When Jung Ah-young and the two other bodyguards reached the bedroom door, which they were guarding, Woo-chan asked in a serious tone.
—Are you really planning to die?
“Did it sound like I was bluffing?”
—…Haa…
A long, heavy sigh echoed from the other side of the line.
Was it because Seo Won had handed over the core of the Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility? Or maybe it was everything he had done up until now, piling up, rattling the man on the other end.
An unexpected question came from Kang Woo-chan—one of the people who had once wished for Seo Won’s death.
—Is there no other way?
Seo Won paused at Woo-chan’s words. He glanced at Jung Ah-young, who bowed her head slightly toward him, before pressing his lips into a firm line.
“There isn’t.”
He ended the call with that resolute answer. Not a trace of hesitation could be heard in his voice.
Only after witnessing Seo Won finish the call did Ah-young speak up.
“Han-gyeom-ssi is resting inside.”
Seo Won gave a small nod and turned his eyes to the bedroom door.
“Does he seem uncomfortable around Cha Min-hyung?”
“He didn’t appear guarded at all. He spoke comfortably too.”
“That’s a relief.”
Seo Won let out a breath of genuine relief.
Han-gyeom was naturally wary of strangers, and this was only his second time meeting Min-hyung. Seo Won had worried he might feel uneasy—but thankfully, that fear had proven unnecessary.
To avoid startling Han-gyeom, Seo Won knocked softly on the door. He didn’t forget to say, “I’m coming in,” before opening it.
Once inside, he spotted Han-gyeom perched on the edge of the bed. Whatever he’d been lost in thought about, he flinched slightly as soon as the door opened, eyes snapping to Seo Won.
“Looks like I startled you.”
He had knocked and announced himself, maybe he should’ve come in a bit more slowly.
As Seo Won closed the door behind him, silently scolding himself, Han-gyeom glanced away.
“No, I was just… thinking about something.”
Seo Won approached and placed a black rectangular case on the nightstand. Then he knelt on one knee in front of Han-gyeom. Warming his own cool hands, he gently cupped Han-gyeom’s cheek.
Only then did Han-gyeom’s drifting eyes settle on him. Even so, rather than meeting Seo Won’s gaze, he looked somewhere else on his face, letting his eyes fall slightly askew.
“Did something happen with Cha Min-hyung? Ah-young said everything was fine.”
Each word Seo Won spoke was soaked in worry.
Han-gyeom, who had just barely met his eyes, looked away again.
“Nothing happened. He was a good person, and…”
As Seo Won looked at Han-gyeom while he spoke, he noticed the phone in his hand.
Though Seo Won had told him he could use it freely whenever he wanted, Han-gyeom had never once used it, until now.
When Seo Won’s gaze lingered on the device, Han-gyeom hesitated for a moment before speaking.
“I saw a few numbers saved in the contacts.”
He’d only turned the phone on to use the internet, but ended up glancing at the contact list by chance.
There were only three numbers saved.
Director Shin, Cha Min-hyung, and Song Jae-woo, who was currently overseas.
Seo Won had saved those numbers for specific reasons.
Director Shin’s number was there so Han-gyeom could immediately reach out for swift medical attention if his condition worsened.
Cha Min-hyung’s was saved to connect him with Han-gyeom in situations like today. As a Guide also from the research facility, he could offer support and counseling. He was someone reliable, someone Han-gyeom could lean on.
And lastly, Song Jae-woo.
He was the only person from outside the facility that Han-gyeom considered family. Since he was also Song Yeon-woo’s younger brother, Han-gyeom relied on him even more. Seo Won had sent Jae-woo abroad for safety, but he still wanted to ensure they could stay in touch. Once things were settled, he was considering either sending Han-gyeom to be with Jae-woo or bringing Jae-woo back to him.
That was why it had seemed only natural to Seo Won to save the numbers of Director Shin, Cha Min-hyung, and Song Jae-woo on Han-gyeom’s phone.
“They’re all contacts you need.”
“I know. But why isn’t yours in there?”
Han-gyeom held out the phone as he asked.
“Why isn’t your number saved?”
Seo Won was briefly taken aback. The one who had refused to meet his eyes earlier was now staring directly at him for once.
“You said they were important contacts for me. But isn’t the most important one you?”
“I…”
Seo Won couldn’t bring himself to answer right away.
Han-gyeom wasn’t wrong. Seo Won was the only one who could suppress his episodes and provide the full range of care he needed. Even now, he could confidently say that he was the person Han-gyeom needed most.
But once Han-gyeom’s revenge succeeded, Seo Won would become unnecessary. He was someone meant to die by Han-gyeom’s hand. And for that to happen, it had to be that way.
