Ryu Somin, glowing with excitement, skipped off toward the second floor. Tae Yishin, watching his retreating figure, slowly turned and made his way to Nabin. Just earlier, the boy had flinched, bowed his head, and trembled the instant their eyes met—enough to draw an involuntary sigh from Tae Yishin.
“What did I ever do to make our Guide shake like this?”
“I-I’m sorry…”
No matter how much he tried to get along, this suffocating behavior always left him feeling choked. Maybe it was his free nature, or the way he had grown up doing whatever he pleased, but whenever Tae Yishin encountered someone like Nabin, frustration welled up in him.
Even now, the sight of Nabin apologizing unconditionally without even knowing what he had done wrong grated on his nerves.
Just the sound of Nabin breathing felt like a splinter under his nail. And when he remembered the disdainful stares and bitter words Ryu Somin had thrown at him because of Nabin, his chest burned with a rage that felt like molten lava.
The faint fondness he’d once felt during their early Guiding sessions had long since vanished. The only reason he tolerated Nabin now was because his younger brother relied on him. It wasn’t by choice, and so the resentment he kept dammed up churned at the breaking point.
“Guide Kim Nabin.”
Still trembling, head bowed, Nabin didn’t dare lift his gaze. Tae Yishin leaned down, lips curved in a smile that from afar might have looked as warm as the one he gave Ryu Somin.
He patted the back of Nabin’s head, then forced his chin up, fingers digging into the small skull that fit easily into his palm, as if he might crush it at any moment.
“Ah… ngh…”
Even when Nabin let out a pained groan, Tae Yishin didn’t ease his grip. Sweat dotted Nabin’s forehead as Tae Yishin pressed his brow to his, smiling with false tenderness.
Nabin’s face grew pale, then bluish with fear, but Tae Yishin’s expression was filled with a grotesquely out-of-place smile.
“Always remember your place, and act accordingly. If Somin ever gets hurt or cries because of you, you’ll never walk out of this mansion again.”
“Y-yes… ngh… I-I’m sorry…”
Apologizing without fault had long since been carved into Nabin’s very being. But suddenly, the question clawed its way into his mind—
What had he actually done wrong?
Since his father’s death, whenever life pressed down so heavily he could barely breathe, Nabin convinced himself it was punishment from the world.
A child who couldn’t bring himself to blame others had instead learned to blame and destroy himself first. Even as an adult, nothing had changed. After Kim Su-hyun’s death, the guilt that strangled him only grew heavier.
And yet, whenever Tae Yishin lashed out with meaningless violence, Nabin couldn’t help but want to ask: “What exactly did I do wrong…?”
He tried not to even breathe too loudly around Tae Yishin. Afraid his voice might irritate him, he only spoke when absolutely necessary. Afraid his posture might offend, he kept himself hunched and small.
If their eyes met by accident, he always bowed his head, praying desperately not to be noticed.
Today too, nothing had been his idea. It was Somin who had come to his room, asked him to go out to the garden, invited him to swing and look at flowers. Mustering the courage to go along—was that really a crime?
He wanted to ask why Tae Yishin was so angry. But the words never left his lips, sinking instead into the abyss of his chest.
Even without asking, he felt like he already knew the answer.
Whether it was Ryu Somin, Han Jigang, or Gong Min, no matter how kindly they treated him, his role never changed.
A D-rank Guide, sold into this mansion to provide Guiding.
If not for even that feeble ability, they would have treated him worse than trash kicked about in an alley.
Perhaps the years in the establishment hadn’t been entirely wasted. With every session of Guiding, Han Jigang, Gong Min, and even Tae Yishin—who would scrub his hands raw afterward with a handkerchief, as if Nabin’s touch were filth—still looked satisfied, at least with that much.
Han Jigang and Gong Min mistook that satisfaction for fondness. But not Tae Yishin. He kept sex strictly as sex, and nothing more.
“Yishin-hyung, I’m ready.”
