Ghost Apple

“He’ll be stopping by regularly from now on to check your condition, so if anything feels off, don’t try to hide it—just say it.”

“Nothing in particular…”

Han-gyeom trailed off for a moment, then lightly placed his hand on the back of the man’s. His pitch-black eyes flashed crimson for a brief second.

‘Is he a normal human?’

He tried to channel the red energy through him, but there was no opening—no channel through which it could flow.

Han-gyeom pulled his hand back, and his eyes quickly returned to black. The male bodyguard, who wasn’t an Esper, didn’t even notice the red glimmer that had just flickered in Han-gyeom’s eyes.

Han-gyeom only ever spoke informally, regardless of age, when addressing Espers.

With a regular person like this man, polite speech came naturally.

“There’s really nothing wrong. I’m healthy.”

“That’s something the doctor should be the one to determine.”

Judging by his tone, the man didn’t seem convinced. Even if Han-gyeom wore slightly oversized shirts to offset his build, it couldn’t fully conceal how thin his body was or the pale hue of his complexion.

Just like the man said, the doctor arrived shortly after. It seemed he had been in the same car that had come to the estate earlier.

The doctor—a man with strands of gray hair scattered throughout his head—greeted Han-gyeom with a warm smile before immediately opening his medical bag and pulling out various diagnostic tools. Not only that, but several members of what appeared to be his medical team followed, bringing in all sorts of equipment.

In the blink of an eye, Han-gyeom’s room had transformed into a full-scale diagnostic suite.

After a thorough examination that lasted two hours—The doctor didn’t offer much to Han-gyeom himself aside from advising him to eat regularly.

Instead, he visited Seo Won’s office and laid down a stack of handwritten test results.

“He’s generally lacking in nutrients, underweight, and his bronchial tubes are slightly inflamed. He may occasionally feel dizzy or get headaches due to the nutritional deficiency, but if he eats well and gets proper rest, those symptoms should disappear quickly. The bronchial issue is just temporary swelling—it’ll clear up soon.”

Seo Won glanced over the report, his expression skeptical.

“That’s all? Are you sure the examination was done properly?”

“We’ll need to wait for the detailed test results to be certain, but as of now, there’s nothing seriously wrong with his body.”

Even with the doctor’s confident tone, Seo Won’s expression didn’t ease in the slightest.

“Last night, he suddenly had a fit, started coughing uncontrollably, and even coughed up blood. Are you telling me that can happen in a perfectly healthy body?”

“Excuse me?”

The doctor looked startled and confused at Seo Won’s statement.

“Is that true?”

“Do you really think I’d call you here just to joke around?”

The doctor, referred to as Director Shin, spoke in a stiff voice tinged with confusion.

“I’m only asking because it’s hard to believe. There really weren’t any issues with his internal organs.”

Director Shin mentally retraced every step of Han-gyeom’s examination, going over the entire process in his mind.

“If he coughed up blood alongside fits of coughing, then it’s most likely a bronchial or pulmonary condition. But his bronchi were only mildly inflamed—probably just from coughing—and his lungs were perfectly clear.”

“That can’t be. He even smokes.”

“That part struck me as odd, too. His clothes reeked of smoke, which suggests he’s a heavy smoker… but his lungs were spotless.”

Confusion began to creep across Director Shin’s face as well. Since Seo Won wasn’t the type to crack jokes or make idle conversation, he began to seriously consider what circumstances might allow someone to cough up blood with an otherwise healthy body.

“There are rare cases where psychological factors can cause hematemesis, but those are extremely uncommon. I can’t say for sure. For now, we’ll need to wait for the full diagnostics to come in, and from there, I suggest conducting regular follow-ups as frequently as possible.”

As he listened, Seo Won thought back to the look on Han-gyeom’s face the previous night.

The way Han-gyeom stared at him, utterly spaced out—only to suddenly collapse into a seizure—it was enough to make him wonder if Director Shin was right and the episode really had been triggered by something mental.

‘Now that I think about it… Song Jae-woo called that strange black liquid a “medicine.”’

The moment Han-gyeom collapsed and began coughing up blood, Song Jae-woo had rushed over and covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief soaked in that black liquid. Seo Won didn’t know what it was made of, but what was clear was that Han-gyeom, who looked like he was on the brink of death, had calmed down almost immediately.

After the contract had been signed, Song Jae-woo had been kicked out of the estate without even getting a chance to see Han-gyeom again. Even after receiving a heavy bag filled with the contract deposit, he lingered outside for a long while, unable to simply walk away.

As dawn broke and he finally turned to leave, the last thing Song Jae-woo had asked was for the medicine vial that held the black liquid. He insisted it was essential to Han-gyeom and pleaded for it to be delivered to him without fail.

