Thinking of Yoo Seong-hyun left a bitter taste in his mouth. It wasn’t that he still had feelings for him. In fact, he sometimes felt relieved that he’d been given the chance to try guiding someone else, someone like Han Ju-oh.
But even so…
‘I can’t let myself get too entangled with Han Ju-oh.’
He would end up twisting Han Ju-oh’s fate. Becoming his guide simply because he’d come to understand his circumstances had been a naive decision. If Han Ju-oh had brought a different guide this time instead of him, none of this would have happened.
‘I really need to say something.’
This time had been far too dangerous. There was no guarantee it wouldn’t happen again. He needed to speak up…
With a heavy expression, Seo-ha began.
“This whole incident has made me think a lot.”
“You’ve barely woken up.”
Han Ju-oh shot back instantly. The speed of his reply was so quick that the seriousness on Seo-ha’s face cracked into confused disbelief.
“I’m trying to be serious here…”
“You’ve got the kind of face that’s about to spout some nonsense.”
As if to say he didn’t need to hear more, Han Ju-oh’s tone cut him off, and Seo-ha’s irritation surged, voice dropping lower in frustration.
“I really did think about it. A lot.”
“You’re still hurt. Just rest.”
Han Ju-oh playfully flicked Seo-ha’s forehead, though he put so much force behind it that Seo-ha’s head snapped back. Every time he tried to talk, Han Ju-oh would kill the momentum, and now his stubbornness was flaring. Did he think this would stop him from speaking?
“Next time, go into the Gate with a different guide.”
Tsk.
Han Ju-oh clicked his tongue, arms crossed, displeasure written all over his face like he’d been expecting it.
“I’m not just saying this. I mean it.”
Even though he knew Han Ju-oh had gone through a harrowing ordeal because of him, he couldn’t bring himself to say they should cancel the contract. It was cowardly—but he didn’t want to let go. Still, continuing on like this was clearly the wrong path…
“I’ll join the team myself next time.”
When Han Ju-oh gave him a look that asked what difference does that make, Seo-ha added in a softer tone.
“Not as your partner. Just as backup.”
He’d started out looking directly at Han Ju-oh, but at some point his gaze had dropped to the floor.
“Here we go again.”
The voice above his head made Seo-ha flinch. That familiar tone of weariness. He’d heard it so many times before—back when he used to track down Espers and beg them persistently. He knew it too well. So he couldn’t lift his head.
Then came Han Ju-oh’s sharp sarcasm.
“I can never tell if you’re actually like this or if it’s just your act—always belittling yourself at the drop of a hat.”
“You little—”
His mood had been gloomy just moments ago, but all of a sudden, fury flared up, scorching everything else in its path.
“Are you saying I’m faking it?”
“If not that, then you’re just an idiot.”
“You bastard…”
The insult stung more because it wasn’t the first time Han Ju-oh had called him that. Twice now—he’d been called a moron twice by this guy.
“I’ve been seriously reflecting on what happened, and that’s how you respond?”
It had been their first dungeon together as partners. He thought it would be fine, but then an unexpected accident occurred. He’d simply grown more cautious—but Han Ju-oh didn’t even listen properly.
“You seem sharp, but when it really matters, you’re always lacking.”
“Says the guy who doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks.”
“Why should I care?”
“Because that’s one of the basic tools you need to live in human society.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s necessary for everyone.”
“…”
In the middle of their tense argument, Seo-ha was suddenly overcome by a strange sense of disillusionment. Not the kind of Why am I even fighting with this guy? disillusionment—that, he would have understood. It had happened before. But this time was different. The emptiness he’d been feeling earlier almost seemed to vanish the more they fought.
‘Am I seriously a pervert?’
Why was he welcoming this? He’d gone from depressed to angry to oddly relieved…
The absurdity of his own emotional rollercoaster left him drained, and he lost the will to keep arguing. Just then, Han Ju-oh plopped down on the sleeping bag with a thud.
“I’m not done talking.”
As if this were the real start of the conversation, he abruptly held out his wrist in front of Seo-ha’s face. More accurately, he was showing the watch that measured his danger level.
The gauge hovered at around 60%. He must’ve gotten guided while Seo-ha was asleep.
“You’re telling me you went through a dungeon with me and then went and got guided? Why would you do that? It’s dangerous here for me! And if you’re going to get guided, do it properly—what the hell is 60% supposed to be?”
That was still a level that put strain on Han Ju-oh’s body, and Seo-ha felt a wave of guilt for having argued with him while being unaware of it. He grumbled even more.
“Go get the rest of your guiding. And don’t just brush off what I said earlier…”
“You’re the one who did it.”
“What are you even talking about? Just go already.”
