Nabin’s breath froze in his throat. As if convinced that holding still would keep him from being discovered, he stopped even the act of breathing when the person stepped into the kitchen.
“Why’d you come down so fast? I told you to wait until I said I was ready.”
Han Jigang clicked his tongue, casting a glance at Nabin, whose complexion had gone from pale to ashen blue. He’d expected this, which was why he’d told Gong Min to hold off until later—but even as he scolded, his gaze never strayed from Nabin.
“…Kim Nabin.”
At the sound of his name, softly spoken by Gong Min, Nabin jerked as though struck by lightning. His thin body buckled backward, his eyes rolling white. Gong Min caught him before he hit the floor.
“Hh, uh, ahhh…”
Nabin’s entire body shook as if seized. The sight was unbearable—like an epileptic fit. Gong Min’s face stayed impassive, but his dark brown eyes quaked like a small boat tossed on a stormy sea.
“Gong Min. Hand him over. Right now, you’re the one he fears most.”
“….”
Gong Min’s arms tightened instinctively around Nabin. He’d longed to see him ever since that day, the day he’d last been Guided. But guilt kept him from even knocking at Nabin’s door.
If only Nabin had stepped outside, Gong Min would have been content to watch from afar. But that, too, had been impossible, and with every passing day, his thirst only deepened.
Now—today—he was finally here, face-to-face with his Guide. Yet before they could even exchange words, things had gone wrong, and he had no choice but to surrender Nabin to Han Jigang.
“Gong Min. Now.”
Reluctantly, Gong Min let go. He couldn’t cling on when Nabin was convulsing so violently that blood welled at his bitten lips.
Han Jigang carried Nabin straight back to his room. He’d known Nabin would be afraid of Gong Min—but seeing it with his own eyes, the sheer degree of terror startled even him.
He laid Nabin on the bed, quickly wiped the blood from his mouth with his sleeve, and pulled out a Healing Potion. Tilting it toward his lips did little—Nabin shook so hard that most of the liquid spilled out.
“Don’t blame me for this. It’s the only way.”
Though Nabin was in no state to hear, Han Jigang muttered the excuse before taking the potion into his own mouth. Pressing his lips against Nabin’s, he let the liquid flow in as though breathing life into him.
As the potion slid across his tongue, Nabin instinctively swallowed. His violent tremors scraped Han Jigang’s tongue against his teeth, splitting his own mouth open. A sharp sting flared, but Han Jigang, long accustomed to pain, pulled away unfazed.
The potion wouldn’t mend psychological wounds, but when Nabin was thrashing hard enough to injure himself, it was better than nothing.
“Maybe I should keep sedatives on hand.”
At times like this, putting him under might not be the worst choice. Better a deep, dreamless sleep than endless, shattering fits.
Fortunately, the potion seemed to help. Slowly, Nabin’s eyes began to refocus. Yet he didn’t look at Han Jigang. Instead, he curled in on himself, pressing his face to his chest as if to disappear altogether.
The sudden smallness of his frame made Han Jigang huff a humorless laugh. Curled into such a tight ball, all he lacked was a shell to pass for a snail.
“How’re you supposed to manage like this? Starting today, you have to Guide Gong Min.”
At that, Nabin bit down on his lip hard enough to bleed, trying to choke back a sob. He didn’t even feel the pain.
Though his face was hidden, his breathing steadied, and Han Jigang knew his reason had returned. He left him with a final warning.
No matter how pitiful his state, Nabin had come here for Guiding. Without that, there was no reason for him to stay.
“I’ll tell Gong Min to come in after thirty minutes. Get ready. …And don’t lose control like last time. Stop being so afraid.”
That frail, trembling back lingered in Han Jigang’s vision, but he knew skipping Gong Min again would only hurt Nabin more in the long run. Better to Guide now, before Beastification advanced.
Han Jigang smothered the guilt in his chest with that justification.
When he left, Nabin fought with everything he had not to cry before Gong Min arrived. Every tear made him feel weaker, more pathetic—made him loathe himself even more.
He couldn’t remain powerless forever. He had chosen to come into this house. He hadn’t imagined it would be this cruel, but it was still something he had to face. Backing out wasn’t an option.
Click.
“…Kim Nabin.”
Gong Min closed the door and called his name in a steady voice. He didn’t move past the threshold, simply stood there, silent and patient—as though waiting for a frightened creature to sense his presence and slowly accept it.
Perhaps it was that patience that helped. Nabin pushed himself upright. His body was stiff and uncooperative, but gritting his teeth, he began stripping off his clothes.
The only sound in the still room was the faint whisper of fabric. Soon, in the dim light, his pale body was bare.
The only thing left was the Artifact clinging to his wrist. Nabin clenched the butterfly charm tight in his fist, clutching it like a lifeline.
“P-please… take care of me.”
It was the same greeting he had given countless times in the illegal Guiding parlors. A ritual for the first customer of the day—a hollow, sorrowful phrase he couldn’t stop himself from repeating now.
From the moment his frail figure was revealed, Gong Min couldn’t look away. The last time, he’d been lost to madness, remembering only the ruined shell left behind.
Now, seeing his Guide clearly, conscious and bare, hit him like a shock. It wasn’t the first naked body he had ever seen—man or woman—but it froze him nonetheless.
Even the fine hairs standing on Nabin’s skin etched sharply into his vision. Gong Min didn’t blink. He couldn’t.
When Gong Min still hadn’t moved, Nabin stumbled toward him. With a single step left between them, he sank to his knees, bowing his head like a slave before his master—submissive, reverent.
“Thank you… for coming to see me again….”
It was the manner drilled into his bones: a hollow voice, trembling hands reaching for Gong Min’s belt.
His fingers brushed lightly against the buckle. Too weak to press, he lifted his eyes, wordlessly seeking permission. That faint, flickering gaze was enough to stir hunger.
“…Ah.”
Heat pressed into his palm. Nabin loosened the buckle, drew down the zipper, and lowered his head toward the swelling beneath.
Clients in the past had taken this as consent without a word. If he didn’t act, they punished him for “not knowing his place.”
Like a butterfly landing on a petal, even the faintest touch drew a raw response from Gong Min’s body, no matter his expressionless face.
Nabin’s gaze lost its focus, his mind clouding itself for survival—dulling reality whenever it grew unbearable.
Each wet, obscene sound seemed to fog Gong Min’s vision as well. His head tipped back, veins straining blue at his throat.
“…Haa.”
His large hand gripped the back of Nabin’s head, holding him in place. The harsh rush of stimulation battered both his mind and body, and he clenched his teeth, determined not to lose control like before.
But reason didn’t last long. As if swallowed into Nabin’s face, his clarity slipped away.
At some point, his hand began forcing Nabin’s head back and forth.
Nabin didn’t resist. He surrendered. His face flushed, then blanched, over and over. His hands twitched with the instinct to push away, but he curled them into fists, enduring with all the strength he had. The butterfly digging into his palm lent him the smallest fragment of will.
Guiding Gong Min, Nabin quietly killed himself inside. The fragile light that had flickered back to life when he’d gone out with Kim Su-hyun was crushed once more, easily, under violent hands.
His pupils dulled, as if nothing but ash remained after a fire. They said nothing, save that Nabin still lived—and that was all.
