DPGR 136

A snowfield so cold it made his eyelids ache. Dojin trudged through the middle of it.

‘Jiho, Jiho-yah…’

Both his cheeks were wet. In one arm, he cradled a jacket far too small to be his. In the other hand, he held a pair of fur-lined boots.

They were all Jiho’s. All picked out and bought by Dojin himself.

‘Jiho-yah, where are you…?’

The snow piled up to his knees made every step a struggle. A snowstorm so fierce it obscured his vision battered him without pause.

But even as he stumbled, nearly collapsing, Dojin did not stop walking.

His sunken eyes darted around at the barely visible surroundings.

His chapped lips were caked with dried blood. They parted slightly, and a broken voice leaked out.

“Jiho, my guide…”

Then it happened. Dojin’s foot caught on a lump of snow. His unsteady steps faltered, and his body tipped sideways, losing balance.

“Ugh…!”

With a heavy thud, Dojin collapsed, groaning in pain. But when he opened his eyes tightly shut from the fall, he was no longer in the snowfield.

He was sitting in the middle of a familiar living room.

Rustle

He pressed his palm to the floor to get up, and something crackled under his hand. His fingers brushed against paper.

Dojin instinctively picked it up and unfolded it.

[To Esper Baek Dojin. I’m okay….]

The familiar handwriting made Dojin’s face contort.

With trembling hands, he brushed over a line on the page.

[…I hope Esper Baek Dojin becomes happy too….]

Tears that had stopped began falling again, silently, from his wide, unblinking eyes. From his mouth came a cry, like that of a wounded animal.

“Ah… aaah… ah…”

No. Jiho-yah, no. Don’t go.

He curled over the paper, folding his body around it. Yet even then, afraid to damage Jiho’s last trace, he didn’t dare hold it tightly. He didn’t know what to do.

A thick jacket, one fur-lined boot, and a single crumpled note.

That was all Jiho left behind. And still, Dojin couldn’t bring himself to resent him for leaving so little. He wished he had left nothing at all.

‘It must’ve been so cold… it must’ve been…’

The dungeon where Jiho had died was a snowfield. Jiho, who was already fragile, who couldn’t stand the cold. How cold must he have been without a coat or shoes? Was it cold on that final path? In those moments of pain, did he resent Dojin?

“Ah… ngh…”

He should never have let Jiho go alone. It was all his fault. He should’ve been the one to die instead.

‘I should’ve…’

He couldn’t breathe. He curled in on himself and gasped for air. His fingernails tore as he clawed at the floor again and again.

Even as he crawled along the floor like an insect, Dojin felt no pain.

“Ugh, hic…”

Dojin, who had lost Jiho, crumbled completely.

***

“Ugh, hic…”

In the late hours of the night, Jiho was awakened by a pained groan beside him.

“Hyung…?”

Groggily lifting his upper body, Jiho groped around the bed. His hand touched Dojin’s cheek, damp with either cold sweat or tears.

“Hy-hyung?”

Startled, Jiho turned on the bedside lamp. Under the soft yellow glow, Dojin’s face came into view, twisted in agony.

“Hyung! Dojin hyung!”

Dojin was usually as healthy as his solid frame suggested, rarely getting sick.

The only times he got injured were during dungeon raids, and even then, he had a high pain tolerance and hardly showed it. So seeing him like this sent Jiho’s heart plummeting in shock.

“Dojin hyung!”

After shaking him multiple times, Dojin suddenly gasped and sat up, as if jolted awake.

With dazed eyes, he looked around, not knowing where he was or what he had been doing. When he finally saw Jiho, his whole body trembled.

“Jiho, Jiho-yah, Jiho-yah…”

“Hy, hyung?”

He was terrified. In a full panic, Dojin grabbed Jiho’s upper body and clung to him, breathing heavily.

“No, Jiho-yah… don’t go…”

“Hyung, I… I’m okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Huff… hah…”

Dojin’s chest heaved in erratic rhythm. Jiho realized he was starting to hyperventilate.

What had happened to make this man so scared?

He had countless questions, but there was no time to ask. Jiho ran a hand gently over Dojin’s broad back and began to release guiding energy.

“It’s okay, hyung. I’m right here.”

“Guide Jiho…”

“Yes, it’s me. Guide Jiho.”

“Jiho… my guide.”

“Mm. Baek Dojin’s guide is right here.”

His calm, soft voice fluttered gently into Dojin’s ears. Only then did the tension in Dojin’s tightly wrapped arms begin to ease.

