“I’m sorry. I know this must be overwhelming, but right now… there’s really nothing we can do.”
No one among the higher-ups had expected Lee Han-seo to push back this hard. Almost as if planned in advance, they’d all conveniently disappeared—on business trips or long vacations. It was clear they had no intention of confronting resistance they couldn’t handle.
And yelling at some powerless employee wouldn’t change a thing. It was just venting, nothing more.
In the end, Han-seo had no choice but to step back, demanding firmly that someone—whether it be the Director or an executive—notify him the moment they returned.
Meanwhile, the International Esper Alliance wasn’t waiting around. They’d already sent out press releases and contacted Esper Centers across the globe, speeding full-force toward the team-based restructuring. It was like a bulldozer in motion—unrelenting and fast.
At the forefront of this breakneck campaign was an American S-Class Guide. Before Lee Han-seo rose to global fame with his U-Class Dungeon achievement, this Guide had long held the reputation as the world’s most capable.
Unsurprisingly, the majority of Espers—especially those without Bonded Pairs—and civilians offered overwhelming support. Dozens, even hundreds of articles, expert analyses, and praise from government leaders flooded in daily. Most of them echoed the same sentiment: the pilot team system for S-Class Guides was yielding great results, and they hoped to see it expanded to all ranks.
On the other hand, Espers and Guides who shared deep bonds, or who had no complaints about the current system, strongly resisted the forced restructure. Unfortunately, while they may have been the majority within the Center, out in the wider world, they were vastly outnumbered.
When it came to status, background, and influence, the two loudest voices for preserving the current system were Lee Han-seo and Park Woo-jun.
Rumors were already spreading—that if the team structure expanded to A-Class and below, all non-primitive Imprints would be forcibly severed. It made grim sense. Unless someone had a rare case like Lee Han-seo, who could wield another Guide’s energy as if it were his own—rendering Total Guiding Capacity limits meaningless—there was little point in keeping a personalized Imprint while guiding others. It was just inefficient.
“Han-seo, you’re here? Today felt endless. I missed you so much.”
“Shut up and give me your hand.”
“So heartless. Then again, that’s part of your charm.”
And yet, even now, Han-seo still had to guide Julian. That, more than anything, made his blood boil.
If being a Guide or Esper were like any other job, they would’ve gone on strike already. But the second one of them stopped working, humanity would be one step closer to collapse. Even now, they were barely keeping things together.
Inside HQ, tensions were sky-high. People were on edge, terrified of losing their Pairs or having their Imprints forcibly broken. And yet, Julian Moore seemed to be in a damn good mood lately. His overfamiliar attitude had only grown worse. He clearly knew which team he’d end up on once the new assignments went into effect.
“You heard, right? Just a few more days left. Once we’re assigned to a team, they’ll even put us in the same dorm. That means we can finally say goodbye to this dreadful isolation room.”
Once the Imprint was broken and the one-to-one Pair system replaced with a team model, Julian would officially become one of Han-seo’s team members—on equal standing with Park Woo-jun. No matter how far apart they were emotionally, the system would recognize them the same.
And even though Julian had to know Han-seo was doing everything he could to stop that from happening, he didn’t even bother hiding how excited he was. Han-seo refused to dignify him with a response anymore. Now Julian had the audacity to ask whether being teammates meant he’d be allowed to hug him too—not just hold hands.
“…”
No point getting worked up over it. He wouldn’t listen anyway. Han-seo, already far too familiar with Julian’s relentless personality, didn’t meet his eyes. He just continued guiding, cold and professional.
“No response? So I can do whatever I want, then?”
Julian’s deep green eyes gleamed with amusement. Unlike Kim Joon-young’s soft gaze or Woo-jun’s gentle purity, his eyes were bold—almost brazen. There was something effortlessly intense about his expression, with sharp Western features rather than delicate lines.
Han-seo still didn’t respond. Instead, he stood, let go of Julian’s hand, and flung the door to the isolation room open. Bang! The harsh, impatient slam echoed through the room.
