“What’s this? I heard he got dragged through some thug’s den, and now it looks like he’s already managed to seduce someone at the Center.”
Kim Su-hyun, who had been barely holding back his fury at Nabin’s pitiful state, heard the mocking voice. He didn’t need to turn his head to know who it belonged to. That sneering tone was unforgettable once you heard it.
And that was it. The fragile thread of restraint Su-hyun had been clinging to snapped. He couldn’t even bring himself to call the bastards in front of him “colleagues.” Violence between Espers was one thing, but laying hands on a Guide or an ordinary person—that was something entirely different.
He had worried Nabin might suffer under their usual cruelties toward Guides, but never once had he imagined they would bear killing intent and actually wound him.
He had thought—naively—that they must have at least a scrap of conscience. But no. That had been his mistake. Su-hyun despised people who preyed on the weak, and right now, the ones sneering at him were doing exactly what he hated most—without even a hint of guilt.
Worse yet, the one they had brutalized was the very person Su-hyun had been caring about most these days.
“Please, take care of Guide Kim Nabin.”
“Esper-nim…”
Noh Si-woo had slipped quietly to his side. Su-hyun handed over the limp Nabin he was holding. Si-woo’s eyes, behind his frameless glasses, were filled with concern—he could see Su-hyun’s reason was gone—but leaving Nabin here in this suffocating, violent atmosphere was unthinkable.
So Si-woo carried Nabin out quickly, putting distance between him and the dangerous room.
Once they were gone, Su-hyun drew an offensive artifact from his coat.
As a Healing Esper, his ability to fight directly was limited. But he was still A-rank. His physical condition and mana control were exceptional, more than enough to wield an artifact effectively.
The fact that he was “only” A-rank, and the ones in front of him were among the strongest of the S-ranks, didn’t even enter his mind. He wasn’t thinking anymore. To him, they were nothing but trash that needed to be punished.
“You really think you’re going to attack us?”
Han Jigang, who had been watching silently, stood from the sofa. He had already hated seeing Su-hyun carrying that Guide, and now the man had the audacity to pull out an offensive artifact? The way Su-hyun activated the sword-shaped artifact and shifted into a fighting stance made it clear—he meant it.
A laugh of disbelief slipped out of Jigang, but he wasn’t the type to back away. If someone was stupid enough to come at him without knowing their place, he’d just show them the difference in power.
“A man doesn’t back down from a fight that walks right up to him.”
Hot-tempered by nature, as befit a Fire-type Esper, Jigang’s anger flared instantly. His Outbreak Risk Index had been climbing day by day like Gong Min’s, and now Su-hyun’s provocation lit the spark.
Flames roared to life in both his hands, his killing intent burning. He had hated Su-hyun for a long time—for always showing up to warn him whenever he went to a Guide. Acting like some moral authority—it grated on his nerves.
And now this arrogance—an A-rank Healing Esper, not even a combat type, daring to challenge him? The sheer impudence disgusted him. Today he’d make him learn exactly what happened when he overstepped. Once that unlucky face was burned, even his stiffly raised chin would have to bow.
Just before the blazing flames and the monster-bone blade—made from the skeleton of an S-rank Scallanter, its edge unnaturally sharp—could meet, the Center Director pushed himself between them.
“Both of you. That’s enough.”
If they wanted to fight, they’d have to cut down the Director first. That thought alone was enough to make both freeze mid-strike and step back. They knew instinctively that attacking the Director would take things far beyond repair.
The Director’s gaze swept the wreckage. One wall was half-collapsed, steel rods jutting through the concrete. His expression hardened when he saw Kim Su-ryeon, battered and buried under rubble.
The buzz of the gathered crowd only worsened his pounding headache. He didn’t need to ask what had happened—he could see it clearly. The message he had sent through Su-ryeon hadn’t been to their liking. He had expected as much, but sending her had been their final warning.
