“The sea… I want to see it.”
At Han-gyeom’s words, Seo Won responded curtly.
“Didn’t expect you to say something that cliché.”
“Yeah, I know. I thought it was cliché too.”
Han-gyeom had anticipated Seo Won’s reaction.
“But the truth is, I was someone who couldn’t even go to a place as cliché as that.”
Back at the research facility, the very idea of wanting to go somewhere—or even wanting anything—was out of reach. And even after gaining his freedom, he’d been too busy hiding in the shadows, dodging attention and scraping by as an Unregistered Guide. He thought he’d live and die like that, tucked away from the world, unnoticed until he simply disappeared.
His life up until now had only been about being locked away by others or voluntarily hiding himself. To stand in front of the wide-open sea, with no place to conceal his fragile, scrawny body—he thought that could only happen when the ‘drugs’ ran out and he was dying.
In some ways, the sea frightened him.
If he ever stood before that vast, boundless ocean and let his mind go blank for even a second, he felt like he might unconsciously walk straight into the black abyss ahead—just like how Song Yeon-woo had been swallowed up.
Seo Won looked into Han-gyeom’s eyes, now dark and shadowed, and gently patted his head.
“Alright. I’ll take you.”
As he placed a kiss on Han-gyeom’s round, black-haired head, Seo Won’s gaze dropped, cold and heavy with layered thoughts.
The moment Han-gyeom stepped out of the room to eat, Seo Won moved to his desk and reached beneath it. Click. The moment he pressed the hidden call button connected to the security room, he spoke.
“Connect the bedroom surveillance.”
Since the day they’d encountered Kang Woo-chan’s group, this was the first time Han-gyeom and Jung Ah-young would be alone together. Seo Won could’ve interrupted their meal or even prevented it altogether, but he had deliberately allowed them this time.
To get even a sliver of the fragments swirling inside Cha Han-gyeom’s mind, through his time with Jung Ah-young.
The meal was set in Seo Won’s bedroom.
Sitting across from Han-gyeom, Ah-young eyed the table before her, practically drooling.
“Why does it look even more extravagant than usual today?”
“I know, right? There’s way too many dishes.”
Han-gyeom glanced around at the dozen or so dishes filling the round table. Each one looked exquisitely prepared, eye-catchingly neat and delicious—but he didn’t show much excitement.
‘They’re just going to end up thrown away again.’
Han-gyeom was a light eater. At most, he’d eat half a bowl of rice per meal—and even then, sometimes he couldn’t finish it.
It was a habit carried over from his time at the research facility.
When his stomach got too full, it would strain his body, causing nausea or stomach aches. In that place, such symptoms weren’t met with sympathy or concern; they were simply used as ammunition for ridicule.
So no matter how hungry he was, he got into the habit of eating just enough to dull the pangs before putting his chopsticks down. Hunger was something he’d grown so used to that it didn’t bother him anymore.
That habit didn’t go away even after he left the research facility. If he ever ate beyond the intake limit set back then, he’d inevitably suffer stomach issues and feel unwell afterward.
In short, even if he only picked at five or six dishes from the spread before him now, Han-gyeom’s meal would be over. It didn’t matter how much care Seo Won put into selecting the finest dishes—that much remained the same.
Having shared meals with Han-gyeom a few times before, Ah-young looked at him with a confident grin.
“Don’t worry, Han-gyeom. You’ve got me.”
“I feel reassured. Eat as much as you like.”
The big-eater, Jung Ah-young, giggled and raised her chopsticks.
Just then, Han-gyeom tapped the edge of a memo pad at the corner of the table with the tip of his finger. Now that he looked, there was a single sentence neatly written on the first page.
“Which of these dishes do you like the most, Ah-young?”
[You’ve got the telepathy link open, right?]
What Han-gyeom said out loud and what was written on the note were completely unrelated—but Ah-young instantly understood and picked up the pen next to the memo pad.
“The braised short ribs! I can’t resist that sweet soy sauce aroma. The chef really nailed it—the meat’s so tender and soft, it just melts in your mouth.”
[Yeah, it’s been active since ten minutes ago. Woo-chan’s on standby too, ready to talk anytime.]
The sound of her pen gliding across the fresh memo sheet was completely drowned beneath her cheerful voice.
