He was exhausted.
The past, once brimming with hope, now clung to his ankles like dead weight. If he hadn’t gotten his hopes up from the beginning, maybe he wouldn’t be so disappointed now.
When he was first ranked as an A-Class Guide, it felt like the world was his. He couldn’t stop smiling, even when he was doing nothing at all. He truly believed he could shape his future however he wanted. He was certain of it, and yet…
“I’m resigning.”
Kim Beom-hak, the head of the Guide Center and the man who had once come to scout him personally, didn’t even glance at the resignation letter—just stared at it with his eyes.
“You’re quitting?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He’d watched everything unfold, seen it all with his own eyes, and still had the nerve to ask why. But there was no anger, no choked-up emotion. Just calm. The cycle of hope and disappointment had worn him down to the bone.
“You know why. My matching rate is only 3%.”
He’d thought he owned the world, but that wasn’t the case. No matter which Esper he was paired with, the match rate never rose above 3%. The matching rate represented how much guiding energy he could transmit to an Esper. Even with his body brimming with surging energy, he could only transfer 3% of it. Because of that, he had become the Guide everyone avoided.
“I was under the impression your matching tests weren’t finished.”
“I’ve tested with every Esper in the center. At this point, it’d be more productive to wring water from a dry rag.”
He had hoped—desperately—that there’d be at least one person with a higher match rate. But once the number of tests passed a hundred, he’d stopped counting altogether.
“If you want, I can transfer you to another center.”
“And what? Miraculously find an Esper I match with there?”
He fiddled with the watch wrapped around his wrist, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. The device, which displayed how much energy he was transmitting to an Esper, had never shown a number above 3%.
“I’m done.”
“Don’t you think your rank’s a waste?”
A waste?
The higher a Guide’s grade, the purer and clearer the energy they could transmit. Naturally, receiving guidance from a higher-ranked Guide was better. But with only 3% compatibility, the energy he transmitted was so negligible it might as well have been nothing. Even an A-Class Guide like Baek Seo-ha couldn’t compete with a C-Class Guide capable of transferring 50%—at least not in any practical sense.
“Not at all.”
What was the point of rank if he couldn’t guide anyone?
“Everyone’s figured it out. I’m just fancy packaging with nothing inside.”
Everyone knew there was no substance beneath the surface. And so, a Guide who only looked good on paper had no business continuing on.
“What do you plan to do after quitting?”
“There’s a lot I can do. I could open a restaurant, or find some land and start a farm.”
“Do you even know how to farm?”
Kim Beom-hak took off his glasses and pressed his eyes, as if soothing an oncoming headache. He was still in his forties, far from old, but the weight of his responsibilities must’ve been immense. The sight only made Seo-ha want to quit even more. If he left, maybe that would lift one worry off the center director’s shoulders.
“I’ll learn. From now on, I’ll study.”
Whatever he chose to do, no one expected miracles from a beginner.
“So please go ahead and process my resignation.”
At the Seoul Branch of the National Dungeon Management Center—where he was the most useless existence—Baek Seo-ha had finally decided to leave on his own two feet.
***
“There’s less than ten minutes until the gate opens.”
“He’s an A-Class, but is it really necessary to bring in support from another center?”
“Well, most of the Espers here got dispatched to a different gate yesterday.”
Conversation trickled through the crack of the barely open waiting room door.
“Yeah, and the ones left behind are…”
Seo-ha was about to open the door when he froze.
“Guide Baek?”
His hand went limp at the sound of his name.
“So Baek Seo-ha is the highest-ranked Guide we’ve got? No wonder they called for backup from another center.”
“Right? Honestly, his rank’s high, but in terms of matching rate, he’s dead last.”
He held his breath and focused on the sound of laughter ridiculing him.
“I seriously don’t get why the center keeps him around with that kind of match rate.”
“Because the director’s backing him, obviously.”
“So the rumors are true, huh…”
Seo-ha yanked the door open hard, crushing the endlessly inflating gossip in one swift blow.
“Ahem.”
The moment the subject of all that gossip walked in, the Guides scrambled to act like nothing happened. Some awkwardly cleared their throats and turned their heads away, others suddenly found their notification pads fascinating.
At least those people looked embarrassed. One person, however, stood there with their head held high, staring directly at Seo-ha with defiant arrogance, as if to say, So what if you heard?
If you get caught talking behind someone’s back, the least you can do is look sorry.
“I handed in my resignation.”
With a slight smile, Seo-ha dropped the bomb—and silence blanketed the waiting room.
“What a shame. Looks like you’re at the bottom now.”
He patted the shoulder of the man who had just been smugly meeting his gaze. So you were that confident just because your match rate was higher than his?
“Make sure to enjoy all the shit I took in my place.”