Even S-rank Espers had lines they couldn’t cross. If they had just used that S-rank Guide they treasured like a sacred relic, things wouldn’t have spiraled this far. Because that Guide was the one thing they cherished most, the Director had been able to set conditions even they couldn’t refuse.
“Esper Kim Su-hyun, treat Esper Kim Su-ryeon first. As for the three of you—return to the mansion, now.”
The Director’s usual easy smile was gone, his voice low and cold, carrying the weight of a threat. Any defiance would not be tolerated.
Han Jigang threw one last glare at Su-hyun before storming out, followed closely by Tae Yishin and Gong Min.
“My apologies for the disturbance, Center Director.”
Bowing low, Su-hyun offered his apology, then lifted the wounded Su-ryeon into his arms and hurried toward the infirmary. Now that the clash with Jigang was over, his only thought was to check Nabin’s condition as quickly as possible. Urgency pressed into every step.
“Forget what happened here. If I hear whispers elsewhere, I’ll call each of you in for a personal interview.”
The Director’s warning cut through the air. He made a point of meeting the eyes of every witness, committing each face to memory.
Not a soul was reckless enough to defy him or gossip afterward. None of them were that foolish.
***
“Nabin.”
“Dad…”
Nabin stood alone in an unfamiliar place. A heavy, milky fog swallowed everything, the visibility so short he couldn’t even see his own hands and feet. Fear slowly crept into him.
As he stood frozen, numb, a voice reached him—the voice he had longed for, the voice he had prayed every night to hear, if only in dreams.
Nabin turned toward it. His father stood there, smiling at him. But the tears shining in his eyes laid a veil of sorrow over that smile.
Tears welled in Nabin’s eyes too, clear and shimmering.
“Dad…!”
He ran toward him, and as he did, his body shrank smaller and smaller. His hollow cheeks filled out; his thin, bony limbs grew soft and childlike.
By the time he threw himself into his father’s arms, he was once again the child he had been on the day he had lost him.
“Dad, I missed you so much…”
Nabin clung to his father’s neck, sobbing. His father wrapped him close, gently wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop flowing, again and again.
His hand grew wet from the boy’s endless crying, and in the end, his own long-held tears spilled down too.
Seeing his father cry, Nabin bit his lip, trying to hold back his sobs. But once the floodgates had opened, the tears carved rivers down his face, heedless of his will.
Seeing his father again brought back all the years of pain and struggle he had endured alone, flashing before his eyes like a rushing lantern slide. He clutched his father’s clothes so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“I’m so tired… Can’t I just go with you, Dad…?”
At that desperate plea, his father’s expression crumpled. His son was more precious than life itself. When the monster had attacked, he had thrown himself in the way without hesitation—because his son mattered more than his own life.
All he had ever wanted was for his son to live long and happy, even if it cost him everything. For that, he could go smiling, no matter how unfair his death.
He had known his wife would suffer, but he had never imagined she would collapse so completely, unable even to care for Nabin. He had believed she would endure for their son’s sake.
Watching Nabin’s life unfold had filled him with regret every day. Sometimes he even wished his son had died with him—that it would have been kinder than enduring such a miserable life.
Each time Nabin cried, his own dead heart bled. The thought of even harsher trials awaiting his son left him powerless, unable to do anything.
“I’m sorry, Nabin. I’m so sorry for leaving you to carry so much on your own…”
As Nabin clung to him, sobbing into his chest, he finally lifted his head. Seeing his father crying even more sorrowfully than himself, he couldn’t bring himself to complain anymore.
He raised his small hand and wiped his own tears away. Then, with swollen eyes curving into a smile, he beamed at his father.
“It’s okay. I still have to protect Mom, don’t I? You always said that—if Dad wasn’t there, then Nabin had to become the hero who protected Mom.”
The words tore at his father’s heart, like ripping open an already dead wound. In that moment, he could only curse the heavens.
They had sentenced him to watch his son’s life from afar, and now they demanded he stand by as his boy took even his own grief and turned it into another burden to bear.
