When he returned to the bedroom, Lee Han-seo was still sound asleep, blissfully unaware of anything around him. Park Woo-jun, careful not to disturb him, gently pressed the homemade ice pack against the swollen area around his eyes.
The cool sensation must’ve felt nice. Han-seo’s lips, which had been slack with exhaustion, twitched into a small, satisfied curve. His head nudged instinctively toward the soft, chilled towel, rubbing against it like a sleepy kitten.
His small face, delicate enough to vanish beneath the span of a single large hand, rested peacefully in deep sleep. Park Woo-jun stood there for a long moment, just watching him. The panic that had once clouded Woo-jun’s eyes had finally faded, leaving only a fragile calm. But even that came with its own flaw.
“……”
That silence—it had sunk too deep. Into a place far darker, damper, and lonelier than words could reach.
Time was moving faster than either of them could hold on to, already urging them to get up and face the day. But for Park Woo-jun, the rest of the night had turned into a quiet punishment—eyes wide open, unable to sleep.
You were meant to move forward. I was always meant to stay behind.
Looking at Han-seo, who had no intention of waking anytime soon, Park Woo-jun let out a faint, bitter smile. His chest was in shambles, and yet just looking at Han-seo made him smile like a fool. It disgusted even him. Julian’s blunt words hadn’t even scratched the surface of the resentment churning inside. Not that Park Woo-jun would ever admit it was resentment.
He already knew—he and Han-seo stood worlds apart, separated by a distance that couldn’t be closed. So why did it hurt so damn much?
Every day, countless times, he wanted to lay everything bare. To cry. To beg.
Only guide me. No—just look at me. Talk to me. Don’t go anywhere without me. I’ll work harder, I’ll push myself even more, so please… don’t train. Don’t surround yourself with people I don’t know. I want to be your entire world, the way you are mine. I don’t care who dies in front of you—just look at me. Me, only me.
If he threw a tantrum like that—if he broke down, loud and messy—Lee Han-seo would probably accept it, just like always. That gentle side of him would take it all in stride, no questions asked.
But if he did that… it would mean stealing Han-seo’s freedom. His will. No matter how sweet the excuse—whether love or care—it wouldn’t change the fact that he’d be holding Han-seo back.
Park Woo-jun didn’t want that. No matter how broken he was inside, he couldn’t be the reason Han-seo lost himself. So what choice did he have? He’d just have to pretend. Pretend to sway like the wind. Pretend to bend—because if he didn’t, he’d just snap in two anyway.
At least the ice pack had helped. By dawn, the swelling around Han-seo’s eyes had gone down enough to almost look normal again.
After dumping the melted ice water into the sink, Park Woo-jun reached for another remedy. He cracked open a plastic bottle and poured a handful of smooth, coated pills straight into his mouth—so many he lost count. The sound of them sliding out of the container reminded him of dirt tumbling into a grave.
He forced the pills down dry, throat raw and burning, each swallow like glass. The pain was sharp—but brief.
And soon enough…
The world went quiet. No more noise. No more chaos. Just silence. If fake peace still counted as peace, then this was the kind that looked good in pictures—something calm, still, and lifeless.
***
“Hey! Lee Han-seo!”
The sudden shout cut through the air like a blade, echoing through the center of headquarters. It caught him completely off guard. It wasn’t the awkward Korean of some foreigner, and it definitely wasn’t Park Woo-jun’s sugary-sweet baby~ that always made him melt. No, this was clear, sharp, and full of bite: “Hey! Lee Han-seo!”
He had just finished a rare external interview and was heading back, still in a good mood. He froze on the spot and turned his head in the direction of the voice, but all he saw were employees rushing past.
“There you are, idiot. What were you even looking at?”
As he stood there, still scanning the area in confusion, a sudden sharp jab hit his arm. It startled him more than it hurt.
“Y-You—Noona?! What the hell?!”
“Been a while, huh? You doing okay?”
