Ghost Apple

Han-gyeom, having personally witnessed and endured what could only be described as hell, couldn’t help but squeeze his eyes shut at the mere thought of the Association. He figured the unregistered Espers who had fled after uncovering the organization’s dark side probably felt the same way he did.

Out of habit, he brought a cigarette to his lips. Lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed that half of it had already burned to ash by the time it touched his crimson lips.

Fsshh—he took a drag, and as always, the acrid smoke rushed straight into his lungs.

Just as the sting began to sear his insides—

“Ugh, cough! Hack!”

Thick, pale smoke burst from between his lips in clumps.

“Geez, will you quit smoking already? Hyung, at this rate, you’re gonna die young.”

Even as Jae-woo clicked his tongue and scolded him, Han-gyeom’s coughing refused to let up. It wasn’t until he saw Han-gyeom drop his cigarette and collapse to the floor that he realized something was seriously wrong.

“Hyung, are you okay? Hey, Han-gyeom hyung!”

Han-gyeom covered his mouth with one hand as the violent coughs racked his body. Each spasm tore through his throat like claws shredding flesh, shaking every bone and muscle in his body. And that wasn’t the worst of it—an overwhelming chill suddenly erupted from the middle of his back, as if someone had dumped a load of ice water down his spine.

His eyes welled up from the relentless coughing. His head spinning, Han-gyeom motioned toward his bed with a trembling hand.

“Cough! There—ugh, the meds…! Cough, cough!”

The words were barely intelligible through the hacking, but Jae-woo caught on quickly. He rushed to the bed, rifled through the jacket Han-gyeom had thrown there, and pulled out a vial filled with ink-black liquid. At the same time, he fished out his handkerchief.

“Just hang in there a little longer!”

Hack! “Guh—!”

The coughing turned into a violent retch. As Jae-woo soaked the handkerchief with the liquid and rushed back, he saw blood drip from between Han-gyeom’s fingers.

His lips tightening unconsciously, Jae-woo carefully brought the handkerchief to Han-gyeom’s mouth and nose. The black liquid he’d poured on it had already turned transparent like water.

“I got the medicine on it, so move your hand and try holding your breath for a second.”

Following his instructions, Han-gyeom forced himself to stop coughing and held his breath. The soaked handkerchief instantly pressed against his bloodied lips and nose.

“Mmph, mmf…!”

His choked breathing came in short, rapid gasps. But strangely enough, the deep, racking coughs that had erupted from within him came to a sudden halt.

The medicinal scent rushed into his lungs as fast as the cigarette smoke had. The substance burrowed deep into his chest, spiraling smoothly before gathering gently around his heart, then began to spread throughout his body via his bloodstream, caressing every inch of him.

The tension that had locked up his bones and muscles from the coughing melted away in an instant. As his heart, which had been pounding like it was ready to burst, began to settle, so too did the strength gradually drain from his limbs.

Panting raggedly, Han-gyeom slumped in exhaustion. Jae-woo gently helped him sit up against the wall, worry etched deep into his pale face as he watched Han-gyeom, eyes closed and breathing shallowly.

When he carefully peeled the handkerchief away from Han-gyeom’s mouth and nose, the smear of blood at the corners of his lips was plainly visible.

“Hyung… are you okay?”

He gently dabbed at the blood with the handkerchief, trying not to apply too much pressure. Han-gyeom’s complexion was so ashen that even the slightest force seemed like it would leave behind a red stain. Jae-woo’s grip on the cloth was lighter than ever before.

Han-gyeom’s damp eyelashes fluttered faintly as he slowly opened his eyes. His lips moved, but he didn’t seem to have the strength to speak—only shallow, wheezing breaths escaped him.

Jae-woo looked at him with a mix of pity and concern before gently scooping him up in his arms. Though Han-gyeom had a long frame, he was so thin that Jae-woo didn’t find him heavy in the slightest.

“Let’s call it a day.”

These kinds of sudden seizures had happened from time to time. And Jae-woo knew from experience—if Han-gyeom pushed through and tried to keep working without resting after an episode like this, he’d end up completely out of it for several days. That’s why, in moments like these, the best option was to close shop and let him get proper rest.

“I’ll reschedule the clients we had booked for today. Don’t worry about it, hyung—just focus on getting better.”

Sure, there were the occasional walk-ins like that guy earlier, but most clients made appointments in advance by contacting Song Jae-woo, the guiding broker.