The guy’s expression screamed this isn’t what I wanted—like the ground beneath him had just given way. Seo-ha had endured so much that now, all he could do was smirk faintly. Whether it was 3% or 30%, what difference did it make… Fuck. Honestly, he was jealous.
He had never once experienced a rate that high, and it made him bitter. Seo-ha swallowed down the envy gnawing inside.
He pulled his bag out from under the desk and opened his locker. It’d probably take about a week for his resignation to be processed, so he left his toothbrush and toothpaste behind. He wouldn’t be taking any night shifts, so he packed up his towel and slippers. Since he’d have to be on standby, he only kept a few books and swept the rest into his bag.
He was in the middle of this when—
“What are you gonna do… after quitting?”
The question hit him in the back like a dart. The second person after the director to ask that. It wasn’t surprising, really—though it was a bit annoying how curious they were.
If a child was found to have abilities at age seven through a mandatory Center exam, their next twelve years were shaped depending on whether they were an Esper or a Guide. Their entire school life revolved around that path.
University was optional, but even then, someone who’d been trained as a Guide all their life wouldn’t have had much room to branch out. By the time they entered society, their entire identity had been formed around either being a Guide or an Esper. It was nearly impossible to imagine doing anything else.
So to toss it all aside and start a completely different career? That was hard to even picture. Seo-ha was no exception. His entire life had been shaped by Guide training.
But no matter how much of his life had been devoted to becoming a Guide, if he couldn’t actually guide, then what was the point? Clinging to it any longer was just pointless.
“I’ll figure something out.”
He was still young. He’d survived as a Guide with abysmal efficiency—surely he could manage something else.
“If nothing else, why don’t you help with the paperwork here? Who knows, we might need your 3% for emergency top-ups.”
Grinning like he’d just landed the perfect jab, the 30-percenter smugly labeled Seo-ha as a backup battery.
“Ha-cheol.”
With a faint sigh, Seo-ha looked at the 30%—Cho Ha-cheol.
“Does 3% even count as an emergency reserve?”
It was barely enough to be considered a trickle, let alone a charge.
“If you ever hear about a place that needs someone like me, let me know. I’ll come running. Got it, Ha-cheol?”
Seo-ha smiled brightly, and Ha-cheol’s face twisted as he opened his mouth to retort—just as the announcement came.
“An A-Class gate has opened. All Espers and Guides of A-Class or higher still in the Center, please teleport immediately.”
Grades applied not only to people but to gates as well. It helped determine who was eligible to enter. Only those of equal or higher rank than the gate could go in.
That meant Seo-ha, as an A-Class Guide, qualified… in theory.
“You going too?”
Feigning ignorance, Seo-ha tossed the question to Cho Ha-cheol, whose expression darkened. It wasn’t just about the match rate—his rank didn’t meet the requirement either. Seo-ha had hit the mark perfectly.
“Then I’ll see you all later.”
Seo-ha turned to the other Guides and nodded. He may have qualified by rank, but he wasn’t actually capable of guiding anyone. Going would be pointless—at best, he’d just get in the way. So he returned to packing his things. As for the stares aimed at the back of his head, those always disappeared once he stopped paying attention.
Just a little longer and he wouldn’t have to deal with any of it anymore. The judgmental looks, the crushing sense of inadequacy, the damn 3%—he could leave it all behind.
He was finally letting go of all the lingering attachments when—beep! His watch buzzed with an alert, a strange pulse of unease spreading through his chest. The warning sirens from the Center hadn’t stopped, but now even his watch was going off?
He wanted to ignore it—but if he did, they might not process his resignation. So he swiped the screen.
—You should go too.
Of course. He knew it. This was why he didn’t want to pick up the director’s calls.
“Why should I go there? Is that my damn grave you’re sending me to?”
—Quit talking nonsense and go grab your gear.
The command left no room for argument. Seo-ha grimaced. He had no idea why the director wanted someone as useless as him in there.
Where was this energy back then? When Seo-ha had actually volunteered to go in, he’d been stopped every time. Told to sit still, that it wasn’t worth it. And now the same person was ordering him to enter a gate?
“Hurry up. The gate’s closing.”
“…Fine.”
After a brief moment of hesitation, Seo-ha relented. He figured the director had no intention of letting him leave peacefully anyway.
***
Now, Seo-ha stood amidst the chaos, a high-pitched ringing tearing through his head as he stared at the carnage.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Something had gone terribly wrong inside the A-Class gate.
Some Espers had lost limbs. Others had stopped breathing entirely. Guides were rushing between the wounded, trying to help—but all Seo-ha could do was stand there, feeling utterly worthless.
‘What am I even doing here?’
The tinnitus clawed at his mind as he scanned the battlefield—until he spotted someone.
The strongest. The one who had fought the hardest. The one who had taken the most damage…
An Esper.
