TSBIRBV Ch 1

Chapter 1. Prologue: What Kind of Esper Only Holds Hands with Their Guide to Sleep?

‘What kind of esper only holds hands with their guide to sleep?’

Never in his wildest dreams had Yegyeol imagined that such an esper would turn out to be himself.

He forced his eyes shut, but sleep refused to come. The bed—broad enough that a mere half-turn would have brought him into contact with his companion—felt as vast as an open sea.

“Still unable to sleep?”

At the sound of that voice, which came the instant he moved, Yegyeol turned his head. A man with a cold, composed face looked down at him with worry in his gaze.

“This senior brother will stay by your side. If you have another nightmare, I’ll wake you. For now, try to rest your eyes.”

“Senior brother…”

The man’s hand brushed gently across Yegyeol’s forehead. The touch was careful, tucking away the strands of hair that had fallen loose—tender, as though soothing a child.

From where his skin met Je Haryang’s, guiding energy flowed in—a slow, molten warmth that seeped into his very being.

Yegyeol savored the sensation of that energy sinking deeply into him. None of the words he’d heard from senior espers at the Awakener Center could capture this feeling in its entirety.

“You’ve grown quite fond of affection.”

“In Mount Kunlun… we could never spend time alone like this.”

Yegyeol lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Senior brother was always surrounded by everyone. As the youngest, I could hardly get close to you.”

A flicker of guilt crossed Haryang’s eyes. Even with that faint distortion on his handsome face, Yegyeol found it impossible to look away.

He looked as though a single touch would freeze one’s fingertips—yet the gaze he turned on Yegyeol brimmed with warmth.

The man’s air, pure and tranquil like a piece of blue jade submerged in flowing water, was just as it had been back then. Perhaps that was why, even after twenty years, Yegyeol had recognized Je Haryang the instant they met again.

‘Who could’ve imagined we’d meet again like this?’

Now, Yegyeol was twenty years old—an esper born in twenty-first-century Korea. Yet he also carried the memories of his past life—of dying at seventeen as Mun Yegyeol, who perished by a fiend’s blade protecting the very man before him on Mount Kunlun.

‘Back in Korea, I thought I was insane.’

Yegyeol had been born with memories of his previous life intact. The world he was reborn into was bizarre beyond comprehension.

There were iron carriages that ran along roads instead of horses, and one could soar through the skies in metal vessels without learning to walk on air. Even people on opposite ends of the earth could speak to each other instantly.

There were no martial arts masters, but espers who conjured fire from their hands or bent steel beams with their bare fingers. Portals called “gates” opened, spilling grotesque beings known as monsters into the world.

And yet, even in that strange modern world, Murim existed only within the pages of fiction.

Before Yegyeol ever read a martial arts novel, he already knew of the Kunlun Sect and the Nine Great Clans as though he had once lived among them. But others dismissed it as childish fantasy.

So the boy who remembered another life learned to hide his truth behind a careful mask.

Until recently, he had been adapting well to his new life in Korea—even going on a celebratory trip with his parents before entering university.

‘Who’d have thought I’d suddenly end up back in the Central Plains?’

“Still, aren’t we quite close now?”

Haryang gave a faint, awkward smile, concern flickering beneath the softness of his tone.

“Yes. I suppose we are.”

Feigning innocence, Yegyeol leaned his cheek against Haryang’s hand and murmured pleadingly,

“Can’t we stay like this just a little longer?”

“You should sleep. Isn’t this uncomfortable?”

A gentle refusal—diplomatic but clear.

Well, of course. If a grown man pressed up against another and begged to be touched, it’d make anyone uneasy. But this was a matter of survival.

Coughing up bits of his own organs, only to gag again at the stench of his blood—that was agony he wasn’t eager to relive.

“…It’s been so long since I’ve touched another person. I must’ve forgotten how much is too much.”

When Yegyeol lowered his gaze, sulking faintly, Haryang’s fingers twitched as though unsure what to do.

It wasn’t even a lie. Ever since signs appeared that Yegyeol would awaken as an S-rank esper, his senses had become unbearably sensitive—to tastes, textures, and touch alike.

He became picky about what he ate, wore, and used… so of course, he had grown wary of people too.

“I see… this is all new to me as well, so my words may have been clumsy. Pay it no mind.”

Though hesitation still lingered in Haryang’s demeanor, he no longer pushed Yegyeol away. Perceiving this, Yegyeol felt a quiet satisfaction.

Such a kind and gentle guide—he doubted any of his senior espers had ever met one like him.

His senior brother’s heart was as broad as it had ever been—perhaps even more so now, after Yegyeol’s death.

For an esper battered by post-overload trauma, that chest was the perfect place to rest.

‘Now then… how do I advance from here?’

A disciple should honor his senior brother as if he were kin; a martial sibling bond was meant to be as deep as blood. But such moral codes were little more than scraps of paper to Yegyeol, who had reunited with his senior brother after twenty long years.

He was far too preoccupied with plotting how best to devour Je Haryang whole.

‘To hell with the taboos of the martial world.’

First, he had to survive.

Nestling deeper into Haryang’s embrace, Yegyeol’s golden eyes gleamed with a sly light.

It was an autumn night, thick with the warmth of schemes yet to unfold.