There was no trace of menace in his expression. He simply asked, as if subtly probing for an opening to throw a mild tantrum.
“That’s impossible.”
Han-gyeom replied, feeling the sensation of his fingers brushing against his own lips.
“All I did was take a lap through each corridor using GP. Any guide could’ve done the same if they were properly trained.”
He answered nonchalantly, yet lightly bit down on the fingertip that had touched his lips. The sensation that traveled to Seo Won wasn’t pain—more like a ticklish tingle.
“So don’t be suspicious.”
All of a sudden, Han-gyeom grabbed Seo Won’s tie. As if that weren’t enough, he shoved his body to the side, pushing him down.
It wasn’t a force strong enough to actually topple someone who resisted, but Seo Won obediently let himself fall without protest. Han-gyeom straddled him with ease, positioning himself atop his body, with the overhead light casting his face in shadow.
Han-gyeom being assertive like this wasn’t exactly unpleasant. In fact, it wasn’t bad at all.
“I’m not just your Imprint. I’m your contractor too.”
The way he confidently stated who he belonged to and who he was bound by contract with—it was something Seo Won liked.
“As long as that contract exists, I’ll only guide you. No one else.”
That bold reply, which defied his usual calm demeanor, was also more than welcome.
Still, Seo Won didn’t like the word “contract.” Even though he was the one who’d made it necessary for Han-gyeom to say that, he wished that particular word would just vanish from his answer. Why, though?
Just then, Han-gyeom’s gaze turned firm as he stared straight at Seo Won.
“So there’s no way I’m going to guide Jae-woo.”
“Try trusting me for once.”
“Then, while you’re at it, let Jae-woo stay here for the time being.”
Han-gyeom asserted boldly without an ounce of hesitation, looking down at Seo Won. Even though he knew Seo Won was glaring back at him in disapproval, his determination remained unshaken.
“If you let him out now, those terrorists will do whatever they want with him. He doesn’t know a thing and he’s going to be used up completely.”
“That’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s not a situation where you can afford to ignore him.”
“What are you talking about?”
Seo Won looked up at Han-gyeom’s dark eyes, puzzled. The light was behind him, so he couldn’t tell who—or what—was reflected in them, but one thing was certain: Han-gyeom was looking directly at him.
“Did you already forget the clause I added to the contract?”
Han-gyeom then recited the provision he had written into their contract, word for word.
The principal shall deliver the full payment owed to the second party in cash at the end of each month to the representative, Song Jae-woo.
Seo Won’s eyes twitched slightly at those words. In contrast, Han-gyeom appeared not only unfazed, but downright confident.
“You agreed to hand over the money I’m supposed to receive to Jae-woo, remember? On the last day of every month, in cash.”
Only then did Seo Won grasp what Han-gyeom was leveraging. According to the clause Han-gyeom had written into the contract, Seo Won was required to hand over the full amount to Song Jae-woo—in cash, on the last day of every month. No exceptions.
That was part of the agreement between Seo Won and Han-gyeom. And since they both signed it, they were both bound to uphold the contract. That included Seo Won, the principal.
If Song Jae-woo were to die or disappear under suspicious circumstances, it would constitute a breach of that clause. In that case, Han-gyeom would have every right to invoke the contract and raise objections.
“So handing over money to Song Jae-woo wasn’t the only reason you put that in.”
“You’re the one who took Jae-woo hostage first. This is the least I could do.”
Han-gyeom gave a faint smile, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. What might have come off as cunning instead struck Seo Won as oddly seductive.
Looking back, Seo Won had indeed taken Jae-woo hostage to pressure Han-gyeom during the contract negotiations. And it had been Seo Won himself who signed off on the clause without a second thought after seeing what Han-gyeom had written.
He had no grounds for rebuttal.
Still, he didn’t dislike it. Even this sly side of Han-gyeom appealed to him in a strange way.
Of course, he still found Han-gyeom’s attentiveness to Song Jae-woo irritating. But once all this was over, he could just kick Song Jae-woo out of the estate. Exile him far enough that he’d never set foot near them again, and that thorn in his side would be gone.
For now, letting things go Han-gyeom’s way seemed like less of a hassle than dealing with the fallout of sending Song Jae-woo away prematurely. With that, Seo Won gave a slight nod.
“Fine. We’ll keep Song Jae-woo in the estate for the time being. Satisfied?”
Han-gyeom’s face noticeably softened. The smile was the same, but this time it was as if the air around them had warmed, suddenly and unmistakably.
“Thanks.”
That honest word of relief brushed past Seo Won’s chest, leaving a faint, ticklish trace in its wake.
