Seyoung was utterly confused.
The same name Wonho had mentioned before surfaced again.
But no matter how much you searched the world, there was no Guide named Yoon Haebom.
How could you Imprint on someone who didn’t exist?
Seyoung racked her brain but couldn’t recall any research mentioning such a case.
“Let’s go to my lab. I need to run tests.”
Telling an unstable Wonho that such a person didn’t exist would be pointless.
Instead, Seyoung chose to bring him in for a proper examination.
After tidying up, Seyoung left the room first, and Wonho followed sluggishly, dragging his heavy body behind her.
As expected, the tests confirmed it—he was Imprinted.
From that day on, Seyoung began investigating undocumented Guides and impossible Imprint cases.
Even though she knew her efforts might be futile, Wonho didn’t stop her.
Talking about Haebom was meaningless anyway.
Wonho did what he could—he dug into how the virtual reality gate created by Psychic Espers had somehow connected to a real gate.
The rest of his time, he practically lived inside the gates. All to find Haebom.
“Ah…”
Emerging from the gate, Haebom blinked rapidly.
What the hell?
His brows furrowed at the sight before him.
He was sure he’d stepped outside the gate, but the world in front of him wasn’t reality.
That much was clear because he was standing in the middle of a pitch-black void.
There was no way this bizarre space could be real.
Maybe he’d passed out while exiting the gate and was dreaming?
He pinched his cheek to check.
“Ow! That hurts… What the hell…?”
Thinking it must be a dream, Haebom pinched his cheek hard.
But the pain was all too real.
Tears welled up in his startled eyes.
He could feel the pain, and the tears, vividly.
He’d heard that in dreams, you couldn’t feel pain.
The world around him was pitch black, without ground or sky.
He wondered if floating in space would feel like this.
“Ho… Wonho…! Where are you? What is this place…? Taeyoung-hyung! Where are you? Hello…! Is anyone here?”
The dark space was unsettling, but what frightened him most was that no one was by his side.
He reached out into the void, waving his hand, but there was no wind, no sensation at all.
Overwhelmed by fear and confusion, alone in this bizarre place, Haebom completely panicked.
The tears that had welled up from pinching his cheek now streamed down, wetting his face.
When he first crossed into the world where Wonho lived, he hadn’t been this scared.
His hands and feet trembled uncontrollably, his body growing cold.
He could feel everything happening inside his body, but outside—nothing.
Not a single thing.
“W-Wonho… Don’t mess around. Seriously… I’m scared! Okay? Where are you? Come out already… I’m terrified enough as it is…!”
His voice trembled as badly as his hands.
His desperate shout echoed through the vast space, quickly dissipating.
His feet felt heavy, but he cautiously took a step forward.
Then another.
And another.
But no matter how far he walked, he was still alone in the endless black space.
He didn’t know where this was, or why he was here alone.
No—he didn’t even want to know why.
All he wanted was for Wonho to appear before him.
If only Wonho stood by his side, he felt like he could endure anything.
At that moment, light flashed like a fluorescent bulb snapping on, brightening the darkness.
And within that sudden brightness, Haebom saw the face he had been desperately searching for.
“Wonho…? Wonho!”
It was undeniably Wonho.
Haebom reached out toward him.
Unlike Haebom’s pitch-black surroundings, Wonho stood in a brightly lit space.
Haebom stretched out his hand toward him—but the space Wonho was in receded just as much.
Startled, Haebom took a step closer.
But again, Wonho grew farther away.
It wasn’t Wonho who moved—the space around him itself retreated.
When Haebom withdrew his hand, the distance between them shortened again.
It was as if the space itself was saying, “You can never reach him.”
Haebom stared at Wonho, hopeless, dazed.
But something felt off.
He thought they had been at the same gate earlier, yet now there was no one around Wonho.
Even if Haebom wasn’t there, Taeyoung or Choi Yoonseo, or other guides should’ve been—but no one was there.
Suddenly, it struck him. The way Wonho stood there, eyes closed—it was familiar.
“…Ah… When I first saw him…”
It was the desert inside the gate where he’d first met Wonho.
Around him lay the corpses of dead monsters, their bodies sprawled out across the sand.
It was a scene Haebom remembered all too well.
The only difference now was that he couldn’t approach Wonho.
Wonho stood alone in the middle of the empty desert, throwing away his own life.
Just like the first time Haebom saw him…
“Wonho! Get up! Open your eyes, you idiot!!”
Now Haebom understood.
Unlike in the novel he had read, Wonho hadn’t chosen death because he loved Choi Yoonseo and saw Haebom as an obstacle to her love.
Wonho… was simply exhausted.
Begging Yoonseo for guiding every time, risking his life to save the world—it was all just too much…
But still, Haebom didn’t want Wonho to give up on life.
Time kept flowing, but unlike what Haebom had experienced, no one came.
In the end, Wonho lost control inside the gate.
The scorching desert, as if ready to melt everything, was instantly filled with ice from the power Wonho released.
The transformation of the desert into a frozen wasteland happened in an instant.
Who knows how much time passed…
Eventually, espers arrived to deal with the gate, unable to destroy its core until now.
‘Tsk. What does an S-class esper even lack…?’
‘If it were me, I’d have killed the other esper to secure a guide. Sure, Na Hyunjoon is S-class too, but Wonho is stronger. Every time they trained, Wonho always won.’
‘Yeah, that’s true… Sigh, he’s still so young. What a waste…’
The espers, sent to close the gate, shook their heads when they saw the desert covered in ice—and Wonho, his body frozen stiff.
Perhaps they deemed it impossible to recover his corpse.
They shattered the gate’s core and left.
Wonho remained alone, to the very end.
What followed was even crueler.
The disappearance of the S-class esper who had saved the world left a gaping void.
Attempts to fill it only revealed how immense his role had been.
The world was shocked by the realization of just how much Wonho had done.
In South Korea, the number of unhandled gates began to rise.
Naturally, the blame fell squarely on Na Hyunjoon and Choi Yoonseo, the very people who had driven Wonho to his death.
‘Tsk. Can’t you pull yourself together? You’re supposed to guide properly at least.’
Despite facing harsh criticism from all sides, Choi Yoonseo looked utterly broken, barely responsive even to Na Hyunjoon’s cold voice.
Guiding efficiency was crucial—but it depended heavily on the guide’s mental state and emotions.
That’s why a guide’s arousal, affection, and overall well-being were so vital.
Choi Yoonseo, once revered and protected at the center, crumbled quickly under pressure.
Na Hyunjoon offered no comfort, even when she failed at guiding.
Meanwhile, in a Korea without Wonho, countless places called for Na Hyunjoon.
Yet every time, he felt his own limits pressing in.
He thought if Wonho could do it, so could he—but the path was unimaginably harder.
As a result, the cracks deepened, and Yoonseo’s deteriorating guiding could no longer satisfy him.
Their match rate hadn’t been particularly high to begin with, so the dissatisfaction only grew.
In the end, Na Hyunjoon sought out other guides, even while still paired with Yoonseo.
Their relationship rapidly fell apart.
Only then did Yoonseo begin to miss Wonho—the quiet, unwavering presence who had stood beside her.
But she couldn’t speak of it.
Not to anyone.
