Seon Juho stroked his cock, slick with cum and making wet, sticky sounds, while replaying every detail of how Lee Tae-rim had been today. He was nearly driven mad with jealousy, but the arousal was impossible to resist. Tae-rim was pure provocation—irresistible.
Maybe it was time to escape after all. It had been about a week since mucous membrane Guiding became part of their routine. No—just a week. And yet, it already felt like the norm. If they left this place, Tae-rim would probably return to how he used to be. There’d be no more daily sessions like this.
Scowling, Seon Juho gripped himself harder. He was furious at how selfish he’d become. Even knowing Tae-rim was being worn down more and more each day, he couldn’t let go of his desire. He hated that about himself.
“Ngh…”
Still, the orgasm hit. Tae-rim’s pheromones, which still lingered on his body, held him tight in that pleasure. The scent of Tae-rim aroused—God, it was so sweet. He wanted to devour him whole. Swallow every part of him and keep him deep inside his own body. His breathing grew ragged, uncontrollable.
“Haa… Haah…”
Seon Juho finished earlier than usual. The tight ache in his lower abdomen faded, and his painfully swollen cock returned to its normal state. He couldn’t go another round—he felt too guilty toward Tae-rim.
Panting, he stepped into the cold shower. He knew the truth. Tae-rim wouldn’t be able to see him as a mere child anymore. But this desperate clinging—this way of looking only at Seon Juho—would vanish once they left this place. The sweetness of it made him ache with regret.
Unlike Seon Juho, who was fine on his own, Tae-rim couldn’t stand being alone. He always pretended he was okay, but Seon Juho knew better. And he also knew that it was impossible for Tae-rim’s world to revolve around him alone.
But he still wanted it. Tae-rim’s thoughts, his gaze, entirely filled with Seon Juho—this current reality was intoxicating. And the longer it lasted, the more he wanted it to continue. Even knowing Tae-rim would never ask for this, he couldn’t help but hope.
There was only one thing he wanted: Lee Tae-rim. Everything else was meaningless.
He knew his obsession wasn’t normal. Espers becoming attached to their Guides was supposed to be natural—but Seon Juho understood the difference. He wasn’t like the others. He couldn’t even be compared to them.
The difference, of course, was the pheromones. He had no idea what they really were, only that they drove him right to the edge, over and over. When he thought of Tae-rim, all that remained was the instinct to possess him. His scent, his body—everything about Tae-rim belonged to him. That’s why he wanted to hide him somewhere no one else could see.
But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Tae-rim was his one and only weakness. Which meant Seon Juho could never be strong in front of him.
He could never force Tae-rim to do something he didn’t want to. And so, even in this situation, Seon Juho had no choice but to lose. Soon, he would take Tae-rim and leave this place behind. He couldn’t bear to watch him dry up, a little more every day.
When he finished showering, the woman came—just like always—and dragged him back to the lab to pump him full of drugs. She had to know by now that none of it worked on him. But she kept pushing anyway, convinced he held the key to something they all desperately wanted.
Seon Juho could only laugh. He had no intention of giving them anything. But the woman never gave up. She kept going on about the hopes of humanity—nonsense that had nothing to do with him.
Sacrificing yourself for the world? Sure, it sounded noble. Maybe even right. But not all sacrifices were the same. No one had the right to force someone else to make that choice.
If they wanted a sacrifice so badly, they could offer themselves. It wasn’t even that hard. They just had to inject those same drugs into their own bodies—just like they’d done to countless test subjects before.
“Do you realize you nearly caused an earthquake today? I know we don’t interfere with each other’s research, but if the base gets put at risk, I’ll have no choice but to revoke Dr. Kwak’s authority.”
“I’ve been keeping tabs on things.”
“Isn’t it time to stop?”
“I decide when it’s time.”
Seon Juho looked down at the old man once again scolding the woman. The man cast a glance at him inside the capsule and clicked his tongue.
“That one’s a failure. Hopeless.”
“……”
He wasn’t wrong—and the woman seemed to know it too. The old man left the lab with a parting warning to keep it in check. As soon as he was gone, the woman spat a few curses under her breath and shot a glare at Seon Juho.
But a glare wouldn’t change anything. Seon Juho had no intention of leaving Tae-rim behind.
In the end, he returned to solitary confinement—same as every other day. The woman, still bitter after being exposed by the old man, grumbled the whole way back. Even after he was far down the hall, he caught her muttering the word Guide. She had to know Espers had good hearing, but she kept complaining anyway.
She still only saw him as a test subject. That’s the only way she could speak so carelessly. Talking about how that damned old man’s next target was District 3… If she actually thought of him as a person, she would’ve never said any of that.
Seon Juho sneered. Whatever she wanted, whatever that old man wanted—none of it was ever going to happen. The test subject they refused to see as human was planning to take his Guide and disappear. And for someone with a heart as soft as his, this was as far as he could go. He couldn’t stand to see Tae-rim suffer any longer.
***
Lee Ki-uk was genuinely furious today. To be precise, there had been an actual earthquake—not metaphorically, but a real seismic event. Fortunately, it had been so minor that humans couldn’t perceive it, and they’d been able to let it slide.
But that kind of luck wouldn’t last forever. If the tremors continued, someone might come searching for the epicenter. And earthquakes were no joke—they were among the most dangerous natural disasters in existence.
More importantly, an earthquake could be catastrophic for this base. No matter how well it had been reinforced, it was still built underground. There was no way it could remain completely unaffected. In the worst-case scenario, the earth could collapse and expose everything hidden inside.
Lee Ki-uk hadn’t thrown himself into years of research just to have it all go up in smoke over something like this. Like the rest of Molt, his ultimate goal was the erasure of the Gates. But getting exposed here, in such a meaningless and pathetic way, was unacceptable.
Lately, he’d been forced to confront the limits of what he could accomplish alone. Complete erasure was beyond his reach by himself. That meant he had no choice but to bring in other talent—even if he had to resort to blackmail to do it.
He was planning to make one thing clear to the government: that Molt could wipe out humanity whenever it wanted. A shock that severe might finally crack the thick skulls of those bastards who only ever chased profit and self-interest.
The machines he’d handed over to those fools at Central had been the size of a torso—but that was just the early prototype. The current Gate Generator was small enough to fit in the palm of a hand. With a boosted Teleportation-type Esper, transporting the device was child’s play.
The Amplifier used to boost Esper abilities had been developed in the now-defunct labs of Districts 1 through 8. It was made by extracting ESP from amplification-type Espers, and the number of doses that could be produced was extremely limited. After all, making it required sacrificing Espers with rare abilities.
The side effects were brutal. After a few uses, the Esper would inevitably go berserk and die. And yet Dr. Kim had wasted one of those precious doses just to send back Test Subject D—on a completely pointless mission. That incident had left Lee Ki-uk deeply disappointed in him.
When you’re aiming for something monumental, you have to be willing to cast aside the small things. Lee Ki-uk understood the desire for revenge against fallen comrades. He even understood Dr. Kwak’s obsession with completing her research. Especially if it felt like the last missing piece of a grand design.
But from where Lee Ki-uk stood, the puzzle piece Dr. Kwak was clinging to was already broken. No amount of stubbornness could make it fit.
Today, when he looked into the cold, indifferent eyes of Test Subject K, Lee Ki-uk saw the truth plain as day. That piece was already beyond repair—and worse, it was dangerous.
He clicked his tongue in frustration and hoped Dr. Kwak would come to her senses before it was too late.