That was why Seo Won couldn’t bring himself to proudly add his number to Han-gyeom’s phone.
Releasing Han-gyeom’s face from his hands, Seo Won stood up with a faint smile.
“There’s no need to save mine. You can see me whenever you want.”
He wasn’t wrong, either.
Whenever Han-gyeom wanted, Seo Won was always there.
Even if he had to step away for work, if Han-gyeom asked him not to go, he would either send a body double or cancel his schedule entirely to stay by his side. Even now, with most of the Black Vein gone, the reason Seo Won’s real body rarely left was because he was respecting Han-gyeom’s wishes.
And Han-gyeom must surely know this.
“Is that all?”
“Yeah.”
Even after hearing Seo Won’s clear-cut reply, Han-gyeom still seemed troubled by something. His grip around the phone visibly tightened.
Turning his head, Han-gyeom stared at the black rectangular case Seo Won had brought with him.
“What’s that?”
At the question, Seo Won rose to his feet and picked up the case.
“A gift.”
He answered curtly and opened the case.
Given how luxurious the case looked, one might have expected something valuable inside, but its contents were surprisingly simple. It held only one thing—a black orb, about the size of a fist.
As he pulled out the black sphere, Seo Won studied Han-gyeom’s expression.
‘Looks like he’s never seen one in person.’
Maybe that was a good thing.
Han-gyeom showed no signs of being disturbed by the orb. Yet, in the Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility where he had once been, countless discarded Espers had likely ended up looking just like this.
‘Well, come to think of it, Cha Han-gyeom had nothing to do with the disposal process.’
Back then, the facility had succeeded in turning Espers into cores through brutal means.
But the research into cores had focused solely on condensing an Esper’s ESP. There hadn’t been enough development to also core a Guide’s GP. More importantly, Cha Han-gyeom had been an exceptionally rare and invaluable Guide—so much so that no one in the facility would dare deny it. The disposal process had simply never applied to someone like him.
That’s likely why Han-gyeom had never seen a core up close.
And that, in turn, was a fortunate thing for Seo Won, who had no choice but to structure his modified version in a form similar to a core.
Han-gyeom stared at the black sphere with fascinated eyes, reaching out a hand.
“This… is this your energy?”
His fingertip lightly tapped the surface of the orb. The pitch-black energy swirling within suddenly spiraled outward from the point of contact, as if rejoicing at his touch.
Now that he looked closer, the orb itself was actually very clear and thin. It only appeared black because it was so densely filled with dark energy.
This time, Han-gyeom pressed his fingertips flat against the orb. A warm and pleasant sensation flowed straight into his fingers, as though he were nestled in Seo Won’s embrace and resonating with him.
Even just touching it brought color back to Han-gyeom’s pale face. His dazed eyes curved slightly with comfort, and the tension in his cheeks and lips melted into a soft, innocent smile.
“You like it?”
“Yeah…”
Han-gyeom answered Seo Won’s question almost unconsciously. It was as if he really had fallen under some kind of spell—his eyes never once strayed from the orb.
With the black sphere in one hand, Seo Won picked up a translucent ice apple resting beside Han-gyeom.
Then, he gently pressed the black orb into the ice apple.
He had worried, if only for a moment, that the hard surfaces might clash and one of them might crack, but Seo Won must have done something.
The black orb seeped into the ice apple as if phasing right through it. Once inside, it released its dark energy in full. In the blink of an eye, the ice apple was dyed pitch-black.
Then, just as quickly, the apple regained its transparency, as if nothing had ever happened. Yet the energy radiating from it was incomparably stronger than before. Even without Han-gyeom touching it, a deep sense of calmness spread throughout the room.
“A month from now—no, probably just a few days—and the energy will grow even stronger.”
Seo Won gently placed the ice apple into Han-gyeom’s hands and spoke with quiet affection.
“Once that happens, I won’t need to recharge your ESP by hand anymore. Even if we’re apart for a long time, you’ll still feel my energy just like you do now—always strong, always with you.”
What Seo Won had embedded into the apple was a modified version of a core. The ESP within it was directly linked to Seo Won, still alive. It was a fusion of the usual synchronization technique he used for his clones, connected back to his original body.
But there was one crucial difference.
Clones disappear naturally once the original body dies.
This modified core, however, would do the opposite—once the original body dies, it will absorb all of that ESP and become the original itself.
In other words, the hollow ghost-like apple Han-gyeom now held in his arms would become Seo Won’s true body the moment he died.
For a man facing death, it was the only way Seo Won—as Han-gyeom’s Imprinter—could protect him for eternity.
