Even though he desperately wanted nothing to do with that couple, someone had gone missing—of course he was worried. What if it really was a kidnapping? And even if Choi Jiwoon had disappeared on his own, that was still a problem. Either way, they had to find him. Especially for Kwon Hae-beom’s sake—he was losing his mind.
Tae-rim had once imagined, back when he used to read a lot of webnovels, What if I got isekai’d into a story too? But he’d always figured he wouldn’t be able to survive the way protagonists did. He was just an average guy—no special skills or heroic mindset.
So if he had to get thrown into a novel, he wanted to end up as some background extra with a comfortable life, completely unrelated to the main plot or the main characters. Honestly, he was fine staying a reader. Untangling complicated messes like this just wasn’t his thing.
As he walked back to his personal Guiding Room, Tae-rim racked his brain. Maybe there was some hint in the novel? He thought and thought again, but he’d read so many stories that remembering specific details—especially word for word—was impossible. In the end, nothing came to mind.
If only I knew where Molt’s base was… But even the novel hadn’t included that information, so what could he do? It wasn’t like he could conjure up something that was never written in the first place.
When he arrived, Seon Juho was standing in front of the Guiding Room. Looked like he’d been waiting for a while. As soon as he spotted Tae-rim, Juho waved excitedly.
“Hyung!”
He ran over, practically skipping. He could’ve just waited where he was, but instead came bounding over and clung to Tae-rim like a puppy. With a small sigh, Tae-rim pulled him inside the room.
“Was it that guy again?”
“Sunbae-nim.”
“Hmph.”
“If you don’t like that, then say ‘Esper-nim.’”
“Hmph!”
Juho snorted dramatically, like he was really fed up. Tae-rim couldn’t help but smile at how adorable he was.
“He’s so selfish. Everyone else waits their turn for Guiding, so who does he think he is, constantly calling you over like that?”
Juho was already annoyed that Kwon Hae-beom was getting Guiding from Tae-rim at all. And now that he was summoning him to the ward? Juho was beyond sulky—his cheeks puffed out in pure irritation. Hmph! Hmph! Watching him pout like that was so cute Tae-rim couldn’t stop grinning.
“It’s fine when we’re alone, but you can’t act like this in front of other people.”
“…Okay.”
“Good boy.”
“Ugh, stop treating me like a kid!”
“Woojoo joo joo, what a good boy our Juho is~”
“Ugh, hyung~!”
Even as Juho complained, Tae-rim kept ruffling his hair, making his lips jut out in another exaggerated pout.
“I hate you, hyung.”
“Really?”
“…I’m lying.”
“Seriously, you little punk.”
He was so cute Tae-rim felt like kissing him—except Juho was too old for that now. Embarrassed by his own thoughts, Tae-rim gave a small cough to snap out of it.
“So, hyung. When are you going to cook for me?”
“……”
“Hyuuuung~”
Juho had only found out Tae-rim could cook by accident. They’d been watching a drama together when a cooking scene came on, and Juho had looked genuinely amazed.
“Huh? Potatoes are round?”
He’d always eaten meal kits or pre-made food and thought potatoes came naturally cubed. Tae-rim had been stunned. He hadn’t even considered that Juho might not know something so basic. So, right then and there, he’d pulled up a bunch of photos and videos to teach him properly.
He explained that ingredients came in all shapes and had to be peeled, chopped, and cooked by hand. Then, naturally, Juho had asked if he knew how to cook, and Tae-rim had nodded without thinking.
And that was it.
That was all it took for everything to spiral. From that moment on, Juho wouldn’t stop begging for a home-cooked meal. Tae-rim tried insisting that heating up prepped ingredients from the fridge counted as cooking, but Juho didn’t buy it.
By now, Tae-rim was completely spoiled by food made by others. All he had to do was reheat a dish, and boom—a full-course meal. Honestly, it was amazing. Why would anyone give that up to cook from scratch?
Besides, he had a bad feeling that if he gave in once, Juho would keep asking for more. Tae-rim wasn’t a particularly great cook, and knowing Juho’s personality… He didn’t even want to think about it.
“I made you doenjang-jjigae this morning.”
“Not that kind of food~”
“It still counts as cooking.”
“Pssh. Even I can make that.”
“Then you’re a great cook too, Juho.”
“Ugh, hyung.”
Truthfully, the meals made by professionals always tasted better anyway. Tae-rim even pointed that out, but it made no difference. Juho just pouted harder.
“I like tasty food, Juho.”
