Ghost Apple

Han-gyeom dragged his heavy legs toward him, whose heart now loomed before his eyes. With each step he took toward Seo Won, it felt as though he were walking across thin ice, the imagined sound of it cracking beneath him echoing in his mind. In rhythm with those steps, Han-gyeom’s breathing gradually grew more ragged.

Lost in a daze, he extended a trembling hand toward Seo Won. The moment his fingertips brushed against Seo Won’s chest, where a crimson sigil had been engraved—

“Han-gyeom, I told you, didn’t I?”

A chilling voice whispered against his ear, brushing past like a cold breeze. Fragmented hallucinations, barely holding his sanity together, began to sear through what was left of his mind.

“We’ll be together even in death.”

At that instant, a silent scream that had long sunk deep within him finally broke free.

“Ah… ngh…!”

The remnants of his scream slipped through his lips, reduced to nothing more than a frail moan. His barely-held composure crumbled in an instant.

“Mmph, cough!”

As if on cue, a cough burst out when he could no longer breathe properly. Agonizing pain scorched through his throat, and it felt like his lungs were being crushed from all sides.

“Cough, cough! Hngh, cough!“

He instinctively covered his mouth, suppressing the relentless coughs, clinging desperately to whatever his outstretched hand could grasp.

He felt like he was dying. It was as if all his internal organs were being wrenched out and forced up through his throat. He needed medication to stop the seizure—but the jacket where he always kept his meds was nowhere to be found. His worn-out jeans, too—not a trace in the pockets, like someone had thoroughly searched him and stripped everything away.

Choking on his violent coughs, Han-gyeom gripped the man in front of him even tighter.

“Tsk.”

Just then, a short, irritated tsk reached his ears. Even through the haze of his delirium, that sound came through unnaturally clear.

With tears welling up in his eyes, Han-gyeom raised his head. The front of Seo Won’s shirt—desperately clutched in his trembling hands—was wrinkled beyond recognition. Rather than showing concern for Han-gyeom’s breathless, tortured coughing, Seo Won seemed far more bothered that his shirt had been wrinkled.

Seo Won gripped Han-gyeom’s wrist so tightly it hurt, then yanked it away. Only then was the crumpled front of his shirt freed.

The ache in his wrist was sharp, but what hurt more was the cold, contemptuous glare in Seo Won’s eyes. Was it because he carried that man’s heart within him? The chill in Seo Won’s face overlapped with the image of another man—the one who used to smile so warmly, endlessly gentle. And it left him gasping for air.

“So bothersome.”

As if some unseen hand were tearing into his heart, not just squeezing it but slamming it down in one crushing blow. It felt like that man—always so kind, always smiling—had spoken through Seo Won’s lips, calling him useless. Like a blade of frost, cold and jagged, slicing through his ragged heart—

It felt like someone was stabbing into him deep enough to carve out his entire gut. And it wasn’t just his heart. His already chaotic mind was mercilessly ripped apart by that one, throwaway line. Fragmented memories, ones he didn’t even know the origin of, surfaced against his will.

“Useless bastard. Fucking annoying.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to just scrap him at this point?”

“They say this one’s the only guide available for testing. If we had extras, he’d be long gone.”

“Shit, he’s already defective, and we keep reusing him—no wonder the efficiency’s trash.”

“Hey, he’s zoned out again. Just call any researcher and tell them to pump him with some stimulants.”

The shadows of his childhood, when he wasn’t even treated as a useful tool, had never really left. His barely-standing body finally gave out, collapsing to the ground with a thud. Seo Won didn’t even so much as reach out a hand. He left the room with a face full of annoyance, as if Han-gyeom were nothing but a hassle. Even the clone left behind only looked down at him with cold eyes, silently watching, unmoving.

Under that icy gaze, Han-gyeom finally coughed up blood. The moment he saw the dark red droplets splatter through the cracks of his fingers, his vision blurred into a distant fog. The last thing he saw was someone rushing in through the narrowing frame of his fading sight.

***

Losing consciousness during a seizure was dangerous. It was hard enough to endure while fully awake, but if he couldn’t even move a finger, there was no way to defend himself. Up until now, Song Jae-woo had always made it just in time to help him inhale the meds when things got bad—just enough for Han-gyeom to rest and eventually open his eyes again.

But when he was suddenly abducted to some unknown place like today, there was no such help waiting. He had to brace himself for death.

“Hyung! Are you okay?!”

Contrary to those grim thoughts, when Han-gyeom came to after blacking out from the seizure, Song Jae-woo was right by his side.

