“It’s a relief you weren’t hurt.”
Choi Jiwoon spoke to Lee Tae-rim, who was sitting in a daze. Bae Jieun gave him a sharp look, clearly questioning why he’d even bother starting a conversation, but Jiwoon just offered a calm Still… and tried to ease her irritation.
For the record, the reason Tae-rim woke up in a hospital was because he missed a step on the stairs and slammed his head into the floor—hard enough to knock himself out. There were only two steps left, and he’d gone down like a sack of bricks.
According to the doctor, the accident probably happened because he didn’t realize there was one more step. It was the kind of mistake anyone could make once in their life. But since he lost consciousness, he was taken to the hospital by default. He didn’t wake up the entire day, and just when people started to get really concerned, he finally came to.
Someone had even apologized later, saying they’d thought he was just pretending to be unconscious out of embarrassment. A mental-type Esper confirmed in front of everyone that Tae-rim had no memory of recent events. At the very least, that convinced the people who were present at the time—though it didn’t seem like they fully believed it either.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Even if he was claiming memory loss, Bae Jieun’s watchful hostility made it clear that acting too casual would only raise suspicion. So Tae-rim chose to lean into the awkwardness. But clearly dissatisfied, Bae Jieun—who had been glaring at him from the start—finally snapped.
“You really haven’t heard what kind of shit you’ve been pulling? Wow. You’re seriously shameless.”
“…None of the Guides would even look me in the eye, so I didn’t get a chance to ask. And most of the Espers were too busy harassing me to say anything.”
Some weren’t like that, but no one had been willing to talk to him for more than a few seconds. He already knew from reading the novel what the original Tae-rim had been up to, but since those weren’t his actions, he resolved to feign ignorance. That was the best he could do right now.
Bae Jieun looked stunned at his blunt honesty but eventually shut her mouth. It seemed even she had to admit reality for what it was.
“Jieun, why are you being like this? He said he doesn’t even remember.”
“So what? Just because he forgot doesn’t mean it didn’t happen!”
“It’s okay, noona. If he doesn’t remember, what can we really do?”
Tae-rim looked up, irritated by something in Jiwoon’s tone. Their eyes met, and Jiwoon gave him a gentle smile. Tae-rim stared back blankly. The smile seemed harmless enough, but something about the way he spoke felt strangely off. Maybe he was just overthinking it.
“Tae-rim, you… sigh. I don’t know. Are you okay though? I heard you hit your head really hard. If you lost your memory, it must’ve been serious, right?”
“No. I don’t have a single injury.”
“And what’s with that stiff tone? Just talk like you usually do and call me hyung.”
“Ah. Right. Okay.”
He had no idea how the original Tae-rim used to speak, but the current Tae-rim wasn’t the type to be familiar with strangers. He couldn’t just speak comfortably to someone he barely knew.
The novel hadn’t gone into detail about Tae-rim’s personality either. He only ever appeared when tormenting Jiwoon, so the only thing anyone knew was that he was a jerk. It seemed safest to just stick with his own natural behavior for now.
“Jiwoon.”
“Hae-beom-hyung.”
Finally, he arrived—Kwon Hae-beom, Jiwoon’s bonded Esper and Tae-rim’s unrequited love. For context: Kwon Hae-beom was cold to everyone except Jiwoon. The kind of man who warmed up for one person only—the textbook male lead in a romance novel.
From the moment he stepped in, Hae-beom only had eyes for Jiwoon. No one else even registered.
“Ugh, seriously. That hopeless romantic. We might as well be invisible, huh?”
Bae Jieun’s jab didn’t even make Hae-beom flinch. He just kept looking at Jiwoon with adoring eyes as they walked off hand in hand toward one of the partitioned cubicles. A private space, clearly. Predictable. As always, they’d forget anyone else was around and get all over each other. That was just how this novel rolled.
And Tae-rim’s prediction was dead on. A moment later, there was a soft murmur—then unmistakable kissing sounds. Lee Yeong-jun and Bae Jieun didn’t bat an eye. They’d clearly seen this all before. So Tae-rim had to pretend he had, too. He thought about the gross Espers who used to grope his hands like it was no big deal, just to hold himself together.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Kwon Hae-beom! Tone it down! We can hear everything out here!”
A female Esper walked in, yelling loudly. But the kissing didn’t stop.
“They have no shame. Absolutely none.”
Brushing her long hair back, she stepped in front of Tae-rim and held out her hand.
“Hey, Tae-rim. Do you know who I am?”
“Yes. Esper Kim Hye-min. Guide Park Seon-wook-nim gave me an overview of the S-rank Espers.”