“Yeah, Somin. Let’s go.”
The moment the sound of Ryu Somin opening the mansion door reached his ears, Tae Yishin let go of Nabin’s head. The frail body swayed precariously, but his gaze remained cold.
Nabin bowed his head once more. Tears pooled in his wide eyes and dripped to the floor, but to the overjoyed Ryu Somin, already eager for his outing, they were invisible.
“Nabin-hyung, we’ll be back later!”
“……”
He should have answered, but if he opened his mouth, his trembling voice would spill out. So Nabin only nodded weakly.
Only after the two disappeared into the garden did Nabin stagger back inside. His shaky steps carried him silently to his room.
Once inside, his body collapsed to the floor. He hadn’t dared cry in front of Tae Yishin. But now, alone, the sorrow he had bottled up burst free.
“Hhhk… it hurts… please, let go…”
The plea he hadn’t been able to voice to Tae Yishin slipped out at last. His head throbbed as though it might split from the crushing grip earlier. But more than the pain in his skull, it was his battered heart that left him gasping.
Every time he saw the difference between how Tae Yishin treated him and Ryu Somin, the hurt built up silently in his chest. He wasn’t asking for equal treatment. Only… it pained him that someone could be the kindest person in the world to one, yet endlessly cold to him. That difference bruised him raw today.
Until Gong Min came to his room for Guiding, Nabin sobbed until his eyes swelled, muffling his cries into his palms until his throat turned hoarse.
But Gong Min, who had come straight to Nabin’s room upon returning, couldn’t possibly miss the muffled weeping. Alarmed, he quickened his pace.
Knock, knock.
Though worried, he didn’t barge in, afraid of startling him, and instead knocked first.
The sobbing cut off. A moment later, the door creaked open.
Nabin appeared, head hung low. Yet his tear-soaked clothes and swollen eyes were plain to see.
Nabin had often trembled in fear or collapsed in pain after Guiding—but rarely had he cried so bitterly. Fear usually smothered even his sadness into silence.
Gong Min’s gaze sank heavy as he tried to piece together what had happened.
Then Nabin lifted a trembling hand to wipe his face and raised his head, meeting Gong Min’s eyes. His expression was darker than usual, sunken with despair. Without thinking, Gong Min reached out, cupped his face, and brushed his swollen eyelids with his thumb.
Since the first time Nabin had guided him, his condition had improved enough that he no longer seized at his touch. But “improved” didn’t mean healed. Gong Min knew that better than anyone—he could feel the subtle tremors rippling through the Guide’s fragile body every time he touched him.
That was why Gong Min tried so hard never to touch him unless necessary. Each time he received Guiding, he scraped together every ounce of patience, clinging to reason, making sure he didn’t hurt his Guide again.
But today, seeing Nabin cry so desolately, his restraint snapped.
Realizing his hand was cupping Nabin’s face, Gong Min startled and tried to pull away.
“Hhhk…”
…And then, for the first time—
The Nabin who had always feared him, who always fled from him, reached out. Gong Min had never dared hope for a day like this. Not after the times he had broken Nabin with his own hands. All he had wanted was to atone, carefully, painfully narrowing the distance between them.
But now, Nabin placed his small hand over Gong Min’s, pressing his tear-stained cheek into the warmth of his palm. It was something he never would have done in his right mind. That was how deeply Tae Yishin’s cruelty had broken him—his thoughts too clouded to function.
Gong Min still frightened him. Yet now, he just wanted to lean into the warmth, his heart too exhausted to resist.
Frozen like stone, Gong Min finally gathered himself and pulled Nabin into his arms. His hand patted Nabin’s back awkwardly, trembling faintly.
The warmth pressed against his chest, the desperate grip clinging to his waist—it felt like invisible chains coiling around his heart. A foreign sensation. But Gong Min surrendered to it, offering both body and soul. If Nabin could find even the smallest comfort in his arms, then Gong Min would remain at his side, circling him endlessly.
