Chapter 145

“Go to hell.”

He flung the words like a curse with both hands.

Of course, Baek Beomwoo’s proposal had been tempting—plausible even—but Aiden wasn’t so cornered that he would fail to notice its contradictions.

First of all, it seemed unlikely that Baek Beomwoo could have foreseen any of this. The idea that he had somehow known Jaeha would face a boss with this kind of ability and developed a drug in advance was ridiculous. After all, the very reason Jaeha agreed to enter this gate in the first place came down to that bastard Baek Beomwoo.

In other words, Baek Beomwoo’s reason for wanting Song Jaeha inside this gate and his reason for creating an ability nullifier were probably two separate matters altogether.

Besides, the aftereffects of the suppressor were horrific. Aiden didn’t know if this so-called version was even complete—or if it was truly the “final product”—but Jaeha had once suffered catastrophic consequences from drug overdose: liver failure due to Venus extract, permanent kidney damage, lasting neurological impact on the central and occipital systems that had nearly left him blind. The only reason he had recovered to any degree was because he was an esper. An ordinary person could never have survived, much less healed.

Following that line of thought, Aiden felt his anger rise like a gradiented flood boiling past control.

“Just crawl out and die. Get lost! Fuck—this was all your fault to begin with!”

For even a moment to have been tempted made him feel idiotic. Admittedly, shouting vulgarity in this small body wasn’t much different from a Chihuahua yapping, but he couldn’t restrain himself. So he swore harder.

“Guide Ye Aiden?”

Song Juhyuk, apparently having heard him, looked on in alarm and approached, resting a hand on Aiden’s shoulder with a forced parental gentleness. Having been diligently guiding the espers until just now, he exuded that heavy, steady balm of a guide’s presence.

“Those words won’t do. You should use kind ones.”

“Kind, my ass, you bastard!”

“Guide Aiden—!”

His fatherly phrasing was almost comical. Like a small, irate lapdog struggling madly under its owner’s grip, Aiden twisted with all his strength, raging at the top of his lungs. And still, Baek Beomwoo, maddeningly indifferent, only looked on blank-faced—an emotional void that inflamed Aiden further. Other members of the meeting craned their necks to see what was happening. But Aiden, burning up to the scalp, had no energy to care about appearances or social reputation.

That absurd suggestion had enraged him so much.

“It would make more sense for me to just beat that boss to death with guiding instead—!”

Yet, mid-rant, Aiden suddenly froze. His struggling ceased. A flash of lightning-strike realization hit his brain.

“……Guide Aiden?”

“Ah.”

That’s it.

Everyone stared, expecting him to explain. But Aiden withheld the answer. Slowly, he turned his head toward the possessed body sprawled nearby. The boss only yawned wide, uninterested in the commotion.

Aiden murmured:

“…If we do this right, I might really be able to pull Jaeha-ssi back out.”

Gasps sucked in across the space at the words of the most skilled guide among them.

“–. –ya.”

Somewhere else—Jaeha was surfacing from a long, unbroken sleep. Slowly, languidly, as though it had been ages since he’d had such peace. It was like that night when, after his first kiss with Aiden, he had finally slept soundly, free from insomnia.

Warm sunlight tickled his closed eyes with golden fingertips. The chronic ache he carried daily as an esper—lessened greatly since he’d met Aiden—was now wholly absent. It felt as if he had shifted back to before his power had ever manifested.

“Mm……”

He wanted to sleep just a little longer, so he bowed his head deeper into the pillow that smelled faintly of fresh sunlight. It was blissful.

But he was not alone here.

Someone stood beside his bed, gently trying to wake him.

“Song Jaeha. Won’t you get up?”

A woman’s voice. One he had never heard before. When he didn’t stir, she leaned over, brushing a hand lightly through his hair as she smiled.

“Did you stay up too late last night? You kept talking about exam periods and such.”

“……”

“I told you to study earlier. Night is for proper sleep.”

