Chapter 148

Several more days passed.

And Jaeha’s thoughts, slowly and inevitably, began to change.

The first shift was this:

Ah… “Hyung”  probably does feel wronged, in his own way.

It was unavoidable. In this world, he was too blameless. Not that his personality was particularly saintly or gentle, but simply—he had done nothing wrong to Jaeha here.

Here, they were said to be very close as brothers.

More precisely, when their parents were too busy for work, it had been his “hyung” who had looked after him since childhood, practically raising him. Jaeha had naturally grown dependent on him; the man had, in turn, put his kid brother before his teenage friends, walking him to and from elementary school each day even while he himself was in high school.

Even after Jaeha had learned he was adopted, and began keeping an awkward distance, his hyung handled it maturely. He gave Jaeha time. He never forced the feelings Jaeha suspected he harbored, never pressured him. After all, even Jaeha himself couldn’t name exactly what those feelings were—so it wasn’t truly a fault.

He was both the boss Jaeha knew—and, in some strange way, not the boss at all.

At first, Jaeha had been on edge, taut with caution. But as time went by, his vigilance eased.

So much so that one day, heading off to campus, he found himself able to speak easily:

“…I’m leaving now.”

“Alright. See you back home.”

Even at university age, his hyung drove him personally to school. That was how natural things had become.

Adjusting his backpack straps, Jaeha walked through the university gates—so familiar it felt like years of habit. He greeted friends who had seemingly been close for years, laughing and chatting, before settling into class.

“Jaeha, you’re here!”

“Yeah.”

“Guess who’s coming today? I put my bet on Esper Yoon Taesik.”

Today was the day of the Association’s free special lecture. Nobody knew who the guest would be.

“You guys made bets?”

“Of course we did. Ten thousand won. Wanna join?”

His friend snickered, and Jaeha chuckled, placing his bag lazily across the desk. The lecture hall was packed—unnaturally crowded.

“Wow. So many people.”

“They’re all here for the show.”

“Where else would you get to see an esper or guide up close?”

“….”

Jaeha faltered, his tablet half-drawn from his bag. In adapting to this reality, he realized he hadn’t given thought to Aiden.

If this was the real world, and all his so-called memories were nothing but a dream—then what was Aiden?

Some delusion? Had he simply admired him too much?

It didn’t make sense. Jaeha wasn’t a daydreamer. Even for people he admired, he’d never imagined emotional bonds or physical intimacy like he had with Aiden.

“Sigh…”

He exhaled long and heavy, utterly confused. Everything tangled together. Objectively, this world was better—happier, simpler. But one thread kept tugging at him.

Aiden.

A man who would shine even without him. Who would surely live well without him. Caring about him was probably meaningless. And yet—his face rose in Jaeha’s mind, unshakable.

I thought I decided to trust him… didn’t I?

“….”

Should he seek him out? If he could just meet him in this world too, wouldn’t it become clearer?

But as an ordinary civilian now, how could he possibly meet him? Still—his parents and hyung were all at the Association. Maybe, if he asked them…

But then what? If this was reality, or if it wasn’t—what then? Was the choice only between conforming to comfort, or breaking out? And how could one break out? What exactly did the Gate boss want out of this?

His head ached with the tangle of questions.

The sudden commotion of friends broke his thoughts.

“He’s coming in!”

“No way—that’s a white uniform!”

“Wait—it’s a Guide? Seriously?!”

Jaeha’s head snapped up. At the front doors, someone approached with escorts. A tall man in crisp white uniform strode in, confident. A strange, familiar scent of wind seemed to reach him, though it was impossible—he was far across the room.

“Hello, everyone. I’m Association Guide Ye Aiden.”

It was Aiden.

“Wow!”

“Fan here!”

“You’re gorgeous!”

“Haha, thank you.”

The room burst into applause and cheers. Aiden smiled with practiced warmth, unfazed by the gushing or the praise, as though entirely used to both. Though there was no longer any way to read his thoughts, Jaeha thought he looked—off. Not unhappy, exactly. But not happy. Perhaps that was only his imagination. The smile, after all, was perfect.

“Thank you for inviting me. I’m usually working in the field, so it’s been a while since I visited a campus. But it’s wonderful to be back at my alma mater.”

“It’s only been two years since you graduated, right?”

“How did you know? Clever. Want to join the Association?”

Laughter rang out, the mood lightened. Everyone smiled. Everyone except Jaeha, whose chest tightened with unease.

So in this world, Aiden graduated. In reality, neither of us ever touched a university’s doorstep.

“To be able to Guide someone is no small thing. It’s a rare blessing. As you all know well, Guides stabilize esper waves, minimizing danger.”

He spoke with ease, his tone polished into something silk-smooth.

“Someone once said it’s like being the ‘hand holding up the strings backstage.’ You might not see them, but they’re indispensable. I find great honor in holding such a role.”

Honestly, he might as well have been quoting the Association ad Jaeha had seen earlier. Talk of how honored Guides were, how vital their role stabilizing espers was, why they must register and serve. It was seamless, easy to follow—but mechanical.

“To stand where others’ survival depends on you—it’s no light weight. And I do not fear it. Rather, I feel grateful, proud, honored to have been chosen as a Guide.”

Jaeha’s discomfort crystallized. Because the Aiden he knew—was free-spirited, willful, unashamedly selfish at times, arrogant and flawed yet fiercely alive. But this Aiden—

“I take pride every day in this responsibility. And I look forward to the day when some among you, too, may be chosen as Guides or espers. It’s a joy to share the value of that with you here.”

—was too neat.

Too refined.

A mascot, polished to shine, all rough edges sanded away. Even his breaths between lines felt scripted, as though the association handed him a stage-play.

He wasn’t the Aiden who sulked, snapped, and acted bratty or self-centered. He wasn’t the Aiden who lived honestly to his own whims.

What had happened to this Aiden?

The days of quiet adjustment unraveled all at once. Suspicion, unease, the dissonance he had tried to suppress—they surged back like sand churned violently at the bottom of a river.

“I’ll take questions now.”

“Me!”

“Yes, the one in the yellow hoodie there.”

Hands shot up, cheers rose, laughter swirled. But in the tornado of smiling faces, Jaeha alone sat frozen, realization dawning.

He knew why he couldn’t adapt to this world.

Because his memories would not leave him.

“Wasn’t it your suggestion to use a honey trap, insisting it would work?”

Yes. Of course he had been hurt.

[Cute.]

[So this esper—what’s his name?]

[I’ll take care of it.]

Resentment had coexisted with relief, back then. Because if Aiden had liked him only for manipulation, then he didn’t need to feel guilty for liking Aiden back. He had thought, It’s fine. I can start sorting out my feelings now. Without guilt. Without weight.

And yet, even while sorting through that, he had gone on accepting Aiden’s care and affection freely. Never questioning the contradiction.

“Song Jaeha. Listen to me. This is because of me. It’s my fault—blame me.”

He had accepted that comfort, too. Had even wondered secretly if Aiden might truly like him now, and denied it to himself.

Yes. That was why.

Jaeha could never adapt to this world.

Not with parents alive. Not with a loving family. Not with the safety of civilian life instead of the stigma of criminal esperhood.

Because this happiness was his alone.

And all the parts of it he wished most to share—Aiden, above all—were excluded.