The frequency of S-Class Dungeon appearances had skyrocketed in recent years—so much so that their severity had begun to feel somewhat diluted. But an S-Class Dungeon was still just that: S-Class. Compared to the A-Class ones they’d grown used to, the sheer scale and the monsters’ power were on a completely different level.
Park Woo-jun had promised himself he wouldn’t argue with Lee Han-seo this time—that he’d just keep his head down and go along with it—but even his resolve started to waver. After all, even Han-seo, who had been pounding on his chest the night before, bragging about how hard he’d trained and telling Woo-jun not to worry, looked like he was one breath away from collapsing from nerves.
“Damn, I’m sorry, okay? Can’t even joke around anymore—you’re seriously terrifying right now.”
When Park Woo-jun shot him a rare, deadly glare, Kim Joon-young quickly backed off, raising his hands in mock surrender and ducking behind Lee Jung-hyuk, who was giving Han-seo’s gear one last thorough check.
Lee Jung-hyuk had practically been in charge of Han-seo’s training since day one. Clearly unable to relax over his first S-Class Dungeon run, he’d followed them all the way to the gate. Naturally, Kim Joon-young had just come along as the plus-one.
“You remember what I said, right? This isn’t an A-Class run. Once you’re inside, you’re joining the second unit—no exceptions. Stay far away from the front line. When you need to guide, Woo-jun is the one who has to come back to you.”
Jung-hyuk’s hands moved with barely restrained tension, re-snapping the Velcro on Han-seo’s gear, adjusting the straps on his pack—every movement firm, almost rough. Han-seo swallowed hard. He’d heard it all before, but still leaned in to listen.
Dungeon raids typically divided the Assault Team into three units. The first unit held the frontline Strikers and combat-type Espers. Behind them, the second unit provided support, made up of auxiliary Espers and their Guides. The third unit stayed at the rear—home base for the combat Espers’ Guides.
Usually, the Espers rotated in and out of the front, retreating to the rear to receive Guiding, then passing the baton to the next fighter in line. That was the standard method. But in S-Class Dungeons, that strategy didn’t fly.
To be precise, not much changed for most of the team. The only ones whose roles shifted were Park Woo-jun, the main Striker—and his Guide, Lee Han-seo.
In lower-level raids, Woo-jun could hand off his position temporarily and fall back to recover. But from S-Class onward, there was no such leeway. If Woo-jun stepped back for even a moment, the entire team could be wiped out.
But a Guide couldn’t be thrown into the front line alone either. That meant Han-seo’s position had to be fixed—second row of the second unit.
Even just deciding that had taken countless simulation runs. The only other Esper with a remotely similar frontline position was Kim Joon-young—but his Bonded Pair, Lee Jung-hyuk, always fought on the front line. That meant no usable precedent, no helpful data.
Every time they tried moving Han-seo even slightly forward from the rear, the simulator—completely indifferent to human anxiety—kept spitting out rising risk factors: injuries, fatalities, worst-case projections.
Unlike the third unit, the second sometimes got caught in the fighting. And most Espers, naturally, prioritized protecting their own Guides above all else. It wasn’t something you could blame them for—it was instinct.
But they couldn’t risk the entire team just to protect Han-seo. The only compromise they could reach—after Woo-jun raised hell insisting he’d never allow Han-seo in the very front—was to place him in the second row.
“Team Leader Park, it’s time to head out.”
If avoiding this were as simple as wanting to, Han-seo would’ve bolted long ago. But with the staff’s announcement that the gate was about to open, he and Woo-jun slowly turned around. It was time.
“Alright… we’ll be back soon.”
With one final sigh, Han-seo shook off the last bits of tension. And even though this was his first time going in, he managed a bright smile and gave a neat little wave to the two who’d come to see him off.
He pulled his night vision goggles down snug over his head and reached for Woo-jun’s hand. It was ice cold—frozen with nerves.
“Woo-jun, let’s just think good thoughts, okay?”
He put on a deliberately cheerful tone. A warm, worried gaze poured over him like sunlight. That one look was enough to steady him. Han-seo made a decision—he wouldn’t worry in advance. He wouldn’t fear what hadn’t happened yet.
“When we get back, let’s swing by my place first. We’ll eat something good with my parents. And if there’s time, maybe we can take a quick drive somewhere? Mom said she found this cute café in Hanam she really wants to go to.”
Han-seo had fractured his ankle after his very first A-Class run. He knew—he knew—that coming back without a scratch was a fantasy. But still.
“They’ve got a big yard. And this super cute dog. Do you like dogs? I love dogs. Before I joined the Center, I had a toy poodle named Choco.”
Even now, the reason he could laugh, joke around, and smile like nothing was wrong… was because he believed it. Even if he got hurt, even if he broke—he believed he’d get back up again.
