Rohan’s true identity being exposed, and news of his schemes spreading across the kingdom—none of that mattered.
What bothered Banteon was that Delroz was now being spoken of in the same breath as him.
If the truth came to light, the way people looked at Delroz would change. The eyes that once gazed at him with admiration and reverence would twist into fear and revulsion.
Knowing full well how fickle public favor could be, Banteon didn’t want to see Delroz in that kind of situation.
His lips pressed firmly shut, Banteon remained silent. The Center Director gave a bitter smile at his unyielding demeanor.
“You don’t need to worry. I won’t be speaking of this to anyone.”
“Then what’s the point of asking? You already know everything.”
“Hahaha.”
Relaxing the furrow in his brow, the Center Director let out a dry laugh, one weighed down with helplessness and hollow resignation.
“You’re right. I already knew. What I truly wanted to ask lies beyond that.”
With a deep breath, he cast his eyes toward the distance and murmured softly.
“What happened to the first Esper’s Guide?”
The first to react wasn’t Banteon—it was Delroz.
Delroz, who had been gently holding Banteon’s arm, suddenly stretched out a hand and stepped in front of him. The sudden movement startled Banteon, and only then did he fully register what the Center Director had said.
That statement meant the Center Director already knew that Rohan was the first Esper. And not just that—he also understood why Rohan had kidnapped Banteon.
It had crossed Banteon’s mind before.
There was no way an S-Rank Intelligence-Type Esper, one sharp enough to ascend to the Center Director’s seat, could have missed what Banteon had figured out himself.
But perhaps the very idea that the first Esper might still be alive had felt too absurd, too detached from reality—and so the Center Director had chosen to look away.
That wasn’t the case. He had known all of it—Rohan’s identity, his past, the truth about the Guide. And yet, he had let it all unfold.
Even under Delroz’s sharp watch, the Center Director simply gave a feeble smile. He hung his arms limply by his sides, offering no resistance to the scarlet aura burning off Delroz’s body. Like a man who had already accepted death, there was a frailty in him that slowly dulled Delroz’s edge.
“There’s no need to be on guard. I have no intention of harming either of you.”
“How long have you known?”
Delroz’s voice brimmed with wariness.
“To explain that, I’ll need to start with the story of my own Guide.”
With a sigh cast toward the floor, the Center Director began to speak again—without leaving space for anyone else to interrupt.
“Like most Espers, my abilities manifested around the age of fifteen. My family, already on the decline, pinned all their hopes on the miracle arrival of an S-Rank Esper. They spared no effort in matching me with the best Guide possible.”
He spoke of his own history as if it belonged to someone else.
This was a time before Banteon had even been born.
Espers aged slowly, and this tale dated back to the Center Director’s teenage years. There likely weren’t many left alive who still remembered that part of his life.
Banteon only knew that the Center Director had never had a permanent Guide and rotated temporary ones on a schedule.
Among Intelligence-Types, it wasn’t unusual to prefer temporary Guides. Many with strong egos hated the idea of being influenced or tethered, opting instead to rely on temporary pairings throughout their lives. Banteon hadn’t thought much of it.
But this was the first time he was hearing that the Center Director once had a formally matched Guide.
It was extremely rare for an Esper to switch Guides, and it was nearly unheard of for someone to part ways with a Guide they’d been matched to since youth.
The fact that the Center Director now relied on temporary Guides, despite once having a permanent partner, meant only one thing.
“You’ve endured all this time.”
Delroz, having come to the same conclusion, clicked his tongue.
The Center Director had lost the Guide who had been by his side since youth—and lived on alone.
Since even Banteon had never heard of them, that Guide must have died before he was born—meaning the Center Director had lived nearly thirty years, possibly more, without them.
“My Guide didn’t live past their twenties. It was sepsis. What seemed like a minor cold gradually ate away at them from the inside. By the time we realized, the infection had spread throughout their entire body. When I finally understood what was happening, it was already too late.”
It was a disease that couldn’t be blamed on anyone.
Neither the one suffering nor the one watching would have thought such a grave illness could strike so young.
The heavy sorrow in his words dulled the edge of Delroz’s wariness.
“The life that followed held no meaning. I merely opened my eyes, breathed, and moved through the motions. When I felt my partner’s presence fading away, I wished to follow them. As many Espers do.”
The Center Director rubbed his brow, weary.
