Even in a world barely held together like a cracked glass marble clumsily pieced back into shape, being able to sleep soundly without fearing for your life the next day could still be called a blessing. He knew better than anyone that awakening the kind of overwhelming power that kept him alive in battle—barely, but surely—was a hundred times more than most could hope for.
And yet—
“What are you doing? Not going in?”
“……”
“Hey.”
When Park Woo-jun just stood there in front of the training hall, dazed and silent, unable to find the right words for how he felt, Julian—already halfway turned away—finally gave in and called out.
Tap. His pale hand lightly tapped Woo-jun’s shoulder, no force behind the gesture.
Before walking off, Lee Han-seo had grabbed that same hand and, without hesitation, recharged Julian’s guiding—using the hand that had so naturally looped around Woo-jun’s arm and gently stroked his cheek.
Without a word, Woo-jun brushed past Julian and walked inside. Julian, long since used to being ignored, simply shrugged and followed behind at a leisurely pace. At this point, anyone watching might think Julian wasn’t quite normal either—always striking up conversations, poking, prodding, needling for a reaction even when he was constantly brushed off.
Most of the Assault Team’s espers were already gathered in the training hall. Now stable with a fresh wave of guiding, Julian easily returned to his usual self—friendly, sociable, with a dash of mischief in his tone as he exchanged greetings with the others. The only one who remained silent was Park Woo-jun. And the rest of the team, already well aware of how he always seemed to shut down the moment Lee Han-seo wasn’t around, didn’t bother pointing it out.
Espers whose demeanor shifted drastically depending on whether their Guide was present weren’t all that rare. The issue was, no one showed a shift as extreme as Park Woo-jun.
Whether he noticed the steady stream of worried glances being thrown his way or not, Woo-jun just kept his mouth shut and silently strapped on his gear. Goggles, gloves—each movement precise and practiced.
Vrrrrmm… vrrrrrmm…
Soon, realistic holograms filled the massive indoor training hall—so large it could’ve rivaled a few stadiums combined. The simulator hummed to life with a deep rumble, like a ship’s horn preparing to set sail.
With current tech, even the best simulators couldn’t fully replicate the difficulty of an S-Class dungeon. At most, they could simulate something around high A-Class. For a group made entirely of S-Class espers, these drills—run daily when no missions were scheduled—didn’t do much to sharpen real combat instincts. Still, they weren’t meaningless. Even a crude simulation gave the team a chance to understand each other’s abilities and how best to use them in sync.
At the front of the standard formation stood the three core fighters: an S-Class physical-enhancement esper, Park Woo-jun, and Julian Moore. Everyone else was there to support them.
But Woo-jun still felt numb. When Lee Han-seo was around, the world had sparkled. Everything had felt vibrant, alive. It wasn’t that he lacked guiding now, but he just felt… drained. Like his limbs were sinking into the floor.
Even when that U-Class dungeon suddenly erupted, even now, drifting through Alliance HQ like flotsam—he understood. He knew Han-seo had made the best possible choices at every step.
Han-seo wanted to be free. Free from the social and moral chains that had been forced onto him. He wanted to escape, and he wanted to do it with Park Woo-jun by his side. And along the way, if they could help some of the helpless avoid meaningless deaths, even better.
Woo-jun knew all that. Really, he did.
“Hey, Blader!! Shit—someone stop him!”
“W-Wait! You can’t go all out like that inside the simulator!”
As always, Lee Han-seo had been right. Park Woo-jun had been wrong. And yet… why did this reality—shaped by those rational choices—feel so wretched and hateful?
“Ugh… it’s getting hard to even stay standing…”
“Everyone down!!”
SHHHHRACK—BOOM!!!
“…Ah.”
The burst of wind, triggered unconsciously, ripped through the illusion the simulator had created and slammed into a support pillar—shattering it completely. The deafening crash jolted Woo-jun back to his senses. He muttered an, “Ah,” and looked around, but the damage was already done.
