Han Ju-oh’s face filled his vision, and in the same instant, Seo-ha froze in shock. The color had drained from Han Ju-oh’s face. His eyes were bloodshot, while the rest of him was deathly pale.
Was he really in that bad of a condition? Seo-ha couldn’t take his eyes off Han Ju-oh’s face, and just as time seemed to slow to a crawl—
His hand reached up and touched Seo-ha’s cheek. Dumbfounded by the touch that cupped his face, Seo-ha blurted out blankly,
“……You’re supposed to save me.”
Wasn’t that why he flew over here?
He figured Han Ju-oh had raised his hand to slice off the monster’s foot crushing him—or maybe go for its neck or something. But instead, why was he touching his face?
Han Ju-oh stared intently at the hand he had placed on Seo-ha’s cheek. His expression was so grave, as if he’d touched something he never should have, that Seo-ha seriously considered saying, “You do realize we’re floating in the sky right now,” just to break the silence.
“Why should I save you?”
“…What?”
Maybe they were too high up—his ears were ringing, and he wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly. Otherwise, there was no way he could’ve heard that kind of bullshit.
Han Ju-oh had looked so conflicted earlier, staring at his own hand. But now, his face had gone back to its usual impassiveness, floating there like it was nothing. Seo-ha glared at him, irritated at how he didn’t even seem to notice how strange it was to be suspended midair like this.
“We entered the dungeon together, so you’re obligated to protect your Guide.”
“Obligated?”
Han Ju-oh looked genuinely surprised, like he’d never heard that before. But all he did was raise an eyebrow, which only made Seo-ha want to smack himself in the chest in frustration. The air was already thin—why was Han Ju-oh being like this on top of everything?
“Then doesn’t the Guide have obligations too?”
“This isn’t daycare. Why are you bringing up a Guide’s responsibilities now? What, you wanna be all fair and square…?”
Seo-ha had been about to snap at him for going on about this nonsense instead of trying to actually resolve the situation—but then something hit him, and he clamped his mouth shut.
No way.
“Your job is to Guide.”
Grit. His teeth clenched.
Plenty of people had mocked or pitied his pathetic level of energy. Just one person had ever reached out a hand and said they’d try to find a way together. But even then, not a single one of them had ever lectured him about his “role.”
Because they knew—he couldn’t do it, even if he wanted to. Even when he clung desperately to the idea of raising his compatibility rate, at best they’d looked at him with contempt. Not once had someone stared him down with that kind of cold, blank expression and accused him of slacking off.
Still trembling from the fear of being torn apart by the monster’s foot or plummeting to his death, Seo-ha suddenly burst out in protest, overwhelmed by the sense of injustice.
“You think I want to be like this?”
The words escaped before he could stop them. He’d thought it was all over and that he didn’t have to waste any more emotion—but Han Ju-oh had wrung him out.
His pent-up resentment, with nowhere else to go, had just exploded—and Han Ju-oh had pulled the pin. Seo-ha’s heart ached like it was being crushed. He glared up at Han Ju-oh. It wasn’t like the man had blocked his energy. He’d just said a few careless words. And yet Seo-ha directed all his bitterness at him.
It was the kind of injustice he couldn’t suppress.
“You wouldn’t understand. Someone like you, who can just use your powers whenever you want—you’ll never get it.”
Someone who’d never know what it was like to want to give everything and still be unable to.
“That’s my job. To throw everything I’ve got into wiping out the monster.”
“Well, same for me. If I’d had an Esper that actually matched me from the start, none of this would’ve happened.”
“Sounds like an excuse.”
“…Hah. Think whatever the hell you want.”
Still seething, Seo-ha looked down. They were even higher than before; the people on the ground were no longer visible. It didn’t seem like Han Ju-oh would save him quietly. He prayed someone—anyone—would fly up and grab him.
“Hngh…”
He couldn’t take it much longer.
The grip tightening around his body was getting so intense that his fingers and toes started going numb. He couldn’t breathe right; his chest felt tight, and a headache throbbed behind his eyes.
It was hard to tell if the blur in his vision was from the clouds or from his own fading consciousness.
Then, all at once, the pressure vanished—and Seo-ha’s body pitched forward.
So this was it. He’d fall endlessly now. Maybe his heart would give out before he hit the ground. That’d be ideal—at least then, he wouldn’t feel the pain of impact…
“……”
His fall suddenly slowed, and something warm pressed against his back. Seo-ha opened his eyes.
He tried to see what was going on—but once again, Han Ju-oh’s chest was blocking everything.
Why was it always this guy’s chest?
When he’d had his feet on the ground, the closeness had startled him. But now, he was relieved.
