When Park Woo-jun returned to the Center, he didn’t even give himself time to fully step out of the car before marching straight to the front gate’s security office. Even if the visitor had been family to the Team Leader, the way the man had come in, seething with barely restrained anger, had set the staff on edge. The moment Lee Han-seo entered the visitation room, one staff member had quietly reached out to report it.
“Welcome, Team Leader.”
“Thanks. Could I take a look at the visitation log?”
“Here it is.”
Han-seo had been in that room for less than an hour. What the hell had happened in that short time for Park Dong-wook to be dragged away on the spot for assaulting a Guide?
The log was little help—just a dry list of times and names written in stiff administrative language. It gave no hint of what had actually gone down inside. The simplest solution would’ve been to just call Han-seo and ask, but Park Woo-jun decided to play along for now. There was something oddly endearing about the effort it must’ve taken to schedule that visit during his absence and pretend as if nothing had happened afterward.
At that point, Woo-jun still had room to breathe. Whatever hushed conversations had passed between Han-seo and Attorney Lee, he figured they were the usual—“If there’s even the slightest physical contact, we’ll call it assault,” or “We’ve already cleared things with the prosecutor on assignment at the Center.”
It sounded like textbook legal posturing—probably all just bluster.
And the fact that Han-seo had left right after the meeting, saying he was heading home, only added weight to that theory. Most likely, he’d gone off to plan the next steps in detail with the lawyer.
“I’d like to review the CCTV footage.”
“Of course. Since the visitors were registered as your immediate family, you’re authorized to view it without additional clearance.”
Whether they were really his family or not, these were the people he’d spent his childhood with. His father, who always acted dignified until his patience wore thin and he exploded; his selfish older brother, who thought the world revolved around him; and his mother, who lashed out at anyone outside her circle like she had a knife for a tongue.
Park Woo-jun knew exactly what kind of people they were—cold, cruel, and lacking in every way.
But thankfully, his Guide—who could outmatch anyone in tenacity or strength—wasn’t the type to be shaken by a few barbed words from their venomous mouths.
So all Woo-jun really wanted to know was: What excuse had they made? What pathetic blame had they tried to shift onto Han-seo?
The staffer leaned in close to the monitor, mouse clicking back and forth as he combed through the files. A few minutes later, he looked up, his face creased with awkward discomfort.
“Uh… that’s strange. I’m sorry, Team Leader. The original footage has already been deleted.”
“Deleted? But the default retention period is 24 hours.”
“Yes, that’s correct. One moment… the reason for deletion is…”
“……”
“Ah! Guide Lee Han-seo’s legal representative requested a data retrieval for the original footage. It looks like the request’s already been processed.”
Woo-jun let out an involuntary sigh of relief, the tension draining from his shoulders. Of course—Attorney Lee, always fast, always efficient. With that handled, he could finally relax. Everything was unfolding exactly the way he’d envisioned it, as if someone had followed the outlines he’d sketched in his mind and filled them in perfectly.
Now, he could go home, cook Han-seo’s favorite dishes, and wait for him to come back. There was no need to interrogate him about what had happened. With Attorney Lee—his most reliable and loyal ally—by their side, the truth would be revealed in full without him even having to ask.
With that kind of support, Woo-jun could continue to protect Han-seo, stay close to him, and still never have to cross a line that might make him uncomfortable.
He believed that. Absolutely.
“Thank you for letting me know about all this. If something like this ever happens again…”
“O-of course! I’ll contact you immediately!”
Woo-jun offered a warm handshake, and the staffer, flustered, quickly wiped his palm on his uniform and gripped it with both hands, bowing deeply like he was honored just to be there. When Woo-jun asked him to keep everything from Han-seo, the man nodded so hard it looked like his neck might snap.
He was just about to leave the visitation room when—
“Oh, by the way… is Guide Lee Han-seo okay? He got hit pretty hard earlier, and I’ve been worried about him…”
“…Excuse me?”
The security staffer had been riding high, proud of what felt like a banner day. As one of the lowest of the low—barely ever assigned to dungeons—he didn’t know if he’d ever get a chance to see someone like Team Leader Park again, let alone stand this close to him.
Caught up in the excitement, he’d blurted it out like they were close.
“He seemed to be headed to the Medical Team… I hope he got treated properly.”
He regretted it instantly.
“Team Leader?”
“…So he really was hit.”
“Sir?”
“Han-seo.”
“……”
The air turned ice-cold. The staffer suddenly felt like he’d give up every last cent he owned if it meant disappearing from that room right now.
The quiet fury radiating from an S-Class Esper was suffocating. Just standing near him felt like something was crushing the lungs. The guard’s hands trembled, his throat tightened. He wanted to run—anything to get away—but his legs wouldn’t budge. They only shook violently, bolted to the ground.
“That man hit him?”
