When they arrived at the Guide ward to treat his arm, Yoon Do-jae sat with a stiff expression, watching closely as Kang Chi-yu’s wound was being tended to.
The injury weighed heavily on him—it was, after all, caused because of him.
Before long, the camera crew had followed them in and was filming everything, capturing the whole scene as it unfolded.
Because Do-jae was staring at his wound with such a grim face, Chi-yu couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.
“Why do you look so serious?”
“…Sorry?”
“I’m fine.”
“Ah… my apologies. I should’ve been more careful.”
“It was Tae-oh who suddenly lashed out. Anyway… Esper Yoon Do-jae, are you okay? You didn’t get hurt, did you?”
“I’m fine. Esper Hyun Tae-oh may have lost his temper, but he wasn’t actually trying to hurt anyone.”
“…Oh.”
“You’ve known him a long time, so I’m sure you know—Esper Hyun Tae-oh might have a bad temper, but deep down, he’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, he is. He’s softer than people think.”
“Yes, I know.”
“He just acts mean because he doesn’t like people. If you look past that, he’s honestly a really decent person.”
“Yes, I know that too.”
Do-jae gave a quiet nod.
Hearing that Do-jae also understood Tae-oh’s better side—the one Chi-yu thought only he knew—warmed him a little. It even made him think that maybe Yoon Do-jae really could be Tae-oh’s friend.
“Esper Yoon Do-jae, you’re different from the rumors.”
“…What rumors?”
“They say you’re the quiet, reserved type. But earlier you were talking a lot with Tae-oh. It surprised me.”
“…Ah… well, for some reason, I end up talking more whenever I’m around Esper Hyun Tae-oh.”
“Really? That’s funny. I wonder why. Haha.”
Chi-yu chuckled to himself, but Do-jae kept staring at him.
Then, after a moment of thought, Do-jae turned to the camera director who was filming and asked if they could stop recording for a while.
When Chi-yu gave him a puzzled look, Do-jae asked for both the mic and camera to be turned off, saying they needed a short break to talk privately. The director nodded and stepped back with the equipment.
The doctor tending to Chi-yu also excused himself, saying he’d prepare an ointment prescription, and left the room.
Once they were alone, Do-jae looked at Chi-yu and asked,
“There’s something I’d like to know. May I ask?”
“Huh? Ah, sure.”
“Do you, by chance, like Esper Hyun Tae-oh?”
Chi-yu’s face went rigid.
“…What…?”
Seeing him so shaken, far more than expected, Do-jae masked his unease and pressed on.
“No matter how I look at it, it doesn’t seem like Esper Hyun Tae-oh thinks of Guide Kang Chi-yu as just a friend. Do you think so too?”
Chi-yu shook his head quickly.
“No, it’s not like that. Tae-oh… it’s just that ever since he was young, I was his only human friend…”
Do-jae considered his words for a moment, then said firmly,
“Esper Hyun Tae-oh definitely doesn’t see you as just a friend.”
“…Ah… it’s just easy to misunderstand because of his personality.”
“Regardless of personality—friends don’t guide each other like that.”
“….”
“I saw the special episode.”
“…Ah, well, that… there were reasons for that…”
Chi-yu’s embarrassment was obvious.
Do-jae, still calm and steady, continued,
“There are only two things I want to know. First, do you like Esper Hyun Tae-oh? Second, if he likes you, would you consider dating him?”
“….”
“When I said I liked you, Guide Kang Chi-yu, I wasn’t speaking lightly.”
His voice was steady, his expression composed, but his ears burned red.
***
Meanwhile, left alone, Hyun Tae-oh was drowning in turmoil.
The idea of a “line between friends” was foreign to him. He’d never understood the difference between what friends could do and what lovers could do.
To him, Kang Chi-yu was irreplaceable—his one and only precious person. And he believed the only way to stay by Chi-yu’s side forever was as a friend.
A relationship like lovers, one that could end, felt unstable and frightening. But friendship was safe, steady, and lasting. That was enough—until he heard that word. Line.
Limits.
Where did a friend’s involvement end? The thought gnawed at him, shaking even the definition of their bond.
That vague but universal notion—friends can go only so far, and no further—now loomed like a wall.
The worst part was realizing that, as just a “friend,” he had no right to keep Yoon Do-jae away, no right to push him out.
When Chi-yu himself said that friendship and romance were different, the line was drawn.
Obvious, yes—but until then, he hadn’t seen it. And absurdly enough, it was Yoon Do-jae’s words that carved the boundary sharp and clear.
