STB 1.1

He really thought he was dead this time. And yet, somehow, he’d survived again. The last thing he remembered was the unmistakable sensation of death. So the fact that he was breathing again—it was nothing short of bizarre.

Staring up at the hospital ceiling, Baek Heeji let out a sigh as all the strength drained from his body. Rather than being dazed or grateful to be alive, irritation hit him first—irritation that he had failed. He hadn’t wanted to come back. His decision to die hadn’t been some vague whim.

No, he had faced death head-on with full resolve. Even in that final moment, he had felt almost no lingering attachment to life. Better to die saving someone else than to keep on living like this, he had thought. His choice to end things hadn’t come from depression or heartbreak. It was just… he’d done what he needed to do. That was enough.

But he’d come back. Alive again. It felt like being dragged back from retirement the moment he arrived at a vacation resort. Still, since he hadn’t died, he had to face the future.

His body—torn apart at the entrance of Isodos, the gateway where the ESP-wielding monsters called Titans emerged—was still in recovery. The pain started creeping in as soon as consciousness returned. But he couldn’t waste time now. If he didn’t make a plan, it would be too late.

Heeji steadied his thoughts, reminding himself of the three guiding principles he needed to live by from now on:

1. I’m not doing it.

2. I’m done.

3. I don’t know you.

Yeah. Those three rules will be the foundation of my new life. Especially number three: “I don’t know you.” That would be his shield, his stance. From now on, he’d pretend to have lost all his memories. No more obligations. He’d only do what he wanted.

To pull that off, he first had to seriously consider why he’d come back to life in the first place.

As a Time Esper, his body must have instinctively activated dormant abilities just before his biological functions ceased. There was no other plausible explanation for reviving a dead body. He was the only Time Control Esper in the country, and by law, he couldn’t use his power without state approval. But in that moment—right when his heart stopped—his ESP had undeniably triggered.

Heeji found that strange. Why had his ability activated at all? His will to live was like the dried dregs at the bottom of a teacup—crusty and forgotten. Like dirty dishes left in the sink for three days.

ESP could only be activated with the user’s intent. But Heeji had had no such intent. He could’ve died or lived—either outcome was fine with him. The only thought that crossed his mind before death had been a single one. Not regret. Just contentment.

Yeah. This is enough.

That was it. So why had he come back? It didn’t make sense. But since he’d survived—accidentally or not—he had no choice but to keep living. Suicide was no longer an option. Not with the Buddhist lay member card from the Jogye Order in his wallet.

The only silver lining was that, along with the return of consciousness, the emotions that had consumed him right up to death had completely vanished.

Kang Hyunmuk.

I hope I never have to see you again. This whole thing with you is exhausting… and annoying.

All the years he’d wasted clinging to someone who didn’t want him—begging to be seen—were now nothing more than rotting leaves at the bottom of a pond. He didn’t know when time had passed so mercifully. But one thing was clear: along with the miracle of revival, his pathetic unrequited love for Kang Hyunmuk had finally been erased.

It’s better this way—for both of us.

Heeji kept it simple. Hyunmuk had suffered enough because of him. Heeji’s love had been blind and fervent, but that didn’t mean it had brought any joy or comfort to the one receiving it.

Because he had loved Kang Hyunmuk solely on his own terms, it was like forcing the man to wear clothes that didn’t fit. And Hyunmuk had looked miserable the entire time. But back then, Heeji hadn’t cared. He’d believed that placing the one he loved on a pedestal was the proper way for a man to love.

So he’d worked himself to the bone. Became less than a dog—barking when told to bark, rolling over when ordered to roll. Even if he were commanded to lick spit off the floor, he wouldn’t have hesitated. His love had made it feel noble. Swallowing filth didn’t diminish his worth—he believed that. If enduring a moment of humiliation meant Hyunmuk could rise in the ranks a little faster, he thought it was worth it.

But Kang Hyunmuk had hated it. “Hated” wasn’t even the right word—it sounded too mild for the sheer contempt he had shown.

“Disgusting bastard…”

That was the only time he’d ever cursed at Heeji—the first and last time. A single, sharp insult that cut deeper than all the years of silent disdain. It summoned the humiliation and emptiness Heeji had never allowed himself to feel, even when crawling on his knees through filth.

It was then that he realized: only Kang Hyunmuk had the power to wound him.

Why?  Of all the people on this planet, why was it only him?

There was no answer. The question had expired along with the emotion. Heeji no longer needed to chase after it like some desperate beggar. Because the moment he opened his eyes again, that foolish feeling had vanished without a trace.

