The Center Director had personally told him to take it easy, but Lee Tae-rim didn’t rest.
As an Omega, Tae-rim had always been painfully average—and that included his athleticism. But this body was different. His coordination was so sharp it felt strange, almost surreal. Curious, he started working out just to test the limits. He even breezed through every hologram program designed to simulate battles with low-grade monsters. One of the instructors chuckled and said Tae-rim trained harder than most Espers.
“Are you trying to show off your reflexes or what?”
Guides slated for internal expeditions only trained with people, not monsters. Most didn’t pay him any mind, but a few didn’t bother to hide their open dislike. They didn’t even try to whisper their insults—he could hear every word loud and clear. Maybe they wanted him to hear. But still, who enjoys listening to people talk shit about them?
It got under his skin.
Even when he tried to brush it off, he couldn’t. He was human, after all. Hearing people badmouth him day after day—it wore him down. With a heavy sigh, Tae-rim sat on one of the break room chairs and took a long drink of water.
At this rate, he felt like he might end up with actual depression. He tried distracting himself, thinking of anything else, but going through each day with no one to talk to was just… lonely. Well, I am the villain, so I guess it can’t be helped. He told himself that. Tried to make peace with it. But it didn’t help much.
“I guess it’s true, then—you really lost your memory.”
He was just about to get up and head back when someone stepped in front of him. The face looked familiar—someone he’d seen around the training center a few times. Tae-rim gave a polite nod in greeting.
“Hello.”
“Hey. We’ve said hi a few times before, but I bet you don’t remember any of it.”
“No… I don’t.”
The man dropped down onto the seat beside him and casually wiped his face with the towel hanging around his neck.
“They’re just jealous, you know.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re S-rank, got insane reflexes, and go out on external expeditions for days at a time. They’re jealous. That’s all it is.”
“But I heard those expeditions are dangerous.”
“Exactly. And you’re the only Guide allowed to go to those dangerous places. You’re the one the S-rank Espers trust enough to take with them.”
That didn’t make any sense. How was that something to be jealous of? Going to dangerous places just meant you were putting your life on the line. Tae-rim had already decided he wanted no part of it the moment Jung Jae-heon mentioned external expeditions. Why me, of all people? he remembered thinking.
“Haha. Looks like even without your memories, your reaction’s still the same. You had that exact same expression back then too. ‘What’s so great about going somewhere dangerous?’ That’s what made everyone hate you even more.”
Forget being a villain—didn’t everyone hate going into dangerous situations? He really didn’t understand it.
“Even though you were in a great position, you always grumbled through training. I’ll give you credit—you never skipped a session, probably because you knew it could cost you your life.”
“I’m in a great position?”
“Obviously. When you go on those expeditions, you’re the only Guide there.”
“……?”
“Huh… So you used to know that, but I guess you don’t anymore. Only S-rank and A-rank Espers get sent on those missions, and you’re the only Guide qualified to go. That means they all depend on you for guiding.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“See? That’s what they’re jealous of.”
“But why? Isn’t it exhausting being the only one Guiding so many people?”
He almost said outright that he didn’t want to go—but he bit that back. He wasn’t that oblivious.
“You’ve really gotten weirder since losing your memory… Doesn’t it feel good? Knowing that all those Espers rely on you? Especially the S-ranks?”
“…It just feels like pressure to me.”
To him, Espers and Alphas were practically the same—people who followed you around because of something you gave off. In the case of Espers, it was guiding. With Alphas, it was pheromones. Same idea.
Imagine stepping into an elevator full of Alphas. How many Omegas would willingly walk into that? Even if every Alpha in there was polite and respectful, just being in that space would be overwhelming. No Omega would want to get in.
“Yeah, you’re definitely the type who just doesn’t get it.”
“Then try thinking about it this way: you’re in charge of serving food, but the amount you can hand out is limited. Now imagine a line of people with huge bowls waiting just for you. How would you feel?”
“Uh… yeah, okay. Put that way, I’ve got nothing. You really have lost your memory. Your personality’s totally different now.”