“Yours would taste good too.”
“No way. The chef’s food is the best. They’re called professionals for a reason, you know?”
“……”
Juho was stubborn, but Tae-rim had his walls up too. The standoff continued, same as always.
“Ow!”
Maybe he hit peak frustration, because Juho suddenly bit down—right on Tae-rim’s shoulder through his shirt. It was a habit he’d picked up recently. Oddly enough, once he did it, he’d usually settle down, so Tae-rim just let him do it. If it felt weird in any way, he would’ve stopped him, but when Juho bit like this, it was clearly just a tantrum.
“You’re mean, hyung.”
“Yeah, I am.”
Juho clung to him for a while longer, then finally left. He pretended to stomp out in a sulk, but Tae-rim knew he was just heading to training. Still—he was adorable. Where had a kid like that even come from?
He was truly lucky he’d been able to save Juho back then. If Tae-rim had given up and run away, he would’ve been in danger himself—and Juho might’ve gotten seriously hurt during his second rampage. If things had gone worse, he might’ve died. Thinking about it again, Tae-rim was so, so glad he’d managed to bring him back.
Now if only the Incomplete Imprint would resolve, everything would be perfect. But it still hadn’t. Judging from how Juho no longer got upset when Tae-rim guided other Espers, he seemed to have given up to some extent. But clearly, there was still more holding him back. The Imprint hadn’t broken yet.
Dr. Han had once proposed that maybe Juho’s fear of dying had made his attachment stronger—but that was only a hypothesis. They couldn’t exactly ask Juho directly.
Cases like his were so rare that there weren’t many precedents, and the time it took for an Incomplete Imprint to dissolve varied wildly. Some people recovered in a week. Others took over a year.
Please don’t let it take a year, Tae-rim prayed silently. He was going out of his mind—none of his Guiding sessions with other Espers were going well. Sure, his paycheck kept landing in his account like clockwork, but there was a limit to living like a “salary thief.” He couldn’t just sit around forever. Tae-rim let out a long, heavy sigh.
It was still summer. The sun blazed outside the window. But since he was stuck indoors almost all the time, the heat didn’t really register. Not that he had any intention of turning off the air conditioner.
Tae-rim sat down at his desk and opened his laptop.
Might as well get some work done.
***
“Hyung. Hyyyuuung! Wake up, come on! Hyung!”
Seon Juho was shaking Lee Tae-rim with everything he had. But Tae-rim lay there, eyes gently closed, sleeping soundly without the slightest twitch. Juho had been trying to wake him for five minutes now, but he hadn’t stirred at all. Smirking, Juho raised one corner of his mouth.
Ever since he’d discovered he could emit pheromones too, Juho had been secretly conducting all sorts of experiments on Tae-rim while he slept.
Through those tests, he’d learned that his pheromones could influence Tae-rim’s emotions—and even affect his physical state. The more he explored it, the more fascinating pheromones became.
But the thing he loved most was this: he could put Tae-rim into an incredibly deep sleep.
Whenever Juho released pheromones with the desire to calm him, Tae-rim would fall into an unbelievably peaceful slumber—so deep, not even vigorous shaking could wake him.
He hadn’t gotten it right from the beginning; he’d had to wake Tae-rim up twice during the early attempts. But now, he had enough control to pull it off flawlessly. At first, all he’d wanted was for Tae-rim to sleep well—that was genuinely all there was to it.
But the deeper Tae-rim slept, the harder it became to suppress the darker impulses creeping in at the edges of his mind.
It was instinct—raw and undeniable. Tae-rim looked so sweet and vulnerable, lying there so still, like prey stretched out before him.
How could he not salivate?
Even though he kept telling himself to stop, the craving was impossible to resist.
What was even stranger was that his pheromones stayed quiet unless Tae-rim was nearby. They didn’t react to anything else. Sure, he could force them out if he wanted, but since no one but Tae-rim could sense them, there was no point. Besides, he didn’t want anyone else to pick up on it.
When Tae-rim wasn’t around, the scent lay dormant. But the moment he appeared, the pheromones would begin to stir—wild and uncontained.
And with that, Juho’s emotions would spike. His instincts would roar in his chest, urging him: Use the scent. Ensnare him. Wrap him up and claim him.
But then another instinct, quieter and more measured, would whisper:
Not yet. If you really want to make him yours, you’ll need more time.
And so Juho would press it all down—every impulse, every urge—because he knew that voice was the one telling the truth.
Oh no, the omegaverse voices in his head!