It was, in a way, the best outcome for both espers. That love, which had brought nothing but misery to Baek Heeji and Kang Hyunmuk, had finally vanished—and with it, peace had returned. With a light heart, Heeji tried to imagine how Hyunmuk would react.

If I were to tell him I don’t love him anymore, he might actually thank me. Or maybe he’d ask why I didn’t give up on him sooner. Either way, after some time passes, he’ll probably feel the same freedom I do now—released from invisible chains.

Thinking that way made the whole amnesia act seem like a solid plan. Since he’d woken up without any lingering feelings for Kang Hyunmuk, it was only fitting to start enjoying the relaxed life of a man in retirement. For the first time in ages, Baek Heeji realized he belonged to himself again. It was refreshing—like a bad tooth finally pulled.

Conveniently, he could blame his so-called memory loss on the trauma of being torn apart in Isodous. There were quite a few espers who had claimed dissociative amnesia after watching teammates get devoured alive by rampaging titans right in front of them. He could play that card too. Nobody would question it if he said it was psychological trauma.

Does it really matter, anyway? People at HQ have disliked me for ages. No matter what I say, they’re not going to care.

The plan was in place—sloppy, maybe, but workable. It was time to act.

Except… his body wouldn’t cooperate.

“What the hell is this…?”

Sure, the injuries had been serious, but not to the point of complete immobility. An esper’s body boasted near-miraculous healing abilities, assuming they were still breathing. And given he was in a hospital, someone with healing ESP must’ve worked on him. But why was recovery so slow?

He quickly glanced at the digital clock mounted on the hospital wall. It had been over a month since he’d technically died and come back. One might argue that a month was short for a body that had been ripped apart and sewn back together—but considering an esper’s natural resilience, it was more than enough time. Hell, he should be deadlifting in rehab by now.

And yet, even wiggling a toe took monumental effort.

“Ha… this is ridiculous…”

He let out a long sigh and tried to move again. First, he twitched his fingers. Then, he rotated his neck. After a few deep breaths, he attempted to lift his upper body.

“…Jesus. Feels like I’m gonna die all over again.”

The searing pain was so sharp it felt like death itself had come to finish the job. He was pretty sure he stopped breathing halfway through. His trembling hand clutched the bed rail as he groaned in agony, then tore off the IV needle and tape with considerable effort.

Next was getting his legs over the edge of the bed. Muscle atrophy shouldn’t have set in yet, but the way his body trembled and his breath came in shallow gasps made no sense.

Once I’m stable, I need to overhaul my training schedule…

Determined, he tried getting off the bed entirely. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked. His body shook like a newborn fawn’s, but he managed to stand. Sure, his hands still clung to the rail for dear life, but compared to when even lifting his torso had been a struggle, it was a huge step forward.

He slowly regulated his breathing, then shuffled over to the hospital door. When he opened it and looked around, he suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs:

“Where am I?! Can someone please tell me where this is?!”

A normal person would’ve just called for a nurse, but if he was going to pretend to have amnesia, then a little dramatic flair was in order. He hadn’t cried since his teenage years, so no tears came, but he put on a pitiful face and kept shouting.

“My body feels weird! Why am I here?!”

Doctors and nurses inside the adjoining medical office turned in surprise. Judging by their scrubs and coats, he was right—this was the hospital affiliated with the Minos Seoul HQ, specifically for espers and guides.

Seriously, what the hell, HQ? Why’d they stick me in the guide ward?

The esper and guide wards were always kept separate. The reason? To prevent weakened guides from accidentally being drained by nearby espers. Yet here he was, clearly an A-rank esper, in a guide-only ward. No matter how urgent things had been, bringing him here was insane. The medical staff must’ve lost their minds. He clicked his tongue and kept up the performance.

“Why am I here?! I don’t remember anything!”

And then—success. His little act must’ve worked, because the medical staff came rushing toward him.

“Baek Heeji, guide!”

Guide? I’m an esper, though… The label was way off, but he let it slide. He let his legs give out and collapsed dramatically onto the floor.

“Ugh… who am I? I don’t even remember my own name…!”

He sobbed theatrically, even though the tears still refused to come. Honestly, nothing short of dry-eye syndrome ever made Baek Heeji cry these days.

Unfortunately, the hospital’s high-powered humidifier made it even harder to fake tears. So, he subtly lowered his head and jabbed both eyes with his middle and index fingers.

Finally, his eyes turned bloodshot—and tears poured down like a waterfall.