Mu-ryeong's Spirit-Chapter 50: The End of Despair (5)

Regardless of everything, Hwan-young had thought that would be his final conversation with Mu-ryeong. Mu-ryeong had said, "I'll make a new one and bring it back," but after being ignored so blatantly, he doubted there would be any kindness left to spare.

"Let's go eat lunch."

Yet, Mu-ryeong approached him as if nothing had happened. No, in fact, his attitude was even bolder than before. Smiling brightly, he reached for Hwan-young’s wrist, looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

"You feel guilty about something, don't you?"

As expected, Hwan-young had tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep. He shouldn’t have thrown away the talisman. That regret clung to him, making him restless. And despite never offering a proper apology, Mu-ryeong looked at him with that same cheerful smile, as if he already knew everything.

"Come on, the line's getting long."

It felt like he had been forgiven. Hwan-young never apologized, and Mu-ryeong never explicitly said everything was fine, yet the knot in his chest was melting away like snow in the sun.

"I wish I could go for seconds..."

Mu-ryeong ate more than he looked capable of. Hwan-young had noticed it before when Mu-ryeong effortlessly finished two convenience store lunchboxes. He ate quickly, but not messily—never spilling or staining anything, which was impressive in itself.

And yet, despite making such a disappointed face about not getting more food, Mu-ryeong still tried to hand over his apple juice.

"Here, take this with you."

"...No, you drink it."

Instead of accepting Mu-ryeong’s juice, Hwan-young handed over his own and walked out of the cafeteria. At the time, he had no idea what Mu-ryeong was planning to do next.

Even after lunch, Mu-ryeong sought him out at random times throughout the day. Sometimes he brought candy, other times it was jelly or chocolate. Occasionally, there were drinks, but the problem was that every time he handed something over, he would always clasp both of Hwan-young’s hands in his own.

"Enjoy it."

Mu-ryeong’s pale, slender fingers had unexpected calluses in places, making them feel rough. And yet, his palms were soft, and his body heat was always warm—almost hot, like he was burning up from within. Does this guy’s hands stay like this even in winter? Hwan-young found himself wondering absentmindedly.

And so, after every brief encounter, Hwan-young found himself lost in thought until the warmth faded. The lingering sensation, the phantom touch, would prickle against his skin, refusing to let him focus on anything else. It was like a burn—an invisible mark left behind.

Then, on the day he caught Seo Seung-joo from falling down the stairs, it finally hit him.

By now, he had grown too accustomed to Mu-ryeong’s touch. So much so that when he instinctively reached out to steady Seung-joo, he didn't hesitate. Normally, he would have flinched back—but this time, his hand moved without thought. And the moment his fingers brushed against Seung-joo’s arm, an overwhelming wave of dread crashed down on him.

...

It had been days since Hwan-hee had last appeared, but that was probably just because Mu-ryeong’s spiritual energy had rubbed off on him. By now, Hwan-young was beginning to realize—Mu-ryeong’s constant hand-holding likely had a reason behind it.

If that was true, then what would happen when his own energy transferred to someone else?

What if someone got hurt because of him?

Hwan-young had lived with that fear for years. He avoided touching others, never taking public transportation, keeping his world as small as possible just to prevent any accidents.

And yet, he had grabbed Seung-joo. He had never initiated physical contact before—not once. If someone else touched him, that was one thing, but reaching out himself? That was undeniably his fault.

The entire walk back to the cafeteria, Hwan-young’s mind was racing. In his imagination, Seung-joo was already glaring at him with both arms in casts, blaming him for everything. And beside him, Mu-ryeong stood with an expression colder than anything Hwan-young had ever seen before, turning away without a word.

"Seung-joo said he's fine."

When Mu-ryeong said that, a sharp, twisting pressure formed in Hwan-young’s chest. A suffocating nausea crawled up his throat.

"He’s not hurt at all."

The warmth of a small hand steadied his nerves. Without realizing it, his clenched fists relaxed. Mu-ryeong traced his fingers over the nail marks dug into Hwan-young’s palm with a touch as light as a feather.

"He didn’t get hurt because you caught him."

Ah.

It wasn’t nausea after all. It was something else entirely.

Maybe what had been rising in his throat wasn’t bile, but tears.

"So, it’s okay."

Hwan-young had always believed he was someone who brought misfortune to others. He had taken his parents. He had taken his brother. And now, he feared he would drag down everyone who got too close.

"It’s going to be okay."

But now, for the first time, someone was telling him otherwise. And that single sentence filled him with a relief so overwhelming that he could hardly breathe.

Somehow, Mu-ryeong made it feel like all his problems could be solved as if they were nothing.

That evening, Hwan-young walked home carrying the umbrella Mu-ryeong had lent him. It was a much longer walk than usual, yet his mind held only one thought.

Mu-ryeong’s bright smile as he handed him the umbrella.

"Even if it’s summer rain, you could still catch a cold."

Mu-ryeong was like sunlight.

Even beneath the darkest, heaviest clouds, he shimmered—warm, bright, untouchable.

And that light was so precious, so comforting, that just looking at it made everything seem a little less unbearable.

I want to see him again. No—I need to see him again.

If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to shake this feeling. He needed to confirm that Mu-ryeong’s smile had truly shone as brilliantly as he remembered.

