“Cha Gweonwoo!”
I burst in calling his name like it was life or death—only to find an older staffer inside, adjusting his glasses. His expression said: what’s with the drama, it’s nothing serious.
Yeah. Code Blue.
That was the very same signal that used to pop up on my summoner back when Gweonwoo called me nearly every day. Back then, even if it went off, I just rolled around in bed.
‘Goddammit, he’s calling again.’
Frowning hard, brushing my teeth on the toilet: ‘Fine, I’m coming. Chill.’ Running the washer: ‘Okay, okay, I’ll come. He’s not even dying.’ Vacuuming: ‘Persistent little shit.’ Then after dragging out every chore I could, I’d finally show up, grumbling.
That was Code Blue.
So why, with the same signal, did my heart just plummet to the floor this time? Probably because I’d just watched him tossed around like a dandelion puff in the wind.
“Pass, please.”
“Oh—yes.”
The staffer scanned my card at a leisurely pace. My profile popped up on the monitor. He gestured toward the inner door.
“You may proceed with guiding.”
“Yes, sir.”
I folded my hands like a guilty suspect and pushed open the door he indicated.
The interior stopped me cold.
Baby-pink wallpaper, the kind you’d see in a daycare. Cutesy hearts doodled across it—eyesore level. A bed wide enough for five adults to lie side by side. A sofa for six. A rug on the floor.
I closed the triple-soundproof door behind me.
I wanted to tell myself no—but the resemblance was too much.
Yeah. It looked like a love motel. A shabby one off the highway to Gapyeong, specifically.
And there was Cha Gweonwoo, long legs stretched out, sitting on the bed like nothing had happened. Looking so fine it made my earlier panic feel embarrassing.
“Oh.”
He let out a little whistle of awe, gesturing at his summoner and winking.
“This thing’s really handy. Didn’t even take five minutes after I pressed the button.”
Shit. My face twisted up. I had a bad feeling he’d be pressing that button every other second from now on.
“Only when you really need it. Only then.”
I said it cold, but his sly little smile told me he’d ignored every word.
“When I really need Guide Kim Doweon? Then that’s 365 days a year.”
“No. When you need guiding.”
I cut him off clean before his thoughts wandered into god knows where.
Cha Gweonwoo, call me for nonsense again and I’ll kill you. I only just escaped summoner hell—I’m not going back.
“How’s your condition?”
I stepped closer to check—and he suddenly yanked my hand, pulling me down until I bent awkwardly over him. He whispered in my ear:
“I want to get out of here.”
His face looked hollow, like an astronaut lost alone in space. When I widened my eyes at him, he smiled as if nothing had happened.
Maybe fallout from the training. He looked utterly drained.
***
Back home, I stretched with a long yawn. All I’d done was sit and watch training, but my body felt heavy. Gweonwoo was worse—he trudged straight into his room, muttering about needing sleep.
I collapsed into a nap myself. When I woke again, it was nine at night. Over dinner, I kept glancing at his closed door.
Should I wake him to eat? Or will he get up on his own if he’s hungry?
I always force myself up for meals no matter how tired—but some people prize sleep over food. They hate being woken.
Honestly, I hesitated. Waking someone up to eat… it felt too intimate.
Like when someone nods off next to you in a study room—should you wake them, or mind your business?
This is where people say “don’t stick your nose in,” right? So maybe don’t wake him.
I scratched my head and just finished my meal.
I cleaned up, washed dishes, left his dinner where he’d see it, showered, sat down to watch TV… rubbed my bleary eyes… and still his door stayed shut.
Was he that tired?
I turned down the volume to a whisper, sneaking glances at his room.
Late at night, my duty weighed on me again. I had to report his daily condition.
I stood before his door, hesitated forever, then raked my hair.
“Screw it. I’ll just go in.”
I gathered my kit, knocked. No reply.
“Mr. Cha Gweonwoo, I’m coming in.”
I eased the knob, planning to slip in, check his vitals, and slip out.
But the lights were on. And the room was empty.
“Huh?”
I set my tools on the bed and looked around.
Unless he was hiding under the bed or in the closet just to mess with me, there were only two options: the dressing room beyond the sliding door, or the bathroom.
Maybe he was showering. I sat and waited. But no water sounds came. Minutes dragged. My gut prickled.
“Mr. Cha Gweonwoo, are you in there?”
I asked gently outside the sliding door. No answer. Ear to the door—no sound, no presence.
Had he gone somewhere while I wasn’t looking?
I tilted my head and pushed the door open without thinking.
“—!”
My heart dropped.
Jesus. What the hell was he doing in here.
Clutching my chest, I looked: he was standing before a full-length mirror.
“Why are you…”
The words died.
His eyes were bloodshot, wet with unshed tears, lips split open.
In the reflection he looked like a bluebird beaten down by rain, wings shattered. I stared up at him wide-eyed.
Why… why that face?
His gaze wouldn’t meet mine, weighed down with restrained grief.
“Mr. Cha Gweonwoo…”
I breathed his name, dazed.
He finally turned. The emptiness and defeat I’d glimpsed before lingered in his eyes.
He was looking at me, but not at me. His eyes pointed my way, but the focus was somewhere deep inside, unfixed.
His blurred gaze, his lips moving slowly:
“…I want to get out of here.”
His voice was damp, like laundry left to hang in monsoon season.
The floor was a mess of scattered belongings. The bag he’d brought lay gutted, innards spilled.
His hand clutched his phone so tightly his knuckles jutted sharp.
“I want to get out of here.”
The words sounded like they’d been buried inside for years, pressed down until now.
He squeezed his wet eyes shut, and the tears finally slid free, falling in heavy drops. I stared, stunned, like watching raindrops on a plane window the first time I flew.
Philosophers of innate goodness claim the proof is in compassion. A natural kindness everyone’s born with.
The moment I saw his wet eyes, some switch in me flipped on its own.
I couldn’t believe it. Cha Gweonwoo was crying. Cha Gweonwoo was hurting.
Cha Gweonwoo could cry.
“Just the other day I was nothing. Before I woke up, I…”
Each word dragged out of him, eyes red, forcing back the tears.
“They keep telling me I was great, that I need to wake up, that I can’t falter, that I have to go back to being who I was…”
“…”
“But going back—how is that supposed to…”
He bit his lip hard. His broad shoulders trembled with the weight of grief he was holding down.
His eyes met mine, filled with a hollow shadow, and my heart plunged.
I stepped closer, careful, reaching a tentative hand toward the boy shaking pitifully before me...