Seo-ha lifted his head, scanning the skies for the monster that had been holding him—but it was nowhere to be seen. In the wind-filled sky, he hesitated, wondering if he could grab onto Han Ju-oh’s clothing.
“…Acting like you weren’t gonna save me.”
Wasn’t he the one who went on about “roles” and responsibility just a minute ago? Didn’t Seo-ha curse him and resent him for that very reason?
“I only asked why I should save you. I never said I wouldn’t.”
“……”
So aggravating.
He was so incredibly infuriating that Seo-ha wanted to shove Han Ju-oh away, but right now, he was in no position to do that. If he could just get his feet on solid ground…
“Esper Han Ju-oh…”
Seo-ha raised his hand to clutch the hem of Han Ju-oh’s clothing—but instead, as if mimicking him, he cupped Han Ju-oh’s cheek. A faint grimace flickered across Han Ju-oh’s face. Seo-ha gently brushed his thumb over the uneven skin where his veins had risen.
He must have pushed himself too hard, using so much energy.
Looking into Han Ju-oh’s bloodshot eyes, continuing their earlier argument suddenly felt meaningless.
“Guiding.”
His lips, so dry the skin was cracked, couldn’t even manage the two syllables properly. Blood seeped from the torn skin. On the surface, his only visible injury was a split lip—but who knew what shape the inside of his body was in.
“There’s barely anything to gain from receiving my Guiding anyway… No. I’ll begin.”
Seo-ha gave up trying to say anything more, unsure if Han Ju-oh could even hear him at this point, and started guiding. Floating midair while guiding for the first time in his life, a strange anticipation stirred within him—like something unusual might happen this time.
‘One.’
As his energy flowed in, Han Ju-oh’s eyes wavered.
‘Two.’
There was a flicker of confusion, but then his gaze steadied.
‘Three.’
“……”
The moment they touched ground, the energy flowing into Han Ju-oh’s body abruptly cut off.
The sliver of hope Seo-ha had clung to vanished in an instant. He bowed his head in defeat. Of course. If something like this was enough to raise the matching rate, something would’ve happened long ago.
So this is why people say not to get your hopes up.
“Thank you for your effort.”
Just as he was about to let go and end the meager Guiding, Han Ju-oh’s hand moved—grabbing his hand in return.
“What the hell? I told you, this doesn’t work on me. Go to another Guide.”
Seo-ha shook his head firmly, sending the message loud and clear: It’s not that I won’t guide—it’s that I can’t. But Han Ju-oh didn’t say a word. Wondering why, Seo-ha took a closer look at his face—only to find that his eyes weren’t even focused on him.
“Hello? Han Ju-oh, Esper?”
His complexion was already bad, and now his unfocused eyes made Seo-ha panic. He glanced around, hoping to spot a healing Esper nearby, and tried to raise his hand to signal one—only to be stopped.
Han Ju-oh hadn’t let go of his hand.
“…Why?”
“……”
“Why does your Guiding work?”
Seo-ha’s expression twisted in annoyance at the bizarre question.
Here we go again.
Just like last time, Han Ju-oh was spouting nonsense again, draining all the energy from the moment. Seo-ha felt ridiculous for having worried about this guy.
“I already explained last time. If you still don’t understand, ask another Guide.”
If it’s just about explanations, Moon Roi could do it way better than I can.
“No other Guide will do.”
What? Even if Moon Roi can explain it better? Seo-ha’s brows furrowed in frustration. The conversation wasn’t making any sense. But then he caught sight of Han Ju-oh’s face again—and went silent.
Even with his Guiding, Han Ju-oh’s condition looked dangerously unstable.
“At least get Guiding from someone else first.”
“But why does it work with you?”
“Just go get some damn Guiding!”
“…Who are you?”
“Oh, come on…”
Why is that the question he wants to ask?
Was he really trying to continue the earlier discussion about a Guide’s “role”?
Seo-ha had assumed that conversation was over the moment Han Ju-oh saved him, but now it seemed like he wanted to dig it back up. Seo-ha let out a long, troubled sigh.
Why was he like this? Why did he have to keep jabbing at Seo-ha’s shortcomings?
As he struggled to figure out what to say, Seo-ha belatedly noticed the bodies of avian-type monsters lying scattered on the ground around them. Apparently, while he was being carried off, the Espers down below had taken care of them.
…Or had they?
No—the Espers were all looking at Han Ju-oh with reverent eyes. Which meant…
“Did you take down all those monsters yourself, Han Ju-oh?”
“I figured I needed to clear the urgent threats first… so I could actually have this conversation with you.”