No matter what happened, he could still show up at home with Woo-jun beside him, yelling at his parents to feed them. He could still ride in the car with his grumbling, overworked mom and take a drive through Hanam or Namyangju like it was no big deal.
“Hey… look at me.”
Their eyes met, and the tight line of Woo-jun’s mouth finally softened. It was the gentle smile Han-seo loved so much—soft, tender, full of warmth. He gave Woo-jun’s hand a light squeeze, full of quiet certainty.
Because that was the future waiting for them. For Lee Han-seo and Park Woo-jun.
Before they could bask in that promised future and happiness, this brief trial would pass in the blink of an eye. Standing firm against the storm, waiting for it to pass without breaking—that was Lee Han-seo’s greatest strength. It always had been. And this time would be no different.
“You trust me, right, Hyung?”
Even through the thick lenses of the night vision goggles, Han-seo could see Park Woo-jun’s lashes trembling ever so slightly. He wrinkled his nose playfully as he asked, and in response, Woo-jun gave a single, firm nod.
The spot where the gate was expected to open looked like any familiar neighborhood corner—a cozy little taekwondo studio you’d find in any town. On one side, a produce market with wide-open stalls; on the other, a snack shop that had closed for the day but still left behind the rich, greasy scent of fried food, clinging to the air like a memory. Between them, Han-seo let go of Woo-jun’s hand and stepped back.
Just before their hands parted, Han-seo brushed his thumb gently across the back of Woo-jun’s hand—just like always. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay. A silent message that only the two of them understood.
Woo-jun pushed down every flicker of hesitation and stepped to the front, taking his rightful place as the team’s leader. Whoosh. A gust of wind stirred the air that had been perfectly still—and then, as the energy twisted and surged—
“Team Leader! Gate is opening!”
“12:49 PM. S-Class Esper Park Woo-jun and twenty-six personnel. Commencing assault on S-Class Dungeon No. 17.”
Crack. Snap.
A black void tore itself open in midair.
***
“Han-seo sunbae, are you alright?”
He didn’t even have the strength to answer. Honestly, he wanted nothing more than to slam back the water from his canteen, but he had to ration it carefully. Han-seo barely moistened his lips and waved off the concerned junior Guide with a tired shake of his hand.
Back when he was stationed with the third unit, surrounded by other Guides, he hadn’t noticed the toll. But here in the second unit, where every Esper was too busy tending to their own Partner, the exhaustion—mental and physical—hit harder.
For Guides paired with Imprinted Espers, any healing or muscle reinforcement had to be administered through their Partner, or the risk of side effects was too high. That made everything twice as frustrating.
The dungeon floor, saturated with moisture, clung to their boots like wet clay, pulling at their steps with every move. It made stamina drain that much faster. They’d already been inside for over fifty hours. And frustratingly, they weren’t even halfway through.
Through his blurred vision, Han-seo watched the front line. Woo-jun and the other Espers were locked in brutal combat with dozens of slime-like monsters.
Woo-jun’s strength lay in slicing down enemies from afar with his formless blades, but these gelatinous monsters regenerated instantly, their bodies reforming as quickly as they were cut. No matter how many times he struck, they surged forward again, clinging to his limbs like glue.
There was about 100 meters between the first unit and the waiting second unit. Han-seo approached the Healing Esper who was acting as second-unit leader.
“We should move closer. Let’s push up to 30 meters.”
“Not unless the battle slows down. It’s too dangerous.”
“Then how about 40? It’s hard to even get a visual from here—my Radiation Guiding won’t reach. Please?”
“……”
“Okay—45 then! If I get closer and can guide properly, we’ll end this fight faster. That helps everyone, right?”
“…Sigh. Fine. We’ll move to 50 meters.”
It wasn’t exactly what he wanted, but it was close. Han-seo was glad he’d started with a bold push—he’d nearly hit his goal. The team began advancing cautiously, eyes peeled, and as Han-seo got closer to the front, the sharp, violent noise of combat grew louder and more jarring.
Apparently deciding that slashing wouldn’t cut it, Woo-jun shifted tactics, slamming one of the monsters with a crushing wave of pressure. Boom! The impact landed harder than expected. When Woo-jun glanced back—
There was Han-seo. Peeking out from behind the Healing Esper, waving with a small, silly grin.
“It’s dangerous here… I told you not to come this close…”
He said it—but couldn’t stop the way his chest loosened, the way the tension melted away just a bit. He couldn’t help but feel relieved. Couldn’t help but feel warm.
He was just about to focus again, ready to finish off the remaining monsters and catch a brief rest, when—
Schlick.
One of the monsters suddenly shifted direction, lurching forward like it had been launched. As if—somehow—it had sensed a new source of power. As if it had recognized exactly where it was coming from.
