DPGR 55

‘Hate me? Me?’

Dojin paled, flailing as he tried to console Jiho. He looked even more panicked than when Jiho had first started crying.

“I’m truly sorry. I was wrong. I won’t do it again, I promise—”

He spilled apologies without pause, but Jiho glared at him, clearly unimpressed. Did he even know what he was apologizing for?

‘I’ve been tearing myself up over this, and he just ignores me the whole time—only to suddenly ask me to speak?!’

He’d wanted to punch him out of sheer spite, but the fact that it only hurt his hand made him even more frustrated.

Jiho resented Dojin’s obliviousness—resented how stupidly solid his body was, too.

“U-uh… Guide Jiho…”

Dojin fidgeted nervously under Jiho’s glare, his whole posture radiating unease. As he mentally retraced his steps, he began to sincerely regret his actions.

“I’m really sorry. I just… I was scared that you were going to leave me. I wanted to cling to you, but I thought you’d grow tired of me if I did. So I tried to manage my feelings alone and… that’s how it ended up. I’m sorry.”

It was a better apology than repeating I’m sorry like a broken record. Even if it didn’t quite line up with why Jiho was angry, at least it was genuine.

And the fact that he could hear Dojin’s thoughts helped Jiho cool off a little.

With the tension easing, his frozen mind slowly started to churn again.

Baek Dojin is convinced.

As Jiho replayed Dojin’s excuses in his head, he realized something: Dojin had already caught on to some of his abilities. He was certain of them. And more than that—he’d misread them.

He thought Jiho would leave because of his power.

Jiho decided not to stay silent anymore. If nothing else, he had to clear up that misunderstanding.

“Mmm.”

He tapped Dojin’s shoulder twice, gesturing to be put down.

Talking was still difficult. If they were going to have a real conversation, a notebook and pencil would be far more efficient than trying to read his lips.

But Dojin, his face pale with worry, only held him tighter and shook his head.

“No. Please don’t go. It’s dark out, and cold, and—”

“Mmph!”

‘What the hell are you talking about!’

Flustered, Jiho clapped a hand over Dojin’s mouth. That finally made Dojin look him in the face.

“Ah…”

His eyes, wide with surprise, twisted in pain—but then, as he watched Jiho’s lips move, the tension left his body.

I’m not going anywhere.

“……”

“Ai… a’m… not… go…”

“……!”

The shaky, halting syllables hit Dojin like a punch to the chest. He drew in a long, deep breath.

Once he’d calmed himself, he gently set Jiho down.

—Notebook. Pencil. I’ll go get them.

Jiho mouthed the words, then took off running toward the bedroom.

While Jiho was gone, Dojin stood there, breathing in and out, slowly pulling himself back together.

And then—

Jiho came trotting back with a notebook and pencil in hand.

He grabbed the still-stunned Dojin, dragged him down onto the sofa, then plopped down next to him and opened the notebook.

Scratch scratch—

The sound of pencil on paper echoed softly through the quiet living room.

“Mmph!”

Finally, Jiho held the notebook out proudly, showing off his scribbled sentence.

[I can match waves with any esper.]

“…Ah.”

So that was it. A secret—but not one entirely out of the realm of what Dojin had expected.

The words hit him like a blow. His face went stiff.

He can match with any esper. Which meant—he could pair with anyone, regardless of compatibility rates.

Which also meant: Dojin was disposable.

He wasn’t special to Jiho. Just one among many options.

Without realizing it, Dojin’s fists clenched tight. He wondered—should he beg Jiho to stay? Play the pitiful card?

Should he subtly cage Jiho in so he couldn’t leave?

That last thought jolted him. It was too cruel. Too controlling.

And the worst part? A part of him actually wanted to do it.

He felt sick.

‘Should I just drop dead or something…’

But that spiral didn’t last long.

Scratch scratch—

Jiho took the notebook back and wrote something else.

He held it out again.

[But I’m not going to leave your side.]

Dojin’s eyes widened as he read the words slowly.

Jiho looked up at him, lips moving softly.

—Not going anywhere. I want to stay with you.

Jiho’s eyes sparkled with warmth. Just like they had when they first met—when he’d clung to Dojin’s chest and sobbed his heart out.

