Even Han Ju-oh let out a dry chuckle, as if he couldn’t believe it himself. There was only one reason he’d been active overseas—to find his Guide, someone he hadn’t been able to locate in Korea. But after failing to find a suitable match, he’d given up and returned home. Then, out of nowhere, in the most unexpected place and moment, an interesting human had appeared.
His face, still flushed with the adrenaline of battle, betrayed his raw emotions.
“He exists.”
“What does he look like? Do you know his name?”
Kim Mi-yeon hurried back to her seat, thinking she might be able to recognize the person. She moved the mouse and pulled up the national database of Guides. Staring at the array of faces on the screen, she asked Han Ju-oh for more information. If he could at least describe the guy’s appearance, she could narrow down the options and confirm the identity.
At her question, Han Ju-oh recalled the Guide’s face and replied,
“He looks irritating.”
Kim Mi-yeon’s brow furrowed at the highly subjective answer.
“What the hell does that mean? Are his eyes narrow? Are his lips like thread?”
“His eyes are long, and his pupils were sharp. His lips were neat and well-shaped.”
“……How is that irritating?”
Just making things up now.
Kim Mi-yeon muttered her dissatisfaction under her breath, while Han Ju-oh, deep in thought, grew serious again. That Guide had only guided him just enough for Han Ju-oh to make it back on foot, then vanished. That annoyingly handsome face now felt more smug than good-looking.
His mood soured again at the thought, a clear crease appearing between his brows. Was this guy seriously toying with an Esper like that?
“What’s with your face? Are we even allowed to track him down?”
Reading the ominous energy radiating from Han Ju-oh, Kim Mi-yeon leaned back in her chair, wary. Normally, someone in his situation would be overjoyed at having found a lifesaving match, but judging by that crooked smirk, he looked like he’d found a sworn enemy instead.
“He gave me just a handful and left.”
“A handful?”
Kim Mi-yeon checked Han Ju-oh’s watch. It had dropped to 89%. Not great, but not at critical overload either.
“Yeah. Then he just stopped.”
And that wasn’t all. The intention behind guiding him just enough to accept a healing Esper’s power was obvious. The rest, he’d have to walk off himself. Realizing why Han Ju-oh was wearing such a twisted smile, Kim Mi-yeon hesitated.
“I’m not even sure we should be tracking this guy down.”
“We have to. He’s… my emergency stash.”
Since the Guide had treated him like a disposable case, Han Ju-oh felt no obligation to treat him any differently.
“What’s with your face? You seriously plan to treat him like a backup tool? Really?”
Thinking it might be a joke, Kim Mi-yeon studied his expression—but realizing he was dead serious, she sighed.
“Let’s at least find out who he is. That way we can ask why he did it, or maybe even scout him.”
Whatever the case, the fact that he’d guided Han Ju-oh made it worth investigating. Kim Mi-yeon pressed the call button.
“Bring me the list of Guides who entered dungeons today.”
Soon after, she received the list from the secretary and began inspecting each photo one by one.
“There are a lot I don’t recognize—guess it’s been a while.”
Though born in Korea, she’d spent many years working abroad and wasn’t familiar with many local Guides. That could be a problem when recruiting in the future, she thought, and resolved to start brushing up now. As she flipped through the list, she called out to Han Ju-oh.
“Come over here and take a look with me. If you point him out, it’ll be easier for me to—”
But when Kim Mi-yeon looked up absentmindedly, she realized no one was there besides the secretary.
“Where did Han Ju-oh go?”
“He left.”
“Without saying anything?”
Puzzled, she asked the secretary, who recalled what had just happened.
“He glanced at the paper the Guild Leader left behind, then walked out.”
“What the hell. So he found the guy? He could’ve at least told me who it was before leaving.”
Kim Mi-yeon muttered in disbelief, then suddenly turned to the secretary with a realization.
“Wait… did that bastard go straight to meet the Guide?”
***
Baek Seo-ha had just exited the gate and was walking toward the decontamination chamber when his steps halted.
“He felt like an S-Class Esper, but why don’t I know who he is?”
He recalled the Esper who’d been fighting at the front line when the hidden gate appeared. Judging by the overwhelming power he displayed in an A-rank dungeon, he had to be S-Class. And yet, no name came to mind.
Not just his power—the guy’s looks were unforgettable. He was handsome. Ridiculously handsome. Thick brows, deep-set eyes that exuded gravity. Even as a fellow man, Seo-ha found it fascinating—his high-bridged nose, sharply defined lips… With a face like that and S-Class abilities, he had to be famous. And yet, this was the first time Seo-ha had ever seen him.
He clearly wasn’t some newbie Esper who had just started his career. He’d stepped up as the team leader, moved with seasoned confidence, scanned the surroundings, and with razor-sharp instincts, commanded the other Espers around him.
