The spicy handmade curry, loaded with thick sausages, was usually one of Lee Han-seo’s favorite comfort meals—something he could eat with enthusiasm any day of the week. But today, even when he managed to get a spoonful into his mouth, he chewed it slowly, like a cow working over dry feed. It was clear that a storm of tangled thoughts was spinning in that small head of his.
Park Woo-jun decided not to weigh him down with more questions. Just in case the kid ended up with indigestion, he quietly ordered a soda and slid it across the table to him.
“……”
Han-seo kept chewing mechanically, jaw moving on autopilot, seemingly unaware of Woo-jun’s gesture.
For all that he looked like he was battling the world, the decision in front of him was painfully simple.
Go—or don’t.
Unfortunately, it seemed the higher-ups had already made that decision for them. The verdict from the top ranks of the government was clearly leaning toward go.
Still, Han-seo couldn’t help but wonder: what if he refused? What if he pushed back until the very end?
Maybe, just maybe, the worst-case scenario everyone feared would never actually happen. Maybe the predictions about U-Class dungeon appearances steadily increasing were wrong. Maybe, even with the world choking on a new wave of disasters, South Korea would be spared entirely.
Even if he clung to that last shred of optimism, the best he could hope for was to keep living exactly as he had been. Sure, that wasn’t such a bad thing—but the odds of it actually playing out that way? So low they weren’t even worth calculating.
On the other hand, if he went along with the plan like the officials wanted, at least the country would be protected from the threat of U-Class dungeons. The sheer firepower of seven S-Class Espers deploying together was nothing to scoff at—they’d seen the results firsthand.
And next time? They wouldn’t have to worry about whether any of them would survive. They’d fought together once already; their teamwork would only get better. Efficiency in combat would shoot through the roof.
So why was it so damn hard to say yes? Why did it feel so unfair?
Sure, leaving the day after tomorrow was sudden. And yeah, he didn’t see his family all that often anyway. But having to live in a completely different country, permanently separated from them—and from the place he’d always thought of as home—was a whole different kind of hard.
The last time he’d been deployed, he’d accepted it without hesitation, even volunteered. But that had only been temporary. He’d been sure he’d be back in a few months, tops.
Since he was seven, when he’d first been designated a Guide, Han-seo had clocked in at the Center without fail every single month. Over time, he’d come to accept—resign himself, really—that the Center would define the rest of his life. His whole world.
It was a kind of quiet surrender.
Even when he wanted to try something new, even when something sparked his curiosity, he always held himself back. He’d learned early where the invisible fences were. Dreaming beyond them would only make his own heart ache.
The only thing he ever really insisted on was wearing his middle school uniform to the Center, even after he officially enrolled at fifteen. He kept it up until he turned sixteen and graduated. The adults around him—more specifically, the higher-ups managing national affairs—allowed it. “How lonely must a child be to cling to something like that?” they’d said. So they let it slide.
After that, the Center—spacious or suffocating, depending on the day—became his whole world. When he was first brought in, practically locked up, he hadn’t exactly felt warm and fuzzy about the place. But once he actually started living there… it wasn’t so bad.
It would’ve been a lie to say he never felt lonely or disappointed. But there were good times too. A lot of them.
Roaming the Center with Ryu Ho-yeon, his lifelong best friend. Chatting and goofing off while watching Lee Jung-hyuk train like a man possessed. Even the perpetually annoying Kim Joon-young would pop up to pick fights. As much as he hated to admit it… it had been fun.
And most of all, it was here that he’d met Park Woo-jun.
Was I always this attached to belonging somewhere?
As the memories poured in, the question came out of nowhere. But it made sense. If leaving was this hard, it only meant he’d gotten that attached to where he was now.
The headquarters of the International Esper Alliance was in Berlin. If they were lucky, the U-Class team might be stationed at the closest regional branch—Hong Kong. Sure, it would cut down on flight time, but emotionally? Berlin, Hong Kong—it didn’t matter. Both were foreign lands, oceans away.
At least his parents had the means—and the love—to follow him anywhere. They were wealthy enough to settle wherever he went, and they cherished their one and only son. With more breathing room in his deployment schedule, he might even see them more often than he did now.
And yet, even thinking that, the unease bubbling in his chest wouldn’t go away.
“Ugh… the more I think about it, the more pissed off I get.”
