Once Nabin’s ragged breathing finally calmed, Kim Su-hyun rose to his feet with Nabin still held against him. The boy’s reaction had been far more intense than he’d expected. At the very least, Su-hyun felt he had to do something—anything. He carried a sense of obligation, the need to help Nabin step outside that suffocating mansion, even for a short while, so he could breathe in peace.
“You said you wanted to ride a swing, right? We’re going somewhere that has one.”
His voice was steady, his steps measured, careful not to startle him. Su-hyun also made sure to steer the conversation toward lighter things, something to pull Nabin’s mind away from the storm he’d just endured.
Nestled against his chest, Nabin gave a small nod. Su-hyun pulled the coat tighter around him so no cold air could slip inside, then stepped out of the mansion. The hesitant footsteps that had trailed behind them stopped only once the gate closed with a heavy thud.
He must’ve realized it too—that if he tried to approach now, things would only unravel the same way they had before.
Su-hyun settled Nabin into the car and drove straight to a playground he’d scouted in advance. Sitting up front seemed strange to Nabin; he gripped the seatbelt tightly with both hands, his body twitching restlessly. But little by little, as they put distance between themselves and the mansion, his trembling eased. Relief softened Su-hyun’s lips into a faint smile.
“I’ll get the door for you. Just a second.”
After pulling into the lot beside the playground, Su-hyun got out first and opened the passenger door. Nabin fumbled with the seatbelt buckle, his hands clumsy, so Su-hyun reached in and released it for him.
“Th-thank you….”
“It’s nothing. Do you want me to hold your hand?”
Nabin hesitated, then shook his head. Ever since stepping outside, clarity had slowly begun to return. He’d clung to Su-hyun, sobbing like a child, and now guilt pricked at him—he couldn’t keep burdening him like that. Carefully, he slid out of the car on his own.
The passenger seat felt almost foreign. He caught his reflection in the closed car window—his face was a mess of tears and snot. Mortified, he dropped his head as though weighted with lead.
“Looks like the playground’s empty. Let’s go to the swings.”
Su-hyun, pretending not to notice his embarrassment, shifted the subject smoothly, pointing toward the red swings swaying gently in the wind.
Slowly, Nabin raised his head and looked in that direction. Just as he’d said, the bright red swing rocked back and forth, waiting.
Su-hyun led the way, and Nabin followed, one step at a time. Though Su-hyun’s eyes stayed forward, all his attention was fixed on Nabin, ready to catch him if he faltered.
Thankfully, he didn’t. His steps were slow, but steady. Together they entered the playground and walked straight to the swings. Nabin sat first.
The place looked almost identical to the playground he used to visit with his father. Even the swing here was the same vivid red.
Creak, squeak.
He moved his feet against the ground, swaying himself gently back and forth. The rusty groan of the chains was just as he remembered. It stirred memories he hadn’t been able to keep buried.
“Nabin, you can pump your body back and forth like this, right?”
“Yeah! I’m good at it, aren’t I?”
“Incredible. Whoever your father is, he should be proud—you’ve got a natural talent for this.”
He’d gone to playgrounds many times, but that had been his first time ever on a swing. His father had lifted him onto the seat, and with all the strength of his small body, he’d tried to push himself forward. The swing barely budged, but his father had praised him like he’d conquered the world.
Dad… I’m a coward. I’m not amazing at all….
His pale eyes shimmered with sorrow. The memories of his father only made the contrast with his broken present self all the sharper.
Standing quietly beside him, Su-hyun watched. At first Nabin kicked against the ground, but soon the swing slowed. He felt the presence behind him and lifted his head. Su-hyun smiled gently, took hold of the chains, and gave the swing a soft push.
“When I was little, I used to come here with my younger sibling all the time. He always asked me to push him.”
“…Ah.”
Caught off guard, Nabin twisted around repeatedly, unsure how to respond. But Su-hyun kept pushing, steady and patient, hoping his comfort would reach him.
“My sibling especially loved the swings. He said swaying back and forth like this made all the bad feelings inside him disappear.”
At those words, warm tears slipped down Nabin’s cheeks, dotting his coat and the sand beneath. His father had said the same thing. Whenever he was sulking, whenever his heart felt heavy, his father would take his hand and bring him here, saying the bad feelings would be carried away on the wind.
“This is all I can do for you… I’m sorry. Sorry I couldn’t protect you from those bastards….”
The sadness shadowed Su-hyun’s face, dimming the smile he’d worn. Quickly, Nabin shook his head, rejecting his apology.
“N-no… it’s not like that….”
It had been his own decision to sign a Dedicated Guide contract with three S-rank Espers. Even if it felt like stepping off a cliff, it had still seemed better than being trapped under Kim Minsu.
His mother had been able to receive far better treatment at a proper hospital. He himself hadn’t had much of an education, but he wasn’t a child anymore.
For Su-hyun to apologize for his decision—it didn’t make sense.
“It was my choice….”
He said it to ease Su-hyun’s guilt, but it only deepened it. That was who Nabin was. He could have cursed his circumstances, cursed the monsters who had scarred him, cursed the Center that had thrown him into this pit.
But instead, he whispered as though it were all his fault. And because of that, Su-hyun knew he could never forgive them.
“I’m trying to find another way to help you, Guide Kim Nabin. So… if it gets too hard, please call me. Don’t break. Promise me.”
Secretly, Su-hyun had already begun leaking Nabin’s data overseas, searching for high-ranking Espers with strong Match Rates.
Nabin showed abnormally high compatibility with three S-rank Espers whose Match Rates with any other Guides were abysmal. That meant there had to be others, somewhere, who could be just as compatible.
In America or Europe, even D-rank Guides were treated far better than in Korea.
He was determined to get Nabin out of that mansion. The only problem was that the Center couldn’t know—so his search had to be done quietly, painstakingly slow.
All he could do was pray that Nabin could endure until then.
Even this brief escape seemed to have worked wonders. His eyes shone brighter than when they’d left. With every swing, it felt just as Su-hyun’s sibling had said—that the dark weight in his chest was being carried off on the wind.
“…Thank you, Esper Kim Su-hyun.”
The fact that he could speak without stammering was proof of the man’s unwavering kindness since the very first day.
He didn’t have to care, yet he worried over him. He told him to endure, promising he’d find him a better place.
Because of Su-hyun, Nabin’s battered heart could finally rest a little. The thought of returning to the mansion, of guiding those men, still froze him with fear—but it was bearable.
His mother was still with him. There were people like Su-hyun, who stood up for him. And… there was also this.
His eyes dropped to the artifact fastened to his pale wrist. The butterfly-shaped pendant glimmered with violet light, breathing life back into him whenever he felt like dying.
Even in the closet, when his consciousness had flickered in and out, something had always wrapped him in warmth. And every time, his gaze had drifted to the pendant.
Even in pitch-black darkness, that shining butterfly had made it easier to breathe.
“This artifact is powerful. It heals psychological trauma.”
“Ah….”
He hadn’t realized it was so precious. As if saving his life hadn’t been enough, Su-hyun had even given him something so valuable. In that haze, he hadn’t even thought to refuse when the man fastened it to his wrist. Maybe more than that… maybe he’d simply been happy to receive a gift from someone.
The thought unsettled him. A part of him even wondered if he should return it now, before it was too late.
“Guide Kim Nabin.”
When Su-hyun spoke, Nabin froze. The Esper circled around to face him, dropped to one knee, and lowered himself. Enclosing Nabin’s small hands as they fidgeted with the pendant, his voice carried quiet insistence.