Taking the chance, Jiho pushed his upper body back to create a bit of distance. Then, cupping Dojin’s cheeks in both hands, he began guiding him properly.

“Hyung, are you okay? Can you see me?”

“…Ah.”

Dojin’s gaze finally came into focus. As if trying to recall what had just happened, he swept a hand over his disheveled face.

“…Sorry. I just… had a nightmare…”

He mumbled an apology through slurred words. Jiho shook his head.

“I’m okay. What about you, hyung?”

“…I’m fine.”

“It must’ve been a really scary dream. I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“Yeah, well…”

Jiho tried to casually ask what the nightmare was about, but Dojin avoided his gaze and gave a vague answer. Jiho realized he didn’t want to talk about it.

‘Could it be a memory from his first life?’

The thought crossed his mind, but seeing Dojin’s reaction, Jiho didn’t press him for details.

Worry aside, he wasn’t exactly someone who told Dojin everything either.

‘Hyung probably has memories he doesn’t want to share with me too.’

Jiho recalled the horrifying memories from after Dojin’s death in their past life, then pushed them away again.

Now wasn’t the time to wallow in self-pity or sadness.

“…It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“No, no! You don’t have to apologize. Instead…”

Jiho scooted closer again and wrapped his arms around Dojin’s upper body.

Stretching out his arms as far as he could, he hugged Dojin’s large frame tightly and continued.

“If it ever gets too much, I hope you’ll talk to someone. There are Alpha Team espers around… and Grandpa Kwak Jiheon too. And if not, at least a therapist.”

Jiho was genuinely worried about Dojin.

Whatever memories haunted him, he didn’t want Dojin to suffer through them alone and fall apart because of it.

That feeling came through even in his guiding.

Dojin noticed the guiding energy flowing into him was warmer and softer than usual.

His heart, which had been beating anxiously, slowly began to settle.

“…Alright. I’ll try seeing a counselor.”

Dojin gave a quiet answer.

If it could ease Jiho’s worry, even just on the surface, going to counseling seemed like the right choice.

Thankfully, Jiho believed him and smiled brightly. He nuzzled his face into Dojin’s chest.

“Good. That’s a smart choice.”

I like you, hyung. So I don’t want you to be in pain.

That affection was clear in Jiho’s warmth, his voice, and even in the guiding energy.

Dojin stopped trembling. He took a deep breath, exhaled, then cupped Jiho’s cheeks and kissed him.

It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.

‘This isn’t the snowfield.’

He wasn’t foolish or careless enough to lose what he’d already lost once.

His tongue swept through Jiho’s mouth with desperate urgency.

“Mm…”

As a soft moan escaped Jiho’s lips, Dojin kept holding him close, reaffirming his presence again and again.

Jiho hadn’t died. He hadn’t disappeared.

He was still his guide.

‘My guide…’

Beneath Dojin’s closed eyelids, a single tear rolled down in silence.

Despite his promise to seek counseling, Dojin didn’t get the chance.

***

The very next day, after arriving at the center with Jiho, Dojin received a summons. A large-scale order that called together all the espers and guides in the facility.

“What do you think it’s about?”

“…It’ll be fine. Probably nothing serious.”

Maybe it was the events from the night before, but Dojin’s expression had turned sharp.

He walked into the main auditorium like a beast ready to protect its young, eyes scanning everyone with wary vigilance. He kept Jiho tucked firmly at his side.

“Uh, hyung… it’s a little cramped…”

“Sorry. But please bear with it for a bit. There are too many people around right now.”

He was scared of losing Jiho again. Jiho assumed Dojin’s strange behavior was just overprotectiveness and tried to let it go.

At that moment, Kwak Jiheon stepped up to the podium at the front of the auditorium. As he grabbed the mic and cleared his throat, the murmuring around the room fell silent.

– Ah, ah. Is everyone here?

Kwak Jiheon’s voice came through the speakers.

– I know no one has time to waste right now, so I’ll skip the formalities and get straight to the point. There’s a reason we called everyone in so suddenly this morning. I’m sure most of you have seen the rumors floating around the internet lately.

Kwak Jiheon abruptly brought up those online rumors. Doomsday. Humanity’s crisis. The end of the world.

Everyone else looked confused at the unexpected topic. But Alpha Team exchanged skeptical glances.

‘No way, is this…?’

‘Is he really about to talk about the Final Dungeon…?’