But Nabin’s memories and emotions refused to fade. Maybe it was because he treated Nabin every day, yet more than that, it felt as if those memories and feelings slipped right through him and were endlessly absorbed into Ryu Soh-an.
Like sediment layering into stone, Nabin’s memories piled up day after day—enough to make every moment Soh-an spent facing Ryu Somin and his friends feel unbearably painful.
To keep his trembling fingertips from showing, Soh-an took Somin by the arm instead of the hand and led him into the department store. He’d promised to buy him an Artifact for his birthday.
Somin had mentioned a specific Artifact he wanted, so Soh-an had already set money aside. Even as an S-rank Esper, he wasn’t nearly as financially secure as others of his rank, weighed down by the constant cost of Somin’s treatments.
And what Somin wanted wasn’t cheap. No wonder—he desired an Artifact powerful enough to destroy even high-grade ones.
Since the appearance of monsters, Artifacts made from their byproducts had become essential. Just as few would ever grind gemstones into dust, almost no one destroyed Artifacts.
They weren’t only indispensable in battle, but immensely useful in everyday life. In fact, there were more items crafted for ordinary civilians than those restricted to Espers and Guides.
Once corporations were allowed to handle Mana Stones, they had eagerly begun mass-producing Artifacts powered by them.
By now, Artifacts were so common that nearly everyone on the street carried at least one.
The Artifact Somin wanted was one typically used by the police. As criminals grew bolder in using Artifacts, law enforcement had no choice but to carry ones capable of destroying them.
For civilians, however, such items were unpopular. Artifacts were costly, and with black markets thriving, most people thought of stealing and reselling them, not breaking them.
“So why do you want this Artifact, anyway?”
Because of potential misuse, the government and the Center kept the price of destructive Artifacts high. Unless you were like the police and needed one for official duties, they were nearly impossible to obtain.
And especially the kind Somin asked for—the grade that could shatter even high-level Artifacts—was flat-out unavailable to civilians. Only Espers and Guides with thoroughly verified identities could purchase one.
Still, after Somin mentioned it, Soh-an had managed to secure it ahead of time. Even back then, when he’d asked his brother what he wanted for his birthday and heard that answer, he’d felt puzzled. But he still hadn’t asked why.
“Just because. Something dangerous could always happen, right? I don’t have any combat abilities… so I want it for protection.”
Somin smiled brightly as he explained. He hadn’t yet awakened as either an Esper or a Guide—they wouldn’t know until he turned twenty. But in Nabin’s memories, Somin had awakened as an S-rank Guide.
“I’ll protect you. Why would you think like that?”
Soh-an had assumed Somin just wanted it because it was a fascinating item. He hadn’t expected that answer.
A pang of sorrow welled up inside him. Maybe because his little brother had always been frail, Somin was especially defensive about protecting himself and what was his.
“You can’t always be by my side, can you? I should at least have the strength to protect myself.”
At those words, Soh-an gently stroked his cherry-blossom-colored hair. He wasn’t very old himself, but ever since their parents had died young, he’d suddenly had to play the role of parent to his younger brother.
He hadn’t wanted Somin to feel the void of their parents’ absence, so instead of scolding, he’d tried to raise him with love. But now, he wondered if that had been the wrong choice all along.
Whenever he thought of the Somin in Nabin’s memories, it felt as if he had raised his brother into someone who belonged only to him. The realization was bitter, like swallowing a mouthful of foul medicine.
“I’ll protect you, so don’t worry.”
Still, no matter what, Somin was his precious little brother. Just as he protected Nabin, Soh-an made a silent vow to protect Somin too, to keep him from straying down the wrong path.
***
“What the hell, why are you so late?”
“You know—I was out on a long-overdue date with Soh-an hyung.”
As soon as they entered the mansion, Han Jigang, apron on, came storming to the foyer, grumbling at them. His words were sharp and his brow furrowed, but Soh-an knew it wasn’t genuine annoyance.
They’d lived like brothers for more than a decade. Soh-an could read Jigang’s mood just by looking at his eyes.
“The food nearly went cold. Go wash up and get out here. Gong Min and Tae Yishin just got back too.”
“Okay! I’ll be quick.”
Somin replied with an exaggeratedly loud, hearty voice before heading to his room. Instead of following him, Soh-an turned toward the kitchen.
No matter how eccentric their personalities, they all upheld one unspoken rule: if possible, meals were to be eaten together.
Aside from Soh-an and Somin, none of them were bound by blood. Yet between them existed something thicker than blood.
Somin, especially, loved the word family. He insisted not just Soh-an, but all of his older brothers were family—and that family had to eat together.
Though they often complained about his stubbornness, over time, gathering around the same table had simply become part of their daily rhythm.
“You really prepared a lot. Wasn’t it exhausting?”
“Why are you suddenly saying stuff like that?”
Looking at the dining table, so full of dishes it seemed too small for them all, Soh-an muttered softly. Jigang’s brusque reply, spiked with thorns, was just his way of covering embarrassment. He was striking in appearance and rough in speech, but honest with his feelings.
“…Steak, huh.”
Soh-an gave Jigang a faint, weary smile before his gaze fell to the centerpiece of the feast: thick tomahawk steaks, five of them, grilled to perfection and arranged proudly on platters. Clearly, Jigang had gone all out for Somin’s birthday—these were top quality, restaurant-grade cuts.
Except for Somin, everyone had a hearty appetite, so preparing one each was exactly what Jigang would do.
They looked like something straight out of a fine dining restaurant… and before Soh-an could stop it, Nabin’s memories rushed back.
Nabin, too, had once been served a massive steak like this by Jigang. But at that time, he had been drowning in terror and anxiety.
Though the food had looked delicious, he’d felt like he couldn’t breathe. The way his plate had been set apart from theirs, separated by just one space at the table, turned that steak into an invisible act of violence.
The moment Soh-an realized that, it felt as if someone had reached into his chest and crushed his heart in their fist. All the emotions he hadn’t noticed piling up burst into flame from a single spark.
“—Hhhk! Cough…”
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?”
His vision spun. Before he could stop it, thick tears rolled down his cheeks. The suffocating weight of grief pressed on him until his knees buckled with a heavy thud. Through the blur, he saw Jigang frown and grab his arm.
“……”
A strange silence settled between them when Soh-an suddenly shoved Jigang’s hand away. He’d done it with such force that the back of Jigang’s hand reddened and swelled.
Jigang froze at the expression he’d seen in that instant. Staring blankly at his hand, his eyes trembled like flower petals frozen stiff by an icy wind.
“…What’s with the atmosphere in here?”
Just then, Tae Yishin walked into the kitchen, running his fingers through his still-damp hair. He immediately sensed the tension and glanced sharply between the two.
Flustered, Soh-an scrambled to his feet and quickly apologized. His heart still ached, but seeing Jigang’s hardened expression made him nervous.
“Sorry, Jigang hyung… I guess I’m just run down lately. Must be the fatigue.”
“Tired—and that’s supposed to explain this reaction? You?”
The excuse carried no weight. Just as Soh-an knew Jigang, Jigang knew Soh-an.
And the reaction Soh-an had just shown was far too out of character for the man Jigang had known all these years. They’d been together too long for him to believe it could be brushed off as simple fatigue.
