Of course, Han-gyeom had no way of knowing this. He simply couldn’t help but wonder why Seo Won had created such a device in the first place.
From Han-gyeom’s perspective, it wasn’t a bad thing at all.
Originally, Seo Won was supposed to die, and not long after, Han-gyeom would have had to close his eyes as well. The only ending awaiting him was a death by coughing up blood, tormented by seizures that could strike at any moment.
But now, the object that could change that ending was resting in his hands. That alone should’ve made him feel grateful, even happy.
Yet he didn’t have the luxury to think that far. Seo Won’s behavior resembled that of someone preparing to leave for a faraway place, someone carefully getting things in order not for himself, but for the one left behind.
Maybe that was why something kept nagging at him. It felt like a thorn embedded in his brain was starting to prickle again.
Han-gyeom watched as the black energy inside the frozen apple dissipated like melting snow, and then he asked,
“Are you… going somewhere?”
His eyes shifted from the now-clear frozen apple to Seo Won, filled with unease.
“When? Where are you going? How long will you be gone?”
There was a tinge of urgency in his voice, somehow anxious and rushed. Seo Won couldn’t bring himself to answer so easily. He didn’t even know where or when he was going. The only one who could determine that… was Cha Han-gyeom. But as for how long he’d be gone—
‘I won’t be coming back… ever.’
Because he was going to die.
Seo Won couldn’t bring himself to say those words aloud. Even if he could lie to others, there was one person he didn’t want to lie to more than anyone else: Cha Han-gyeom. He’d rather stay silent or look away entirely than speak falsehoods.
Besides, he figured Han-gyeom was asking those questions because of the Black Vein that remained. Only a tiny speck of it was left in his chest. With just a little more Guiding, it would disappear completely—but if he left for good before that happened, it would throw a wrench in Han-gyeom’s plans. That must’ve been why Han-gyeom had sounded so suddenly desperate.
Convinced of this, Seo Won gently laid his warm hand over Han-gyeom’s as he held the frozen apple.
“Don’t worry. Even if I do leave, I’ll make sure to receive all your Guiding before I go.”
Han-gyeom’s lips parted slightly, as if to say something, but then he closed them without a word.
What Seo Won had wanted was Han-gyeom’s relief. But instead, Han-gyeom had to swallow a mix of inexplicable anxiety and disappointment.
‘So he really is leaving.’
It seemed certain now that Seo Won would be going far away sometime soon. Yes… or rather, no… Even though it was a question with a simple yes-or-no answer, the fact that he wouldn’t give a clear response meant only one thing.
‘He’s going to leave me…’
Startled by the words that had surfaced in his mind before he even realized it, Han-gyeom bit down on his lip.
‘It’s probably just a business trip or something. No need to overthink it.’
Once the Guiding was complete and the Black Vein was entirely gone, there would be no reason for Seo Won to stay holed up in the mansion. From that point on, instead of occasionally stepping out like he did now, he’d probably be running around non-stop, barely able to catch his breath.
That was all it was. The sudden anxiety must’ve just been the result of his nerves acting up. Especially since, right up until Seo Won arrived, he’d been completely absorbed in searching through articles about him and Kim Cheol-min.
Han-gyeom glanced at his phone. He had even forgotten to message Jae-woo, who was probably worried about him by now. That’s how completely engrossed he’d been in digging through those articles about Seo Won and Kim Cheol-min.
And in the end, just like Cha Min-hyung had said, he discovered that Seo Won’s life had literally been at stake in that contract. There was a clause stating that if the contract was breached, the transplanted heart would have to be returned to the Esper Association—specifically, to Kim Cheol-min.
‘Why?’
Seo Won’s life was the most precious and valuable thing to him. He was someone who had been desperate to live—even if it meant ripping out another person’s heart and transplanting it into his own. He wasn’t the kind of reckless man who would thoughtlessly gamble that hard-won life away on some contract. He was always cool-headed, rational, and never made deals that would cost him.
Yet he’d wagered his own heart as the price of failure. It was so unbelievable that Han-gyeom kept digging for more articles, but since the statement had come from the prosecution itself, there was no room for doubt.
Han-gyeom looked at Seo Won with a hesitant expression. Their eyes met—and Seo Won’s gaze was unchangingly warm.
‘Should I ask him?’
Why he’d done it. Why he had to enter such an unfair contract. But just as that thought struck him, Min-hyung’s words surfaced in his mind.
“I believe there’s nothing better than ‘turning away’ when it comes to protecting oneself. I, too, have ignored many things up until now.”
“But there’s a big difference between turning away knowingly and doing so in ignorance. I’m sure you understand that much, Mr. Han-gyeom.”
Min-hyung wasn’t wrong. At the very least, Han-gyeom didn’t want to turn a blind eye anymore, not without knowing. Because the fact that someone like Kim Cheol-min had dared to manipulate and tamper with Song Yeon-woo’s heart—Seo Won’s heart—made his blood boil.
So he held himself back. The question had risen all the way to his throat, but he swallowed it silently, choosing not to speak it aloud. If he asked now, Seo Won surely wouldn’t give him a real answer.
No—even if Seo Won gave a proper answer, it wouldn’t be enough to completely erase these suspicions and doubts.
Seo Won had once said something like this:
“It’s up to the listener to decide whether the speaker’s words are truth or lies. There’s no guarantee that what they’re saying is the whole truth.”
