On the surface, it looked like only two people had been disciplined, but a bit of the fallout splashed onto Lee Tae-rim as well. The Center Director had only told Kwon Hae-beom not to receive Guiding from Choi Jiwoon—he never said anything about avoiding all other Guides.
It was common knowledge that Kwon Hae-beom had poor Matching Rates with most Guides. Which basically meant: if he were to get any Guiding at all, it’d have to be from Lee Tae-rim. Of course, with a personality like his, no one expected him to willingly go to Tae-rim for help. Still, that left Tae-rim stuck awkwardly in the middle of the whole mess, despite having nothing to do with it.
And, as expected, Tae-rim’s prediction was right. Kwon Hae-beom threw himself into daily hunts in the field, relying solely on Guiding Supplements and mechanical Guiding to get by. Before Choi Jiwoon showed up, he’d at least allowed lower-matching Guides to help him—along with drugs and machines—but now he was down to just chemicals and tech.
Back then, Kwon Hae-beom had resorted to Insertion Guiding with Guides who didn’t match well, just to survive. He hadn’t done it by choice—it was about staying alive. But Choi Jiwoon didn’t see it that way. Their first real clash had started because of Kwon Hae-beom’s so-called promiscuous lifestyle. He hadn’t chosen that life, but it didn’t change how it looked.
Lee Tae-rim decided not to get involved. Whether Choi Jiwoon cried every day at the field or Kwon Hae-beom kept pushing through on nothing but meds and machines—it wasn’t his concern. If Kwon Hae-beom was still thinking clearly, he’d come for Guiding before hitting Rampage. Tae-rim figured he’d deal with it when the time came, and chose to stay out of it.
In the meantime, the things the Center Director had tried to keep to himself were handed over to Central, and global exploration orders were issued. Rumors began spreading about the machine’s true identity, and efforts to track down the anti-government organization Molt intensified. This wasn’t just any device—it was capable of interfering with Gates. Its Danger Level was off the charts.
To make up for the manpower shortage, Central began recalling retired S-rank Espers. Most Espers retire around age fifty, and S-ranks are no exception. But age didn’t mean their abilities had dulled. In times of national emergency, they were summoned without hesitation.
Because of that, unfamiliar S-rank Espers had been coming and going through the Center. Since their work mostly involved exploration and investigation, they didn’t stick around long, but their mere presence was enough to throw the atmosphere into unease.
Still, Tae-rim was more preoccupied with something else. Originally, the one who was supposed to get slapped was Choi Jiwoon, not him. Not that it really mattered who got hit—the important part was that it happened at all.
He’d thought, I’d never hit anyone, so nothing like that could ever happen to me. And then Choi Jiwoon had slapped him. So now, the “slap incident” had happened—just like in the novel.
In the original story, that event caused Tae-rim to disappear from the narrative for a while. Now, Jiwoon seemed to be going through something similar—he’d been assigned an extra month on field duty.
So maybe the novel’s major events were bound to happen one way or another. Maybe that was what this “narrative force” really meant. If so, what about the kidnapping arc? That had been one of the key turning points in the story too. If narrative force was a real thing, then there was a good chance that event was coming as well.
Tae-rim found himself torn. Should he just ignore it, knowing Kwon Hae-beom would handle it anyway? Or…
No—even if he considered the “or,” there really wasn’t anything he could do. If that kind of force existed, the event would happen no matter what. And Tae-rim had no idea when it would strike. The novel had never mentioned a date—not even something as vague as a month or season.
He sighed.
It gnawed at him, but there was nothing he could do. And the last thing he wanted was to get caught up in it himself for no reason.
Tae-rim’s worries continued to grow.
***
Seon Juho listened quietly to the rhythm of Lee Tae-rim’s breathing, now soft and steady. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw—as always—was the back of Tae-rim’s head. Smiling, he nestled his nose into the nape of Tae-rim’s neck. A sweet, fragrant scent filled his lungs.
Lately, Tae-rim’s scent had grown even stronger. Maybe that’s why, just inhaling it made Seon Juho feel like his body was going up in flames. His mouth watered—it was enough to drive him insane. The smell was unbelievably arousing.
He had no idea why Tae-rim gave off a scent like this. Judging from how no one else reacted, it seemed Seon Juho was the only one who could smell it. Tae-rim denied it, insisting he didn’t smell like anything—but from his eyes, it was obvious he knew.