Han-gyeom glanced over the filled note, then wrote a new single line on the next page.
“That’s funny. I thought the braised ribs were the tastiest too.”
[I want to talk directly. Is that possible?]
Right after he wrote that, Ah-young drew a little carrot next to his question.
“I knew you’d like it too, Han-gyeom.”
Reaching back to her tied-up hair, Ah-young gently loosened her ponytail.
“Oh, by the way, the chef asked me to find out what your favorite food is. Do you have anything you particularly like?”
[By the way, why are we whispering through memos like this?]
“Not really. Honestly, as long as it’s edible and fills me up, I’m good with anything.”
[Because Seo Won might be listening to us.]
“Ah….”
Reading Han-gyeom’s note, Ah-young paused and glanced around.
“Then is there anything you don’t like?”
[You mean he might be eavesdropping on us?]
“It’s kind of a stretch to call it food, but… cat food.”
[Yes, probably. Considering what happened two days ago, he’s likely suspicious that I might be plotting something with you.]
“Cat… what? Huh?”
[Then Director Seo might have sensed—]
Before she could finish the sentence, Ah-young’s hand froze above the memo pad. Her wide eyes darted toward Han-gyeom, startled—but he was staring calmly at the half-written sentence she’d been working on, as if nothing unusual had happened.
“Dog food’s surprisingly okay, you know. Even the dry kind has a bit of fat and a decent smell. But the cat food I tried was that cheap bulk kind they give out to stray cats… tasted like straw, really dusty and rough… What’s wrong?”
Han-gyeom, speaking nonchalantly, finally looked up when he noticed Ah-young’s silence. Her eyes were tinged red. She shut them tightly, as if holding back tears, her lashes already wet.
“No… it’s nothing… really…”
Her voice trembled as she swallowed it back and slowly opened her eyes again, still glistening.
‘We—I mean, I—we really owe Woo-chan everything!’
Ah-young thought back to Kang Woo-chan, who had ventured into the world as an Unregistered Guide for their sake since they were kids. Without him, she wouldn’t have had a clue how to survive after escaping the facility.
They’d probably have ended up like so many other unregistered Ability Users—committing crimes out of desperation and rotting away in the prisons built by the Esper Association.
Or worse, someone might have gathered them up after their capture and created another hell like the Fifth Ability Analysis Research Facility.
Her hand began to tremble instinctively at the thought. And at the same time, a deep wave of sympathy and heartbreak washed over her for Han-gyeom. They had always been together, but he—he’d been utterly alone, tossed onto the cold, filthy floor.
Ah-young roughly wiped the tears welling in her eyes with the back of her hand. Then, at last, she finished the sentence she’d left incomplete.
“From now on, you’ll never have to eat stuff like that again. Never.”
[So you think Director Seo might’ve picked up on something suspicious?]
“I know how to earn my keep now. I don’t go that far anymore unless I really have to.”
[Even if he did notice, it doesn’t matter. At best, it’s just a hunch.]
“Well, don’t go that far at all! Stuff like that is bad, Han-gyeom. Really bad!”
[Got it.]
“Bad…?”
As Han-gyeom tilted his head in confusion, Ah-young gently took his hand as he set the pen down and gave it a small tug. Then, she slipped her hair tie onto his wrist like a bracelet and wrote her next message on a fresh memo page.
“Anyway, let’s eat now. The food’s going to get cold at this rate.”
[It’s easy to use. Just think about wanting to talk to the person it’s linked to. Then you’ll feel the sound enter your head, not your ears. When sending your own voice, just think it clearly in your mind—it’ll transmit right away.]
After writing that, Ah-young picked up her spoon as naturally as possible, making a little clinking sound with her dishware so it would seem like they were just having a casual meal.
“Alright. Let’s eat.”
Han-gyeom glanced down at the hair tie now wrapped around his wrist, then picked up his spoon as well. In his mind, just as Ah-young had written, he focused intently on the thought of speaking with the person linked to the hair tie.
And like magic, a voice that wasn’t his own slipped into his head.
—Han-gyeom, is that you?
Even though the voice hadn’t entered through his ears, it was soaked in kindness.
‘You really never change, do you?’
To Han-gyeom, that warmth was simply astonishing.
Maybe it was because of that thought, but he suddenly felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation—like Kang Woo-chan was smiling inside his mind.