Han-seo muttered the words before he even realized it. That was it. That mix of feelings swirling inside him—at least eighty percent of it was sheer, bitter anger.
“After everything we’ve done for them… and this is how they treat us? Just toss us out like we’re nothing? Not even a thank-you?”
“Uh… baby? Han-seo?”
Startled, Park Woo-jun blinked as Han-seo suddenly slammed the table and began ranting in a chilling tone. But Han-seo didn’t care. His eyes gleamed, furious, as the words kept spilling out.
“Unbelievable. Even if they said the same thing, they could’ve said it better—‘Thank you so much for everything. Would you please consider going? We’d be so, so grateful.’ They should’ve begged on their knees, a hundred times over. But instead? Language training? Studying abroad? Acting like they’re doing us some kind of favor? Give me a break…”
Just remembering the Center Director’s smug face when he’d casually asked, “Why would you come back?”—that alone made Han-seo grind his teeth.
Kim Joon-young and Park Woo-jun were both S-Class Espers, and yet the director tiptoed around his senior, Kim Joon-young, so delicately he barely dared to breathe around him. Clearly, he’d underestimated Park Woo-jun because he was younger and mild-tempered. And because the center director used to be a Guide, he probably couldn’t even sense an Esper’s presence properly—and truthfully, there’d never been a time when Park Woo-jun had raised his voice around him either.
“Baby, h-hey, let’s calm down, okay? Han-seo, can you hear me? Sweetheart, talk to me…”
Woo-jun tried to de-escalate, voice trembling, but Han-seo wasn’t listening. His eyes were burning with fury, completely detached from reality.
Crack.
The soda can in his hand crumpled with a sharp metallic crunch, spraying the remaining half of its contents everywhere. The drink spilled down his fingers, dripped across the table, and soaked right into his pants. Woo-jun jumped up, panicked, and ran to the self-serve bar to grab napkins and wet wipes by the handful.
“This is way out of line. What, now that they’ve got Ho-yeon, they figure losing one S-Class won’t hurt them anymore?”
It stung to admit it, but he wasn’t wrong. While most countries around the world had already begun forcibly relocating their populations around their capitals, South Korea was still operating under its original administrative system. That kind of stability meant they had resources—and power—to spare.
If Ryu Ho-yeon’s Guide still hadn’t shown up, and Kim Joon-young and Park Woo-jun had been stuck handling all the dungeon controls by themselves, the higher-ups probably would’ve thought twice before sending Woo-jun overseas. At least a little more than they had.
It was a basic matter of effort—and respect. The kind of thing that might seem small, but carried real weight when it came time to make decisions.
Han-seo sliced through the indecision in his mind like a sharpened blade.
“Ugh, this stuff won’t come off. Doesn’t it feel sticky? Hang on, Han-seo—I’ll run out and grab you a new pair of training pants or something—”
“Hey.”
“Huh?”
“You’re making it worse. Just sit down.”
“O-oh… okay…”
Woo-jun had been crouched in front of him, frantically wiping the soda-soaked hem of Han-seo’s pants. At his words, he stood up sheepishly, visibly deflated.
“Ugh, it’s too cramped! Not here—go back to your own seat!”
“R-right…”
He’d tried—foolishly—to squeeze into Han-seo’s already-cramped single chair, but gave up almost immediately.
“I’ve decided. If they want us to go, then screw it—we’ll go.”
“You’re sure you want to decide this fast? If you’re still unsure, I really don’t mind. Take more time to think it over—”
“No, I’m serious. We’re going.”
That’s not right. This isn’t like Han-seo.
Sure, he could be sharp-tongued—no, prickly—no, okay, he had a strong personality. But he wasn’t the kind of guy who looked unhinged. And right now… there was something a little wild in his eyes.
Usually, if anyone was doing something reckless between the two of them, it was always Park Woo-jun. But this time, he found himself frozen, nervously watching Han-seo’s lips, not daring to speak.
“Still, it feels kind of lame to just leave like this, right? So let’s drop a nice big parting gift before we go. Sound good?”
“……”
“What, nothing? Come on, nod or something.”
“Uh… yeah. Okay…”
Why does this feel so wrong?
Even as he nodded along, Woo-jun couldn’t shake the feeling crawling up his spine. Something told him that this—whatever it was—wasn’t going to end quietly.