Han-gyeom, especially, was one of the most sought-after guides around, despite mainly offering hand-guiding sessions. During peak periods, his schedule would be packed with back-to-back bookings, not a single time slot left open. If Jae-woo hadn’t taken it upon himself to set hard limits and carve out mandatory rest days to keep Han-gyeom from burning out, there might’ve been a line of Espers stretching outside this run-down house by now.

Jae-woo laid Han-gyeom down on the bed and unfolded the neatly folded blanket at the foot. He tucked it in carefully, making sure there wasn’t even a sliver of space for a draft to get in. He didn’t forget to turn off the harsh, eye-straining overhead light either.

“I’ll double-layer the barrier, so just get some good rest and call me when you wake up.”

But mid-sentence, he shook his head.

“No—don’t bother getting up. Just lie there and call for me. I’ll come right away.”

Just like most of their clients, Song Jae-woo was an unregistered ability user. And he also happened to be a B-rank barrier-type Esper.

His ability allowed him to surround up to thirty pyeong (about 1,000 square feet) with a transparent dome that could be configured to allow only specific individuals entry—those he’d registered in advance, including himself.

Though he’d already set up a primary barrier to limit access to pre-approved clients, he still layered another one on top of it. That second barrier was a precaution against unexpected drop-ins who might barge in demanding emergency guiding sessions.

When Han-gyeom was conscious, there was no need to worry—no matter who showed up, he could handle it. But in his current state, laid out and vulnerable, he was just an ordinary, fragile young man. That made all the difference.

Once Jae-woo left the house, his presence fading away—

Han-gyeom, curled up under the blanket, weakly clutched at the left side of his chest.

He could still feel the lingering aftershocks of the seizure. His heart was beating fast—too fast. Beneath it, his lungs struggled to move, laboring with every breath.

Hyung…

As thoughts of someone flickered through his mind, Han-gyeom’s lashes trembled faintly—then, before long, he drifted off into a deep sleep.

***

“You did good, Mister Guide.”

An old man in ragged clothes grasped Han-gyeom’s hands with surprising strength, shaking them up and down. When he’d first come in, he’d looked like death warmed over, but now, after the guiding session, he seemed happier than ever.

“Next time I come, I’ll bring some candy or something. If you don’t like candy, cookies work too.”

He spoke with a gentle smile, like he was doting on a grandchild. Han-gyeom had the sudden urge to tell him the truth.

He never ate anything given to him by Esper clients.

Because some crazy Espers did weird shit to their offerings.

After hesitating for a moment, Han-gyeom gave a reluctant nod. The old man lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, practically bouncing on his heels with joy.

Watching the man leave, Han-gyeom pulled out a cigarette. With plenty of time until the next appointment, he figured he could catch a short break.

Knock, knock.

Just as he took a long drag from the freshly lit cigarette, a knock came at the door. Since the old man had only just left, Han-gyeom assumed he must’ve come back for something.

“What now? Did you forget something?”

He asked, but there was no reply from the other side. The presence was still there, clearly, but—

No, that’s not him.

If it had been the old man, he would’ve done exactly what Jae-woo told him to: knock politely first, then burst in with a laugh the moment he heard Han-gyeom’s voice.

That man wasn’t the type to just stand there silently. Which meant… whoever was outside the door wasn’t him.

An emergency client, maybe?

The only people who could show up unannounced like this were either Song Jae-woo or one of their existing clients.

Jae-woo’s barrier was exceptionally precise and well-crafted.

Only those he had personally registered could perceive the house or enter its bounds. Han-gyeom, of course, was an exception. With his ability to read and sometimes override the flow of Esper powers, he didn’t need to be registered—he could come and go as he pleased.

Which meant this person had to be one of the previously approved clients.

Placing the barely-smoked cigarette on the ashtray, Han-gyeom made his way to the door.

“Who is it?”

The silence from the other side bothered him. Just in case, he discreetly drew a knife and hid it behind his back.

Every now and then, some clueless client would try to overpower him by force. Of course, Jae-woo—who could hear everything that happened within the barrier in real time—would rush in immediately to help, but still…

He had to keep at least a small weapon like this on hand—if only to buy himself time until help could arrive.

The person beyond the door still hadn’t said a word.

Tension tightening his features, Han-gyeom slowly opened the door. The old, unlatched door creaked open with an unsettling metallic groan.