Without realizing it, he nearly reached out to grab Han-gyeom’s face. He felt an overwhelming urge to pull him down and trap him underneath, kissing him rough and without warning.
But Han-gyeom’s sudden startled shift in expression snapped him out of it. Seo Won’s arms, which had already risen to Han-gyeom’s waist, froze in place.
Han-gyeom seemed just as surprised by his own sense of relief and comfort—and even by the word “thanks” that had slipped out. He had never imagined he’d sincerely feel grateful toward Seo Won.
After a moment of composure, Han-gyeom smoothed out his expression and returned to his usual detached demeanor. He placed his hand on Seo Won’s tie, gently loosening it. Then, as if it were the most natural follow-up, he began unbuttoning Seo Won’s black shirt one by one.
“How was the bait?”
Han-gyeom asked, shifting the topic as he undressed him.
Realizing immediately that the bait Seo Won had referred to was his double, Han-gyeom quietly looked up at him and replied.
“It worked pretty well.”
Seo Won had only created a doppelgänger of someone else a handful of times in his life. Replicating his own form was easy—he could refer to himself directly and produce a flawless copy with practiced ease. But when it came to copying someone else, the process was far more complex. Unless he had observed them for a long time, even the most convincing facsimile would still carry an undeniable sense of unnaturalness.
But Cha Han-gyeom was different.
Cha Han-gyeom’s body, his voice, his speech patterns, the way his gaze moved, his instinctive mannerisms, even the rhythm of his heartbeat—Despite only having known him for a few short months, Seo Won had recreated him perfectly. So flawlessly, in fact, that no one around them could tell the difference. Other than Seo Won himself, no one realized the one they were seeing was just a copy.
Han-gyeom’s slender fingers undid the last of Seo Won’s shirt buttons.
“Then you must’ve used your ability.”
If the bait had worked, that meant he had come into direct contact with the terrorists. And his early return, ditching the schedule, clearly had something to do with it.
“A little.”
At Seo Won’s terse reply, Han-gyeom spread open the shirt, pulling the fabric aside. His brows furrowed faintly.
“That’s not ‘a little.’”
His fingertips brushed across the web of Black Veins spread across Seo Won’s body. They ran over the firm muscle of his chest, tracing the interwoven black lines as they slid upward to the edge of his collarbone.
Back before Seo Won had left for the demonstration, the last time Han-gyeom guided him, the veins had retreated a good five or six centimeters below the collarbone. But now, the faint black lines extended all the way to the bone, practically curling over it.
It had progressed far too much for it to be just the cost of replicating another person’s form. At this stage, it would likely take at least three days of consistent guiding just to reverse the damage.
“How much of your ability did you burn through?”
Frustration finally slipped into Han-gyeom’s voice.
In response, Seo Won, who had been quietly lying still, suddenly pulled Han-gyeom close, arms wrapped tightly around his waist.
“Is how much I used really that important to you?”
“Of course it is. Your body’s covered in pre-outbreak symptoms.”
Han-gyeom glared at him, eyes filled with disbelief.
“What are you going to do if it accelerates and you go into a full outbreak?”
“With you here, do you really think that’s even possible?”
Han-gyeom, his hands pressed to Seo Won’s chest, was now forcibly drawn in so close their bodies nearly touched. His expression was tangled with complexity, while Seo Won’s gaze was calm—unshaken, like a single road stretching straight into the distance.
Meeting his eyes, Han-gyeom found himself at a loss for words.
After a moment of silence between them, it was Han-gyeom who finally looked away first.
“…I’ll guide you. Just stay still.”
“Think I’ll consider it.”
Han-gyeom’s crimson eyes flared as he shot a quick glare at Seo Won, who chuckled softly in his throat.
A red aura began to gather around Han-gyeom’s hand, still pressed to Seo Won’s chest. It shimmered like a wavering mirage, then slowly, seamlessly sank into Seo Won’s skin where their bodies touched.
And then—
“Urgh!”
Han-gyeom suddenly let out a stifled groan, as if something had struck him.
“Cha Han-gyeom?”
Startled by the sudden reaction, Seo Won sat up abruptly, still holding him. Han-gyeom, now straddling Seo Won’s thighs, trembled as his hand remained pressed to Seo Won’s chest.
“Ha…”
Han-gyeom let out a breathless scoff and pulled back his shaking hands.
“What’s wrong? …Cha Han-gyeom?”
Seo Won was trying to figure out what had just happened when he noticed the red flow of energy spilling from Han-gyeom. It was no longer the usual warm and gentle stream—it had shifted, spiking outward like jagged thorns, erratic and sharp.
“Someone… dared to tamper with what’s mine.”
Han-gyeom’s voice dripped with unmistakable, uncharacteristic malice.
