Compared to its chaotic start, Ryu Ho-yeon’s combat training had unfolded with unexpected tranquility—and now, it was finally nearing its end. The last phase was an S-Class dungeon that had appeared along the coast of Gangwon-do. The final decision? Ryu Ho-yeon and Park Woo-jun would complete the mission independently, each fighting on their own.
Some voices expressed quiet disappointment, but in truth, both Ryu Ho-yeon and Park Woo-jun had grown increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of constantly facing each other.
“Esper Ryu Ho-yeon. How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay—huff—really, I’m fine.”
Up to A-Class dungeons, the trio of Park Woo-jun, Ryu Ho-yeon, and Choi Jae-won had been more than enough. But S-Class was another world entirely. Numerous backup Espers had joined the mission, their sole purpose to support Park Woo-jun and Ryu Ho-yeon.
Park Woo-jun glanced again at Ryu Ho-yeon, whose condition had been looking unstable for a while now. The overly formal tone—so unlike him—was a calculated move, meant for the ears of those watching.
Panting hard, Ryu Ho-yeon pulled his eye away from his sniper scope and reached back with an unsteady hand. Choi Jae-won, already waiting within range to provide Guiding, grabbed it without hesitation. He peeled off the glove and pressed a firm kiss to the back of Ryu Ho-yeon’s dry, trembling hand—quick, efficient, instinctive.
For a rookie who hadn’t even been inducted for half a year, it was a textbook performance as a Bonded Pair. But the harsh truth was that Choi Jae-won, who had only just been promoted to A-Class right before joining, was worlds apart from Ryu Ho-yeon, who had been born S-Class.
Not every Guide could be a bottomless reservoir of Guiding like Lee Han-seo. Once you exhausted your Total Guiding Capacity, it took real time to recover.
It didn’t matter how desperately or tenderly Choi Jae-won clung to him—his Guiding was already completely spent. And no matter how tightly they held hands, Ryu Ho-yeon’s tremors wouldn’t stop.
Showing weakness on the front lines wasn’t good for morale. Having made his judgment, Park Woo-jun signaled to the Espers who usually worked in sync with him, then stepped forward, blocking the pair from view with his broad back.
“I’m asking one last time. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“……”
He kept his voice low so the others wouldn’t hear. Ryu Ho-yeon simply turned his head away, refusing to answer. It had been five days since they entered the dungeon. All things considered, he’d held out remarkably well for a first S-Class run. He gave Choi Jae-won’s tired shoulder a light pat before turning to the team.
“We’re pausing here. Reorganizing formation. Esper Ryu Ho-yeon and Guide Choi Jae-won, fall back to the rear. Healing Espers, focus on restoring Guide Choi Jae-won. All nature-affinity offensive Espers, move to the front.”
The team responded in perfect sync with Park Woo-jun’s command. As they moved, he mentally revisited the painful mistakes from the last S-Class dungeon, checking each team member’s condition personally. He’d made it crystal clear—if anyone felt even slightly off, they were to fall back or request a break, no exceptions.
The shift was abrupt, but with Park Woo-jun taking the lead, the battle proceeded with even greater stability. That was the strength of years spent fighting side by side. The razor-sharp gusts he summoned shredded through the monsters—an overwhelming force hard to believe from someone who had been holding back and playing support for over a month.
If Ryu Ho-yeon’s style was crisp and surgical, Park Woo-jun’s was explosive—powerful, flamboyant, and utterly dominating.
“Team Leader. How’s your Guiding state?”
“I saved a lot of energy early on thanks to Esper Ryu Ho-yeon. I’m holding up fine. Looks like we’ll clear this without using an Amplifier.”
“That’s good to hear. A few unpaired Guides say they might be able to help if needed. Just say the word.”
Three more days passed since Ryu Ho-yeon had been pulled from combat. Choi Jae-won, having barely recovered some of his Guiding, kept trying to help whenever he could, but it was like pouring water into a desert with a paper cup.
In the previous S-Class dungeon, three Guides and one Esper had died. This time, they had to make sure everyone got out alive. Except for the physically-enhanced Espers, it was clear that both Espers and Guides alike were running on fumes.
Park Woo-jun cross-referenced the radar’s readings of the barrier stones with the positions of the monsters he’d sensed, mentally mapping out the best possible route. With more than half the monsters already eliminated, securing the return gate by destroying the barrier stones now seemed feasible.
“Team leads, please double-check your squads—make sure no one’s missing. Once we’re done with the headcount, we’re moving out. No rest. The gate is about two kilometers away. Let’s push through.”
“Yes, sir!”
Park Woo-jun’s orders rarely missed their mark, and his team responded with uplifted spirits. The hope that they were finally nearing the end of this dreadful dungeon sent a final surge of energy through their exhausted bodies.
Ryu Ho-yeon, however, was in the worst shape of them all. He’d never had strong stamina to begin with, and the lack of proper Guiding had drained him fast. He couldn’t even walk on his own anymore—one of the physically-enhanced Espers had to carry him on their back.
He’d been nearly unbeatable at the A-Class level. But this? S-Class was clearly too much. Park Woo-jun made a mental note to discuss Ryu Ho-yeon’s deployment again with the Esper Assignment Division once they were out.
Maybe he and Kim Joon-young would continue handling S-Class dungeons, and Ryu Ho-yeon could be reassigned to a provincial area, somewhere with fewer Espers, where he could take charge of the A-Class dungeons outside the capital. He swore on Lee Han-seo’s name—this wasn’t personal. It was a purely objective decision, one he was making as the Chief of Espers.