“Whoa, what’s with the way you talk? You were always kind of a triangle, but now you’re a full-on stiff little square.”
“Right? Even I think he sounds weird.”
Kim Hye-min and Lee Yeong-jun bantered back and forth. Tae-rim had no idea how the original version of him normally acted, so he simply took Hye-min’s outstretched hand. As the guiding began, she sat across from him with a curious look.
“You used to grumble that you were only guiding because it was your job, and you didn’t want to touch anyone but Hae-beom. You seriously don’t remember?”
“You can speak casually. I don’t have any memories of before anyway.”
Kim Hye-min hesitated at a look from Lee Yeong-jun but then stared at Tae-rim, eyes full of disbelief.
“Wow, he really is a different person.”
“Unnie, come on. Just because he lost his memory doesn’t mean his personality changed.”
“Have you never seen a drama? When someone loses their memory, they always become a different person.”
“Yeah, well… dramas are just dramas.”
“Then have you ever actually met someone with amnesia? I haven’t either, but I believe Woo-cheol. He said Tae-rim genuinely doesn’t remember a single thing.”
Kim Woo-cheol was the Esper who’d used his mental abilities on Tae-rim and made him spill everything without resistance.
“I don’t buy it. I don’t think a person’s nature just changes like that.”
Tae-rim didn’t care whether Bae Jieun believed him or not. What mattered now was getting better at guiding—and staying far away from those shameless lovebirds still making out behind the partition like they had no sense of decency.
It was May, which meant he still had seven months before turning twenty-three. If he could convincingly keep up this act until then, maybe—just maybe—he could avoid the death that awaited him. Even though in the original story, Tae-rim’s death had technically been an accident on the field.
The original Tae-rim had died after abandoning his post. As usual, he’d lashed out at Choi Jiwoon with sharp words, and Kwon Hae-beom—who had come for a guiding session—caught them together and issued a terrifying warning: If I ever see you with Jiwoon again, you’re dead.
Shaken to the core, Tae-rim had burst into tears and taken off running. And before he knew it, he’d crossed the barrier and ended up somewhere the camp was no longer in sight. That’s where he died—devoured by a monster.
Even in that chaos, the ever-kind Jiwoon had chased after him, trying to stop him from going outside the barrier. But he couldn’t catch up in time. On the way back, Jiwoon was nearly attacked by a monster himself. Thankfully, Kwon Hae-beom showed up just in time, took down the creature, and returned—carrying only Jiwoon. Classic novel stuff.
Either way, all Tae-rim had to do now was not leave the barrier. Simple enough.
He had no intention of getting involved with the two leads of the story. All he wanted was to do his job, guide well, and live quietly while holding onto his salary.
And as expected of an S-rank Guide, Tae-rim was loaded. He’d nearly fallen out of his chair when he saw the number in his bank account. As a modest Omega from a humble background, he could’ve never even dreamed of that kind of money. His monthly salary alone was absurd. And Tae-rim thought: Money means peace.
So he worked hard at guiding. Compared to S-rank Espers, C-ranks were nothing. It was practically effortless. But with S-ranks, the difference in power was staggering—he had to push himself a lot harder.
It was like going from dipping your toes in a stream to standing in the middle of a rushing river. Tae-rim could feel sweat forming on his forehead.
“Don’t overdo it.”
Seeing this, Kim Hye-min gently advised him to take it easy, but Tae-rim was focused on just one thing: doing his best. He needed to get used to guiding S-ranks properly. A surprising amount of energy was leaking during the process, and he had to make sure it all reached the Esper instead of going to waste.
“Tae-rim, that’s enough. I’ll take over now.”
Lee Yeong-jun finally stepped in.
“There’s no need to rush. You’ve only been training for two weeks, and you’re doing well. Jieun and I will support you, so take your time.”
The couple who’d been kissing behind the divider finally emerged, but Tae-rim was too exhausted to care. Since he was clearly putting in the effort, even Bae Jieun didn’t argue this time and stayed quiet as Yeong-jun spoke. Wiping the sweat from his damp forehead, Tae-rim sighed, unsure of what to do next.
“It’s strange seeing Tae-rim struggle. He used to be good at everything. It kind of reminds me of when he was a kid.”
“How’s it looking outside, Hye-min noona?”
Kwon Hae-beom, clearly reluctant to leave, headed out, while Choi Jiwoon returned to his seat. With an awkward smile, he asked Kim Hye-min about the situation outside.
“The numbers are dropping fast. If things go well, we can pull out tomorrow. Worst case, the day after.”
“That’s good news.”
“Guide Lee Yeong-jun, would it be alright if I handled the next few sessions myself? I really need the practice.”