That was why, early the next morning, Hwan-young found himself waiting outside Class 7, holding onto the umbrella Mu-ryeong had given him. He swallowed nervously, his fingers tightening around the handle as he anxiously scanned the hallway.

"Oh? It’s Ki Hwan-young."

And when a familiar voice called his name, his stomach twisted like he had eaten something bad. His head snapped up.

There they were—just like always, standing close together.

"Ki Hwan-young!"

They were practically embracing. Seung-joo had his left arm draped over Mu-ryeong’s shoulders, pressing his small head snugly against him.

"Did you come to return the umbrella?"

It was a feeling Hwan-young had never experienced before. A wave of disgust washed over him, as if he had been drenched in filth. His heart pounded erratically, nausea twisting in his stomach. The good mood he had carried here plummeted so abruptly that he almost forgot why he had come in the first place.

Like a machine, he handed the umbrella back and recited the line he had memorized overnight. Mu-ryeong’s face immediately brightened at the words of gratitude, but the sight of it only made Hwan-young’s stomach churn. He turned his back at once. If Mu-ryeong hadn’t grabbed his wrist, he would have stomped off to class, sulking.

"Seung-joo isn’t hurt."

That damn Seo Seung-joo.

At that moment, a strange, foreign feeling crept over Hwan-young. It was as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head, the cold seeping straight into his skull. The chaos in his mind stilled, all thoughts settling into place.

"Ah... Right."

Since when had he forgotten that Seung-joo could have been hurt? The guy had almost broken his arm, and yet, what the hell had Hwan-young just been thinking about?

"I’ll be going."

His mind went completely blank. The shock struck him so hard, like a hammer to the back of his skull, that he could think of nothing else.

He had been careless. Just because it wasn’t his own body at risk, he had let himself be reckless. The first thing he should have checked was Seung-joo’s condition, not Mu-ryeong’s reaction. And yet, he had let his emotions cloud his judgment, flipping his priorities upside down. ƒreewebɳovel.com

They said humans were creatures of adaptation. In just a few short days, he ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) had grown too comfortable with a normal life. His mind, once constantly weighed down by caution, had been thoroughly disrupted by the presence of Kim Mu-ryeong. After hearing Mu-ryeong say "it’s fine" a few times, he had stupidly let himself believe it was.

The sudden panic that gripped him felt like a warning—one he could no longer afford to ignore. Nothing had actually been solved. And yet, he kept trying to pretend it had been, brushing it all aside. He was a fool.

His goal was to ensure his brother’s peace, not to absolve himself of guilt. He needed to stop causing harm, not find comfort for himself. But at this rate, he had the terrible feeling that once Hwan-hee was gone, he would simply forget him altogether.

Hwan-young had always had a keen sense for danger. If he continued letting himself be drawn into Mu-ryeong’s presence, he was certain he would never be able to escape. That was why he ran. That was why he distanced himself—to keep his grip on reality.

"...What the hell."

"That must hurt..."

The fall had nothing to do with ghosts or curses—it was sheer accident. After gym class, lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed the uneven pavement and tripped. The worst part was that it hadn’t been on soft dirt but asphalt, leaving deep scrapes running from his knees to his shins.

But Hwan-young had no one to help him up.

It wasn’t that his classmates were cruel—he had simply spent too long ignoring them, pretending they didn’t exist. Now, when he needed them, they acted as though he didn’t exist either.

Leaving them behind, he made his way to the water taps beside the main building.

"Haa..."

The bleeding was worse than he expected. The raw, torn flesh exposed the tender skin underneath, and he knew he needed to disinfect it. But the thought of going to the nurse’s office made his stomach turn.

Even if he only asked for medicine, the nurse would insist on treating him herself.

With no other choice, he frowned and began washing the wound. Dirt and tiny pebbles clung stubbornly to the open cuts, making it clear that leaving them alone would only make things worse. It burned like hell, the pain sharp enough to make him want to scream, but he clenched his teeth and forced himself to endure it.

And then, all at once, everything just... felt meaningless.

What was the point of living like this? A crushing wave of exhaustion hit him, making it hard to breathe.

He should have just dropped out. What was the use of high school?

He had spent so long telling himself that people needed companionship, but what had that ever done for him?

"Maybe I should just take the GED."

Maybe he should stop all of this. What had he been thinking, expecting anything from Kim Mu-ryeong?

Just living alone with Hwan-hee wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

Hwan-young idly swirled his fingers through the running water. He knew he couldn’t grasp it, but the way the sunlight reflected on the surface made it feel like he could.

And then, the moment he cupped the flowing stream in his hand, a familiar voice called out.

"Ki Hwan-young!"

A gust of wind rushed past him, carrying with it a freshness that cut through the haze in his mind.

...

...

For a split second, Hwan-young thought he was hallucinating. He had been so lost in thought, maybe he had subconsciously wished for it. Maybe this was just a mirage, a trick of his desperate mind.

Because there was no way Kim Mu-ryeong—the ever-cheerful, relentlessly bright Kim Mu-ryeong—would ever make that kind of face.

A face so close to tears.

"...Kim Mu-ryeong?"

But it was him.

Not a hallucination, not a figment of Hwan-young’s imagination, but the real Kim Mu-ryeong—panting, breathless, standing right in front of him.

The same Kim Mu-ryeong who had run a hundred-meter sprint without breaking a sweat, now standing there gasping for air as if he had just run for his life.