Nabin was learning not only to savor the taste of food but also to express emotions and interact with others. These weren’t one-sided connections anymore—he had to make an effort too, if he wanted relationships to move forward.
This was what set his new life apart most starkly from the one he had lived before. Now, he was on a journey of self-discovery, slowly piecing together who he truly was.
Each time he became aware of these rediscovered fragments of life, his eyes filled with tears. They weren’t born of sorrow or pain, but of gratitude so overwhelming that he questioned whether he even deserved such a life.
“Yes! I feel the same way!”
The three others seemed to understand why he was crying, their faces tinged with quiet sympathy. While Hayan and Kim Su-hyun searched for words, Ryu Soh-an was the first to break the silence.
The tension on Hayan’s face crumbled at the sound of Soh-an’s booming voice. Seeing how happy Nabin was now, he felt foolish for the irritation he had once shown whenever they sat down to eat together.
In truth, it was Hayan who owed gratitude to Kim Su-hyun and Ryu Soh-an. If he had cared for Nabin alone, such rapid recovery might never have been possible.
Where Hayan was taciturn, Ryu Soh-an was like a ray of sunlight. Kim Su-hyun, attentive and perceptive, caught every little thing Hayan missed, nurturing the fragile sprout that had begun to grow in Nabin’s heart.
Until the day Nabin could voice his feelings as openly as he did now, the two had filled in the gaps that Hayan himself couldn’t cover.
Admitting this, Hayan finally managed to let go of the petty unease that had been gnawing at his heart.
***
“That’s enough treatment for today.”
“…Thank you.”
“There’s really no need to thank me. It’s thanks to Guide Kim Nabin’s perseverance that there’s been progress. I only lend a bit of strength.”
Soh-an’s words were sincere. When he had first seen Nabin’s condition, he couldn’t say for certain whether Nabin would ever recover.
That was how dire things had been—his mind was shattered, torn apart so completely that Soh-an hadn’t even known where to begin.
These weren’t fresh wounds either. They were scars accumulated over a long, long time, piled one atop another until they resembled shredded scraps of paper run through a grinder—impossible to piece back together. For the first time, Soh-an had felt truly helpless before a patient’s condition.
Healing the heart was usually not difficult for him. By adjusting the flow of mana to suit the injury, the patient’s mind would naturally revive and mend itself.
It was like watering a plant, giving it sunlight, feeding it nutrients so it could grow. But Nabin’s soil had been so barren that it lacked even the basics needed for life. That was why Soh-an couldn’t promise a complete recovery.
In the end, what mattered most was the will of the one being healed. Even for an S-rank Healing Esper, if the patient lacked the will to get better, the effect would be no different from pouring water into a cracked jar—fleeting and hollow.
Fortunately, beneath his delicate exterior, Nabin had a resilient core. The world had simply been cruel enough to drive even someone like him to the brink of death.
Every time Soh-an treated him, he had to fight desperately not to drown in the flood of memories and emotions spilling from Nabin.
If Nabin’s emotions hadn’t gradually thinned with time, or if Soh-an himself hadn’t been strong enough to heal his own mind, his spirit would already have been consumed by Nabin’s suffering.
“…Still, I want to thank you.”
Nabin never withdrew his gratitude. To him, the hours of Soh-an’s treatment felt much like the time he spent with the Artifact Hayan had once given him.
Though the Artifact had now lost its power and shrunk into the trinket hanging from his neck, Nabin knew it was thanks to the strength it once held that he had endured his long, grueling life.
Without it, he might have died the very first day he guided S-rank Espers. Or perhaps, during his captivity under Kim Minsu, he would have struggled in vain, only to meet the same end as the other Guides dragged into that hell—dying while resisting.
The first time Soh-an treated him, Nabin had slipped into unconsciousness without even realizing it. Upon waking, he couldn’t tell whether he was in a dream or reality, staring blankly as his thoughts drifted.
Now, however, he no longer fell asleep during treatment. According to Soh-an, that was proof his condition was steadily improving.
And Nabin himself could feel it clearly.
The nightmares hadn’t vanished. He still wandered through them whenever he closed his eyes. But unlike before, he no longer wept helplessly.
The painful memories hadn’t disappeared either. They still lingered, but he had grown the courage to face them.
He could now meet Soh-an’s sky-colored eyes without faltering. Even the thought of Ryu Somin no longer sent him spiraling into seizures. Slowly but surely, his heart was healing—this time, into something healthy.
“Then… would it be alright if I stayed a little longer?”
After Nabin’s words of thanks, it was Soh-an’s turn to make a hesitant request. Ever since the day he lost control under Nabin’s influence and aroused his friends’ suspicions, he had been cautious.
From then on, whenever he visited Hayan’s mansion, he kept a watchful eye to ensure no one was following him, and he always left quickly once treatment was finished.
By contrast, Kim Su-hyun had even stayed overnight in the guestroom. The mansion was vast, with more than enough rooms, and Hayan had begun to trust them enough to allow it.
“So-han, safe travels.”
Each time Su-hyun remained to see him off, Soh-an burned with envy. He longed to fall asleep under the same roof as Nabin, but with suspicious friends keeping tabs, he had to restrain himself. The loneliness stung.
But today, only he and Nabin were at the mansion. Hayan, who always stood guard by Nabin’s side, had been summoned by the Center Director.
“Esper Ryu Soh-an, please look after Nabin.”
Though reluctant, Hayan’s face had hardened at the Director’s words. He had left Nabin in Soh-an’s care and departed swiftly for the Center.
Meanwhile, Kim Su-hyun was treating a critical patient in the infirmary and would return in about an hour.
That was only possible because Nabin no longer suffered panic attacks during treatment. Had he still been prone to seizures or strange symptoms, Hayan would never have yielded—not even to the Director’s pressure.
The trust that had grown between Hayan and Soh-an over time had made this possible. Even his friends had stopped doubting him.
As for Ryu Somin, though shaken for a while by his brother’s sudden change, he had eventually recovered his old self.
This was a rare, precious moment—a chance to be alone with Nabin. Soh-an wanted to fold it carefully and keep it in his heart.
Though Hayan had asked him to stay by Nabin’s side, if Nabin showed even the slightest discomfort, he was prepared to step away, waiting out of sight until Hayan returned.
Heart pounding, he waited for Nabin’s answer. When Nabin gave a small nod, Soh-an’s lips curved into a bright smile.
“Would it be alright if I looked around the garden? I’d love to see the flowerbeds you’ve been tending, Guide Kim Nabin. I’d also like to check on the ones I planted… but if it makes you uncomfortable, I’d be happy just sitting here.”
When Nabin had first arrived, the mansion’s garden had been a wasteland—dry earth, bare cherry branches, flowerbeds stripped of life.
Now, with winter giving way to spring, the cherry tree he and Hayan had cared for each day was preparing to bloom.
Even without flowers, its branches were studded with buds, radiant in their own quiet way.
“…The cherry tree looks beautiful.”
Nabin rose from the sofa ahead of Soh-an and gently took hold of his sleeve. He had wanted to show the blossoms to Soh-an and Su-hyun alike—too lovely to keep to himself.
Soh-an curled his trembling fingers into a fist. He wanted so badly to take Nabin’s hand, but he knew it was still too soon. For now, that small tug on his sleeve was the closest distance they could share.
🥺 begging for update