Ghost Apple

Kim Hye-seong may have been making a decent amount of money in the shadows, but it was still a stretch to attach the label chaebol to her.

“…Typical Guiding-peddlers.”

The corners of the man’s mouth twisted in a strange way. It was half a smirk of amusement, half a sneer of disdain.

Han-gyeom didn’t like the man’s condescending smile, but he chose not to react. Espers looking down on Guides were a dime a dozen, and people who wore their scorn on their sleeve were hardly rare in this line of work. Reacting to every little provocation would only cost him his peace of mind.

With a blank expression, Han-gyeom set a ten-minute timer on his phone and urged him.

“Just shut up and let’s get it over with.”

The man readily took Han-gyeom’s hand.

Instantly, a shiver ran through Han-gyeom’s body at the chill that seeped through the man’s touch.

Why is he so cold?

His hand felt like it had just come back from braving the dead of winter. And yet, strangely, the man’s skin tone didn’t look that different from anyone else’s. In fact, Han-gyeom’s own hand—warm with circulation—looked even paler in comparison.

His confusion was brief.

Aware of the man silently staring at him from behind his sunglasses, Han-gyeom focused on the hand he was holding.

As Guides usually did when entering Guiding Mode, Han-gyeom’s irises turned a deep crimson. A moment later, a red mist-like energy began to flow softly from his hand into the man’s body.

Han-gyeom’s guiding followed its usual pattern.

If there was one difference, it was that since this was his first time with this client, he focused on tracing the pathways tainted by the black currents of ESP energy and scanning the man’s body more thoroughly than usual.

Exactly ten minutes later—

Beep beep beep—

A short alarm went off, just as planned.

“Time’s up.”

The man had already closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of being wrapped in Han-gyeom’s euphoric guiding energy. If he hadn’t been wearing sunglasses, Han-gyeom might have caught a glimpse of his eyes flying open in shock at his own state.

By then, Han-gyeom’s eyes had already returned to black, and he made a motion to release the man’s hand without hesitation. But the man, seemingly on instinct, grabbed it again.

Han-gyeom’s hand, now completely engulfed in the man’s large palm, froze in displeasure.

“I told you. First-timers don’t get more than ten minutes.”

The man reluctantly let go, unable to fully hide his disappointment. Han-gyeom’s hand, which had been held so tightly it had gone numb and turned even paler, was now tingling as he gave it a few brisk shakes in the air.

“I’ve got one question.”

As he did after every guiding session, Han-gyeom pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips. Like clockwork, he leaned back against the desk, dragged the ashtray close, and picked up his lighter.

Click click. Damn lighter’s acting up again.

The lack of gas in the nearly spent lighter was seriously pissing him off. After several tries, Han-gyeom finally managed to light his cigarette.

He took a deep drag, inhaling the gray smoke into his lungs, then let it spill slowly from between his lips. As the smoke trailed out, so did the question that had lingered in his mind throughout the entire guiding session.

“Why did you send a clone instead of showing up yourself?”

Han-gyeom’s black eyes stared coldly at the man.

The man looked mildly surprised.

Just as Han-gyeom had suspected, the one before him wasn’t the real body—it was a clone he had crafted. But there were probably very few people who could’ve seen through that.

The appearance, the gait, the movements of his hands, the skin tone and its responses, the way his muscles shifted, even the tiniest habits, his voice, speech pattern, eyes, scent—every detail was identical to the original. He could even receive a Guide’s energy just as any real body would.

The only real differences were the noticeably lower body temperature—colder than a normal human—and the fact that the clone was always created in a healthy condition, regardless of the original body’s state.

Aside from those, it was so flawlessly constructed that no one would dare to guess it wasn’t the real person.

The man smiled faintly at Han-gyeom, seemingly amused that he had been found out.

“When did you realize?”

“You figure it out the moment you guide one.”

The man asked with clear curiosity, “How?”

“Because I’m a Guide.”

The answer was as brief as the question.

Han-gyeom didn’t feel the need to elaborate. Plain and simple—if he weren’t a Guide, he wouldn’t have known.

When the red current he had infused began to circulate through the man’s body and returned, Han-gyeom had sensed a strange inconsistency.

The black ESP pathways in the man’s body were suspiciously pristine—so clean that he’d questioned whether guiding was even necessary. He had scoured every passage he could, smoothing out even the slightest irregularities. At most, there were some minor rough patches, barely noticeable.

But no matter how long he guided, those “rough spots” never fully smoothed out. More precisely, even if he left them perfectly cleared, once he returned to the same area, he’d find new, faint ridges had formed again.

As if the ability was being actively used in real time.

Han-gyeom hadn’t seen the man activate any ability. Even through the sunglasses, if any power had been in use, black ESP energy would’ve inevitably leaked out—but not a trace appeared. The man had remained perfectly still the entire time their hands were clasped.

That’s when he realized it.

The man was using his ability somewhere else, from a distance, just to keep this body—this clone—running.

And judging from the way the ESP flow shifted in real time, there was no doubt: this was a clone directly linked to the original.