“It was during that time, when I had resolved myself, that I stumbled across him. The one recorded as the first Esper. Learning that the first Esper was still alive lit something in my mind—like a switch flipping on.”
His gaze lifted, eyes gleaming.
It was a madness refined over time, solidified into a sharp core of obsession.
“An Esper who has lost their Guide cannot survive long. Even someone like me, an S-Rank, is barely holding on. So how could the very first Esper—an SS-Rank, no less—still be alive? The only explanation is that he managed to keep his Guide by his side. Or perhaps… even found a way to bring them back. If anyone could do the impossible, it would be an SS-Rank Esper—someone beyond the grasp of human understanding.”
“Center Director…”
“So tell me. What became of his Guide?”
The voice, once aged and slow, cracked with urgency and longing.
His body trembled as if barely containing the desperation borne from years of waiting.
That final question spilled out like a quiet, ragged scream.
“……”
No words came.
Banteon couldn’t bring himself to say it—that Rohan had failed to protect his own Guide.
That the truth the Center Director had clung to for decades was nothing but a shattered dream.
The words wouldn’t form.
“Tch.”
Delroz, who had been sitting silently, furrowed his brow deeply.
With clear irritation, he pulled Banteon’s arm, drawing him closer and pressing their bodies together.
Then he turned a piercing gaze toward the Center Director.
“Your theory was wrong. That Guide is dead. By the time we got there, the body was already cold.”
“Ah…”
“That bastard didn’t even know his Guide was dead. He spent centuries in madness.”
Delroz spoke the truth without a shred of warmth or the faintest attempt to sugarcoat it.
The reality he laid bare was bitter—no, it was searing and cruel.
The Center Director stared down at his own palms, blinking slowly as though time itself had stopped. Then he clenched his fists tight.
His hands trembled, knuckles turning white, fingers pressing so hard they drew red lines along the creased skin.
“…So that’s how it is.”
As if the pain anchored him to reality, he slowly closed and opened his eyes, resignation washing over him.
The madness in his gaze dulled into a blurry haze.
There were no words of comfort to offer. No I understand could reach the depth of such despair.
“I suppose I already suspected. If he had a proper Guiding connection, there would’ve been no reason for him to come after you, Banteon-nim. Even so, I kept telling myself there must be another reason—another way. I kept clinging to that lie.”
Muttering like someone sighing out the last of their strength, the Center Director leaned back in his seat.
His limp hand rested on the armrest as he gazed at Banteon with eyes hollowed out by grief.
“You can report me to the kingdom. I knew he posed a threat, that he’d abduct you, and I stayed silent. That makes me no different from a traitor.”
His voice, now stripped of all weight and power, trembled as if everything had been drained from him.
The wound had festered too long—deep and blackened. And there was nothing left to say. Reporting him wouldn’t change what had happened. Nothing about it felt satisfying. Nothing about it felt like justice.
Banteon remained silent, and the Center Director slowly dropped his head, closing his eyes without a word.
Even as time passed, he did not stir.
Banteon gently tapped Delroz beside him.
Let’s go.
His lips barely moved, but the message was clear.
Even in the softest whisper, the Center Director could have heard—but he remained still, eyes closed as if in sleep, unmoved.
Without a parting word, they turned and left the room.
Only after the door clicked shut behind them, fully separating them from that space, did a long breath escape.
As the tension melted, a broad shadow suddenly loomed over Banteon. Delroz pulled him into a tight embrace. Arms wrapped completely around him, Delroz buried his face against Banteon’s shoulder. Banteon responded by gently patting his back.
Each time his hand pressed and lifted, Delroz’s breath grew deeper against the nape of Banteon’s neck.
The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest carried with it a red energy that curled around Banteon’s fingers—twisting, tightening—before slowly fading away.
Delroz leaned on Banteon for a long time, unmoving, eyes closed. Eventually, he lifted his head. His expression had returned to its usual calm. Without a word, he took Banteon’s hand again and began walking. This time, instead of trailing half a step behind, he walked just ahead—close enough to see the back of him.
‘What could Delroz be thinking right now…?’
The weight of the Center Director’s story—an Esper who had lost his Guide—sat heavily on Banteon’s chest.
But the emotion Delroz carried… it wasn’t the same.
He almost asked Are you okay?—but the words stuck.
It was too delicate a question to toss out lightly.
So instead, he said nothing.