The training hall had been designed to auto-lock when a shock of that magnitude occurred—a precaution against rampages. The administrator monitoring them through the cameras would’ve caught it by now. Until someone came to unlock the doors, the Assault Team was trapped with a broken simulator.
“…I’m sorry.”
Woo-jun bowed his head and yanked off his goggles, tossing them aside.
Everything fell apart when he was alone. Even back when he was starving in a freezing one-room apartment, he hadn’t felt this pathetic.
The worst part wasn’t being miserable. It was knowing—knowing exactly why Lee Han-seo had made the choices he did, and for whom. Knowing too well to even complain.
Right beside Lee Han-seo—who was clenching his teeth and pushing himself past his limits just to escape this goddamn reality a little faster—Park Woo-jun couldn’t bring himself to say it.
That deep down, what he really wanted was this:
That he didn’t care if he had to keep crawling forward for fifty years or a hundred. He didn’t care how long he had to endure—as long as Han-seo was the one guiding him, and no one else.
That he didn’t care if everyone else died. He didn’t care if this wretched world burned to ashes. None of it mattered. As long as it was just him. As long as he could have Han-seo.
Even if the world ended right now, that’d be fine.
Because all he wanted was to keep him.
To have him.
To make him his—and his alone.
***
“Hey! Is this seat taken? Mind if I sit here?”
The moment that familiar voice rang out, warm and playful, Park Woo-jun knew.
Ah. I’m dreaming.
As soon as the thought struck, he glanced around—and saw the lecture hall where he’d first met Lee Han-seo, back in college. The liberal arts building.
Han-seo looked younger, dressed in a soft-colored sweater and jeans, and his face lit up with a cheerful smile as he asked again.
“I asked if the seat was taken. Why aren’t you answering?”
“…No, it’s not taken.”
“So I can sit here?”
“Yeah…”
Even for a dream, it was strange. Lee Han-seo—that Lee Han-seo—had asked twice if he could sit down next to him? When had that ever happened?
And it didn’t stop there.
Dream Han-seo sat down, pulled a thick textbook and a pencil case from his backpack, and then looked at him again, curious.
“By the way, what’s your name? You’re a freshman too, right? Ugh, look at me—I didn’t even ask before I started talking.”
“……”
“I’m Lee Han-seo. What about you?”
“…You really don’t know who I am?”
“Huh?”
“Are you seriously asking because you don’t recognize me?”
Han-seo blinked, then let out a bright, ringing laugh. His voice was light and crisp, like bubbles popping in the air—bouncing in the space between them and bursting with a soft tickle in Woo-jun’s ears.
“Come on. How would I know who you are if we just met? What, you think you’re famous or something? It’s like pulling teeth just to get your name.”
How could this possibly be the first time they were meeting?
Even as the thought lingered, Woo-jun still answered. Told him his name. And Han-seo, still grinning, said it suited him. That same smile kept making Woo-jun’s chest ache in the softest, strangest way.
Then Han-seo showed him his class schedule, asked if they should grab lunch together. That bold, effortlessly confident nature—steering things forward without hesitation—was the same in dreams as it was in real life.
Enough time had passed that the professor should’ve shown up and started class, but the podium remained empty. Inside the massive hall built for over two hundred students, only the two of them existed.
Han-seo kept talking. Told him about his childhood—what elementary school he went to, the hobbies he picked up in middle school, the ridiculous things he’d done while studying for college entrance exams in high school. And every word, somehow, was a joy to listen to.
Woo-jun sat there, dazed, listening to a story that could never possibly be real. And when Han-seo mentioned nearly choking to death on his lunch the day of the college entrance exam, something clicked.
In this dream—
Han-seo wasn’t a Guide. And he himself wasn’t an Esper.
They were just two ordinary students, running into each other on campus. Just two bright, shining twenty-year-olds.
And the second that truth sank in, the dream broke.
“Woo-jun! Hey, Park Woo-jun!”
“……”
“Why are you crying like that? Huh? Did you have a bad dream?”
Back in the real world, Park Woo-jun woke to Lee Han-seo’s voice—his face soaked in tears.