Despite his not-so-small frame, Jae-woo looked like he might burst into tears the moment someone poked him. His face was all scrunched up. Without warning, he threw himself at Han-gyeom, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

“Fuck, do you even know how scared I was?! I thought you were seriously gonna die…!” Jae-woo’s voice rang out louder than he meant, and realizing it, he flinched and glanced at Han-gyeom with a startled face. Han-gyeom, who had instinctively recoiled in fear, quickly turned his head away, trying to play it off like nothing happened.

Jae-woo froze, looking like he was ready to fall on his knees in guilt.

“S-sorry, I just… I was so freaked out…”

“It’s fine. I’m okay.”

Han-gyeom looked up at Song Jae-woo, who was awkwardly helping him lie back down again. Thankfully, it seemed Jae-woo had shown up before it got too far out of control.

But the real question was—why was he here at all?

“What happened? Why are you here?”

“Ah, well… that’s…”

Jae-woo scratched his cheek with a troubled expression. According to what he said, he had already answered a call from an unfamiliar man using Kim Hye-seong’s phone. That alone was enough to realize something had happened to Hye-seong, who had been their last scheduled client. Panicked, Jae-woo had immediately bolted out of the office.

He was still on the phone with the man and running toward Han-gyeom’s house when he was suddenly ambushed by three Espers. They were dressed in black suits, so at first he thought maybe it was an unannounced inspection from the Association—but now it seemed they were this place’s security detail.

Song Jae-woo can’t set up a barrier while in motion. Even the barrier itself varies in setup time and required focus depending on its configuration, so it’s almost impossible to deploy one quickly. Which means, in a sudden ambush like this, he’s no better off than a regular civilian with a sturdy body.

Hearing the story, Han-gyeom leaned on Jae-woo’s support and sat up.

“They were Espers who attacked you?”

“Yeah. I really thought I was screwed—like I was about to get dragged off by those Association bastards. But when I came to, I was already here.”

Even as he spoke, Jae-woo seemed just as confused about what was going on.

Han-gyeom fell into thought, silently receiving Jae-woo’s worried gaze.

If they had sent those Espers after me instead, they wouldn’t have caught me.

No matter how powerful an Esper might be, their abilities couldn’t harm Cha Han-gyeom. Because that’s how he’d been designed—back there.

This whole abduction felt too deliberate, like the kidnappers already knew exactly who he and Song Jae-woo were. And in cases like this, they usually made offers you couldn’t refuse.

Han-gyeom’s gaze darkened. The image of Seo Won’s body, veined with black lines, and the vivid red sigil carved into his chest flickered before his eyes.

Hyung…!

Han-gyeom clenched his eyes shut and bit down hard on his lower lip, one hand pressing against the corner of his eye. No matter how much he wanted to forget, the voice of that man still whispered faintly like the wind.

“Han-gyeom.”

The soundless call—unreal, yet all too vivid—made his heart lurch violently. That intense rhythm surged through his body like countless hands gripping him from every direction, holding him down.

Han-gyeom’s dimly lowered gaze quivered with darkness.

Hyung… I…

He squeezed his eyes shut. When the blackness of his lids finally overtook his vision, his thundering heart seemed to calm—if only slightly. With a bit more clarity in his mind, Han-gyeom fell into thought again.

Just moments ago, when their resonance triggered, the memories tied to his Imprinter had rushed in like a tidal wave. Whether joyful, painful, warm, or bitter— Those countless memories flashing through him in that brief span served only to harden Han-gyeom’s resolve.

He still didn’t know why a man like Seo Won bore the sigil of his Imprinter.

But Han-gyeom didn’t think Seo Won was trying to hide the reason. If he were, he wouldn’t have so brazenly unbuttoned his shirt in the first place. For Seo Won to achieve his goal, it was necessary that Han-gyeom recognize the sigil.

It wasn’t hard to guess what that goal was. An Esper who has been sigiled will only respond to the guiding of the specific Guide they share that bond with. Han-gyeom could now understand why Seo Won had sent his clones to receive guidance from multiple Guides, as if testing them one by one.

He was searching for the one Guide capable of guiding him!

Seo Won had pierced through the “barrier only visible to unregistered Espers” that Song Jae-woo had created, and seen the ad posted beyond it. He also already had a connection with Kim Hye-seong, who only accepted unregistered ability users as clients.

Which could only mean one thing—Seo Won was, without a doubt, an unregistered Esper.

And yet, he was someone who shamelessly showed his face in the media, a public figure recognized everywhere.