Each time he performed a Guiding session, Cha Han-gyeom used to avert his gaze, his expression always betraying an effort to suppress something.
But now, he stared straight up at him—his face flushed with arousal, unflinchingly exposed.
No matter how humiliating, incomprehensible, or unreasonable the task was, he had always followed obediently.
Instead, the seizures had become more frequent. They would start with a cough, progress to vomiting blood, and, if severe enough, end with him collapsing—always following the same pattern.
The only difference now was the person he sought out for relief.
As soon as the coughing began, his eyes would scan for Seo Won. If he wasn’t nearby, Han-gyeom would grow anxious and eventually collapse. And if Seo Won approached him late, he’d find Han-gyeom desperately clinging to him, as if begging for his life.
An indescribable sense of superiority and satisfaction welled up inside him.
Seeing Cha Han-gyeom rely on him completely, as though he’d forgotten his previous Imprinter altogether, pleased him immensely.
At first, Seo Won had been suspicious—so much so that he’d lashed out with harsh words, demanding to know the reason behind the sudden change.
The answer that came back was painfully grounded in reality.
“Because you’re my Imprinter.”
It was exactly what Seo Won had longed to hear.
In the past, the only thing Han-gyeom would’ve said was, ‘Because you have my Imprinter’s heart.’
But now, as if he’d resigned himself to everything and accepted it, he referred to Seo Won as his Imprinter.
The moment he heard those words, Seo Won’s chest pounded violently. Whether it was because of the imprinted heart—or because it was truly his own emotion—he couldn’t tell.
What mattered was that there was no longer any sign of resistance in Cha Han-gyeom.
Even when Seo Won provoked him with cruel words, treated him like a whore, or gazed at him with cold contempt, Han-gyeom never wavered.
He would only look back at him, unbothered and unflinching, as if nothing could hurt him.
“Good. Less of a hassle that way.”
With a somewhat satisfied expression, Seo Won pulled Han-gyeom into his arms and closed his eyes.
That dawn.
Han-gyeom slowly opened his eyes and rose in silence.
He gazed down at Seo Won, bathed in moonlight.
Something he’d learned after sleeping beside him recently—Seo Won entered a deep sleep for a set amount of time, rarely waking on his own.
Sure, if an alarm went off, a light suddenly flicked on, or something fell with a loud noise, he’d jolt awake. But small movements or a gentle touch didn’t seem to disturb him.
Even now, Han-gyeom had removed the arm Seo Won had draped around him, yet there was no sign of him waking.
He gently shifted Seo Won onto his back. Moonlight cast a soft glow over his peacefully sleeping face.
Rustle. The faint sound of the sheet brushing against skin echoed in the quiet.
Before he knew it, Han-gyeom had climbed atop the sleeping Seo Won. He remained perfectly still, careful not to press down with his full weight, silently staring down at him.
Several minutes passed in that eerie quiet before Han-gyeom’s hands began to move.
Toward Seo Won’s neck.
It might’ve been difficult with one hand, but with two, it seemed he could wrap around it convincingly.
Han-gyeom calmly placed both hands around Seo Won’s throat. He crossed his thumbs over the precise spot that would cut off air, while the rest of his fingers formed a snare around his neck—like sharp traps meant to catch a wild beast.
“Could I really do it with my own strength?”
He wasn’t confident in his grip strength, but maybe—if he kept pressing, kept holding—he’d succeed eventually. That is, assuming the man didn’t wake up.
With a blank expression, Han-gyeom envisioned strangling Seo Won… then slowly climbed off of him.
Sitting beside the sleeping Seo Won, he gazed out the window and murmured quietly,
“I wish I could kill him faster.”
Han-gyeom’s face, though it uttered something terrifying, showed no trace of emotion.
What surfaced in his mind was the image of the letter and the lighter he’d left in his room drawer.
The morning after he lost his Imprinter because of Seo Won—at the break of dawn.
Haggard and worn down, Han-gyeom had left the hospital room and returned to his own. But what greeted him was a room completely cleaned, as if nothing had happened. And that broke him.
There wasn’t a single thing left to remember by. Even the medicine bottle that once held the ashes had vanished without a trace.
Grief-stricken, he couldn’t stop the tears.
Then, by chance, he noticed the drawer was slightly ajar.
If someone had cleaned up the chaos from the day before, there should’ve been no reason for that drawer to be left open.
Feeling a strange sense of unease, he opened it—only to find a lighter inside. It had barely enough gas to produce a small flame, but still… it was something.