It’s my first time guiding a clone directly…

It’s commonly known that clone-type espers can still receive indirect guiding as long as their ‘fake’ body remains connected to the original. The process is less efficient, naturally, due to its indirect nature—but when used strategically, it offers the major advantage of receiving guidance without needing to remain glued to a Guide’s side.

With this level of precision… easily A-rank or higher, huh.

The clone had been crafted so meticulously that it could receive guiding energy without even the slightest resistance. Judging by the Association’s grading standards, he’d definitely rank among the high tiers.

Han-gyeom tried to recall just how many clone-type espers in the world were capable of creating such indistinguishable doubles. Of course, being unregistered, this man wouldn’t appear in any public records—but by comparing him to others of similar caliber, he could make a decent estimate.

The man’s expression shifted faintly behind his sunglasses, a flicker of intrigue in his eyes.

“Other Guides never noticed, even after a long session.”

That was understandable.

The flaw Han-gyeom had picked up on was so minuscule that an average Guide would’ve missed it entirely. It was only because Han-gyeom had been forced to develop such extreme sensitivity from a young age that he could perceive it at all. A regular Guide wouldn’t have picked up on any of the subtle inconsistencies this man exhibited.

Han-gyeom met the man’s expectant stare through the sunglasses with a disinterested look of his own.

“Guess sensitivity just varies from Guide to Guide.”

He replied flatly, as if it were nothing, and tapped the charred tip of his cigarette into the ashtray.

“You don’t have to answer my question if you don’t want to.”

His long lashes dipped downward, angling diagonally along his lowered gaze as he stared into the ashtray.

“Is it just paranoia? So much so that even meeting a powerless little Guide like me puts you on edge? Or…”

Han-gyeom’s sharp eyes lifted and locked onto the man.

“Is it because you can’t move your real body at all right now? I’m just curious, that’s all.”

The man responded with a smile, the corners of his lips curling upward.

“It’s a test.”

“A test?”

The moment the word left the man’s mouth, a flicker of irritation crossed Han-gyeom’s face before he could stop it.

“What kind of test?”

But rather than answer, the man simply chuckled quietly, as if amused by the reaction.

As though his business here was finished, he rose from his seat without a second’s hesitation.

“Cha Han-gyeom.”

He rolled the name on his tongue, savoring it like he already owned it, despite Han-gyeom never having told him. Then he placed both hands on the desk Han-gyeom was leaning against. As he leaned in, the overhead light cast his long shadow down across Han-gyeom’s face, like it was trying to swallow him whole.

“Don’t forget what I said earlier.”

Han-gyeom, now suddenly caged in the man’s shadow, turned his gaze away and blew out a puff of smoke with forced indifference.

“What did you say?”

The man suddenly grabbed the hand holding Han-gyeom’s cigarette. His grip was solid—firm enough that Han-gyeom’s hand fit perfectly inside his.

“I meant—I can give you more, if you want.”

“……?”

Han-gyeom’s puzzled gaze met the man’s. In response, the man flashed a radiant smile. Even with half his face shrouded in shadow, the smile looked like it had been pulled straight from a painting. It was so mesmerizing that Han-gyeom, without meaning to, found himself momentarily dazed.

After the man left.

Han-gyeom stared blankly at the door he’d just walked through. It wasn’t until the cigarette wedged between his fingers began to burn the filter that he finally looked away.

***

Several days passed.

—Hyung, what do we do… Looks like another no-show.

Jae-woo’s dejected voice came through the phone. Han-gyeom, looking just as drained, furrowed his brows slightly.

This made the seventh person today, from morning all the way until early evening.

All those reservations made in advance, and yet one after another, like they were following a script, they were canceling without a trace. It was too strange—way too strange.

—Think something’s going on today? We’ve never had this many no-shows in a single day before.

“You think the Association’s sent people out?”

—Nah, it’s been quiet on their end today. Besides, they don’t even move unless someone files a report. And even then, they only act during the quarterly search periods.

For unregistered espers, the most dangerous time of any quarter was the first month—when official sweeps took place. There were still two months left before the next scheduled operation, so like Jae-woo said, there was no way the Association would already be stirring things up. Of course, if all seven clients had suddenly been reported and were now on the run, that’d be a different story altogether.

But aside from all being Han-gyeom’s regulars, the no-shows had nothing else in common.

—Should we start seriously taking deposits or something?

“Forget it. What kind of deposit system are we running?”

—Still, maybe they’re skipping out so casually because there’s no collateral involved.

Jae-woo had a point, but when it came to clients trying to live discreetly off the grid, it wasn’t exactly easy to ask for prepayment. There was a reason Han-gyeom insisted on handling all transactions in cash, face-to-face.

“We already said that anyone who cancels more than twice gets removed from the client list. That’s enough.”

—I know, but still…

“Don’t stress over it. Hye-seong noona’s the next appointment anyway—she wouldn’t flake.”

—Mm…

Kim Hye-seong had never once canceled an appointment, aside from the time she’d sent a strange man in her place.

So naturally, Han-gyeom believed she, at least, would show up on time today. She was also the last appointment of the day, so once that wrapped up, he figured the three of them could grab dinner together.

But today really was proving to be an unusually strange day.