‘I thought he didn’t tell me because he didn’t trust me…’

But those eyes—those eyes looking at him now were overflowing with trust. With affection.

Seo Jiho was utterly devoted to Baek Dojin.

Why…

‘Why? Why was he like this?’

He had always been that way. From the moment in that hellish place, when Jiho had first seen Dojin—when he’d thrown himself into his arms, sobbing.

He had always been strangely, almost irrationally, attached to him.

‘No way… could it really be…?’

That theory crossed Dojin’s mind again—a theory he’d once dismissed.

That this tiny person in front of him knows a future… that he himself can’t remember.

“…Guide Jiho.”

After a moment of hesitation, Dojin spoke, his voice trembling with nervousness.

“Do you… have memories from other timelines?”

“……?”

Other timelines?

Jiho tilted his head, confused by the unfamiliar term. Dojin swallowed hard and tried to explain.

“I had an artifact given to me by my mentor. It’s a resurrection artifact…”

He explained the artifact, its damage, and the resulting assumptions about a future death.

As his words continued, Jiho’s eyes grew wider and wider.

As expected, he seemed to be aware of something.

“You’ve always trusted me too much from the start. Even though you must have bad memories about guiding, you are obsessed about guiding me… I don’t think that’s just coincidence.”

“……”

“You know something, don’t you? Did you get involved in my resurrection somehow?”

Jiho opened and closed his mouth, unsure of what to say. He hesitated, trying to find the right words, but the confusion took over.

Dojin didn’t rush him. He waited patiently.

Finally, after a long silence, Jiho spoke, choosing his words carefully.

—You… you died.

“……!”

—I guided you…

Memories, ones Jiho had buried deep inside, surged back, overwhelming him. Jiho gasped, wiping away the tears that started to form with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Jiho, Guide Jiho.”

“Huung…”

Surprised, Dojin pulled him into his arms and carefully placed him on his lap. He gently rubbed his back, and Jiho sniffled, reaching for his notebook and pencil.

[If you and I had been a pair, I could have saved you, but I was too scared to hold your hand. You told me to eat snacks…]

Unrefined words flowed out rapidly, only to pause, then continue in fragmented thoughts.

Dojin didn’t fully understand the words, especially since he had no memory of that time, but the overall situation made sense. Jiho seemed to feel responsible and regretful about his death.

‘So, that’s why you begged me to form a pair contract with you…’

Dojin finally understood why Jiho had clung to him so blindly from the start. It was because of a sense of debt.

It wasn’t exactly a pleasant realization, but it brought an odd sense of relief to know that Jiho had a clear reason.

“Ha…”

A sound escaped Dojin, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

He wiped his face roughly, then took Jiho’s hand—wet from wiping away his tears—and held it.

“It makes sense now.”

“Huuh.”

“You knew about me… Did you remember everything, perhaps because you were with me when the artifact was used?”

Jiho shook his head. He had been guiding Dojin up until the moment of his death, but afterward, he lost consciousness due to energy depletion and had no memory of what happened next.

Dojin, instinctively moved by the sight of Jiho’s unspoken sorrow, leaned forward and kissed his lips gently. The salty taste lingered.

“Do you remember everything? All of it?”

Jiho nodded.

“Did I die in front of you?”

Jiho nodded again.

“Ugh…”

Jiho’s face was wet again. Dojin carefully wiped his cheek, which had puffed up like a steamed bun from the tears.

It seemed that Jiho’s memory of his death was a painful shock to him—perhaps he had seen him die in a horrible way.

‘If I were going to die, I should have done it quietly, somewhere no one could see.’

Dojin felt an odd sense of self-loathing for the version of himself he didn’t remember, then shifted the conversation.

“How old are your memories, exactly?”

“Hic…”

Jiho sniffled and held up his hand, showing the number three fingers.

“Twenty-three,” he said.

To Dojin, that age seemed absurdly young.

Better than just becoming an adult, though.

He unconsciously judged Jiho’s age, using it to justify his own desires.

“Then, what were we to each other?”

This time, the question lingered longer than usual. Jiho didn’t realize how sharply Dojin was watching him, and he answered without hesitation.

—An unpaired guide… and just an esper.