That kind of lighter shouldn’t have been in the room. Driven by a hunch, Han-gyeom pulled the drawer all the way out and checked inside.
To his astonishment, there was a letter. Someone had left it behind.
Han-gyeom read the letter multiple times—and ended up breaking down in tears once more. After sobbing for a long time with the letter clutched to his chest,
The look in Han-gyeom’s tear-streaked eyes had changed.
Gone was the helpless, weak light.
What replaced it was something dark and determined—aimed at a singular goal.
Using the nearly empty lighter, he managed to set the letter ablaze with a tiny flame. He burned what remained again and again until it was gone, then flushed the ashes down the toilet in the bathroom attached to his room.
Even now, Han-gyeom remembered every word written in that letter.
His eyes, colder than moonlight, turned toward Seo Won.
For now, he would go along with whatever Seo Won wanted. Like a well-behaved puppet, like an obedient servant. If Seo Won wanted affection—the kind only lovers shared—he would fabricate that, too. Until Seo Won’s perfect Guiding was complete.
And in Han-gyeom’s eyes, emotions that had never truly surfaced before took shape: seething fury, venomous hatred, and—what he despised most—utter contempt.
***
“Starting tomorrow, there’s a mandatory product showcase I can’t miss. I’ll be away for a few days.”
Han-gyeom straightened his posture and looked at Seo Won.
He had wondered why Seo Won had called him in so early only to screw him senseless again, but apparently, this was the real reason—to tell him something else. No wonder they only went at it twice this time.
Seo Won was already seated at his desk, preparing for his next set of tasks.
Come to think of it, he really hasn’t left the mansion at all…
Just as Han-gyeom thought, Seo Won had been handling all his work right here in the home office. It was almost suspicious how a CEO of a thriving company managed everything from home and still kept things running so smoothly. But the reason behind it was rather obvious.
It must’ve been because of Black Vein.
To the outside world, Seo Won was just a “civilian.”
Though he was, in truth, an unregistered ability user suspected to be a high-grade Esper, that civilian status was what allowed him to serve as the CEO of a private company.
The Esper Associations of every nation held absolute authority to control and claim Espers under their jurisdiction.
No matter how powerful or high-ranking someone was, the moment they were identified as an Esper, they fell under the Association’s lifelong control.
Many had resisted this, but the governments had always sided with the Association.
After all, Espers played a critical role in the military, law enforcement, and intelligence sectors. Even nations couldn’t ignore or oppose the institutions that managed them.
In that context, if it were ever revealed that Seo Won was an Esper, his current position wouldn’t be at the home office of Prism BioBattery—it would be in a bureau under the Esper Association.
That was why Seo Won did all of his work from within the mansion, never stepping outside.
Even back then, it was his double that handled things outside. So I guess he’s been managing everything that way.
There were signs that he used his ability after every Guiding session—even without his doppelgänger visible. Since the doppelgänger and the real body shared the same brain in real time, it was entirely possible for Seo Won to continue his work in one form while the other handled things elsewhere.
And just like before, when he’s close enough, he can transfer some of the senses he wants to experience…
Han-gyeom wiped the semen off his body, recalling the time he had done a Guiding session in his room with Seo Won’s double. The memory left a bad taste in his mouth.
Sensing the situation, Han-gyeom buttoned up the shirt over his bare legs and asked,
“Why not send your doppelgänger to the showcase?”
If it was just “a few days,” perhaps the issue was the limited duration of the clone.
If it were nearby, he could continually inject ESP to maintain it, but at long distances, he’d heard they could barely last a day.
Even if Seo Won’s ability was exceptional enough to create clones that could fool almost anyone, there was a hard limit to how much ESP a single clone could hold.
Han-gyeom assumed that must’ve been the reason—but the reply he got was completely unexpected.
“There’ll be high-ranking Espers at the event, including executives from the Korean Esper Association. Even some from foreign associations. If I send a clone, they’ll notice immediately.”
“…What?”
Han-gyeom’s expression hardened.
“You really think going in person will keep you from being exposed to those people?”
If Association officials were gathering there, then naturally, for security reasons, they’d bring along Espers with detection abilities.
In fact, whenever a crackdown unit was dispatched or a particular zone was cordoned off, there was always at least one Esper with sensory capabilities involved.
Seo Won glanced at Han-gyeom’s bare legs beneath the shirt, then casually flipped open a file on his desk with a disinterested gaze.