Seo Won now held in his hand a small portion of that so-called “medicine”—a sample he had secretly set aside for investigation. The amount was barely half the size of a pinky finger. Han-gyeom likely hadn’t noticed that any of it was missing.

“I’ll give you ten days. I want a full breakdown of both Cha Han-gyeom’s detailed test results and the composition of this medicine.”

If that substance had truly suppressed Han-gyeom’s seizures, then uncovering its ingredients might be the key to understanding the root of his condition.

When it came to Han-gyeom’s body, even the smallest detail couldn’t be overlooked.

Because now, his body wasn’t just his alone anymore.

***

Rustle, rustle—

In the silence, only the soft sound of pages turning drifted gently through the air.

Han-gyeom gazed at Seo Won, who remained silently absorbed in the documents, then let out a quiet sigh.

‘He’s the one who called me in, and he hasn’t said a word.’

Han-gyeom sat quietly on the same sofa where he’d signed the contract the day before.

He’d been called in right after lunch, and for a moment, he’d wondered if they’d fed him just to subject him to another violent guiding session like yesterday. But if that were the case, it was strange—an hour had already passed, and not a single word had been said.

Left to sit there like a sack of barley left out in the rain, Han-gyeom felt drowsiness creeping up on him and slowly closed his eyes. He’d done nothing but sleep that morning out of sheer boredom, and yet this damned sleep kept coming back, never satisfied.

‘Well, whatever.’

It wasn’t his fault—they’d called him in and hadn’t given him anything to do.

So, he let his eyes shut. It didn’t take long before he drifted off completely.

The soft rustling of pages and the faint scratching of a pen gliding across paper began to sound like a lullaby.

It was kind of ridiculous, really. A lullaby—something he’d never actually heard properly in his entire life.

“Liar. I sang them for you.”

A sudden voice startled him awake.

Right in front of him was a smiling man’s face.

The man wore a stark white, billowy lab coat. His frame was scrawny, skeletal almost, and though his face looked barely older than his early twenties, his hair had gone entirely white.

“Let’s see… I sang Island Baby for you, and what else… Hush Now, My Baby, and…”

The man squatted down right in front of Han-gyeom, brow furrowed in deep thought as he tried to remember.

The moment Han-gyeom saw him, he knew.

This was a dream.

‘Damn it… This isn’t fair.’

Tears welled up in his eyes so fast it felt like they’d overflow. His throat tightened with emotion.

“Oh no, you’re gonna cry again! Should I sing you another lullaby? You never cried when you were sleeping, right?”

The man flailed for a moment, then quickly cleared his throat. With a soft plop, he sat cross-legged on the floor and began to sway side to side, singing.

What came out of his mouth was Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star… probably.

‘Seriously… the guy’s tone-deaf and has zero rhythm.’

Back then, he hadn’t known any better—he’d thought that was how the song went. It was only after getting out that he realized the real version of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star was completely different in every way except the lyrics.

He used to mock the man in his head for being such a hopelessly tone-deaf, rhythm-less mess, but he knew the reason behind it.

He’d been captured so young that he hadn’t even had the chance to learn a proper children’s song. The same went for Han-gyeom, and for all the other test subjects.

Han-gyeom couldn’t take his eyes off the man, who was still singing with that radiant smile.

He’d always found it incredible.

How could someone like him smile like that?

Just because he had an immortal ability, he was dissected daily. His body parts and organs were regularly harvested. Even if he couldn’t die, the pain was his to bear every time.

The researchers knew all of this—and they never gave a damn.

The man’s hair had turned white from years of extreme pain and stress. Those fine, thread-like strands swayed limply with the motion of his rocking body.

Han-gyeom’s chest ached. It felt like his heart was being squeezed and his lungs crushed tight.

It usually started with a familiar warning—a tickle in the throat. Then came the coughing.

Violent, hacking bursts like he’d swallowed something wrong, and with them came searing pain that tore through his heart and lungs. It never failed: once the coughing began, it would end with him coughing up blood.

Inhaling the “medicine” would bring immediate relief. But if he didn’t…

Even though it was just a dream, his throat felt dry and raw, like the coughing would start at any moment. The strange lullaby the man had been singing began to feel more and more distant, fading away like a receding tide.

Han-gyeom watched the man blur and fade—but he couldn’t reach out.

He couldn’t ask him to stay.

He knew what the man had wanted too well to do something so selfish.

Just once, though.

If only, like back then, he could hold his hand just one more time—that would be enough.

Just as the first cough clawed its way up his dry throat—

Warmth touched his hand, slack and limp from sleep. It wasn’t the fragile hand of the man from his dream. This hand was strong, solid—almost enviably so in how grounded it felt—but somehow, the energy it held was eerily similar.

And just like that, the tightness in his chest vanished, and the cough that had been rising up from his throat dissolved.

But the peace was short-lived.

The red energy that had lain dormant inside him suddenly surged to life, thrashing violently within his body.