Cha Han-gyeom finally managed to grasp the chunk of ice in his hands—ice that wasn’t cold to the touch. Hugging it tightly to his chest, he drew in a deep breath. He inhaled desperately, just like he used to when taking the “medicine.”
Through his nose and mouth, the familiar energy flooded in. Like an unplaceable scent, it immediately overwhelmed his respiratory tract and settled deep within.
His feverish body seemed to calm, if only a little. The cough that had been moments from erupting sank beneath his throat, swirling restlessly.
But this only delayed the inevitable seizure for a fleeting moment. Crucially, his body couldn’t fully accept the energy.
Before, he could soak a handkerchief with the drug and cover his mouth and nose to concentrate solely on the Imprint’s energy.
Breathing is the most fundamental instinct that keeps one alive. Block it, and the body will desperately try to draw in something, anything, by force of instinct. That desperate, urgent need to breathe is what allows the Imprint’s energy to be absorbed completely.
If he could focus like that now, he might be able to take it in properly. But he couldn’t. Maybe because his breathing wasn’t restricted, his instincts weren’t fully kicking in.
‘When I was with Seo Won… it wasn’t like this.’
When he was in Seo Won’s arms, he didn’t have to block his breathing at all. Just staying still, letting himself be enveloped completely by that presence, was enough. His body reacted on its own. Like rewinding time, his rotting organs would swiftly return to normal, and the sense of stability that blanketed his body far surpassed anything he’d felt from inhaling the “medicine.”
Seo Won himself had been his tranquilizer.
Even just his scent was enough to keep the seizures at bay.
Han-gyeom curled in on himself, clutching the hollow ghost apple tightly to his chest.
He could feel the Imprint’s energy.
He could feel the intense aura—like Seo Won’s pheromones—wafting from it.
And yet, for some reason, this damn body kept hesitating in the face of that energy.
While Han-gyeom remained huddled on the verge of collapse, holding the ghost apple, Jung Ah-young had rushed out of the room to call for medical personnel from the other guards.
“Mr. Han-gyeom, the doctor will be here soon! Just hang in there a little longer!”
Even as she said it, Ah-young didn’t know what to do.
She’d witnessed Han-gyeom suffer seizures several times before. At first, he would cough so violently that it hurt just to watch. Then, as if he’d swallowed poison, he would start coughing up blood. The hacking sound of his coughs would grow heavier, until she could hear thick chunks forcing their way out—and it always sent chills down her spine, as if she were the one dying.
Han-gyeom, who usually didn’t show a hint of pain. Even when walking looked unbearable with his pallid complexion, he never once said he was in pain. But when the seizures struck, he looked completely broken. In those moments, when he whispered “It hurts” with childlike eyes so dark they seemed ready to go out at any moment, everyone around him looked as if they were sharing his suffering.
‘You said he’d be fine!’
Ah-young found herself cursing Seo Won silently.
He’d said the ice apple infused with his energy would be enough. That as long as Han-gyeom had it, he’d be stable.
But Han-gyeom was still in agony. It was obvious he was barely holding back the coughing fit struggling to erupt.
Even if a doctor arrived, there was no guarantee that Han-gyeom would be okay.
The only way to stop the seizure was to deeply inhale and absorb Seo Won’s energy. No matter how skilled the Espers in the medical field were, how much could they really do for him?
Just then, the phone in Ah-young’s blazer pocket started to ring. She quickly pulled it out, and her face instantly lit up.
“It’s Executive Director Seo!”
She shouted, but Han-gyeom could only manage a weak glance toward the phone, still too focused on trying to steady his ragged breathing.
In Han-gyeom’s mind, this wasn’t something Seo Won could fix. The energy was already here, cradled in his arms—it was just a matter of accepting it.
Of course, if Seo Won were to show up in person, things would be different. He wouldn’t need to rely on this artificial vessel—just being in his embrace would be enough to settle everything.
But knowing that was impossible due to the distance, Han-gyeom never expected to lean on him in the first place.
Even if Seo Won knew what was happening, nothing would change.
Ah-young answered the call, and he could hear her talking to Seo Won. But his head was spinning, and a strange numbness took over his senses just from the effort of breathing. He couldn’t make out what they were saying.
