– Esper Han Ju-oh has entered the building.
– All personnel within a 500-meter radius have evacuated.
– There are nine elementary schools within a 1-kilometer radius.
– Providing real-time evacuation shelter guidance.
Reports flooded in through the static-filled radio on Yoon Ji-guk’s shoulder. Overhead, drones and flight-capable Espers zipped through the sky, and the surrounding area rang with the shouts of personnel enforcing the perimeter.
– Esper Han Ju-oh’s wave pattern is unstable.
At the same time, his earpiece delivered real-time updates on Han Ju-oh’s condition.
“The explosion isn’t far off. Should we go in?”
The subordinate standing beside him asked in a voice tight with anxiety. Yoon Ji-guk stood with arms crossed, staring at the building Han Ju-oh had entered. Only two people were inside: Han Ju-oh and Baek Seo-ha. Though the building had been evacuated, that alone wouldn’t be enough. If Han Ju-oh exploded, the structure wouldn’t be the only casualty—the entire district could be wiped out.
An S-Class Esper going berserk—it’s a disaster on par with a dungeon break.
“To reach the nearest bomb shelter, we need to evacuate now.”
Even if they made it inside the shelter, it wasn’t certain they’d survive the blast. But it was the only option available. Still, Yoon Ji-guk didn’t move a single step.
“We wait.”
“It’s too dangerous.”
His subordinate’s voice trembled, but Yoon Ji-guk didn’t so much as glance at him.
“We wait.”
Repeating the order a second time left no room for argument. Yoon Ji-guk’s intent was absolute. The subordinate turned away, swallowing his panic. He pulled out his phone, confirmed that his family had evacuated safely, then resignedly checked Han Ju-oh’s wave signature.
There were less than five minutes left before the rampage.
***
When Han Ju-oh had been taken by Team Leader Yoon Ji-guk, Seo-ha couldn’t hide how upset he was.
“Being one of a kind may make you special, but it comes with a lot of downsides.”
He didn’t need to look around to prove his point. His own situation said enough. Other than Seo-ha, no one had ever recorded a match rate as low as 3%. With no precedent, there was no established solution. Instead, he’d even received offers to be used as a research subject.
People’s reactions were all more or less the same—they either pitied him or ignored him. Either way, they kept a psychological distance, as if it wasn’t their problem.
“There’s only one way for us to become a normal Esper and Guide pair.”
Han Ju-oh surely knew what that meant. As Seo-ha gently caressed Han Ju-oh’s face, a warning chime rang out from his watch.
99%.
Just one more percent, and Han Ju-oh would explode. If that happened, Seo-ha—being the closest—would be caught in it, along with the entire city. Even in such a dire moment, with the alert blaring in his ears, Seo-ha moved slowly, tenderly tracing Han Ju-oh’s face, like he was trying to imprint it in his memory.
“What about you? What do you want?”
The reason Seo-ha wasn’t guiding him yet was simple. He wanted to know if Han Ju-oh wanted the same thing as he did.
“Do you want to form an imprint with me?”
Han Ju-oh’s lips finally parted after silently listening to Seo-ha all this time.
“No.”
“……”
Coming from someone Seo-ha had assumed felt the same way, the rejection hit hard.
As Han Ju-oh got up from the bed, Seo-ha hurriedly grabbed his wrist. He felt Han Ju-oh flinch at the touch.
“You flinch in pain even when I just touch you—so why don’t you want to imprint?”
“Don’t lump everything together.”
Han Ju-oh spoke like he’d only come for guidance, and that made it even harder for Seo-ha to understand.
“How is it separate? If I imprint with you, all of this—everything—would stabilize.”
And the rampage wouldn’t happen either.
“Han Ju-oh. If we just imprint, everything can be fixed. You wouldn’t be treated like a ticking time bomb anymore.”
“Then what about you?”
Seo-ha stared at him, confused.
“Me? Why are you suddenly turning this around on me?”
“You don’t need to imprint anymore. Your match rate may not be high, but it’s within the normal range now.”
“So what? That doesn’t mean I can’t imprint with you…”
Seo-ha looked at Han Ju-oh’s wrist, his expression shifting into disbelief. There, beneath all the wave signature readings, was a mark he’d never noticed before.
A raw, red wound—like he’d been bound by rope or cuffs. The skin had been gouged and was still bleeding slightly. It was clearly painful just to look at.
“Imprint or not, I’ll only accept your guidance.”
“So what—you’re saying that because you need me to guide you, you’re refusing to imprint?”
He felt a surge of irritation. No matter what, when Han Ju-oh reached the verge of going berserk, only Seo-ha’s guiding would work. Even now, the man was clinging to him—but still refused to let Seo-ha do the same.