It was the kind of affectionate scolding a guardian might give a child. Jaeha knew it only as something foreign. At the orphanage, the director had shown him some pity, offered small kindnesses. But with so many mouths to care for, it had always been limited. He got the scraps left from donations—often even those were stolen away. Affection like this, springing from full attention and warmth, was something he had never once received.

“……”

Curiosity gnawed stronger than sleep. His eyes fluttered open.

“Did you say you had morning classes? Get up, wash, and eat.”

“……”

“Why so dazed today, son?”

Son.

That word tore the last of his drowsiness away. Shivers crept his skin. Slowly, he sat up.

“…Mom?”

“Still oversleeping even as a college student? Do I have to wake you up every morning? I’m busy with work too, you know.”

The woman smiled, brushing his messy hair as Jaeha blinked. Her face was half-hidden by forward-tossed hair. Still, his mind staggered.

College student? Me? And her—my mother? The one from the photo?

Some indescribable emotion swamped him. He strained to see her face. Blurred vision slowly resolved—into features oddly familiar. A middle-aged woman whose face resembled his slightly.

“Wash up quickly. I’ll prepare breakfast.”

She slipped out before he could answer. Jaeha bolted upright.

How?

He rubbed his eyes, but his vision stayed blurred. Groping around, his hand caught a folded pair of glasses on the nightstand. Automatically, he slipped them on—his body moving as if it knew how. His heart knocked once, stunned.

“Why am I wearing glasses……”

As a psychic esper, his physical condition had always been far beyond that of ordinary people. He’d never worn glasses. Not even sunglasses. Yet the unfamiliar weight on his nose—and the way blurred sight cleared crisply—felt shockingly natural, not foreign at all.

“This……”

…What the hell is happening?

He looked around. The room basked in sunlight, filled with cozy, warm-toned furniture—a room he should never have known, but which felt deeply familiar.

Exam season books sprawled over the desk: Cognitive Psychology and Personality Psychology. Colorful sticky notes plastered across their pages.

“Stay focused. Stay focused, Song Jaeha.”

It was true that he had nearly lost himself to the tranquility of this place. How could he not? This was the life he had always longed for.

But no. He was no longer a child to believe fairy tales like—“Surprise, this was the dream, this is reality.” He was past the age of orphanage nights, when he had clung to the fantasy his supposedly dead parents would return for him someday.

“Let’s… let’s reason this out.”

He sat heavily on the bed, clutching his head. His voice trembled. His skull throbbed in dull pain. What had he been doing before he came here?

“A gate……”

Yes. He’d been raiding a gate. With his colleagues. With his boss, his father, and Aiden. His memories groaned to life like an old, rusted machine.

The boss battle—it had come to that. The gate collapsing. Fleeing into a building together. And then—

[See, I told you—yours is the prettiest essence of all.]

…He had reached for Sasha, nearly falling, and caught his hand.

That was the last memory.

Thought churned on. Then… had he fallen prey to the psychic-type boss monster? Was this its doing?

Surely he wasn’t dead? This couldn’t be the afterlife, showing him his long-dead parents?

Fumbling, he felt his chest, his neck. His heart still beat, his lungs drew breath. But was this truth?

Besides—

“No pain……”

His body carried no pain at all. Not that he had been sick—but the resonance all espers endured, the underlying current of their suffering, was gone.

Since meeting Aiden, he had occasionally enjoyed peace, but never utterly free from it. His bond with Aiden had dulled the resonance like a miracle, yet without him, the gnawing ache would always creep back. Always.

“……”

Jaeha rose, letting instinct guide him. He threw open a door he already knew led to the bathroom. As though some voice whispered: “This isn’t a dream. This is real.”

Leaning over the sink, he stared into the mirror.

His face stared back—the one he had always loathed for its familiarity. But here, the skin was fair without weakness, hair neat and well cared. His eyes—no longer wary, no longer timid, but confident—a face of someone loved.

And his eyes themselves—

Not the teal of an esper’s gift, but a soft green, clear behind the glasses.

At last, he understood.

The self in this place—

Was not an esper.