“Enough. Woo-jun, come in.”
Park Woo-jun, who had been crouched silently just outside, instantly lifted his head. He’d stayed quiet out of consideration, not wanting to pile more stress onto Han-seo. But emotionally, he’d been ready to step in long ago. As soon as he heard his name, he jumped up, took Han-seo’s hand, and entered the room as if he’d been waiting for it.
“Seriously? That’s what you were doing out there? Just sitting around like that?”
Julian muttered under his breath. He couldn’t understand why Park Woo-jun was crouching outside looking like a kicked puppy. It just didn’t make sense. As he looked up at Julian, Park Woo-jun silently steeled himself.
Sweat trickled down Han-seo’s forehead as he focused on guiding. Woo-jun gently wiped it away, then affectionately nuzzled his cheek against Han-seo’s shoulder, almost like a child being clingy. Julian’s eyes narrowed with displeasure.
Ever since the death of the British S-Class Guide, the atmosphere between the two had grown strained. But now, that discomfort had completely evaporated beneath the crashing wave of external chaos. With such a massive storm looming over them, their internal problems naturally faded into the background.
The other Pairs looked just as strained during training. Most of them were in the same boat. They repeatedly told Woo-jun that as the keystone holding everything together, Han-seo needed to stay strong—and that it was up to him to take care of him.
And so, to Park Woo-jun—the one who had basked in Han-seo’s endless affection for years—Julian Moore, who was now trying to wedge himself into even the tiniest crack, could only seem utterly insignificant.
“……”
“……”
Julian looked at Park Woo-jun with a mix of disbelief and disgust, watching him practically hide behind his Guide. There was no need to read between the lines—his expression said everything. But he wasn’t offended. If anything, he found it pathetic. Laughable, even.
For someone who’d carried himself with such pride as an S-Class Esper, Julian probably thought he was being more than respectful in how he treated Lee Han-seo. But what he didn’t realize—what he still didn’t understand—was that treating Han-seo like just another Guide would end badly. Very badly.
“Baby… Han-seo…”
Woo-jun murmured softly, almost theatrically, as he pressed his face into the curve of Han-seo’s neck, his tone fragile and sulking. With Woo-jun half-draped over him, Han-seo continued the guiding session, hand still resting lightly on Julian’s, but his focus visibly wavered. The process, already slowed by the physical contact with his Imprinted Esper, nearly ground to a halt as Han-seo turned to check on Woo-jun.
“How much longer…?”
“Still a bit to go. I’ll finish soon, okay? Just hang in there. You can wait, right?”
“Mm… but… he’s been glaring at me this whole time… It’s kinda scary…”
Woo-jun’s pouty, childlike complaint—voiced deliberately, and right in front of Julian—was something he rarely ever did. But now, he didn’t hold back. Julian’s face twisted from scorn to genuine shock. He couldn’t believe what he was witnessing: an Esper whining like a spoiled kid in front of his Guide, practically curling into a ball. It flew in the face of everything he understood about their roles.
“What? Are you serious?”
“Mhm… I just really wanna leave…”
“Alright. That’s enough. Let’s go.”
But Lee Han-seo had never been the type to wait around to be protected. He was the kind of person who protected others.
“H-Han-seo? We haven’t hit target sync yet—!”
“Don’t kid yourself. You keep acting like you’re actually my Esper just because I guide you regularly. You really think you matter that much? Who do you think you are, trying to intimidate my baby?”
Park Woo-jun was someone who could toss his pride aside in a heartbeat, if it meant being cared for. And Han-seo never minded shielding him.
“You’re pathetic. Seriously.”
Han-seo stood up in one swift motion, grabbing Woo-jun’s hand as they left the isolation room. He was still seething, breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Julian stood frozen, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, like the floor had just vanished beneath him.
Woo-jun glanced back once, smiling sweetly.
It was a warning—gentle, but unmistakable.
Try all you want. You’ll never come between us.
