With the money he had saved, Nabin bought a resting place for his mother’s urn. Throughout the funeral, Han Jigang and Gong Min remained by his side. Tae Yishin never entered the hall; he only stood at a distance, watching Nabin greet the mourners for a long while before slipping away without a word.
Looking at the photographs of his parents, placed side by side, Nabin calmly accepted his farewell, as if etching the final moment deep into his heart.
At the columbarium, where he sat in silence staring endlessly at their portraits, Han Jigang and Gong Min stayed with him, never leaving his back unguarded.
It wasn’t until the sun, which had hung at its zenith, finally sank into the horizon that Nabin forced his heavy body to rise. Days without sleep or food had left him so weak that even walking a single step was a struggle. He staggered violently, and before Han Jigang could reach him, Gong Min was there first, catching him in his arms.
Han Jigang asked softly if he was alright. Nabin only answered in his usual calm voice that he was fine. But Gong Min, too, seemed to sense something was wrong—there was hesitation in the way he held him, as if even his touch carried doubt.
“Let’s come back here often… Tell me whenever you want to visit.”
Having almost no memories of his own parents, Han Jigang couldn’t truly grasp the depth of Nabin’s grief. Still, he thought—better to have Nabin fear him, if only it meant seeing some trace of life in his eyes again.
Looking at him now was like looking at a doll that only breathed. He had seen Nabin in many states before, but never so drained, never with such an empty face.
His sorrow was so immense it had swallowed him whole. If only he had cried out, then at least his tears could be wiped away. But this lifeless, withered figure was so suffocating it made Han Jigang’s throat tighten painfully.
What brought a flicker of relief was that Nabin actually reacted to his words about returning. For the first time in so long, his eyes truly met someone’s. The silent exchange stretched on for a moment, as if time had stopped, until those pale-colored eyes finally lowered, vanishing beneath his lashes.
Seeing that unbearable loneliness, Gong Min pulled Nabin closer, holding him gently as though to share his warmth. But his hands trembled faintly at the ominous, heavy pulse beating through the veins beneath his skin.
***
In the darkness of his room, eyes heavy with sorrow slowly opened. From the columbarium onward, Nabin had been carried in Gong Min’s arms, and the moment he got into the car, he had fallen into sleep. For the first time in a long while, it was a deep, dreamless slumber.
When he woke, he found himself alone in the space that had become so painfully familiar. Judging from the view outside the window, the sun was already setting. It was giving its last farewell before yielding the sky to the moon. The crimson glow of dusk spilled through the glass, painting his room in scarlet light.
His blank gaze followed the glow to the edge of his bed. His pale fingers brushed absently at the sheet before he slowly rose to his feet. His eyes roamed across the room, as if searching for something. They stopped suddenly on a small bundle.
Wrapped carefully in a white handkerchief lay the butterfly-shaped pendant. He didn’t know who had left it there, but it rested neatly, as if waiting for him. Nabin staggered over and picked it up.
The wings of the butterfly, faded like his bloodless hand, were slowly crushed as his grip tightened. Red welled up, seeping across his pale skin and staining the delicate wings.
“…Beautiful.”
He had thought it beautiful from the very first moment he received it—just like the deep, black eyes of the one who gave it to him. As the memory of the pendant’s original owner surfaced, a faint smile touched his lips. But it never bloomed fully. It withered before it could flower, falling away still in bud.
Holding the pendant that now seemed more alive in his hand, Nabin made his way to the bathroom. Each unsteady step left behind a faint trail of red droplets.
Even the short distance felt overwhelming. Closing the bathroom door behind him, he leaned against it for a moment, shutting his eyes to steady his breath.
The damp, humid air of the bathroom seemed to welcome him in. He turned the lock with a soft click and stepped toward the tub.
He stopped the drain and, like performing a daily ritual, turned on the warm water. As the tub filled, the reflection of his blank face appeared on the rippling surface. Each time it did, he reached out and erased it with his hand.
When the water had filled halfway, he stepped in, still fully clothed. The warmth soaked into his body, and for a fleeting moment, it caught in his throat like a sob.
Suppressing the cry that threatened to escape, he looked quietly at the pendant in his palm. Though broken and faded, its blood-tinged wings quivered gently in the ripples, like a butterfly making its final flutter.
Fragile enough to crumble at any moment, the butterfly beat its wings endlessly, whispering to him. Its voice seeped into his heart, urging him not to remain alone but to leave together.
Following its call, Nabin drew a red line across his pale wrist, jagged like the edge of something shattered. Even though it was a line that would carry him to death, his gaze upon it was gentle.
If this was how his long, battered life ended—together with the one who had stayed by him whenever he was in pain—perhaps it wasn’t so bad. Though he had lived beaten and discarded like trash, at least this final moment was his own choice. For that, he felt a kind of gratitude.
“Haa…”
His breath carried fragments of life away, piece by piece. Strength left his body, and he leaned against the tub. Tilting his head back, he saw steam rising, droplets beading on the ceiling above.
With each pulse spilling from his submerged wrist, his vision blurred and flickered. A faint, hollow laugh escaped him. He was glad—the end he had wished for was finally here—yet he didn’t understand the tears streaming down his face.
“Somewhere… over the rainbow…”
He sang the song he hadn’t been able to sing for so long, pouring into it the wish to return to the days when his father lived, when his mother was alive.
But like his fading breath, strength drained from his voice. His cracked throat couldn’t even carry a verse, the broken sound clawing at his heart and dragging him further down.
Only the sound of falling waterdrops echoed faintly in his fading mind. Letting go of the final page of life was easier than he thought. If this was death… he regretted not stepping into it sooner, instead of fearing it for so long.
No… He had endured because his mother was alive. And yet it was by his own hand that she died…
Above his mother’s smiling face in the photo, the image of his family from when his father lived flickered to life. On the blank white wall, colorful memories unfolded like a watercolor painting.
If he had one last wish, Nabin would want to step into that memory and remain there forever.
Just as the sunset disappears into twilight, Nabin’s breath edged toward its end.
BANG!!
The sorrowful song was cut off by a sudden crash. At once, the mournful melody was silenced.
“Kim Nabin! Open the door!”
His blurred eyes turned weakly toward the door, shaking as it rattled under the blows. With every creak, the tub sloshed red water like waves.
The door didn’t last. It splintered and broke apart. Steam filled the bathroom, still clouded by the hot water pouring into the tub. Yet there was enough clarity for Nabin, and for those who burst in and froze in horror, to see one another.
“You… what the hell are you doing…”
Han Jigang’s voice was dazed, stricken. And he wasn’t alone. Gong Min and Tae Yishin, too, stared at him in shock, their faces pale with disbelief.
Why are they looking at me like that…? To them, I was never anything.
And then he understood. They still thought he had worth. They didn’t know his Guiding Mana would soon run dry, that he’d be discarded like garbage. That’s why they looked at him with regret.
All he had done was choose to throw himself away before they could.
In his final moment, he didn’t want pain—not even the pain of seeing their faces. After so long, this was finally his choice.
His thin, faltering breath told him the end was near. He turned his eyes away from them to the droplets gathering like blossoms above.
With the butterfly in hand, he wanted to go to his parents. He hoped—just faintly—that when he closed his eyes, his father would be there, arms open in a smile. And beside him, his mother, with the gentle smile he missed so dearly, softly calling his name.
Each falling droplet pulled him deeper into memory.
As a cold hand brushed his eyes, Nabin was drawn into a comforting darkness.
…At last, peace he hadn’t known in so long.
I have cried so much reading this thing TT