The change began when Guiding mana started rising from Nabin’s body. It wasn’t the faint kind only Espers could sense through perception—it was visible, clear enough for even ordinary people to see.
It was Manifested Guiding.
The ability to give form to Guiding mana was so rare that even among S-rank Guides, only a handful possessed it. But as far as Hayan knew, Manifested Guiding looked like little more than thin strands of mana drifting outward like heat haze from a Guide toward the Esper they were guiding.
He was certain of this, having seen it once with his own eyes—bluish threads of mana stretching out from a Guide and flowing into the Esper before them.
But what unfolded before him now shattered everything he thought he knew. This wasn’t a few strands of mana flickering into the air.
The currents of power wove together like living things, interlacing until they took shape. Dozens of butterflies, glowing in mysterious violet light, unfurled their wings and circled Nabin.
…Guiding mana in the form of butterflies.
In the dim room, they gleamed with uncanny brilliance, fluttering protectively around Nabin. Each beat of their violet wings painted trails through the air, filling the room with radiant Guiding energy.
Every single butterfly carried the weight of an S-rank Guide’s power. The sight was so unearthly, so breathtakingly beautiful, that Hayan’s lips parted without him realizing.
The butterflies circled Nabin, but also drifted toward Hayan, as if studying him—approaching, then retreating. Each time they neared, Nabin’s Guiding mana sank into Hayan’s skin like a fragrant breeze.
His eyes grew unfocused, hazy. Then, one butterfly fluttered down and landed gently on the back of his hand.
It folded its wings, then melted into his skin as though it had always belonged there. A tremor rushed through him, and in an instant, clear, refreshing Guiding mana spread through his body like watercolor bleeding across pure white paper.
Hayan’s Outbreak Risk Index had been at 31. Not dangerously high, but heavy and stifling, like a stone weighing him down.
[Outbreak Risk Index: 11]
Just one butterfly had lowered it by 20. That kind of drop only came from the most intimate form of Contact Guiding, and only when the Guide was S-rank with a Match Rate of over 90%.
Yet Hayan had always had poor compatibility with Guides—not as bad as the notorious trio of S-rank Espers, but low enough that he avoided Contact Guiding whenever possible. At most, he’d held hands.
Instead, he relied on Guiding machines to keep his Outbreak levels under control, which usually hovered between 20 and 40. It had been a long, long time since his index had dipped into the low teens.
Relief flooded him, almost dizzying. It felt like he’d finally set down the crushing weight he’d carried for so long. His body was so light, so free, he felt the sudden urge to charge into a dungeon and unleash his power in one explosive surge.
But what mattered more was Nabin. Even as the butterflies circled to comfort him, he sat crying, muttering broken words.
Though Hayan’s body felt better than ever, his heart was weighed down by Nabin’s tears. His lips moved of their own accord, his voice carrying nothing but tenderness.
“Nabin.”
For the first time, he abandoned the stiff formality of “Guide Kim Nabin.” He even set aside honorifics, calling his name with a simple, desperate wish—that his voice would reach him.
Very few people in Nabin’s life had ever called him gently as “Nabin-ah.” Hayan’s voice dug deep into his unconscious like something long buried.
That deep, resonant tone wrapped warmly around his name. Nabin’s fingertips, pressed tightly against his ears, twitched in response.
The muttering stopped at once. Realizing the sound of his name was working, Hayan called it again, softer this time, letting the syllables melt in his mouth.
“Nabin-ah, it’s all right.”
Nabin’s head, locked downward, slowly lifted. In his tear-streaked eyes, the fog began to clear, and sunlight broke faintly through.
Hayan prayed with all his heart that his presence could bring him peace. He coaxed his lips into a smile—awkward, unfamiliar, but sincere.
“No one can hurt you. Trust me.”
Even the butterflies froze mid-flight, as though time itself had paused. Without breaking eye contact, Hayan reached out his hand.
Nabin, dazed, let his gaze fall from Hayan’s face to the steady, waiting hand before him.
“Lee Hayan…”
It was an ordinary name, three syllables spoken countless times by countless people. And yet, when Nabin whispered it now, it resonated inside Hayan as something extraordinary.
“Yeah, Nabin-ah. Take my hand.”
So too was Nabin’s name extraordinary. The more Hayan said it, the more it lingered in his chest, bittersweet. He had never thought much about calling someone’s name before.
But Nabin’s was different. Saying it felt like loosening the noose he’d tied around his own throat.
Nabin had already become precious to him. Precious enough that Hayan felt a vow forming—whatever tried to harm Nabin, he would give everything to protect him.
He wanted Nabin to feel it—the depth of how much he meant to him. He wanted that feeling to take root, so that one day Nabin could rise above his pain and bloom into something beautiful.
Perhaps carried by the wind, Nabin’s hand began to move. Slowly, so slowly it was almost imperceptible, until at last, his small hand rested atop Hayan’s.
A radiant smile broke across Hayan’s lips.
***
Nabin greeted the caretaker who had come to the mansion. She was a middle-aged woman, warm and professional, with years of experience. It was easy to tell she was someone Hayan had carefully arranged.
And she wasn’t the only one. Because his mother’s condition was so dire that she needed constant attendance, two more caretakers were scheduled to arrive soon. Hayan had said he would meet each of them in turn.
Nabin bowed his head over and over, asking her to take good care of his mother, before stepping out with Hayan.
He remembered nothing of the Manifested Guiding. It had been triggered by instinct, when his mind was blurred, a subconscious act of self-preservation. His memory simply cut off at one point, and when it returned, he was holding Hayan’s hand.
By then, the butterflies had already vanished into the air. All that remained before him was Hayan, smiling at him with a warmth that felt brighter than even the heat of his hand.
The sight had struck Nabin like time itself had frozen.
Had the caretaker not rung the doorbell at that exact moment, he might have stood there forever, unmoving as a statue.
“Aren’t you cold?”
“…No.”
Gone was his old, tattered jumper. In its place was the coat Hayan had given him. Though just a coat, the soft fleece lining made it far warmer than his own. And when Hayan wrapped a scarf snugly around his neck, the winter wind lost its bite completely.
When those gentle fingers brushed his cheek and neck as they adjusted the scarf, Nabin had tugged it higher, hiding his reddened face.
Now, with Hayan opening the car door for him, they drove together down the road. By chance, the route passed the office of Black Finance.
The place was lodged among sleek rows of high-end brand shops, an odd location for a business that clawed away at the desperate.
“…Ah.”
At the sight of the sign, a face rose unbidden in Nabin’s mind. His hand tightened around the seatbelt, breath catching in his throat.
In the original path of his life, when he had been classified as a D-rank Guide, his fall had begun—first to Kim Minsu, then to countless other Espers.
While he had been inside the testing room, Kim Minsu had surely been waiting outside. Yet instead of D-rank, his result had been Immeasurable.
The startled staff had summoned the Center Director, who in turn called Hayan. After meeting Hayan, Nabin had lost consciousness—that was the only reason he hadn’t faced Kim Minsu yet.
But Kim Minsu was not the kind of man who gave up. With his last remaining eye blazing, he had always hunted Nabin down. He was part of the reason Nabin had once chosen to walk willingly toward death. Stepping beyond the mansion had meant falling into his grasp—it had been inevitable.
Even now, though he sat in the safety of a car beside Hayan, dread gnawed at him. At any moment, it felt as though Kim Minsu would wrench open the door and drag him out.
Cold sweat beaded at his nape. Wiping it with the back of his hand did nothing to calm the pounding unease in his chest.
