“…Mom, I’m here.”
“…….”
Nabin’s mother could barely stay lucid for more than a few hours each day. She was in a four-person ward filled with Espers in similar condition. The hospital specialized in treating those who had become addicted to illegal Esper-only drugs.
The patients here were all gravely ill—so much so that without a caregiver to turn their bodies regularly or take them outside in wheelchairs, they would literally rot away from bedsores.
If he could, Nabin would have stayed by his mother’s side more often. But that wasn’t something he was allowed. Instead, he handed the caregiver—who looked after her in his place—a box of drinks provided by Kim Minsu, then pulled up a chair beside her bed.
Like her son, Nabin’s mother was painfully thin, her body stripped to skin and bone. Her eyes were open, and she seemed conscious for once, but her gaze wasn’t on him—it was fixed blankly on the ceiling.
Even when he spoke softly, she didn’t answer, only blinking weakly. But every so often, a faint tremor at the corner of her eyes—stirred by the sound of his voice—hinted that she was still aware.
It had been so long since he’d heard her voice, he could hardly remember the last time. Holding her frail hand carefully, Nabin forced his words to stay steady.
“I’m doing okay, Mom. I’m… earning a lot of money too. So please, don’t worry about the hospital bills. Just… even if it’s hard, keep taking your treatment…”
Tears welled in the wrinkles of her eyes. Her face showed no expression, but the tears betrayed her sorrow. And just like her, Nabin finally let the sobs he’d been holding back spill out. His swollen, raw eyelids stung, but he was so used to pain by now that it hardly mattered—his whole life was steeped in suffering.
Even sitting upright was almost too much for his body. Though he tried not to show it in front of his mother, his back was already drenched in cold sweat. He could only hold out for about thirty minutes before the act broke down.
And it wasn’t just his back—he could feel something seeping lower, too. He had stuffed layers of tissues there just in case, but he wasn’t sure they’d be enough to keep it from soaking through his pants.
Nabin glanced at the clock on the wall. Kim Minsu was waiting in the hospital parking lot. He might say “take your time,” but Nabin knew from experience never to take those words at face value.
Caressing the fragile hand he held, Nabin whispered the words he always did before leaving, like a ritual goodbye.
“I’m really grateful you’re still alive, Mom. So… please don’t leave me too…”
“Uuuh…”
Her rigid face twisted in pain. Her eyes, which had been fixed on the ceiling, shifted with effort toward her son, who was crying.
“As long as you’re here, I can hold on… I’ll keep working hard and save more money, so one day I can move you to a better hospital…”
She forced his face into her dimming sight, but couldn’t hold it. Her eyes slipped shut again. Her son—who looked even more broken than she did, lying all day in a hospital bed—left her unable to say a word.
Sometimes she thought it might be easier if she died, to free him from the burden. But if she left, she knew her son would follow her into death right away. That was the only reason she still clung to life.
Every time she saw him falling apart, she longed to say let’s just die together. But she had to swallow the words. She could die—but he was still so young. The only thing she could do for him was to pray that someday, the life that had given him nothing but suffering would finally be covered in rainbows.
Watching her with her eyes closed like a sinner, Nabin buried his face into the faint warmth of her hand. That warmth was his only refuge. His grief spilled out in tears that dampened her dry skin.
If he could, he would go back to childhood, when his father was still alive, and stay there forever. Or at least, back to that day when he and his father went to meet his mother—and for the monster’s jaws to have torn out his throat instead of his father’s.
If that had happened, maybe his mother wouldn’t have lost her mind. Even if Nabin had vanished from the world, maybe a new life would have begun in her belly.
If only he had died then… maybe he, his mother, and his father would all have had better lives than this. That bitter thought circled endlessly inside his hollow heart.
After weeping in silence for a long time, the throbbing ache below grew too strong to bear, forcing him to rise. His vision swam, and he felt like he might faint at any moment.
His mother’s eyes were still closed. If only she would look at him, just once, and give him the faintest smile… that alone could give him the strength to endure until his next visit.
But he was used to disappointment. Swallowing the ache, he stood up. Just rising from the chair felt like his lower body was being ripped away, a crushing pain stabbing through his head.