Tae-rim’s eyes suddenly lit up. Personality? This guy knew what he used to be like?
“What was I like?”
“You? You were just a brat. Straight-up 22-year-old punk.”
“Can you be more specific…?”
“Well, I only ever saw you from a distance, so I don’t know every detail. But your emotions were always written all over your face. You were awful at hiding anything. And from the way you reacted to certain people, I’d say you had pretty strong opinions about who you liked and didn’t like. You didn’t hide that, either.”
“…I see.”
He was just a kid, really. But if he’d had that kind of personality at twenty-two, then it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. That’s the age when people are still rough around the edges. Sure, his body might be twenty-two again now—but mentally, he was twenty-eight.
“You kind of act like an old man now. Even the way you talk—it’s stiff. What’s with that?”
“Isn’t it normal to speak formally with someone you don’t know well?”
“Well, yeah… I guess. Still, you’ve changed a lot. Not that it’s a bad thing.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. So how about giving me your number?”
Tae-rim blinked and pointed at himself, eyes wide. Me? The other man nodded.
“You might’ve said some harsh things to that guy, but there are people who think you were in the right. Honestly, you weren’t wrong. It’s not like you handled it perfectly, but you weren’t the only one at fault either. And honestly… the way people are acting doesn’t sit right with me. Everyone’s saying you haven’t changed at all, but your whole personality’s clearly different since the memory loss.”
“Ah… I see.”
“Isn’t that weird? There’s this rumor going around about the District 1-8 incident—that you ignored Team Leader Park’s warning and ran into danger on your own, forcing him to follow you. Is that true?”
Tae-rim shook his head. He never imagined that situation would turn into a story like that. How did it get twisted so far from the truth?
“It’s true I spoke up first, but Team Leader Park agreed. We made the decision together. I never disobeyed any orders.”
“Thought so…”
Where do people even come up with these things? muttering that to himself, the man finally saved Tae-rim’s number.
His name was Kim Hyo-il, an A-rank Guide. He told Tae-rim that not everyone disliked him. That eased the weight on his chest a little—but only for a moment. The loneliness didn’t go away. Even though he’d exchanged contact info with Kim Hyo-il, he wasn’t sure they’d actually become close.
The next day, Tae-rim received a summons from Dr. Han and headed straight for the ward. When he arrived at the lab, Dr. Han greeted him and handed over a file.
“This is his profile.”
The boy was still in that same room—but unlike before, he was no longer restrained. Tae-rim flipped through the file. His name was Seon Juho, and he had just turned twenty. As reported, he was an S-rank Esper. But the most surprising detail was his Matching Rate with Tae-rim: a staggering 90%.
“Seon Juho was one of the victims from ten years ago… though you probably wouldn’t know about that. There was a mass abduction—children under ten, taken all at once. We suspected the anti-government organization, but with no solid proof, the case went cold. It stayed unsolved… until now. We finally found a survivor—and with clear evidence, too. Fortunately, Seon Juho’s parents had preserved his DNA, which made it possible to identify him.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Unfortunately, he has no memory of who he is. He doesn’t even remember his own name. Judging by his condition, it looks like he was dragged from place to place, subjected to countless experiments. His emotional development’s severely delayed. He’s been through a lot. Luckily, the anti-government group didn’t implant him with any chips or devices. So we’ve decided to officially accept him as a Center-affiliated Esper.”
Dr. Han went on to mention smaller details—like how Seon Juho’s mental state was still too fragile to contact his parents.
“Your role is crucial here. Stabilizing him emotionally is our top priority. The long-term plan is further back in the file.”
Tae-rim flipped through the pages. There were outlines for training, education, rehabilitation. Makes sense—if he’s going to survive, he needs to learn how to live again. Tae-rim gave a small nod.
“Right now, you’re the only person Seon Juho trusts. I know your situation isn’t easy either, but I’m counting on you.”
After reviewing a long list of precautions from Dr. Han, Tae-rim stepped into the room where Seon Juho sat staring blankly into space.
The moment he opened the door, Seon Juho jumped to his feet and ran straight toward him.
“I missed you, Tae-rim hyung!”