The way Park Woo-jun muttered that man—referring to his own father with ice in his voice—was chilling, but not strange. Even as a low-ranking Esper, the guard understood the bond between an Esper and their Imprinted Guide. He knew exactly how much weight that relationship carried. What felt strange was that the Team Leader was only reacting now.
“Y-You didn’t already know…?”
Everyone in the Center knew about Park Woo-jun and Lee Han-seo. The way they were practically joined at the hip, head over heels for each other. The guard had assumed he knew everything and had just come to confirm it with his own eyes. Unintentionally, he’d just yanked the pin from a live grenade.
What made it worse—what chilled him to the bone—was that Park Woo-jun didn’t even look at him with anger. He wasn’t directing anything at the guard at all. His fury was entirely internal. And yet, just that alone was enough to suffocate a low-level Esper.
The pressure was too much. The guard’s vision went white, and the next thing he knew, he was sprawled out cold on the hard office floor.
Park Woo-jun was gone.
***
Ever since he learned that Han-seo had actually been hit, Park Woo-jun had been out of his mind. If he wanted to, he could tear through the walls of the Center right now and go to him. Right now. He wanted to see him, check him head to toe, find out where he’d been hurt, how bad it was.
But he didn’t.
He chose not to. Because unrefined, explosive emotion—it would come out as rage. And Park Woo-jun could never, would never, unleash that on Lee Han-seo. He’d rather rot from the inside out than let that happen. Even if the heavens split in two, he wouldn’t let himself be the cause of Han-seo’s pain.
As he flew through the air, cutting through the wind, Park Woo-jun found himself over and over again fantasizing about strangling the pathetic version of himself living inside his head.
Han-seo, who’d been raised in love. Who was so used to being adored that it had become second nature.
Someone once asked him: Doesn’t it bother you? Being next to someone like him? A chaebol heir drowning in money, with a picture-perfect family who worships their son, and on top of that, the only S-Class Guide in all of Asia who could command Espers with a flick of his finger. Don’t you feel jealous? I’d be sick with envy if I were you.
But Park Woo-jun had never—not even once—entertained that kind of thought. He wasn’t jealous. If anything, he was relieved. Thankful that someone like Han-seo had been born into a life where the world showered him with affection. He found peace in how naturally, how shamelessly, Han-seo accepted that love.
He wanted him to stay that way forever. Untouched. Untainted. Oblivious to the sharp edges and bitter turns of the world.
After learning about Woo-jun’s messy family situation, Han-seo—quietly, subtly—had started to show guilt for the love he’d received growing up. That unspoken guilt? It made Park Woo-jun want to scream.
If revenge against those people brought Han-seo a sliver of joy, he wouldn’t stop him. But that was the limit. Any ugliness, misfortune, or sin—they were his to bear. Not Han-seo’s.
I won’t let this go. I’ll kill him. I swear to god, I’ll kill him. He muttered through clenched teeth. If he’d known it would come to this, he wouldn’t have sat back and watched. He would’ve acted from the start.
“Team Leader Park! What brings you here—?”
The prosecutor, a contact of Attorney Lee, and someone who had exchanged a few words with Han-seo before, blanched when he saw him. Maybe he’d made some kind of arrangement with Han-seo. He scrambled to hide the files on his desk. Woo-jun didn’t answer. He just walked straight through the office, unbothered.
“W-Wait, Team Leader! That’s the suspect holding room—you can’t go in there!”
He didn’t need to be told. He knew exactly where he was going.
Woo-jun reached the door, opened it without hesitation, and stepped inside.
“W-Woo-jun! My son!! Why’d you take so long to come? No, never mind that. You’re here now—that’s what matters. Hurry up and get your father out of here.”
Pathetic.
And yet—those might’ve been the most affectionate words Park Woo-jun had ever heard from that man in his entire life. Even if it was all just an act to save his own skin… it was something.
“I knew you’d come! Of course you did—you’ve always been such a good boy.”
“……”
“No matter how many times I said I was innocent, that damn prosecutor wouldn’t listen. Even when I asked for a lawyer, he just ignored me! Huh?”
For a reunion after more than a decade, it was pathetic. Laughably so. Woo-jun let out a dry laugh, lips curling. His father—the man he’d once cried entire nights over, begging silently for even a shred of recognition—looked miserable.
There had been a time when Woo-jun didn’t dare hope to be loved. He just wanted to be hated a little less.
But back then, the man had treated him like trash on the sidewalk. And only now—only now, after Woo-jun no longer needed the concept of family—did he come crawling back.
Strangely, the chaos in his head quieted.
“Father,” he said softly.
“Y-Yeah, that’s right. I’m your father,” the man said, eyes filled with desperate hope. Disgusting.
“You don’t even have money for a lawyer. What the hell are you babbling about?”
Woo-jun smiled, pleasant and calm, as he spat the words like venom.
Because Park Woo-jun was a well-trained dog. Lee Han-seo’s dog. And even the gentlest dog knows how to bare its teeth when someone lays a hand on its master.
