The conference room was ice-cold with tension.
Four Espers were tethered to a single Guide. That alone was shocking, but the real kicker? Two were team leaders, and the other two were elite members of Team A—an exclusive unit made up of only S-Rank Espers. The entire force of the Central Center was now revolving around one man: Guide Yeo Eun-jo.
For Esper Center Director Park Joo-hee, this was a windfall. Truth be told, the Central Center’s power had always been too concentrated in Team A.
All that swagger, and look where they are now.
She clicked her tongue, recalling the day Park Se-yul had stormed into her office. This felt like a golden opportunity—one heaven had handed her—to finally rein in Team A. Espers might be superior to ordinary people, but their weaknesses were just as glaring.
She turned her gaze to the biggest chink in Team A’s armor: Yeo Eun-jo. He sat there pretending to be calm, but every time someone spoke, his face visibly drained of color.
“You should’ve reported the Imprint right away.”
“Exactly! That way the research division could’ve run tests and prepared for it!”
The research staff, seemingly rehearsed, raised their voices in unison. Since they risked shouldering the blame, they were more than happy to back Park Joo-hee’s stance.
“A Guide hiding something this serious? How is that acceptable?”
“And what? You think if we’d known, he wouldn’t have lost his ability?”
One so-called expert spat out nonsense, earning a derisive snort from the Guide Center Director.
“What kind of logic is that, Director? Do you even know how hard our researchers worked trying to restore his powers?”
“How the hell would I know?”
Guide Center Director Jung Young-soo scoffed, slipping into informal speech. He leaned back, acting like the whole mess had nothing to do with him, then shot a glance at Esper Center Director Park Joo-hee.
“If you’re looking to assign blame, shouldn’t we be questioning the Espers? You overuse something and the battery runs dry. It didn’t just die for no reason.”
Everyone was scrambling to deflect blame. The researchers went after the powerless Guide, while the Guide Center tried to shift the focus onto the Espers, insisting they needed to be questioned. Jung Young-soo, clearly determined not to let the Guide Center take the fall alone, raised his voice louder than usual.
“That’s why I said—we should bring in the Espers and ask them!”
He shot to his feet and turned sharply to Eun-jo.
“Guide Yeo Eun-jo. Just tell us. They Imprinted you without asking, didn’t they? All they ever did was suck you dry through Guiding, right? That’s it, isn’t it?”
“……”
“You were just too damn nice to speak up, weren’t you?”
“Director.”
Park Joo-hee, who had been silent until now, finally stepped in—her voice low and firm.
“Watch what you say.”
“What, now?”
“The real issue isn’t why it happened.”
It’s how they were going to fix it. She skimmed the documents in front of her and added quietly. Not that she had any real solution herself.
“Tch. Acting like you’ve got it all figured out…”
Jung Young-soo, thinking he’d dodged the heat, slumped back into his seat with a groan. As the room began to settle, Eun-jo, who had been silently enduring it all, finally spoke up.
“Um…”
The quiet murmur instantly drew everyone’s attention. Eun-jo looked toward the research staff and asked,
“Has anything like this ever happened before?”
“…There was one case, about five years ago. A new Guide saw an Esper die inside a Gate. The trauma from witnessing that triggered a complete loss of ability.”
So it wasn’t unprecedented. Eun-jo mulled over the reply, then asked,
“And after that…?”
“They never got their ability back. Once it was gone, they were reclassified as a civilian.”
Eun-jo’s mouth closed tightly.
If his powers didn’t return… he’d be just like that. He’d leave the Center behind and live a life completely disconnected from everyone he was entangled with now.
Four faces flashed through his mind—Espers who had been so afraid of losing him after his ability disappeared that they practically moved in with him.
I probably won’t see them again.
Right now, they stuck to him like glue, but who knew how long that would last? Give it time, and they might even regret the moment they Imprinted with him.
That thought sent a dull ache through his chest. He lowered his head, and a researcher, misreading it as guilt or deflection, let out an annoyed sigh and added sharply,
“There’s precedent, so if you don’t regain your ability, Guide-nim, you’ll have to be reclassified as a civilian.”
“……”
“But hey, thanks to those magazine spreads, your face is pretty well-known. Shouldn’t be too hard to find another job.”
Just as Eun-jo’s fingers began to tremble, warmth spread over the back of his hand. It was Heo Nan-gyeom, sitting beside him.
Nan-gyeom’s hand was large—easily enveloping his. He didn’t say a word, just covered Eun-jo’s hand and held it there, steady and solid, until the trembling stopped.
And then—
“……!”
Their eyes met.
A faint, tingling warmth pulsed between their skin. Then came the unmistakable feeling of energy flowing—Guiding energy, something Eun-jo hadn’t felt in days.
Eyes wide, Eun-jo reached out and grabbed Nan-gyeom’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Nan-gyeom flinched slightly at the sudden movement, but Eun-jo didn’t stop. He was focused, desperate.
It’s back!
He almost shouted it, but caught himself just in time.
This was when he had to be careful. There was no telling if the ability would vanish again—it could be nothing more than a brief flare. He scanned the room quickly, lips pressed into a thin line.
If it comes back now, things will only get worse.
The Guide Center would hound him relentlessly, demanding proof of recovery. The Esper Center would throw him back into service without hesitation. And if his power failed again…
I’ll break.
A vivid image flashed across his mind—an Esper gone berserk during training at a regional center, midair explosions lighting up the screen. And then familiar faces overlapped with that chaos. Cold dread washed over him.
Sensing the turmoil, Nan-gyeom tightened his grip on Eun-jo’s hand. Their eyes met again, and Nan-gyeom leaned in close, his breath brushing Eun-jo’s ear.
“You’re someone who gets angry when it matters. Someone who knows how to stand his ground.”
“…….”
“Yeo Eun-jo. The man who fights with his right hand.”
His voice was low, firm, and intimate.
Then, as if he hadn’t said a word, Nan-gyeom leaned back and returned to his seat like nothing had happened.
Eun-jo stared at that blunt, expressionless face for a moment—then slowly opened his mouth.
“It’s true. I caused delays and disruption. I was a burden on the Center.”
He met the eyes of each person who’d spoken against him. One by one, they dropped their gazes, suddenly realizing how worked up they’d been. The late nights, the emergency meetings—they’d been too on edge to notice anything else.
Eun-jo gave a calm, polite smile and continued.
“You weren’t wrong. I’m responsible.”
He didn’t say how he’d take responsibility. But he’d heard every word—and he understood.
After a beat of silence, he delivered the bomb.
“If I don’t recover my ability within a month… I’ll leave the Center.”
“What!?”
Jung Young-soo, who’d been slouched in his seat, shot up in shock. The man who had raised the Guide Center’s reputation to new heights—the same man whose magazine issues sold out so fast they were being resold at a markup online—looked like he’d just been stabbed.
“What the hell do you mean by that!?”
His face went red, then pale, then red again, like he might actually collapse. Eun-jo looked at him and smiled breezily.
“I said I’ll resign.”
At those words, the hand holding his—Heo Nan-gyeom’s—tightened with quiet, unmistakable force.
