At the sight of that person pushing him away, Han Jigang felt the heart that had been pounding so fiercely only moments before turn to ice, the beat freezing into pain.
“Haah……”
He clenched the hand that had been reaching out, squeezing so hard his palm hurt, forcing it to stop. He didn’t even know the other’s name yet, but it was impossible to miss that the fear was because of him.
The eyes fixed on him were stained red. The way the muscles tensed along that delicate jawline showed him exactly how his presence was being received.
He never wanted to scare them. Even though his chest was in chaos, heating, freezing, twisting with emotion, he forced a faint smile to stay on his lips.
Moving slowly so as not to alarm them, he sank to his knees. Just as he watched them, they never took their eyes off him, and he studied that tear-stained face in silence.
The moment their gazes met, when he saw those eyes blurred and streaked with transparent tears, Han Jigang felt a fresh agony—like dozens of needles driving straight through his skull.
They were standing in a sunlit garden, but the instant their eyes locked, he was dragged into a place heavy with the reek of blood.
It was an illusion that felt more real than reality: a pale body submerged in crimson water, the throat tightening as if it were being strangled.
“Ghhk……”
A groan, rough with pain, slipped through his clenched teeth. But even that couldn’t compare to the agony of his heart being torn apart.
No—stronger than the pain was how every one of his senses was being pulled into the person before him, dragging him out of the vision and back into reality.
“…I’m sorry.”
Tears welled in his eyes. The blurred face before him closed and opened its eyes as if reluctant, and guilt rained down into his chest like a storm of hail he could not avoid.
Fragmented memories flashed chaotically through his mind. All he could manage was an apology. If he could, he wanted to rip open his chest and show the other his crushed, trembling heart.
Even through the confusion, one truth stood out clear and absolute: he had already lost this person once.
That single fact among the tangled mess of memories left a wound in Han Jigang’s heart that would never heal. He couldn’t lose them again. He’d rather die than feel that monstrous, suffocating sense of loss once more.
His trembling hand reached up, stroking the pale face with care. But as soon as he touched them, they recoiled, and he curled his fingers into a fist instead of following.
The faint warmth that lingered on his palm made his heart throb. The ache spread through his veins, flooding his body. His chest swelled painfully, then deflated, rising and falling in unbearable waves.
He had no time to notice the wetness soaking his face. The moment he faced the person from his dreams here, in reality, Han Jigang knew his entire world had been overturned.
The order of the world beneath his feet shattered and reassembled in fragments. He had always lived for himself. Even when he had nothing, he’d survived with nothing but pride.
No parents, no home, no money… nothing. But pride alone let him fight the world and survive.
If it hadn’t been for the friends he’d met in childhood, Han Jigang might have ended his life early—stabbed in the back, left to rot in some alley with the rest of the trash.
His life had changed the moment he and his friends manifested as S-rank Espers. Even B-rank would have been enough to guarantee a life free of struggle.
But it was as if they’d devoured every miracle the world had to offer—he’d manifested as the rare S-rank. And his power fit his nature perfectly: flames, freely commanded at will.
With no brakes on his personality and now the strength to rule over others, he only grew more reckless. He got used to plowing through life, ignoring the circumstances of anyone in his way.
The only times he tried to restrain himself were in the relationships with the friends who’d grown up with him like brothers. But even with them, if his mood soured, he showed it without hesitation.
If not for Ryu Soh-an’s gentle heart and Gong Min’s steady nature, he and Tae Yishin would have long since cut ties and gone their separate ways, living even more selfishly than they did.
He had never regretted a thing. Even when he did something that should have been regrettable, he chose to think, I did it; it couldn’t be helped, and kept walking toward the future instead of clinging to the past.
But now, he regretted it. Even amid the storm of memories, he remembered with painful clarity how he had once lost all reason to regret.
He hadn’t resisted when that emotion opened its jaws to devour him; he’d surrendered and let it seize his throat. His final memory had been of dying slowly, drowned in remorse so deep he’d wanted to tear apart his own personality and rebuild it from the ground up.
“…Kim Nabin.”
When the name finally surfaced, Han Jigang wanted to die. Those three syllables rolled on his tongue and shook his collapsing heart.
His face twisted painfully, and he panted like someone who’d forgotten how to breathe. It felt as though sandpaper was scraping his heart raw.
From the very first moment, why hadn’t he been kinder? He should have embraced this person gently, someone who had clearly fought through a brutal life. Instead, his hands dragged them out of a wrecked car like baggage.
When he was first introduced to him as his Dedicated Guide, he had abandoned him, left unarmed and unprotected, and watched him bleed out. Would the guilt be any less if he had blinded himself rather than look down with contempt as the terrified young man lost control?
That night, driven by lust, he had taken what he wanted, burrowing into that fragile body, treating someone who deserved nothing but tenderness like a soulless doll, shattering not just his body but his heart.
Every time their bodies met, Nabin had wept in pain. And even seeing those tears, Han Jigang turned away, comforting himself with the excuse that those tears were only natural.
Even after realizing his feelings for Nabin, he had been selfish. He never once tried to learn what Nabin thought, or how he felt.
Until the day Nabin’s wrists were burned raw from countless tears spilled in despair… he had refused to see. The cost of that refusal was unbearable. It had been a mistake to dismiss the past as something already over. While he dreamed only of the future, Nabin’s world shattered beyond repair.
Nabin’s time had stopped, yet he’d been lost in fantasies. All those wasted hours became regret, choking him. The weight of time had killed Nabin, and then it killed him too.
He should have wrapped that trembling body in warmth, listened to the fear, promised to protect him. Not only in his heart—he should have spoken it aloud, even opened his chest if necessary, so Nabin would know.
Only after losing him forever did he realize how worthless pride was. He hated himself for regretting too late. If pride hadn’t chained him, why hadn’t he thrown himself at the one who had stolen his heart?
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I thought only of myself… I couldn’t protect you… I made you close your eyes in loneliness….”
Han Jigang wept his confession, repeating apologies as if he had no other words left to offer. But it was far too late. An apology only holds meaning if the other can receive it.
And Nabin could not. Their time had already ended, in that moment when life itself dyed the water red.
It hadn’t been impulsive. Even if there was no hesitation when Nabin cut his wrists, he had fought harder than anyone to survive.
Those were years that could not be endured without fierce attachment to life. He’d watched his father die, lost Kim Su-hyun, failed even to keep the Butterfly Pendant Lee Hayan had given him.
Even realizing he had driven his mother to death—if only there had been someone to soothe that bruised heart, Nabin might have clung to life stubbornly.
Nabin knew Han Jigang had tried to be good to him. But that kindness had been temporary—only extending as long as Nabin held value as a Guide.
So it felt foreign, seeing him cry as he called his name. Remembering changed nothing.
Perhaps, unlike before, it was simply instinct. Han Jigang might have been drawn to him because his Guiding power had awakened at the level of an Immeasurable Guide. Even back when he was just D-rank, he had devoured the meager guiding mana offered like a starving man.
Realizing that, Nabin instinctively moved back, trying to distance himself from Han Jigang.
