* * *
The unusually long glass hallway finally came to an end, and it was time to part.
It marked the conclusion of the most important part of Haeram’s daily routine—his “Mind Training” session.
“Thank you for your hard work.”
“Take care, Mr. Haeram.”
“See you tomorrow, Haeram. Let’s do it in my room next time.”
“…Y-Yeah.”
“You’ve got to manifest, right?”
Haeram waved cheerfully as he said goodbye, but Jungwoo didn’t look pleased.
He never did when they parted.
Haeram turned his back to the two without hesitation as he entered the shadowy inpatient wing.
Up to the glass corridor, the man was always joking and light-hearted, but once Haeram crossed the line, he never tried to hold him back.
So Haeram’s steps stayed just as cheerful as usual.
“…”
Seo Jungwoo stood at the edge of the bright corridor like a stone statue, staring into the dim hospital wing.
As if there was some invisible barrier, he didn’t take a single step past the threshold, his gaze stubbornly following Haeram’s back.
The attending doctor beside him let out a quiet sigh at the sight.
“You should ease up, Esper.”
“What did I do?”
“You’re a little too into your role. It’s not good for your own mental health either. You’re still attending therapy, right?”
“…”
Jungwoo knew the doctor was right.
He also knew that not answering wouldn’t solve anything.
Still, he clamped his mouth shut, then abruptly turned away—just as Haeram disappeared around the corner, out of sight.
He focused on the sound of Haeram’s fading footsteps as he made his way to his own room.
The doctor simply shrugged and retraced his steps.
[Hello, this is STBC’s Morning Current Affairs. I’m anchor Kim Soohan. March is almost here. The second anniversary memorial for the Gate Explosion Disaster in the city center is approaching soon…]
“…Ah.”
[As spring arrives and temperatures rise, the frequency of Gate occurrences tends to increase. Please stay updated on your nearest shelter and follow all emergency alerts…]
“…So noisy. Turn the TV off.”
Even before he could properly mumble into his pillow, all the phones on the nightstand went BEEP-BEEP! BEEP-BEEP! vibrating in unison. The sharp sound pierced through the stale hospital room air.
[Emergency Alert Message]
[Special Security Department] Feb. 12 (Mon) 5:00 PM – Level 2.7 Gate Crisis Alert – 6km North of Jiaksan, Capital Northern District. Location details: bir.li/2ekdjfh / Nearby shelter info / Please stay safe.
“Ugh, seriously!”
Haeram shot up and threw his pillow.
But a pillow smothered by sixteen hours of sleep each day had no weight to it.
With no strength in his arms, it wasn’t surprising.
He was drained—thanks to being crushed by Jungwoo in his dream all night.
If you’re wondering how a dream could make someone feel that tired, well, it was that vivid.
Heat, weight, everything.
“It honestly felt like I was the one doing it…”
On the opposite bed, Seungjoon caught the airborne pillow and turned the TV volume up.
“Get up, Haeram hyung. Do you know what time it is? Morning meds are coming soon.”
“You know it’s a sin to disturb a dying man’s sleep, right?”
“You can sleep when you’re dead.”
Haeram’s foul mood, a result of low blood pressure, fizzled out with that cheeky reply.
He wasn’t wrong. When death’s right around the corner, you might as well stockpile your sleep and take the rest in the afterlife.
Still, Haeram collapsed back down with a dramatic plop.
He heard Seungjoon sigh through his nose, but didn’t care.
“I am still tired, even after sleeping this much.”
“That’s because you’re not doing anything. Here, look—these are the activity flyers the center passed out. Try something, anything. Join the ‘O.Nae.Ram’ club like I did or whatever.”
Seungjoon waved a bundle of pamphlets in front of him.
They were for various activity groups meant for terminally ill patients at the hospital’s special ward.
The one Seungjoon belonged to was called “O.Nae.Ram”—short for “Today or Tomorrow”.
Haeram snorted as he lazily turned onto his side.
“You’ll cough up blood if you overdo it. Can’t afford to waste a single drop.”
Just then, the sliding door to their two-person room creaked open.
Startled, Seungjoon quickly turned off the TV.
But there was no need to urge Haeram to sit up—his presence alone did the job.
It was the nurse with the scariest reputation in Wing D, Shim Jihye.
Her expression, as usual, was indifferent, as she pushed a cart into the room.
“Morning meds, both of you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Yup.”
She handed them each a small paper cup with three pills—green for Guide manifestation stimulation, white for a new clinical trial drug, red for opioid pain relief.
Clink.
Haeram and Seungjoon raised their cups in the air like they were toasting.
Haeram tossed them back like he was downing soju.
He was so used to the meds by now he could swallow them without water—but still drank some anyway, since staying hydrated was part of the routine too.
The moment they finished, they both moved to kneel at the foot of their beds—no one told them to, but it was automatic.
It was time for Jihye to check their morning Guiding wavelengths.
The cart was parked between the beds, and the two patients were handed measurement patches hanging from yellow, curly cords.
With practiced motions, they undid a button on their hospital gowns and pressed the patches just over their hearts.
Their actions were so synchronized, Jihye didn’t need to say a word.
She clicked her pen rhythmically while waiting, then pressed a few buttons on the machine with her usual indifferent touch.
The yellow button, worn and softened from overuse, squished down under her finger.
Two graphs appeared on the dull green screen.
A quiet beep echoed rhythmically in the room.
The only other sounds were the occasional swallow, the pen’s clicks, and their heartbeats.
“…”
“…”
“Both of you are below the threshold again.”
They knew it even before she said it—just from the flatline of their graphs.
They tried flexing every muscle in their body to make the lines move, but all they got was shoulder cramps.
“Stop living like corpses and try a little harder. You’ve heard of effort, right?”
As she tore the patches off and wrapped the cords back up, Jihye launched into her usual scolding.
“You are doing the full three hours of Mind Training daily, right? Seungjoon, your time logs are showing gaps. The central desk sees everything.”
“Yes, ma’am…”
“And Haeram, why do you keep skipping exercise? Just because you’re not feeling well doesn’t make it a free pass, got it? The entire medical team is rooting for both of you to manifest, beat your illnesses, and get healthy. We’re doing everything we can for you.”
“…”
“Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, that’s correct….”
“I’ll do my best.”
Shim Jihye clicked her tongue as she looked down at the slouched Haeram and Seungjoon.
“You do understand we’re doing all this because your Guide genes are clearly present, right? You realize the government wouldn’t provide meds and treatment programs if there was zero hope?”
“……”
“If you awaken, the illness, all this suffering—it’ll be over. So don’t skip your training. Got it?”
Even if you die before awakening, it still ends either way.
But Haeram didn’t bother voicing that thought.
He just bit down on his lower lip in silence.
* * *
