“…….”
Park Woo-jun gazed down at Lee Han-seo’s sleeping face again tonight. Lee Han-seo probably didn’t know, but for years now, it had become Park Woo-jun’s habit to watch him for a few hours after he drifted off first, before eventually falling asleep himself. Considering Lee Han-seo’s personality, even if he knew, he likely wouldn’t care much.
Even now, it still felt like a miracle. Where had this miracle even begun? How could this man—perfect, flawless Lee Han-seo—choose to stay by his side? Whispering that he loved him, no less. How could he love me? No—does he even really love me?
Every night, once Lee Han-seo fell asleep, Park Woo-jun would feel an overwhelming urge to shake him awake. To demand answers. Do you really love me? Tell me you do.
The anxiety gnawed at him. After all, Park Woo-jun was painfully aware that there was nothing lovable about him—nothing that would make anyone love him this much.
“Hey. You. You’re the new Esper, right?”
“…….”
“Remember when I guided you during your awakening and brought you in?”
“…….”
“Oh? Silent treatment?”
From the very first moment Lee Han-seo spoke to him in that bright, sharp voice, Park Woo-jun felt like he had been handed a dream he never wanted to wake from.
“I’m Lee Han-seo. Repeat after me: Lee Han-seo.”
“Lee… Han-seo…”
“Good. That’s your Guide’s name. Remember it well.”
“My… Guide? But after the evaluation, isn’t there supposed to be a matching rate calculation—”
“Nope. Forget it. Don’t even dream about it. You’re pairing with me. I’ve already decided.”
At twenty years old, Lee Han-seo had led him with unwavering certainty. And Park Woo-jun’s heart had raced helplessly.
Maybe… maybe I can love. Maybe… maybe I can be loved.
“You don’t want to?”
“N-no! It’s not that I don’t want to. I just—”
“Then it’s fine. If you don’t hate it, that means you like it.”
So radiant. So beautiful. So kind. So impossibly perfect. Even now, Park Woo-jun had no idea why someone like Lee Han-seo had chosen him. And that made it even more terrifying. Whenever Lee Han-seo wasn’t by his side, or lay there silently asleep, the fear crept back—what if all of this disappeared like a dream? What if it was never real?
What if one day, he woke up alone in that cramped apartment again? Left to rot like an isolated island no one visited. Abandoned, with that painful clarity stabbing through him all over again.
“Mmm… mm… Park Woo-jun… you’re not getting away…”
Suddenly, Lee Han-seo mumbled loudly in his sleep, rubbing his face against the pillow. His voice bubbled into the air like floating soap bubbles, instantly shattering Park Woo-jun’s gnawing anxiety. He chuckled softly and pressed his forehead gently against Lee Han-seo’s.
Park Woo-jun was certain of one thing: their feelings weren’t perfectly equal.
To someone like Lee Han-seo, who had so much, Park Woo-jun was probably just one of countless options. But to Park Woo-jun, Lee Han-seo was the only one.
“Yeah, don’t let me go. Do whatever you want. Take it all, Han-seo. Everything’s yours.”
And that was enough. Even if Han-seo wasn’t as desperate or as consumed as he was… right now, in this moment, it was undeniable—Lee Han-seo loved him.
For now, that was all he needed.
***
“…….”
The stare coming from across the room was way too blatant to ignore any longer. It had already been four days since he started temporarily working at the Guide Management Department. By now, he was used to the burning sensation in his face whenever he realized someone had been staring at him while he was absorbed in work. Lee Han-seo furrowed his brow and unconsciously tightened his grip around the wrist of the Esper he was guiding.
“Ahh!”
“Ah! I’m sorry!”
Crap. He’d completely forgotten he was still in the middle of guiding. He really needed to fix that short fuse of his, but it wasn’t easy.
Unfortunately, the Esper receiving his guidance was a Special-type whose physical strength wasn’t much different from a regular person’s. Unable to handle the grip strength of an adult male like Lee Han-seo, the Esper let out a sharp yelp. Flustered, Lee Han-seo quickly loosened his grip and bowed his head repeatedly.
Thankfully, the other person smiled, seeming to understand it wasn’t intentional. Lee Han-seo gave a sheepish grin in return.
“……Hnnng!”
And right then—it was like the cue had been waiting. A thin, drawn-out sob slammed into his ears like a revving engine, loud and piercing.