Starting tomorrow, he would have to endure the customers who came flooding into that tiny room. If he wanted to avoid collapsing, tonight he needed to take the pills and let his body rest, doing absolutely nothing.
For a moment, the pendant hidden in the hospital crossed his mind. But today wasn’t the time. He could only take it out when the room was empty—and today, some patients were awake, and the caregiver had stayed close.
He’d first hidden the pendant, the one he’d gotten from Hayan, in an old jumper. But once he was forced to work in the illegal guiding den, he spent more time naked than clothed.
There was nowhere safe to hide it in that cramped room. Eventually, he tucked it away inside the bedside drawer in his mother’s ward. Kim Minsu never followed him in there, which made it possible.
Dragging his reluctant feet, Nabin finally left the hospital. Among the workers in the den, he was the only guide allowed outside, even once a week.
It wasn’t because Kim Minsu gave him special treatment. Other workers would try to run the moment they tasted freedom, so he cut that possibility off from the start.
But Kim Minsu knew. He knew Nabin could never abandon his mother. The leash could be loosened infinitely—Nabin was already so thoroughly broken in that he wouldn’t run anyway.
***
The days dragged on, too painful to die, too unbearable to live. Nabin crumbled more each day. Sometimes he lay like a corpse, unable to wake until forced up by drugs. Like a wildflower in barren soil, the last trace of hope inside him withered away.
His life shifted again—though whether into comedy or tragedy, he couldn’t tell—when a call came from the Center. Of course, Nabin didn’t have a phone. The call went straight to Kim Minsu.
“Kim Nabin! Get up!”
The small door burst open as if it would shatter. Kim Minsu roughly shook Nabin, who was curled in the corner of the bed. His head lolled, his body limp, barely responding even to the violent grip.
Swearing under his breath, Kim Minsu had no choice but to scoop him up and carry him out. His limbs dangled, thinner than ever.
“Boss! Over here!”
Following a subordinate’s signal, he raced through twisting hallways until they slipped out the back door. A black sedan idled there, engine running. Climbing in with Nabin in his arms, he waved urgently to the subordinate.
“Step on it! Forget the lights—just floor it!”
“Yes, sir!”
The driver didn’t even have time to fasten his seatbelt before tearing onto the road leading out of Seoul.
Fucking bastards.
Holding Nabin close, Kim Minsu seethed with barely contained rage. The call had come from the K Ability User Center. Since Nabin had awakened as a guide—even just a D-rank—he was required to have a registered number.
That phone, under Nabin’s name, was in Kim Minsu’s possession. So naturally, the call had come to him. Normally, the Center only called once a year to confirm the line was active. Outside of that, they never contacted. And it wasn’t even time for the check.
The unease grated in his chest like sand on his tongue. He knew he couldn’t ignore it. If he did, the Center might send someone directly. So, reluctantly, he answered.
“Is this Kim Nabin’s phone? Hello, this is Kim Sung-tae from the K Ability User Center, Guiding Mana Measurement Division.”
The word Measurement doubled his unease, pressing like a stone in his gut. Until now, every call had come from the Guiding Department—never the Measurement Division.
“And what’s this about?”
Forcing down his irritation, he asked bluntly. No matter how he tried to tell himself it was nothing, the bad feeling wouldn’t leave.
“There’s a matter requiring Guide Kim Nabin’s visit to the Center.”
“I asked what matter.”
Visit the Center? Impossible. Nabin’s condition was far from normal. If they brought him there, the abuse would be obvious.
Sure, some at the Center could be bribed, but only to look the other way when guides were quietly exploited in the shadows. Bringing evidence straight to their doorstep was different—they would cut ties immediately.
“It’s confidential, so we can’t discuss it over the phone. He must come in at once. If not, Center agents will be dispatched to collect him.”
The words were polite, but the tone carried unmistakable authority. The K Ability User Center was an institution essential to national order. Its power extended not just over Espers and Guides, but to ordinary citizens as well.
And Nabin, even as a D-rank, was a registered guide. Espers and Guides alike were obligated to obey the Center’s commands.