“You’re the one who lowered it.”
“…”
Seo-ha frowned, trying to make sense of Han Ju-oh’s words. But no matter how much he turned it over in his mind, it didn’t add up.
“Did your watch break or something?”
It was the only plausible explanation he could come up with, but Han Ju-oh’s lips curved upward in that annoyingly smug smile of his. Seo-ha felt his irritation bubble up, but he couldn’t kick him out just yet. He was curious—he’d listen to this one thing and then throw him out.
But before he could even ask, Han Ju-oh gave the answer.
“Your one kiss dropped the levels by over 30%.”
Han Ju-oh’s calm tone prompted Seo-ha to try and take it just as evenly, but…
“Don’t mess with me.”
He rejected it outright. It was just too unbelievable. Me? I sent over 30% worth of energy?
“My kiss isn’t some magical spell that wakes up sleeping princesses…”
“It’s the truth.”
“That’s ridiculous—”
“You’re so dense.”
“My patience is paper-thin right now, so quit messing with me. How could I possibly…”
Frustrated by Seo-ha’s constant, irrational denial, Han Ju-oh reached out and cupped his chin, making direct eye contact.
“I waited this whole time just to tell you when you woke up.”
“…”
“You did this. I didn’t go to any other guide. If you don’t believe me, ask anyone you want—I don’t care.”
Han Ju-oh spoke slowly and clearly, demanding complete belief. He was telling Seo-ha not to run away from the truth just because it seemed impossible. And if he did run, Han Ju-oh looked ready to chase him down and prove it.
Only then did Seo-ha begin to slowly accept what he’d heard, a dazed expression forming on his face.
“I… I really did that?”
He mumbled to himself, then looked up at the ceiling with a hollow laugh. It felt like a dream. He even pinched his own cheek, flailed from the sting, and only then came to grips with the fact that this was real.
“I thought I’d never see my match rate rise, not once in my whole life.”
Something he’d believed impossible had happened—and the joy slipped out in the form of a quiet laugh. A few tears stung his eyes, and he sniffled, pretending it was just a runny nose because Han Ju-oh was there. As he wiped his nose, he felt oddly thankful to be in a hospital gown. The sleeves were big enough that they wouldn’t cling to his wrists if they got wet.
…Or maybe not? It felt a bit ridiculous to be happy about hearing something he’d longed for while dressed like this—but who cared?
There were so many people he wanted to tell. He didn’t have family, but there were people who had cared for him. Maybe he should call them and tell them the news?
“Seriously, I actually gave you that kind of guiding… No, wait. Something’s off.”
Seo-ha’s dreamy, dazed expression hardened in an instant.
“I’ve tried mucosal guiding before. If that were the reason, the result should’ve been the same. But it’s only this time that the numbers jumped like that? That doesn’t make sense.”
He pinpointed the issue directly, and Han Ju-oh gave a casual shrug.
“Sharp as ever.”
The offhanded reply made Seo-ha freeze like ice. His brain completely stalled—and when it finally started working again, it was like a switch had flipped, heat rushing to his face from sheer betrayal. This bastard knew what it meant for Seo-ha to see those numbers go up—and still joked about it?
He was furious. So furious that words failed him. Even just looking at Han Ju-oh felt like it would make him explode.
“Just… get out.”
Seo-ha forced the words out and lay back down, turning away from Han Ju-oh and squeezing his eyes shut. Today would go down as one of the most pathetic days of his life. There were so many things he hadn’t managed to say properly. Now that the reality of it all hit, he couldn’t believe how pitifully he’d behaved.
He had been so happy he nearly cried—and now the crushing disappointment was unbearable.
“I need to rest.”
He gave Han Ju-oh another indirect cue to leave and curled up, yanking the blanket over his head to cover his face. Now tears threatened to fall for a different reason, and he didn’t want anyone to see.
“Baek Seo-ha.”
“Get out.”
“I’m not finished.”
“I’ll listen after I sleep.”
His voice was tight and strained, but his tone was clipped and firm—no longer pitiful or weak. It was practically a dismissal. Right now, he didn’t have the capacity to deal with anything else.
But Han Ju-oh didn’t leave. Instead, he grabbed the blanket and yanked it down, then seized Seo-ha’s wrist and pulled.
“What the hell—mmph!”
Seo-ha’s eyes widened in shock as lips suddenly pressed against his own. He glared at Han Ju-oh, only to see something unspoken in his eyes.
Guiding.
Even now, even now, he wanted guiding.
Seo-ha swallowed the wave of self-loathing and sent out his energy. He didn’t have the will to resist. If anything, he just wanted to get it over with and make him leave. But moments later, Seo-ha’s eyes flew open in surprise.
‘What the hell…?’