Which only made Seon Juho more curious. What exactly was this scent? And why was he the only one who could sense it?
Every time he breathed it in, his mind turned hazy, floating like he was high. It made him want to cling to Tae-rim and never let go. The scent felt dangerously addictive—like it was designed to hook him.
At first, he thought something was wrong with his sense of smell. His body had been pumped full of all kinds of drugs over the past ten years. It wouldn’t be surprising if something had gone haywire.
He even wondered if maybe he was just projecting—thinking Tae-rim’s scent was special because he didn’t want to lose the person who had pulled him out of hell. But no. The scent was too real for that. It had started out faint, barely noticeable—but now it was so strong, he could catch it even from a hundred meters away.
And that wasn’t all. Lately, he could even tell Tae-rim’s mood through that scent. The fragrance itself didn’t change, but somehow he could feel Tae-rim’s emotional state.
Like when Tae-rim was pretending to be calm but clearly wasn’t inside. Seon Juho never asked to confirm it—he just knew. Ah, hyung’s in a good mood. Or He’s pissed.
He started to wonder—maybe this scent was Tae-rim’s pheromones. And for some unknown reason, Seon Juho was sensitive to them. If there was a scent that stirred sexual desire between people, pheromones were the only explanation. Otherwise, how could something so simple make him feel this euphoric?
Seon Juho pressed himself closer against Tae-rim’s back, grinding his aroused cock slowly against the curve of Tae-rim’s ass. The swollen heat brushed over him, and Tae-rim’s body gave a faint twitch.
He knew this was something he absolutely shouldn’t be doing. But he couldn’t stop. That scent pushed him to act on impulse, stripping away all reason and restraint. It kept whispering to him like a devil in his ear—Go on. Just do it.
In the beginning, all he’d wanted was to hold Tae-rim while he slept. That alone had made him unbearably happy. But as the scent grew stronger, falling asleep got harder and harder. The fragrance that clung to Tae-rim’s skin kept making his lower body burn hotter and hotter.
Hyung’s going to hate this. He told himself that over and over, but still—Seon Juho slowly gave in to his instincts. Just a little. Just for a moment. This much should be okay… as long as he doesn’t wake up. That was how he rationalized it. And with that, he began touching the sleeping Tae-rim in secret. He knew he had no right—no permission—but he couldn’t stop himself.
That’s how potent, how devastatingly lethal Tae-rim’s scent was to him.
“Nngh…”
Seon Juho gently cupped Tae-rim’s chest over his shirt. He barely applied any pressure, but still a soft moan slipped from Tae-rim’s lips. Heat pooled in Seon Juho’s gut.
Tae-rim’s body temperature had started to rise as well. The sweet fragrance, once soft and light, now grew richer—thicker, like humidity clinging to the air. Seon Juho drew in a deep breath of that scent.
Through it, he could feel it—Tae-rim’s body was beginning to accept him. That only made it harder to stop. See? Hyung wants it too. That thought kept sparking through his mind, pushing him over the edge. There’s no reason to hold back.
How can a scent like this even exist? The smell coming off Tae-rim defied all explanation. It couldn’t be compared to anything. It was so sweet, so maddeningly addictive, that Seon Juho wanted to devour him on the spot. He stuck out his tongue and licked the area where the scent was strongest. Instantly, his mouth was filled with sugary sweetness. It was so intense it made his jaw ache.
Seon Juho had been in the lab for as long as he could remember. The records said he went missing when he was ten, but he had no memory of being that age. All he could recall was being locked away somewhere.
The doctors had pinned a lot of hopes on him. He was the only surviving subject, so they were determined to run as many tests as possible. Despite undergoing countless experiments, Seon Juho never Awakened. That only made the researchers more obsessed—they believed his body held untapped secrets.
Maybe that’s why, over time, they started treating him with a strange kind of care. As he grew older, he stopped being handled like the other test subjects. The bruises and injuries became fewer. He remembered being beaten often when he was younger—but that, too, eventually faded.
What they’d obsessed over, like maniacs, was the Esper ability. Every Esper had one unique power, but some—very rarely—Awakened with an additional power. A special ability. One that was almost unheard of.
