Chapter 63: The Distance Between Us

Beep.

Beeep.

Beep.

I don’t even know what state of mind I was in when I caught a taxi and came all the way here.

Even now, as I stare at Jaeyul’s body through the glass of the isolation room — his limbs bound, a respirator attached — my thoughts refuse to form properly.

With the intermittent beeping of bodily response signals and the sight of Jaeyul lying unconscious before my eyes, I don’t know what kind of reaction I’m supposed to show, or what kind of action I’m supposed to take.

“It’s been a while.”

I was blankly staring at Jaeyul inside the isolation room when that familiar voice greeted me.

At that moment, my stalled thoughts began to flow again.

“If you came back, shouldn’t you have at least come to say hello?”

Oh Seonggyu.

One of the reasons I had been able to make up my mind to leave Jaeyul four years ago.

At the very least, I believed that if it were this man, Jaeyul wouldn’t have to face the storms of this world alone.

Among all those trash-like humans, I believed he was at least someone usable.

That was why I had entrusted Jaeyul to him.

Ah…

Now I finally know what the proper reaction I should show is.

“Hello?”

I grabbed Oh Seonggyu by the collar as he approached.

And then, just like that, I slammed my fist into his face.

Unfortunately, because of the difference in our builds and strength, I couldn’t land the kind of blow I wanted.

Even after hitting him with all my might, his head only turned slightly, and his cheek merely reddened a little.

That perfectly fine appearance only made my anger boil up even more.

I tightened my grip on the collar of his body, which was a whole head larger than mine.

“You promised.

You promised me!

You said you’d take responsibility for Jaeyul, no matter what!”

“……”

“This is the responsibility you talked about?

Letting him go berserk just because he couldn’t get guided on time?”

The reaction I should show upon seeing Jaeyul like that was anger.

How could I not be furious, seeing a child who fought for them end up lying there with a forced sleep device attached after losing control.

“…And what about you.

If you were that worried, you should’ve shown up sooner.

You’re the one who hid away after even changing your name, letting things get this bad — and now you’re raising your voice at someone else?

At least I led Sun Jaeyul toward the life he wanted to live.

What were you doing during all that time?”

“…Th—!”

This time, my mouth shut tight.

The strength drained from the hand gripping Oh Seonggyu’s collar.

The glare I had been directing at him in fury dropped to the floor.

Because not a single word coming out of Oh Seonggyu’s mouth was wrong.

If I was going to be angry about Jaeyul’s condition, the person I should be directing that anger toward was myself.

Toward me, who failed to take better care of him.

Toward me, who didn’t pay closer attention when he looked exhausted.

Toward me, who abandoned Jaeyul and ran away four years ago.

“…I’m sorry.

I got carried away and made a mistake.”

I apologized to Oh Seonggyu.

I had simply needed someone to vent the anger swelling inside me.

And unfortunately, Oh Seonggyu happened to appear at just the wrong moment and ended up bearing it.

“Right now, that’s not what matters.

We can talk about our issues later, slowly.

To be honest, Sun Jaeyul’s condition is really bad.”

At Oh Seonggyu’s words, spoken as he tapped my shoulder lightly, our gazes turned toward the isolation room.

“Ugh… ahh…!”

Beep, beep, beep!

Along with the noisy machine alarms, a tearing groan burst from Jaeyul’s mouth.

It seemed even strong medication was failing to keep him asleep.

In response, two guides rushed into the isolation room.

They grabbed Jaeyul’s arms from both sides and began guiding him, but his condition showed no signs of improving.

If anything, the seizures were growing worse.

“Why… why isn’t the guiding working at all?

Isn’t there a higher-grade guide?

No — there should at least be one A-rank guide in the center!”

“Hah…

The two inside right now are both A-rank guides.

The problem is… the matching rate is terrible.

There isn’t a single guide in our center whose matching rate with Sun Jaeyul exceeds 10%.”

“…What did you say…?

That’s ridiculous!”

I couldn’t believe what Oh Seonggyu was telling me.

A matching rate of under 10% meant that only that much of the guiding effect could actually be applied.

No matter how much power the guide poured in, the esper could only accept less than 10% of it.

“I don’t want to believe it either, but it’s true.

Up until now, he’s been holding out by taking mana stabilizers to make up for what guiding couldn’t fill.

Whether sooner or later, this was bound to happen.

In the end… what was going to explode finally did.”

There was so much I wanted to question.

If there was no suitable guide at Seoul Second Center, the normal course of action would be to transfer Jaeyul to another center or bring in a guide from elsewhere.

On top of that, the idea that even A-rank guides couldn’t reach a 10% matching rate made no sense.

The higher the rank, the higher the matching rate with most espers was supposed to be.

The situation was filled with nothing but questions, but right now, all I could do was pray that Jaeyul would be safe.

Boom!

A massive explosion rang out from inside the isolation room.

All the equipment attached to Jaeyul’s body to monitor his physical responses shattered, and the guides who had been guiding him fled the room in an instant, startled by the shockwave.

Another berserk cycle had begun.

“…So what does the center plan to do now?”

My clenched fist tightened further.

