“Esper Lee Hayan, from today on, I need you to look after Guide Kim Nabin. This is an extremely important matter, so I expect you to take it on with a strong sense of responsibility.”
“…Guide Kim Nabin?”
Hayan’s gaze fell on the frail figure, his body trembling ever so slightly.
“I can’t give you all the details yet, but he’s a Guide who’ll become indispensable to the Center. Until we can arrange proper housing, I’d like you to let him stay at your home. That won’t be a problem, will it?”
The moment his eyes landed on Nabin, it was hard to look away. Still, Hayan forced himself to turn back to the Center Director, trying to understand the situation.
“And the HK Corp assignment?”
Just a few days ago, the Director had personally handed him that mission, dressing it up with grand words about its importance. Yet when Hayan finally looked deeper, he discovered it was nothing more than a shallow ploy to solidify the Director’s position.
“I’ll hand that off to another Esper. Your task right now is to guard this Guide—and if possible, make sure he doesn’t come into contact with anyone else.”
The Director shifted his tone as smoothly as ever. When he’d ordered Hayan to HK Corp, he had spoken with gravity, lacing his words with elaborate flourishes. But an Esper of Hayan’s rank was far beyond handling such an assignment.
After a private dinner with HK Corp’s chairman, the Director had quietly swapped the name of the A-rank Esper originally meant for the mission with Hayan’s, as though nothing had changed at all.
Any other S-rank Esper would have refused outright, but Hayan accepted without a word. Not out of respect—he knew the man too well. If he said no, the Director would only bear a grudge and saddle him with something even more troublesome.
Besides, even if he disagreed with the Director in private, he couldn’t openly defy the orders of someone who was, at least officially, his superior.
Still, that mission—one he’d taken on without thought—left him, for the first time, almost grateful he had obeyed. The corporate officials had been careful with their words and actions, treating him with the utmost caution so as not to offend an S-rank Esper. There was no reason for his nerves to fray.
And most of all, what stayed with him was the memory of saving two Miners who had nearly lost their lives in an abandoned dungeon during training.
…And standing before him now was one of those very Miners he had rescued.
Almost as if possessed, he had even fastened his late mother’s keepsake Artifact around that boy’s thin wrist. Even later, when the memory of that dungeon returned, he had never regretted it. He had thought of it as the Artifact finding its rightful place with someone who needed it more.
The boy’s image had remained in his mind like a faint afterimage. It was clear, even at a glance, that he had led a harsh life. Giving him the Artifact had felt like proof of its worth, as if it belonged with him more than with Hayan himself.
And now… in the most unexpected of places, they had crossed paths again. That lingering memory had often surfaced in the midst of his ordinary days—those clear eyes flashing through his thoughts.
Yet Hayan had never gone looking for him. He consoled himself by thinking, He’s probably living well somewhere, and forced those fleeting images back into the shadows.
“Well then, Esper Lee Hayan, I leave Guide Kim Nabin in your care. I’ll be in touch soon.”
Han Chul-yong paused, sensing for a moment the strange tension between the two of them. But the thought was fleeting—he had too much else to deal with. He needed to silence the staff who knew about Nabin, secure Nabin’s records, and ensure he couldn’t slip away to another country.
Casting them both a quick look, he gave Hayan’s shoulder a firm squeeze and hurried out.
Clack.
Even after Han Chul-yong left, Hayan couldn’t bring himself to speak. His eyes stayed fixed on Nabin.
Nabin, too, was silent. Seeing Hayan exactly as he remembered him made his hand tighten unconsciously around the pendant. It was a reflex, born of trying to contain the trembling in his chest.
Their connection had been brief, but he had longed for him ever since. In desperation, he had once asked Kim Su-hyun for news of him—only to drive someone precious into the jaws of death.
…Esper Kim Su-hyun.
If he truly had returned to the past, then Su-hyun was still alive at this time. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to seek him out. Everyone tied to him always ended up miserable. The kindest thing Nabin could do was to let Su-hyun live his own life, untouched by him.
Even if his ability had changed so drastically that the once-arrogant Center Director had come running at a moment’s notice—his curse of misfortune had not disappeared.
It felt as if that misfortune clung to him, waiting for a chance to ensnare others. The thought made his body curl in on itself. Which meant Hayan, too, had to be kept away. If Hayan were destroyed because of him, Nabin might end up cursing the whole world. He wrenched his gaze away, tearing it from the one he longed to keep looking at.
“…Why…?”
Hayan was unsettled by how different Nabin seemed. It hadn’t been that long since they had parted, yet something was wrong.
Like a wildflower blooming stubbornly in barren soil, those clear eyes had once held a vitality so fierce it was breathtaking. A life force born only of someone who had weathered countless storms.
Despite his frail appearance, Nabin’s eyes had always carried the unyielding resolve of someone whose very life was a struggle—shining like constellations etched in the night sky.
Perhaps that was why Hayan had given him his mother’s Artifact: to ensure that those jewel-like eyes never lost their light.
But now, the spark in Nabin’s gaze was gone. His eyes were hollow, as though life itself had drained away. Were it not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, one might think he was already dead.
Only when those eyes rested on Hayan did a fleeting, unreadable glimmer surface—and even that faded, powerless. Whatever had happened after they parted, it had broken Nabin’s very spirit.
The Artifact he’d given him was said to protect even the wearer’s heart. Yet when Hayan’s gaze finally fell to Nabin’s hand, his breath caught.
The Artifact was shattered, its wings broken. It was not something that could be destroyed easily. Even if it looked ordinary, it was bound and shielded by mana. No ordinary force could have broken it.
Perhaps with special tools—but no sane person would smash such a priceless Artifact beyond repair. It was hard to believe Nabin had done it himself.
Unless his instincts were wrong, Nabin was pure-hearted, a kind soul. Someone who stirred in him the unconscious urge to protect.
“For now, relax your hand.”
But the Artifact’s destruction wasn’t the most urgent issue. Nabin’s grip was so tight that fresh blood welled up, beading like crimson blossoms across its surface. Beneath it, dried traces showed where blood had already spilled once before.
“…Ah.”
At Hayan’s words, Nabin finally noticed the stinging in his hand. Yet such pain was nothing to him. Again and again, he had learned that wounds to the heart hurt far more than wounds to the body.
The cut was shallow, hardly worth acknowledging. Left alone, the bleeding would have stopped on its own. Compared to the times he’d been beaten until his body felt like a broken doll, this was so trivial it barely deserved to be called pain.
But clearly, Hayan saw it differently. His expression hardened, and he dropped to one knee. From his breast pocket, he drew out a soft handkerchief and wrapped Nabin’s injured hand with meticulous care.
When warmth spread from those cold fingertips, Nabin flinched. The touch grew gentler, brushing against him like a feather’s caress. Hayan bent his tall frame low, tending to him with such painstaking tenderness that Nabin felt, for an instant, as though he were dreaming.
Outwardly, his face remained calm, but inside, Nabin’s heart was in turmoil.
When he had first opened his eyes in the bathtub, he thought he had woken in the afterlife—punished, forced back to the very first page of his ruined life.
He had half-expected to see his parents again, but instead found himself right back in the wreckage. He thought he had fallen into hell. His hands were still stained with blood that would never wash away.
Then, encountering staff who spoke differently than he remembered, and meeting the Center Director he had not known at this point in the past… he began to wonder.
Perhaps… perhaps he really had returned to the past.
Even then, the realization hadn’t moved him much. Even when his Guide rank was measured as Immeasurable—a classification no one had ever heard of—it had all felt hollow, meaningless.
