S-rank Espers were unimaginably rare. Some foolish part of him had hoped that maybe, just maybe, one of the three matched Espers could be him. But the moment he heard the names, that fragile hope shattered.
Still, even as a mere D-rank Guide now, Nabin was officially part of the K Ability User Center. That meant someday—if only by chance—he might cross paths with him. He had clung to that hope like something precious.
Nabin lowered his gaze from the pendant and looked down at himself. Not like this… In this state, it would be better never to meet.
Perhaps the only reason Esper Lee Hayan had been kind to him back then was because he hadn’t yet been defiled. No—that had to be the reason.
He had fallen too far since then, broken to the point where comparing his past self to now felt meaningless.
Trash doesn’t become whole again just because it’s washed. Having rolled in the garbage and rotted through, even if Nabin scrubbed himself clean with pure water, the stench seared into his body and soul would never vanish. Even the man who’d once shown kindness to a stranger like him would surely frown in disgust now.
And yet… keeping that memory wrapped around his heart like a blanket—since it was something only he knew—wasn’t it all right to cling to it?
Without it, without holding on to that fragile memory, he felt like he might cut himself open just to escape. So once again, Nabin reached for the butterfly, cupped it in his hand, and pressed it to his chest. Its delicate fluttering felt like a small breeze of comfort brushing over his bruised heart.
***
Bang!
“Hey, open up.”
Nabin, sitting blankly with the butterfly clutched in his arms, flinched at the sudden noise and looked up. It was a voice he had grown far too used to by now—Han Jigang’s.
The sunlight pouring through the window was warmer than before, proof that time had passed.
Nabin scrambled to his feet. Every movement dragged pain through his body, making him grit his teeth as he limped toward the door.
He hesitated only a moment, but that was long enough for Han Jigang to lose patience and pound on the door hard enough to rattle it. Raising his weary arm, Nabin twisted the doorknob.
The door swung open, and Han Jigang’s cold eyes swept over him. An hour had passed since he’d left, and yet Nabin still stood there naked, body smeared with fluids.
So he really is used to this—rolling around like he did at the brothel?
The thought hit Han Jigang with a wave of disgust before he brushed it aside. He didn’t even glance at Nabin’s pallor, at the way he looked on the verge of collapsing. Instead, he stated his purpose flatly and turned away.
“Come eat. And wash that filthy body first.”
“…Yes.”
If only sharp words could harden his heart instead of cutting into it. But when filthy body echoed in his ears, Nabin lowered his gaze to hide the sting burning in his eyes.
When Han Jigang was gone, he staggered into the bathroom. Truthfully, he had no appetite—he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his room. Hours had passed since his last meal, yet hunger never came.
He only wanted to fall asleep without thinking, or hide away somewhere no one could ever find him…
But there was no way he could defy Han Jigang. All he could do was move his body obediently.
At least the bathroom was close by. Even so, each step sent pain through him like hammer blows, leaving faint drops of blood in his wake.
The space was clean, far better than his room—split between toilet and wash area, the floor gleaming spotless, reflecting his silhouette. Others must use it too, and it was scrubbed until it shone.
There was not only a shower booth but also a large bathtub, big enough for him to stretch his legs fully—just like the one at his father’s house.
His gaze lingered on it before he stepped into the shower and turned on the water.
Ssshhhhh—
Hot water came out immediately. That alone startled him. At the brothel, warm water had been a rare luxury, taking long waits—if it came at all. Most days he had washed in cold water, unless it was a “special night.”
As the warmth streamed down his battered body, some of the pain dulled. The water running through his hair washed away the tears that had been clinging to his eyes.
A sleek bottle of body wash sat nearby. Unsure if he was allowed to use it, Nabin glanced at the door, then squeezed out the barest trace—so little no one would notice.
Water alone couldn’t cleanse the sticky residue clinging to his skin. He lathered his hair and body, rinsing clean, and for the first time felt a faint relief.
But his face tightened when he saw cloudy fluid trailing down his leg. With trembling fingers, he took more soap and reached down.
Each squelch echoed in his ears, cold sweat breaking across his pale skin. He ground his teeth and scrubbed until the pinkish foam circled the drain and vanished.
Only after cleaning even that did he rinse again. But now his strength was gone; lifting his arms felt impossible. His wrist and hip, bruised from when Han Jigang had shoved him, throbbed with a dull ache.
The injured wrist had swollen nearly twice the size of the other. It must have worsened under his weight earlier.
It looked bad enough to worry someone else, but for Nabin, it was nothing new. From experience, he knew the ligaments were only strained—no fractures, no breaks.
Even after bathing in hot water, the moment he shut it off, a bone-deep chill rushed in. His teeth chattered uncontrollably. He grabbed a towel from his bag, roughly dried himself, and pulled on the clothes scattered on the floor.
The cold eased once he dressed, but dread pressed heavy in his chest at the thought of facing him again.
“I don’t want to go…”
The whisper was so faint it barely existed. But words never changed anything in his life. If they did, he wouldn’t be living like this.
Resigned, Nabin trudged down the dim corridor toward the kitchen. As the shadows gave way to light, the smell of food drifted toward him.
If his body were normal, the aroma would have stirred hunger. Instead, nausea twisted in his gut, forcing him to clutch his stomach.
“Why’d you take so long?”
“S-sorry…”
The apology slipped out before he realized it. He glanced at Han Jigang, but thankfully, the man was busy plating food.
Han Jigang gestured to a seat with a flick of his finger. Sweat trickled down Nabin’s back as he walked, but he forced his steps steady and sat.
The kitchen held a wide dining table, big enough for eight. He vaguely remembered glimpsing another room yesterday with just a dining table, but here was where meals were usually eaten.
The seat Han Jigang indicated was one spot away from the places already set for four.
Unused to such a setting, Nabin fumbled before carefully pulling out the chair without a sound. A good chair should have been comfortable, but his body made him sweat cold just from sitting.
He didn’t even dare rest his hands on the table—his fists stayed clenched in his lap until the knuckles turned white. The pain in his mouth from grinding his teeth earlier made even biting his lip impossible now.
Clink.
A steaming plate slid in front of him. Han Jigang had set down a simple meal: golden buttered bread, a small bowl of cream soup, and a fresh salad.
“Eat it all. No wonder your ass has no flesh on it.”
“Th-thank you…”
His voice came out small. Han Jigang set utensils beside the plate before turning back toward the stove.
Looking at Nabin’s frail frame, it was obvious his stomach couldn’t handle much, so the portion was modest. The other two Espers, along with Han Jigang, had plates piled high to match their size.
On the stove, eggs and bacon sizzled in a pan so full it nearly overflowed.
Nabin’s eyes lingered briefly on Han Jigang’s back before drifting to his plate. The food was arranged so neatly, it almost didn’t feel like something he would be given.
He picked up the fork with his left hand—the right still too sore. Appetite or not, he couldn’t risk refusing to eat.
And besides, even if his words had been sharp, Han Jigang had still prepared food for him. That alone was something to be grateful for. He speared a bit of salad and lifted it to his mouth.
The vegetables crunched with a refreshing bite. Maybe his body was hungry, even if his mind had convinced him otherwise.
The moment food slid down his throat, his stomach stirred desperately, as if it had been waiting. A small growl rumbled within, and heat spread across his ears.
It was quiet, but not too quiet for Han Jigang’s sharp hearing. A faint smile flickered on his lips—so faint it vanished instantly. After all, just a short while ago Nabin had been weeping silently in his room, yet here he was, clearly starving the second food touched his mouth.