“If he’s that capable, there’s no way he’s not famous.”
Thanks to him clearing out a large number of monsters up front, the back line where Seo-ha was stationed had been spared from danger.
‘Then why didn’t anyone guide that Esper?’
He’d used the most power out of all of them, yet everyone treated him like he was invisible. This wasn’t something he could figure out on his own. It’d be best to ask someone who might actually know.
“Roi.”
Someone like Moon Roi, for example—walking right beside him but stubbornly refusing to speak. He was practically Seo-ha’s only friend in the entire Center. When Seo-ha looked over at him, Roi stuck out his lower lip, clearly sulking. Seo-ha asked, seeing how upset he was,
“That Esper from earlier.”
“Who? Han Ju-oh?”
“Han Ju-oh?”
Even the name was unfamiliar, and Seo-ha’s expression grew serious. Just how little did he actually know?
“Not surprising. He’s an S-Class Esper with nature-based abilities. Spent time abroad, only came back recently.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
No wonder he hadn’t seen him before—he’d been overseas.
Seo-ha had always prided himself on knowing nearly every Esper in Korea. Except for those with brandings or those who refused matching, he’d personally sought them out to evaluate compatibility rates.
“Why’re you asking about him? Don’t tell me you want to test your match again?”
“No. I’m done with matching.”
He’d already submitted his resignation—match rates were no longer any of his concern.
“I asked because it was the first time I’d seen him.”
He held back from asking why no one had guided the guy—he didn’t want to spark another conversation about compatibility and match rates.
“I’m going in first.”
He stepped into the decontamination chamber, where disinfectant spray was blasted across his body. Now he understood why Roi had reacted that way. Seo-ha had always clung to any Esper he saw, asking to test compatibility, so Roi probably assumed he’d try the same with Han Ju-oh. He got it, but it still stung. It wasn’t like he wanted to be such a clingy nuisance…
After the spray, he came out and began straightening his now disheveled hair when something flew toward his face. Reflexively, he caught it.
A towel.
“Don’t you have something to say to me?”
A friend who’d gone through elementary, middle, and high school with him—who knew him better than his own family. Hearing the hint of hurt in his voice, Seo-ha rubbed his hair with the towel.
“Say what?”
He snapped back, tone brusque, but Moon Roi’s sharp gaze looked like it could bore straight through him.
“Even if you didn’t tell anyone else, you should’ve told me.”
“Told you what?”
“Do I have to hear from someone else that you turned in your resignation?”
“Oh. That?”
Seo-ha rubbed his neck with the towel, feeling awkward. So that’s why Roi was sulking.
“I only submitted it today. Word sure travels fast.”
“It’s a small world, Seo-ha.”
Seeing Roi collapse into a chair, it looked like he wasn’t going to scold him further. Well, he did know Seo-ha’s circumstances better than anyone.
“From now on—”
“Don’t.”
Seo-ha raised his palm like a stop sign, cutting him off.
“I’m sick of hearing, ‘What are you going to do with your life now?’ I’ve heard it enough times already, so let’s drop it.”
“Please. I was just going to say if you don’t have anywhere to go, you can crash at my place.”
“Oh. That’s what you meant?”
Seo-ha answered blankly again, and Roi gave him a look that screamed, Are you serious right now? Well, anyone could’ve misunderstood.
Seo-ha slumped into the seat next to him, thinking about the Esper—Han Ju-oh.
An Esper newly returned to Korea.
Possibly his last ever guiding.
That familiar look of disbelief on Han Ju-oh’s face.
Probably won’t see him again.
***
Though he had already exited the gate, there was still time left in the workday. Seo-ha tapped idly on the Guide-exclusive tablet, quietly passing the time.
Since no Esper was requesting his guidance, there was no reason for the alert to go off.
Honestly, this was better.
Compared to the early days, when every Esper had rushed to test compatibility—being ignored like this was far preferable. At least his body wasn’t being run ragged.
Once a resignation was accepted, there were typically seven workdays left to hand over duties—five, if you excluded the weekend.
“What am I even supposed to do with my time now?”
If things stayed like this, it was going to get unbearably dull.
Until now, Seo-ha had lived with everything poured into being a Guide. He’d chased after more Espers than he could count, begged them, tested, persisted.
It had been a cycle of expectations and disappointments—agonizing, yes, but never boring. Not once had he felt the same kind of listless emptiness that now clung to him. Glancing at his watch, he checked the time.
4:59 p.m. Around now, being bored was excusable.
Only a minute left till quitting time. He might as well start getting ready—
Beep.
The moment he stood up, the tablet alert rang out. Seo-ha stiffly turned his head.
Did he set an alarm for the end of the day? No… He didn’t remember doing that. Dismissing it as some phantom trigger, he glanced at the screen.
It was a guiding alert.
“Shit.”
Who the hell requested guiding right before clock-out time?
