After leaving the room, Han Jigang couldn’t shake the nagging thought that he’d been too harsh on Nabin. What unsettled him even more was how much he actually liked the guiding he’d received.
Whether it was because of the Center Director’s orders or his Outbreak Risk Index, the fact remained—he needed Nabin’s guiding. And if that was the case, then maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get along with him, at least until Nabin’s value ran dry. Tae Yishin would no doubt call him spineless, but Jigang had always lived on impulse. He simply acted on whatever he felt in the moment.
Seeing how well Nabin was eating, Jigang even thought about adding another serving of scrambled eggs and bacon to a small plate for him. But the fragile calm at the table shattered in an instant.
“What the hell?”
It happened when Nabin had eaten about half his food. A sharp voice cut through the quiet.
Startled, Nabin looked up and saw Tae Yishin smiling down at him. His narrow eyes curved into a graceful arc, but the gaze within was colder than snow in a winter garden.
They were a piercing, brilliant blue—the kind of eyes that reminded one of a clear sky after rain. That razor-sharp glare pressed down on Nabin like a blade at his throat, freezing him in place.
The piece of bread in his mouth wouldn’t go down. Just like the first day he met him, that lethal aura wrapped tight around his neck. Tae Yishin was deliberately leaking killing intent.
Having felt it once before, Nabin’s body trembled violently. The fork slipped from his hand and clattered noisily against the plate.
Jigang set down the utensil he’d been holding and blocked the surge of killing intent aimed at Nabin.
“What do you think you’re doing? I told you yesterday I brought a guide.”
There was no mistaking the irritation in his voice. He’d just wanted Nabin to finish one peaceful meal, but before the boy could even empty his plate, Tae Yishin had come down. Jigang had told him he’d call once the food was ready, to take his time. But Yishin, as usual, ignored him completely.
“Your attitude’s changed, hasn’t it?”
Though Jigang was a year older, the two had grown up together and had never cared about age-based formalities.
Tae Yishin spoke casually even to Jigang, and to Gong Min, who was two years older. None of them minded; they’d long since spoken like equals.
At Yishin’s words, Jigang gave a scoffing laugh, tearing his gaze away from Nabin to look at him instead. The faint smile in his eyes vanished, like the moon swallowed by clouds.
“Changed how? What, should I starve him? You have to at least feed the guy.”
Jigang, still shaken by his own confusing change of heart, bristled all the more.
Yishin recalled the sound he’d heard half-asleep. He could never mistake it—that sticky, obscene sound of flesh against flesh, his favorite kind of noise.
“So you sleep with him once and suddenly you’re attached? I told you—just start dating already. Why give your heart to trash and end up hurting yourself?”
His voice was as smooth as whipped cream, but his words cut like glass.
Nabin quickly lowered his eyes as tears welled up. Hot droplets slid down his cheeks. No matter how often he cried, his tears never seemed to run dry. He hated being scolded, but showing his tears now might only make things worse.
He wanted to run, but food still remained on his plate. Jigang’s words—finish it all—still echoed in his ears, keeping him rooted.
“I can’t eat at the same table as something that isn’t even human. Buy a new table. He can eat in his room.”
Passing behind Nabin toward the water dispenser, Yishin spoke lightly, but his words stabbed deep. Nabin’s battered heart shrank further, too numb to cry out. Even when sharp pain flared in his clenched fists, he couldn’t show it. That was his reality.
What a damn headache.
Jigang swallowed down a sigh. Outwardly he might seem rougher, but it was Yishin who was truly more sensitive. That easy smile was just a mask to hide his nature.
Knowing him as long as he had, Jigang understood. He frowned, then picked up Nabin’s plate with food still left on it.
Nabin, still crying silently, lifted trembling eyes to him. The pitiful sight left Jigang conflicted, but he had no desire to start a fight with Yishin over him.
“Here. Take this and eat in your room.”
“Y-yes…”
That was exactly what Nabin wanted. More than anything, he wanted to escape this place. With Jigang’s permission, he hurried to his feet, forgetting his pain, and reached for the plate.