Of course, if a Guide came along whose rank actually matched Ryu Ho-yeon’s, things could change. But no matter how high their Matching Rate, Choi Jae-won simply wasn’t enough. Word was, Choi’s promotion to A-Class was less about his actual ability and more about appearances. Announcing an S-Class Esper’s official Bonded Pair was only B-Class? That wouldn’t sit well with the higher-ups.
Park Woo-jun had led his team with calm composure all throughout the mission. But the first—and only—moment of unwarranted kindness came just before the final battle.
They were a mere 50 meters from the return gate… when suddenly, it appeared out of nowhere.
A head-on crash without a turn signal.
“……?”
A strange sensation crept up behind him, and the moment Park Woo-jun turned around, a startled Guide he didn’t recognize jerked back in alarm, taking a couple of steps away.
“Ah, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you. I just… I still have some Guiding left, and you looked like you were in rough shape, so I thought…”
For a moment, Park Woo-jun debated whether he should correct him—explain that attempting to guide an Esper who already had an Imprinted partner, without consent, was a serious breach of etiquette. But before he could say anything, the Esper standing beside the rookie—presumably his Pair—stepped forward and bowed in apology on his behalf.
His nerves prickled with irritation, but he forced himself to refocus. Just beyond that faint, hazy gate—Lee Han-seo would be waiting for him. That expectation alone gave him more strength than any stranger’s unsolicited Guiding ever could.
***
Beep. Beep. Beep…
The sensor monitoring Guiding levels inside the body continued to emit a steady, irritating beeping. In the quiet hospital room, two beds were lined up side by side—one occupied by Ryu Ho-yeon, the other by Choi Jae-won.
Unlike Choi Jae-won, who had woken up yesterday morning, eaten, and then gone back to sleep, Ryu Ho-yeon had collapsed the moment they returned and hadn’t woken up since. Two full days had passed.
Which meant Lee Han-seo, sitting stiffly in the caregiver’s chair, was slowly falling apart. His legs wouldn’t stop shaking—he’d press his hand to his thigh, trying to still the trembling, but it never lasted. The moment Park Woo-jun let go, the tremors would start again, like clockwork.
“Why isn’t Ho-yeon waking up?”
“It’s the first time he’s used his power this intensely, for this long. His Guiding levels have stabilized a lot. He’ll wake up soon. Don’t worry too much.”
It was typical—growing pains every Esper went through after pushing past their limits for the first time. Thanks to Park Woo-jun’s timing, the fight had been cut short before it could escalate into a full-blown rampage. He’d explained all of this already, but watching his friend lie there unconscious clearly left Lee Han-seo uneasy.
“You remember when you went into your first A-Class dungeon? Same thing happened.”
“Yeah. That was the first time you ever cried, Han-seo. I wasn’t even in pain—I was just so shocked I thought I’d pass out.”
“As soon as you opened your eyes, you said, ‘Oh no, Han-seo! My Han-seo’s eyes turned into goldfish eyes!’ and just started bawling.”
“And then Joon-young sunbae thought it was hilarious and started filming with his phone. Meanwhile, Jung-hyuk sunbae was trying to stop him from teasing us.”
Their laughter, laced with shared memories, lightened the room for a moment. That was when Park Woo-jun finally allowed himself to relax a little. Lee Han-seo clearly felt guilty for not being there sooner—for only learning his friend and younger cousin had collapsed a day later. He acted tough, always did, but deep down, he was the softest of them all.
“When’s the Director coming?”
“Not sure. The symposium’s still got a few days left. She’s attending as a representative of the Asia Union, so I doubt she’ll be able to leave early.”
“It’d be nice if she were here when Ho-yeon wakes up. As soon as they heard about Jae-won collapsing, my uncle and grandfather completely flipped. Said they were flying back immediately. Ugh…”
Probably no chance she could make it, right? They weren’t going to cancel a whole symposium just like that… Still, Lee Han-seo couldn’t help but mumble the impossible wish under his breath. Ryu Ho-yeon’s mother—who’d served as Director of the Research Division for years—was one of the true power players at the Center. Even though she and her son had practically lived in each other’s pockets for a decade, she’d been so busy that their face-to-face interactions were rare, almost countable.
And then, as if on cue, the door slammed open.
Disheveled hair, no makeup, and a flustered expression—the Director herself burst into the room, panting as she ran in. A line of equally frantic aides trailed behind her.
“Ho-yeon!”
“Wait—Director? Weren’t you in Berlin? How did you get here so fast—?”
“Oh, Han-seo! It’s been a while. I left the moment I heard. Ho-yeon, baby—Mommy’s here. Come on, open your eyes, hmm?”
She was the type who barely showed her face once or twice a year, saying she didn’t care what her grown son did as long as he remembered to eat. But the moment she heard he’d collapsed after his first S-Class dungeon mission, she’d come running, not even bothering with an announcement.
Gone was the poised, composed figure everyone knew. Now she was a frantic mother, stroking her son’s face, gripping his hand, fussing over him like any ordinary parent. Park Woo-jun stared blankly at the sight, something unreadable in his eyes. Beside him, a dull ache bloomed in Lee Han-seo’s chest.
Because in all the years Park Woo-jun had been with the Center, Lee Han-seo had never—not even once—met a single member of his family.
Even when the news had exploded with headlines about Park Woo-jun collapsing during the early signs of a rampage, there hadn’t been a single phone call. Not even a single message to ask if he was okay.
Not once.
Not ever.