Things reserved for lovers.
The comfort and safety he had always taken for granted in friendship suddenly felt meaningless.
His feelings for Kang Chi-yu had always been clear and undeniable. But realizing he’d confined them within the easy definition of friendship now seemed painfully foolish.
Someone he could never lose. Someone he wanted forever by his side. Someone he couldn’t allow to be taken by anyone else.
In the end, Kang Chi-yu was never someone Hyun Tae-oh could be satisfied with as just a friend. And now, finally, he understood that.
Thinking of Yoon Do-jae’s confession, Tae-oh scowled.
He’d disliked that man from the start.
Every time their eyes met, he could see the blatant affection Do-jae held for Chi-yu, and it had always kept him wary.
It wasn’t conscious thought—it was instinct. The raw instinct of a beast protecting what was his.
That was why Yoon Do-jae should never have been part of this program.
It would’ve been better to bring in someone like Beom Do-il, another colleague of Chi-yu’s. But because he hated the idea of Chi-yu guiding anyone else, he had let both Min Yu-hyun and Yoon Do-jae through.
Rubbing a hand down his face, Tae-oh regretted not removing Yoon Do-jae from the lineup while he had the chance.
***
Chi-yu, for his part, was stunned by Yoon Do-jae’s confession.
He had never once been confessed to by an Esper in this way. And considering their ranks and divisions, it didn’t make sense. Do-jae, an S-rank in Team 1, worked on entirely different sites—when had he even seen Chi-yu enough to develop feelings?
And those two questions—what was that supposed to mean?
He couldn’t exactly admit to liking Hyun Tae-oh. And Tae-oh wasn’t looking to date him, so answering was impossible.
Seeing his flustered expression, Do-jae gave a sheepish smile.
“If it’s difficult to answer, you don’t have to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“…Ah…”
Chi-yu faltered, awkward, and Do-jae realized he wouldn’t get an answer. He continued gently,
“I only ask that you remember one thing—that I like you, Guide Kang Chi-yu.”
Chi-yu’s eyes widened. The air between them shifted. Then Do-jae asked cautiously,
“Will my confession make things uncomfortable between us this week?”
“…Ah, no… I don’t think so…”
Chi-yu shook his head, though his voice trailed off.
It was polite to say no, but of course it would be. Honestly, it already was.
Spending the next week partnered with someone who had just confessed—it was impossible for that not to be awkward. Especially when it came so suddenly, from someone he’d never once considered in that way.
But admitting that out loud would only make things worse.
“Honestly, selfishly, I hope you’ll keep being conscious of me, Guide Kang Chi-yu. But I don’t want to trouble you…”
Knock, knock.
The door opened.
“Ah, are you not done talking yet?”
The doctor had returned with a small packet of prescription ointment. Sensing the heavy atmosphere, he asked cautiously.
“No, we’re done.”
Do-jae stepped back.
The doctor nodded and handed the medicine to Chi-yu.
“Guide Kang Chi-yu, apply this regularly once you’re home. Because of how the injury was caused, it’ll take longer to heal than normal…”
Chi-yu nodded absently, the words barely registering.
All he could feel was the weight of Do-jae’s gaze lingering on him, making him restless.
It wasn’t that he disliked Yoon Do-jae.
But he didn’t like him either. His heart still belonged to Hyun Tae-oh.
Even after resolving to let go—after learning that Tae-oh had let someone else into his family home—he hadn’t made room for anyone else to take his place.
Sure, part of why he’d joined the program was the vague idea of pairing with someone new. But that had been nothing more than a passing thought.
For Chi-yu, it was still all about Hyun Tae-oh. He was everything.
That was why, even after Do-jae’s sudden confession, the person shaking his heart was still Tae-oh. And realizing that made him feel suffocated.
Whether it was because of the confession, or simply because he’d been forced to recognize how much Tae-oh still occupied him, he couldn’t tell. But either way, he knew he couldn’t stay like this.
If he was going to let go of Tae-oh, then naturally, he should make room for someone else. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. And that was the real problem.
As he turned the thought over in his mind, Chi-yu began to wonder if it might be better to finally learn the whole truth about Tae-oh and Min Yu-hyun’s relationship.
Until now, he had only run away, afraid of the pain. But maybe it was time to face it head-on.
If he could look the truth in the eye—accept it fully, even if it left him resigned—then maybe, finally, he’d be able to let someone new into his heart.