Clang!
What he hadn’t considered was the plate’s weight. In his fluster, he took it with his injured right hand.
The plate shattered, food scraps and shards scattering across the glossy marble floor. Nabin went pale and dropped to his knees, desperately trying to gather the mess with shaking hands.
Blood dripped from fresh cuts where the shards had sliced him, but he only focused on cleaning the floor. Self-pity was a luxury reserved for those who had someone to comfort them. For him, it was survival—get this cleaned as fast as possible.
“…Pathetic.”
Yishin muttered around a sip of water, watching. The guide looked pitiful to the point of disgust.
Though Yishin enjoyed casual flings, he had no taste for bodies that had rolled endlessly with nameless strangers in filthy brothels.
And with his Outbreak Risk Index at 55, he needed guiding from Nabin too. That fact alone gave him a pounding headache, and just seeing the boy made it worse.
Being naturally low blood pressure, mornings were already rough. Facing the cause of his migraine the moment he entered the kitchen only stoked his irritation.
On top of that, Jigang’s behavior was strange. His usual sharpness toward the guide had softened. Maybe Nabin’s guiding was that good. Or maybe it was his night skills, honed from too many clients. The thought alone made Yishin’s head throb like nails driving into his skull.
Unable to stand it, he was about to drag the guide out of the kitchen himself—but Jigang moved first.
“I’ll clean this up. You go to your room.”
Yishin rubbed his temple, watching the staggering guide vanish. If he had painkillers, he might endure with those, but the worsening migraines left his nerves sharper than ever.
“You could’ve caught that plate before it hit the ground. Why’d you let it shatter?”
He’d blocked killing intent, even set out food—he looked like he wanted to treat the guide well. But when the plate slipped, he hadn’t lifted a finger. An S-rank Esper not catching something right in front of him? Impossible.
But Jigang gave no reply. He silently cleaned the shards and returned to cooking.
“Seriously. You’re impossible to read.”
Seeing he wouldn’t answer, Yishin shook his head and opened the fridge. Ryu Somin hadn’t woken yet. Soon he’d come down, rubbing his eyes and whining about being hungry. He planned to prepare his favorite orange juice in advance.
Unlike Nabin, who had wormed into this house like an intruder, Ryu Somin was their true guide—someone the three of them, Yishin included, genuinely cherished.
***
Knock, knock, knock.
After being chased from the kitchen mid-breakfast, Nabin now sat curled up on the bed. The window view he’d liked before meant nothing to him now. His eyes stayed on the wrinkled, ruined sheets.
The bed was still unmade, stained with dried bodily fluids. The shriveled fabric looked like a reflection of his own broken self. He couldn’t look away.
Then came the knock.
Ever since he’d entered this room, knocks had always rattled the door like it might splinter.
But this time, instead of a pounding that shook his chest, the sound was gentle—just a light tap.
He didn’t know who it was, and fear swelled. Yet the silence after the knock was somehow even scarier.
Limping, Nabin got up and opened the door. Standing there was the last person he expected.
“…Put this on.”
Han Jigang held out a Healing Potion. Nabin stared blankly, unable to take it. The clear vial glimmered with a faint blue light—a high-grade potion, the kind he’d barely ever seen.
Back at the brothels, there were times he’d nearly died. Back then, Kim Minsu had bought this exact kind of potion to save him. Unlike the shady ones from the black market, these were certified by the Center and guaranteed to work.
It was far too expensive for him to even dream of buying now. He couldn’t understand why Jigang would give it to him, and so he hesitated.
“If your damn wrist is that messed up, you should’ve said something.”
Irritated, Jigang raked a hand through his hair, grabbed Nabin’s left hand, and pressed the potion into his palm.
Even his left hand wasn’t unscathed—small cuts from the broken plate were still crusted with dried blood, enough to make anyone frown.
Nabin had no words. He only blinked slowly, staring at the potion in his hand. The lingering warmth from Jigang’s touch left his whole body rigid.
“Use it all. Don’t bother saving it. I’ll give you more if you need it.”