“So what, you’re letting me go so you can watch me guide other Espers? Is that what you want?”
“That’s not it.”
“Yeah, of course not. That makes it even more infuriating.”
When Han Ju-oh refused all guidance while he was in custody, Seo-ha had assumed he was waiting to see him.
“I won’t drag you into this.”
He had waited for Seo-ha, yes—but Han Ju-oh also wanted to leave the door open, to give Seo-ha the chance to walk away if he chose.
“Wow. Didn’t expect to get rejected like this.”
Seo-ha let out a sharp sigh, irritation written all over his face.
“Ugh.”
Just then, blood trickled from the corner of Han Ju-oh’s lips. The way he calmly wiped away the dark blood made it clear—he was out of time. Panic surged through Seo-ha.
“If it’s come to this, then I don’t have a choice either.”
Han Ju-oh stared at him, bloodshot eyes locked onto Seo-ha’s. He was stubbornly refusing to imprint, and yet, all Seo-ha could feel was overwhelming affection.
As much as Han Ju-oh thought of him, Seo-ha cared deeply in return. He pulled Han Ju-oh close, their bodies pressed tightly against each other. Close enough to hear each other’s breath, Seo-ha whispered softly.
“It’s my wish.”
The words came out of nowhere, but Han Ju-oh understood instantly—and frowned.
“You skipped the order. I think I still have two wishes left, don’t I?”
“Yeah. Those already came true.”
Han Ju-oh gave him a look of disbelief, but Seo-ha just grinned, a mischievous smile that didn’t match the gravity of the situation.
“I wanted to show you the proof, but I can’t right now. Anyway, I used one wish to change your clothes and the other to put you to sleep after the dungeon. I even asked you while you were asleep, and you answered me.”
“What the hell were you doing to someone who was sleeping?”
“Well, you answered, so now only my wish is left. So? What are you gonna do about it?”
“Baek Seo-ha. I’m not in the mood to joke around with you right now. So no imprinting, just guiding—”
“I love you, Ju-oh.”
Han Ju-oh winced at the sudden confession, scrunching his brow and shaking his head. Even that small motion must have hurt like hell, but he endured it.
“I just wanted you to live an ordinary life. As a normal Guide…”
“If we imprint, we can even get married.”
That shook Han Ju-oh—hard.
“If you ask me, now’s the perfect moment to imprint. I’m going to make sure that ‘99’ never shows up on your watch again.”
“……”
Now that he had completely cornered Han Ju-oh, leaving him no escape, Seo-ha spoke with ease.
“Last chance. Will you imprint with me?”
“……Yeah.”
When Han Ju-oh nodded, face flushed red, Seo-ha’s eyes gleamed with an I-knew-you-would look.
“You should’ve just said yes from the start. Why put me through all that?”
He knew what Han Ju-oh was thinking, but it didn’t matter. Even if they hadn’t imprinted, Seo-ha was ready to stay by his side as his partner—no matter what.
“I’ve been waiting this whole time.”
Seo-ha smiled brightly as he leaned in and kissed Han Ju-oh. It was the start of their guiding.
Their lips met, tongues tangled, and their breaths grazed each other’s skin. Seo-ha burned with the need to give Han Ju-oh every ounce of his energy. When Han Ju-oh’s hot hand slid under his clothes and cupped his cheek, Seo-ha lifted his hips slightly, begging for more.
As Han Ju-oh twisted his fingers around Seo-ha’s chest, every moan escaped straight into his mouth.
‘He’s calming down…’
Seo-ha cracked open one tightly shut eye to check Han Ju-oh’s watch. Just as Han Ju-oh had desperately clung to him, Seo-ha was offering up everything he had in return.
‘Bit by bit, he’s stabilizing.’
Though he had nearly hit the point of explosion, it would still take time to bring him down to normal levels—but the danger had passed.
Seo-ha glanced up at the window between the curtains. He had been ignoring it, but something had been flying around out there for a while.
Sometimes it was a person, sometimes a drone. Now, it was gone. Probably retreating, now that Han Ju-oh’s wave signature was calming down.
‘Thorough bastard.’
He clicked his tongue inwardly, thinking of Yoon Ji-guk. If the guiding had failed, even Yoon Ji-guk might not have survived—but he had stayed until the end, fulfilling his duty.
Seo-ha tilted his head and gently pushed against Han Ju-oh’s chest.
“Ju-oh.”
The veins bulging on Han Ju-oh’s face throbbed visibly as he once again craved guidance. But Seo-ha waited—waited until Han Ju-oh looked him in the eyes.