‘Hyung…’
With nowhere else to turn, Han-gyeom found his thoughts drifting to Song Yeon-woo’s face.
What if Song Yeon-woo were still alive?
If he were, the organs he’d created wouldn’t have failed, and Han-gyeom wouldn’t be having these seizures in the first place.
And even if he did have a seizure, Song Yeon-woo would never have left him alone like this.
‘What the hell am I thinking…’
The moment he tried to erase that thought from his mind, a wave of self-loathing hit him.
The only reason Song Yeon-woo had been able to focus solely on him was because he was imprisoned in that wretched research facility. And now here he was, comforting himself with the thought that at least he hadn’t been alone because of it.
He had used Song Yeon-woo so thoroughly—how dare he think this way?
“Khh—cough…”
That bitter shame and self-mockery finally manifested physically.
It was a miracle he’d held it back for this long, but in the end, a small cough slipped out between breaths.
Once it started, the coughing came faster and harder. A tickling sensation deep in his gut gave way to a sharp ache.
—Cha Han-gyeom.
He flinched at the voice that reached his ear just in time.
The coughing that was about to erupt from his throat stopped dead.
He looked up to see Ah-young holding the phone to his ear, her eyes filled with anxious hope.
—Focus on my voice.
It was strange—miraculous, even.
Despite the fog in his head, Seo Won’s voice alone rang crystal clear, as if he were whispering right beside him.
—Inhale when I say one, exhale when I say two. You can do that, right?
Han-gyeom’s entire focus funneled toward the voice in his ear. He didn’t answer aloud—just gave a slow, deliberate nod.
Even from far away, it was as if Seo Won had sensed the silent reply. Or maybe he simply believed Han-gyeom would listen without resistance.
Instead of waiting for a response, Seo Won began to count steadily, just like he’d said—one, two.
It was like guiding a child, but that simplicity made it easier to concentrate.
When Seo Won said “one,” Han-gyeom drew in a breath as deep as he could manage.
When he said “two,” Han-gyeom exhaled slowly, as though purging the toxic air from his lungs.
A few coughs escaped during the process. But Seo Won never sounded annoyed or impatient. He waited, calm and steady, before giving the next cue.
With each deep breath, Seo Won’s dark energy began to seep quietly into Han-gyeom’s body. It grazed the inside of his throat, then spread inward, like it was mending the cracked and withering organs within him.
It wasn’t an instant recovery—not like when he was in Seo Won’s actual embrace—but there was no doubt it was working.
Once Han-gyeom’s breathing finally steadied, Seo Won’s voice came again.
—Imagine you’re holding me.
His voice was unbelievably gentle. It was the same voice he’d used while lying on the bed, whispering sweet nothings into Han-gyeom’s tired ears—soft enough to melt someone completely.
—What you’re holding is me. I’m the one in your arms.
Seo Won’s hypnotic words made Han-gyeom lower his gaze.
In his arms was the transparent ice apple he was clutching so tightly, almost desperately. Through the hollow center, he could see his own pale thigh on the other side.
His hands were crushing the apple against his chest—his palms red from the pressure, his fingers ghostly white.
That’s when he noticed it—something he hadn’t realized before.
Within the crystal-clear ghost apple, a black energy was now swirling.
When he first pulled it into his arms, it hadn’t been there.
Han-gyeom’s wavering eyes focused on the vortex of Seo Won’s energy spinning inside.
The vortex whirled faster, as if it had been waiting for his attention, expanding until it filled the entire shell of ice.
By then, Seo Won’s presence had become overwhelming.
Even without taking deep breaths, the energy was so abundant it naturally settled inside his body.
—I’m right beside you.
Seo Won’s voice, hypnotic to the point of brainwashing, wrapped around Han-gyeom’s fragile mind like a tether, anchoring him.
The vortex inside the transparent apple swelled to fill every crevice, perfectly packed.
‘This is…’
A black apple.
Hadn’t someone once said this hollow ghost apple resembled him?
But now that the black energy—Seo Won’s ESP, his will—had completely filled it, it no longer looked like a “ghost” at all.
As Han-gyeom realized that the seizure had completely vanished from his body without a trace, he could only sit and stare blankly at the blackened apple cradled in his arms.