And that didn’t just apply to other people. Seo Won himself wasn’t exempt from that, either.
‘Rather than words… what I need is evidence—something with solid facts and clear reasons…’
He needed evidence—pure, untainted by emotion. If it had been the Seo Won of the past, cold and detached, Han-gyeom might’ve been able to ask freely. Even if he were told, “It’s none of your business,” he would’ve pressed on without hesitation. But things were different now. The current Seo Won carried too many uncertainties.
Not only did he show a wider range of emotions, but whenever their eyes met—just like now—he always looked at Han-gyeom with such warmth. Even when speaking, it was obvious how carefully he chose each word in his mouth. And more often than not, he kept his mouth shut unnecessarily. Just earlier, hadn’t he paused momentarily before answering Han-gyeom’s question about where he was going, only to carefully pick his response?
‘Seo Won has changed. Min-hyung must’ve known, too!’
Knowing how much Seo Won had changed, Min-hyung hadn’t told him to confront him directly or press for details. Because he understood—no matter how much Han-gyeom asked, the current Seo Won would never tell him the full truth. That was probably why Min-hyung had discreetly pointed him toward hard, irrefutable evidence.
“Once your thoughts are in order, look for a small black USB. I believe Director Seo hid it somewhere in the mansion.”
Grinding his teeth in secret so that Seo Won wouldn’t notice, Han-gyeom turned Min-hyung’s words over in his mind.
“There’s just one thing I hope from you, Han-gyeom.”
“Whatever it is, I hope you don’t regret it.”
Just like Min-hyung had said, he didn’t want to regret anything. Not anymore. Ever since that day when he was forced to drive Song Yeon-woo into a berserk state with his own hands, he had vowed never to live with regret again.
‘Just this once… Just this one time, that’s all.’
Whatever Seo Won was hiding, whatever secrets he was keeping—it shouldn’t matter. Maybe… it really shouldn’t matter.
And yet, he kept wanting to uncover the truth surrounding Seo Won. Because of that damned thorn embedded in his mind. Because the ache in his chest and the strange pull of his heart were bothering him far too much. That was all.
So just this once. He wanted to dig into it—just this one time.
***
Two days later, Seo Won left the mansion once again.
That day, he was scheduled to appear for questioning by the prosecution. Originally, the summons had been planned for a later date, something more relaxed, but the situation had taken an unexpected turn when Kim Cheol-min collapsed from psychological shock.
When Kim Cheol-min eventually regained consciousness, he was left a broken shell of a man, barely able to speak.
Public opinion was convinced that Kim Cheol-min was faking it, pretending to be mentally incapacitated. Even though the prosecution was conducting their investigation with that in mind, the attending physician’s assessment was quite firm.
In the end, there was a strong likelihood that he would be declared legally insane and placed in psychiatric confinement.
Because of Kim Cheol-min’s condition, the prosecution had no choice but to shift their focus toward Seo Won, digging deeper into him instead. They had to stage a performance that showed they were taking public opinion seriously, and so it couldn’t be helped. Seo Won seemed to have anticipated this much; he responded to the prosecution’s summons without a single complaint.
On that same day—while Seo Won was away from the mansion—Han-gyeom left the bedroom with Ah-young in tow.
He had wanted to leave the frozen apple behind since it was such a hassle to carry around, but after Seo Won had inserted that strange black orb into it two days ago, he no longer had the freedom to do as he pleased.
Seo Won had insisted that he carry it with him wherever he went. Even Ah-young and the other bodyguards were now keeping an eye on it. If he were to suffer a seizure without the frozen apple while Seo Won was away, it would be catastrophic.
With no other option, Han-gyeom stuffed the frozen apple into the pocket of his cardigan and made his way toward the office with Ah-young.
‘I’ve already used the excuse of sightseeing to search the rest of the house!’
Of course, it wasn’t likely that the USB would be hidden in the parlor or the guest rooms, but he had thoroughly checked them anyway. As expected, he found nothing.
He had also scoured the bedroom time and time again, but that was a dead end too. Since he practically lived in that room 24/7, it made no sense for Seo Won to hide something important there.
The only places left unchecked were the garden outside the mansion—and Seo Won’s private office.
The garden, constantly monitored by guards and maintained daily by the gardener, was an unlikely hiding place. That left the office as the most probable location.
Once he came to that conclusion, his steps quickened.
“Mr. Han-gyeom, why are you in such a hurry?”
Ah-young, walking behind him, asked with curiosity. In response, Han-gyeom casually shook the empty cigarette case he’d prepared in advance.
“I’m desperate for a smoke.”
“Ah, right. You usually keep your spares in Director Seo’s office, don’t you?”
Ah-young nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. Just as she said, Han-gyeom’s spare cigarettes and lighters were always kept in the drawer of Seo Won’s office. Thanks to that, his current destination didn’t seem suspicious in the slightest.
When they reached the office, Han-gyeom stopped Ah-young from entering with him.
“Ah-young, I’ve gone so long without a smoke today that I think I’ll go through quite a few. It’ll probably take a while, so go ahead and take a break.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the smell though…”
“I’m not sure how much I’ll be smoking. I just don’t want you getting uncomfortable, so I’ll go in alone.”
“Hmm… alright. I’ll wait outside, then. Call me if you need anything.”
She gave him a warm smile, and Han-gyeom returned it briefly before stepping into the office alone.
The moment he shut the door behind him, his gaze sharpened like a blade.