The bright grin lighting up the hallway belonged to none other than Lee Hye-soo, a mental-type Esper. They hadn’t seen much of each other lately since they worked at different branches in Korea, but both had entered early as minors, which meant no matter how long it had been, they always picked up right where they left off.
But… what was she doing here? He’d heard she and her Bonded Pair, Han Woo-joo, had separated. She’d even started the Imprint nullification procedure. But that aside—wasn’t she supposed to be in Korea right now? What the hell was she doing, suddenly showing up in Berlin?
“You didn’t even come to greet your noona! I came here on dispatch just for you! And the moment I land, they tell me you’re off somewhere!”
“Dispatch? Wait, what? You’re not even combat personnel!”
“Exactly. But you know how weird the monsters have been lately? Like they’re getting smarter or something. HQ thought it might help to have mental-types go into dungeons, see what’s going on in those freaks’ heads. They wanted A-Class and above, so I pulled rank and forced my way in.”
There really wasn’t anyone else in Korea who could match her in rank or experience as a mental-type Esper. She joked about how fierce the competition was—how everyone was dying to get on a plane—but Lee Han-seo could tell right away that wasn’t the full truth. Not even close.
If it wasn’t a primitive Imprint, then sure—technically, nullification was possible. But in practice? Almost no one actually went through with it. It was rare for a Bonded Pair to even submit the request, and even rarer for them to carry the process to the end.
Especially when it came to Lee Hye-soo and her Guide, Han Woo-joo. From the very beginning of their Matching, they had been inseparably close—so much so that their breakup had become the talk of the entire Center. There probably wasn’t a single person who didn’t know. So when an overseas dispatch opportunity came up, it was only natural that everyone thought of her.
Noona’s okay, right?
Would it be rude to ask? Should I even be thinking about this?
Woo-joo-hyung was really too harsh.
No—wait. What if she picks up on this? What if she reads me?
Don’t think about it. Don’t. Think. About. It…
Lee Han-seo tried desperately to shove the thoughts aside, but the more he told himself not to think about her, the clearer and louder his concern for Hye-soo became.
“Oh, would you look at that—when did my little Han-seo grow up enough to worry about his noona? Should I be proud?”
“…Noona.”
She grinned playfully and made a show of reaching out to ruffle his hair, like she always used to. But instead of relaxing, Han-seo’s expression only tightened. Ever since she’d found stability through her Bonded Pair, Hye-soo had never once intruded on someone’s thoughts without permission. Which meant—if she’d picked up on what he was thinking now…
“What’s your Guiding percentage right now?”
“I’m fine. I’m not dying, okay? Not dying.”
She waved an arm exaggeratedly, like she was trying to make a joke out of it. But as her sleeve slipped down, the movement revealed faint red marks beneath—small, clustered bruises and punctures. Injection sites.
Han-seo’s eyes didn’t miss a thing. And neither did Hye-soo. Her smile faltered for half a second as she quickly tugged the sleeve back down.
“Noona… is that…”
He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t bring himself to ask the question outright: Since breaking the Imprint with Han Woo-joo… have you been surviving without a Guide? Are you relying entirely on substitutes now?
Guiding substitutes were never meant to replace actual Guiding. They dulled the nerves, numbing the brain’s pain receptors, and included a chemical mixture meant to vaguely simulate the effects of a real Guide. It was the best option science had come up with—but it was still just a temporary patch.
And even worse, the base formulation of those substitutes was tailored for physical-type or nature-affinity Espers. Not Special-Types like Hye-soo, whose bodily systems were essentially the same as a regular human’s. For someone like her, the nerve toxins in those shots took a much greater toll. Substitutes were meant for emergencies—something to use when you had no other choice. They were never meant to leave behind scars like that.
“Hye-soo Noona… You’re not—No, tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing. Please, just tell me I’m wrong. Please?”
She didn’t need him to finish the sentence. Every bit of the fear, the desperation, the heartbreak behind those few stammered words—“what I think you’re doing”—she could feel all of it, clear as day.
Because human emotion always hits harder than words.
