing right now is only acceptable if you’ve formed an exclusive pair with a Guide. You haven’t forgotten, have you? Kim Nabin isn’t just your Guide—he’s required to Guide both me and Gong Min too.”
Even when Tae Yishin spoke low and firm, warning him, Jigang didn’t move. His cold expression alone was enough to order him back.
The killing intent was sharp enough to sting against Tae Yishin’s skin. For a moment, like Gong Min earlier, his reason threatened to snap. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to step back.
“…Han Jigang, today’s the last time. If you pull this again tomorrow, I won’t let it slide—even for you.”
It wasn’t an empty threat. Jigang’s stance made it clear—if Tae Yishin tried to push through into the Guide’s room, he would actually attack him.
Suppressing the mana that threatened to rise in answer to Jigang’s pressure, Tae Yishin quickly turned and climbed to the second floor.
…Crazy bastard.
If it had been anyone else, Tae Yishin would’ve forced his way through. But Jigang, Gong Min, and Ryu Somin—those three were the only ones he ever backed down from.
Retreat was the wiser move. He wasn’t as hot-tempered as Jigang, but once he lost control, he could be just as destructive. Whatever the Guide’s collapse meant to Jigang, right now his state was abnormal. He wasn’t listening to reason at all.
Since fighting wasn’t an option, the best choice was to step away.
“……”
Jigang watched until Tae Yishin disappeared upstairs, then shut the door and turned toward Nabin, still lying on the bed. Despite the commotion so close by, Nabin remained in deep sleep, unable to wake.
His bangs, longer than when he’d first come to the mansion, fell over his eyelids like a curtain. Jigang lifted a hand and carefully brushed the fine strands back.
He pressed his lips to the pale forehead revealed, silently wishing that tomorrow he’d finally see those clear, bright eyes again. Tae Yishin and Gong Min’s irritation was already forgotten.
***
“…Kim Nabin.”
At the sound of his name, Nabin lifted his head and quietly looked at him. Meeting the man’s gaze brought to mind the roses he’d been staring at just moments before.
The man’s eyes seemed dyed with the color of roses plucked fresh from the garden. Beautiful eyes—but the more Nabin looked into them, the more he felt like he was adrift, abandoned on a vast and endless sea.
What was I doing again…?
He stared blankly, then suddenly remembered.
“…Ah.”
With a small gasp, Nabin crawled on his knees toward him. He had been sitting at the edge of the bed, staring vacantly through the wide window.
Today, for some reason, the red roses outside caught his eye. He had been lost in watching their petals sway endlessly in the breeze, forgetting time itself.
But he had something he was supposed to do. His name, his age—they were hazy, veiled in fog. Yet when he looked at the man calling him, the task came back to him instantly.
“I—I’m sorry…”
His slender fingers touched the front of Han Jigang’s shirt. His unfocused eyes looked less like those of a living person than those of a finely crafted doll. Moving mechanically, like a machine executing commands, Nabin undid the buckle and lowered his head.
“What the hell are you doing?!”
Han Jigang had sat by Nabin’s side until dawn, then gone to the Center to find someone who could heal his mind.
But all he got there was nonsense. The staff, glancing nervously at him, still dared to offer an “easy” solution.
“Esper Tae Yishin could use his ability, couldn’t he?”
The Center’s answer was Tae Yishin.
Tae Yishin’s ability was a Special type—Control.
His specialty was invading the human mind and bending it to his will.
Since Nabin’s issue was mental, the Center claimed the solution was simple: let Tae Yishin enter his mind and force him to Guide. Jigang had nearly blown up the entire administration office at that.
Even among Special Espers, Tae Yishin’s skill was unmatched. His S-rank status played a part, but his raw talent was the real reason.
The U.S. had one S-rank Esper with the same ability, but even they admitted Tae Yishin’s powers were far superior.
But power didn’t mean safety. Anyone subjected to Tae Yishin’s control always suffered aftereffects.
His implanted commands were so absolute that even an order as absurd as taking one’s own life could not be disobeyed.
He could lessen the side effects somewhat, but in the end, his power tampered directly with a person’s mind. For someone already broken, like Nabin, the ability would take hold easily—but at the cost of destroying what little self remained. He could be reduced to nothing but a breathing doll that obeyed Tae Yishin’s every command.
Some victims ended up so damaged they couldn’t even take care of basic needs. All they could do was follow whatever orders had been etched into their minds.
The staff who suggested this knew it well, yet spoke as if Nabin weren’t even human. As long as the matched S-rank Espers got their Guiding, they didn’t care if Nabin’s mind shattered. That cold disregard was written plain across their faces.
Because of those risks, the Center forbade using Tae Yishin’s power on people except in the most extreme cases. Even Tae Yishin himself rarely used it on humans.
Jigang, too, had never really considered Nabin—or most people—equals. Anyone outside his circle, he treated little different from monsters.
So why… why was it unbearable to see others treat Nabin the same way?
“Kghk… Esper H-Han Jigang, what are you…”
When his reason snapped back, his hand was already clamped around the throat of the staffer who’d dared spout that garbage. Mana surged up from his feet in response to his rage, and if he’d come to his senses a moment later, the entire office might have gone up in flames.
Other Espers rushed in at the commotion, wearing the usual weary looks as they prepared to restrain him. But by then, the heat had burned out. Jigang tossed the choking staffer into another Esper’s arms and stormed back to the mansion.
He thought Nabin would still be unconscious, just as he’d been when Jigang left at dawn. Noh Si-woo had said Nabin had collapsed from shock and would need time before waking.
But Nabin was awake. If not for the faint rise and fall of his breath, Jigang might have mistaken him for a statue. He sat rigid on the bed, staring blankly out the window.
Relieved, Jigang called his name. He remembered how desperately he’d wished to see those bright eyes open again, even just for a day.
But when Nabin turned, his gaze was more clouded and lifeless than ever, so dull Jigang doubted he was truly looking at him. His eyes were like ashes left after a fire, stripped of all vitality.
Jigang froze, at a loss for words. Then Nabin crawled toward him, as if compelled, and reached for his buckle. Only then did Jigang snap back to himself.
Even when he shouted, Nabin’s expression didn’t change. His face was as placid as still water, blinking vacantly.
This was the same Nabin who once trembled at the slightest raise of his voice, yet now every reaction was dulled.
A memory struck him—of a spy the Chinese had planted in the Center. Tae Yishin had shredded the man’s mind with his power on the Director’s orders to “extract information no matter the cost.”
That man had acted just like this. Without a self, repeating only the implanted words and motions.
“Guiding…”
Just like Nabin now.
Even when Jigang pushed his hand away, Nabin reached again for his waistband, lowering his head as if he had no choice.
Jigang grabbed his shoulders and hauled him up, but Nabin’s vacant eyes stayed fixed not on his face, but on his chest.
“Fuck… this is insane.”
His body stirred helplessly at Nabin’s touch, and Jigang swore, shoving the blanket around him tightly like a cocoon. Only when his hands were restrained did Nabin’s gaze finally settle on his face.
“Hey. Do you even know who I am?”
Nabin couldn’t even say his name properly, but before, whenever he looked at Jigang, there had always been something alive in his eyes—fear, worry, sorrow, anything at all.
…Not like this. Not like a broken doll, moving without a self.