Even though Jaeyul was writhing in pain like that, not a single superior showed their face.

It was treatment that perfectly reflected Jaeyul’s current standing.

“Well… what we were called in for is….”

Oh Seonggyu hesitated, uncharacteristically so.

That hesitation meant it was difficult to say.

It meant there was no shame left.

“So this is the center’s mercy — telling me to at least say my final goodbye?”

So I said it for him.

I was fairly familiar with situations like this.

If an esper’s rampage couldn’t be suppressed, they were ‘handled’ inside the isolation room to prevent greater damage.

They had already deployed A-rank guides and still failed to stop it.

Which meant the next step was… disposal.

Bang!

Jaeyul, who had been lying on the bed, pushed himself upright.

With his head and arms hanging low, he barely managed to stand.

He took just one step, yet the specially reinforced isolation room floor caved in beneath his foot.

Still seemingly not fully conscious, small fragments of light bombs began forming around his body.

Beeep, beeep, beep!

An emergency siren blared inside the isolation room.

A berserk esper exerted far greater power than usual, so even a B-rank constituted an emergency situation.

It meant there wasn’t much time left before a decision was made.

“…At this rate, he really could be disposed of.

There’s no way his condition should worsen this suddenly….”

Hearing Oh Seonggyu’s words, I realized that the Jaeyul I had seen earlier might have been showing early warning signs.

The way he had looked unusually exhausted after returning from a mission.

Someone with at least B-rank ability shouldn’t have been worn down that badly by an ordinary fight.

At the time, I had brushed it off as odd but insignificant.

Now, belated regret flooded in for not checking his condition more thoroughly.

Disposal.

Disposal.

He had only mentioned the possibility if things worsened further, but given the current situation, it felt no different from an imminent reality.

Even to my eyes, Jaeyul’s rampage was abnormal.

It was rare to see someone release power so violently and so quickly.

At that moment, Oh Seonggyu’s phone vibrated.

As he took the call, his expression visibly darkened in real time.

When the call ended, he hurled his phone to the floor.

“Hah… f*ck…!

These bastards, seriously!

‘Moderately’?!

What, B-ranks aren’t even human?”

Oh Seonggyu vented his frustration roughly.

Without even asking, I knew exactly what kind of call it had been.

An order to stop stalling and ‘handle it moderately.’

After four years apart, I had finally reunited with Jaeyul — only to say goodbye again.

No… a permanent goodbye.

How could they give up on a person so easily.

How could they throw away a child who bled and fought for them, who never even received proper protection, like used-up waste.

I can’t.

Never.

“No.

I’m going in.”

“What? I get how you feel, but if you go in now, you won’t come out unharmed either!

I’ll find some way, no matter what — you stay by Jaeyul’s side!

Even A-rank guides couldn’t do it, what can you possibly— hey, Jin Sehyun!”

Ignoring Oh Seonggyu’s shout, I tore the access key hanging from his neck and started moving.

“If I fail…

Then you can dispose of me together with him.”

I can’t give up like this.

They talk about disposal so easily, but to me, Jaeyul isn’t a child who deserves that kind of treatment.

He’s precious.

Someone I have to save, no matter the cost.

Beep.

Using Oh Seonggyu’s card key, I opened the isolation room door and stepped inside.

I passed through one more protective barrier erected in the middle and entered the same space as Jaeyul.

“…Jaeyul.”

Woooong, woom, woom.

The air felt like it was stabbing my skin.

A vicious mana storm filled the space, making it difficult even to breathe.

The light bomb fragments orbiting around Jaeyul spun sharply, as if showing open hostility toward me.

Despite my call, Jaeyul showed no reaction, remaining with his head bowed.

“Hyung…

I’m… coming closer.”

To be honest, I have no confidence that I can calm Jaeyul down.

Unfortunately, I’ve never attempted guiding him since he fully awakened, so I don’t even know if my ability will work on him.

Even before his awakening, the guiding I tried had been cleanly repelled.

And yet, I have to try.

Even if it means pouring every last drop of my mana into him, I have to calm him down.

The blaring sirens made my heart grow even more anxious, but I began walking toward Jaeyul anyway.

Shoo—k, shuuuk!

The swirling light around Jaeyul clearly didn’t welcome me.

Tiny, dust-like particles intermittently shot toward me.

Thankfully, they were so small they didn’t tear my body apart.

They merely sliced through whatever they brushed past.

“Ugh…!”

My side, my arm, my thigh.

The endless torrent of light raked across my body.

As the wounds piled up one by one, my steps grew slower and slower.

Clenching my teeth, I forced my legs to move.

This pain was nothing.

Compared to what Jaeyul must be feeling right now, it was nothing more than a scratch.

The closer I got to Jaeyul, who stood there unsteadily, the harder it became to breathe.

That meant the mana storm was on the verge of exploding.

That realization only made me more frantic.

I had to pull Jaeyul out of that pain, quickly.

Just one more step.

One more step….

Finally, I reached him.

“I’m sorry.

Hyung came too late, Jaeyul.”

I pulled his pitiful back toward me and held him tightly.

Even as the light bomb fragments tore through my body, I only tightened my hold around Jaeyul even more.