“Do I kill him or spare him…”
Lee Han-seo tried his best to pretend he didn’t hear it and refocus on the guidance, but his mind was already spinning too much to concentrate.
It was Park Woo-jun sobbing. Crying like the world was ending, watching Lee Han-seo guide someone else.
Even with those ridiculously broad shoulders—so wide they could put the Pacific Ocean to shame—no amount of curling up could hide him. But just like a puppy who thinks it’s fully hidden just by covering its head, he sat there bawling his eyes out, completely convinced no one could see him.
If only he really were a puppy—it might at least be cute. But every time Park Woo-jun started his suffocating, sweet-potato-like moping again, Lee Han-seo felt his throat tightening as if something was lodged right under his sternum.
As time went on, Park Woo-jun only grew bolder. At least in the beginning, he’d pretended to cry quietly, sneaking glances and holding back his tears like he was being discreet. But now? He wasn’t even trying. He was deliberately sobbing loud enough to make sure Lee Han-seo heard every pathetic sniffle.
“Huk… kuhuh… snf…!”
You still gonna pretend you don’t hear this? Even now?
The message behind those growing sobs couldn’t have been clearer. At this rate, he looked ready to burst into full-on wailing any second. It was becoming impossible for Lee Han-seo to maintain a proper guiding output, let alone keep his cool.
Inside this center—both spacious and suffocating in its own way—seeing the famous S-rank Guide, the one who could give anyone in the field a run for their money, standing there with a thick vein throbbing on his forehead, made the Esper he was guiding swallow hard before carefully speaking up.
“Um… m-maybe we can stop now?”
Even with the clear hint, that idiot had absolutely no intention of backing off quietly. Unless—no, surely he wasn’t doing this just to drive me insane… right?
“G-Guide-nim! I-I really think I’m okay now…!”
Whether he noticed or not, the poor Esper’s face was turning ghostly pale. Grinding his teeth, Lee Han-seo sank into his increasingly foul mood.
What crazy idea is running through that head of his this time? Did he get sweet-talked by Director Kim Joon-young again?
Unless they were inside a dungeon, Park Woo-jun usually refused to leave Lee Han-seo’s side for even a second. But if there were circumstances, and if explained properly, he’d at least pretend to give him some space.
But this time, something was definitely off.
I explained everything—more than thoroughly. And yet here he is, throwing a tantrum like a child and bawling for attention.
Warning alarms blared loudly in his head.
Meanwhile, the Special-type Esper he was guiding sat hunched over, looking completely drained of life. To Lee Han-seo, Park Woo-jun’s pitiful display was suffocatingly frustrating, but to the other Espers in the center, that whimpering crybaby was an untouchable superior.
As the first-ever S-rank Nature affinity Esper and Chief of Espers, even Park Woo-jun’s silent presence exerted overwhelming pressure—too much for a mere B-rank Esper to handle.
“S-sorry, Guide-nim, but I really… really don’t think I can continue…”
“No. That’s not an option. You’re still far from hitting safe levels.”
Snapping back to focus, Lee Han-seo cut him off firmly after checking the guiding panel. The Special-type Esper groaned and clutched his forehead like a man on the verge of collapse as his timid plea was shut down without hesitation.
Lee Han-seo glanced again at the screen. As expected, they still had a long way to go. Many people seemed to think high-level Guides were like ultra-fast chargers—but that only applied when the Esper’s rank matched well.
When guiding someone with such a wide rank gap like this, it actually took even longer than guiding a high-rank Esper. The output had to be carefully adjusted to avoid overwhelming the recipient, progressing slowly to prevent any internal backlash.
If you blindly shoved in too much guiding energy without properly balancing it, the internal waves could twist out of control—and in the worst-case scenario, they’d be speeding straight toward death’s door.
“We’ve got about thirty more minutes to go.”
“Th-thirty minutes?!”
“Yeah. Honestly, I feel bad even saying it, but hang in there.”
“O-okay…”
The Esper’s expression and voice were practically drenched in despair. Realistically, letting him go now might have been the kinder choice, but all the other guiding rooms were fully booked today. And Lee Han-seo’s professionalism wouldn’t allow him to compromise.
After all, he had been doing this since he officially joined the Center at fifteen. Ten years of experience had made him a seasoned veteran Guide.
