“Start with me. I’m a Defense-type—I’ll be useful.”
At that moment, Major Mateo stepped in, thrusting out his hand. His eyes gleamed with determination.
Kwon Jae-jin clasped his hand.
“Anyone else?”
“…We only get one shot at this. If it fails, we’ll kill Captain Seo immediately. First Special Operations Unit, assemble!”
Lieutenant Colonel Jang Tae-san swallowed down a curse as he issued the command. It felt like he was sending his men to their deaths.
But his instincts screamed the opposite.
Jang Tae-san had always had an extraordinary sixth sense—sharp enough to put Seo Eui-woo in difficult situations more than once. And right now, more than ever, that same instinct was telling him to trust Kwon Jae-jin.
“Remove one glove and hold Kwon Jae-jin’s hand. He will guide you. Once the process is complete, fall back and reform the defensive line.”
Under his orders, the members of the First Special Operations Unit took turns grasping Kwon Jae-jin’s hand. A few other Espers watching from the sidelines hesitated at first, but soon followed suit.
No Esper could resist the pull of an S-rank Guide.
It was natural to be drawn in.
Kwon Jae-jin completed the guiding in an instant.
With only brief contact, there was no need for an extended process. If it had been an ordinary Guide, they would have collapsed from exhaustion by now—but Kwon Jae-jin remained full of power.
Back when his core was small and incomplete, he hadn’t even known his own limits.
He hadn’t understood what depletion felt like.
He hadn’t fully grasped what guiding truly meant.
It’s fine.
Now, he understood.
If he guided Seo Eui-woo until his own energy was completely drained, he could bring him back. He just had to suppress the runaway power, restore balance, and stabilize the distortion.
It was what he had always done. For four years. Longer than that.
With Seo Eui-woo.
“Get me to him.”
By now, Seo Eui-woo had grown even more monstrous.
Suspended at the center of a sphere of spiraling energy, he hovered in midair.
Nearly half of his face had been swallowed by the spreading darkness, and his uncontrolled power was now harming even himself.
The ground had overturned. The city’s perimeter walls had crumbled. Shattered concrete rained down like hail.
“Come on. Stay behind me.”
Lieutenant Colonel Jang activated his Reinforcement-type ability, making himself a human shield.
A translucent, soap-bubble-like barrier expanded in front of them—it was Major Mateo’s power.
Several other Defense-type Espers joined them.
The Attack-types split into two groups—one for close combat, the other for long-range assault—clearing a path forward.
In truth, not all of the Special Operations Unit had any intention of following Kwon Jae-jin’s plan.
Most of them were only moving in to destroy Seo Eui-woo’s core.
They had their own motives.
But Kwon Jae-jin didn’t care.
As long as he could get close enough to reach Seo Eui-woo, the situation would become clear.
“Advance!”
Kwon Jae-jin stepped over the corpses of creatures, pressing forward.
With every step he took, the gravity felt heavier—like chains were clamped around his ankles, dragging through a torrential downpour.
Seo Eui-woo was still far away.
He had barely made any progress, yet cracks were already forming across the protective barrier.
“…A monster.”
The longer they hesitated, the stronger he became.
At the peak of his rampage, this would be nothing. Right now—at the very beginning—was when he was at his weakest.
The awakened soldiers knew this. That was why they didn’t stop.
The barrier shattered, crumbling apart.
Lieutenant Colonel Jang Tae-san took the brunt of the energy with his body, hardened to a state tougher than steel. He held out—just barely.
But eventually, even he reached his limit.
The Espers who had pushed their abilities to the max collapsed one by one.
Only Kwon Jae-jin remained, moving forward.
He had to reach Seo Eui-woo.
He stretched out his hand.
And in that instant—the raging storm of uncontrolled power… momentarily stilled.
Seo Eui-woo was holding himself back.
He was fighting against it.
He was enduring.
Seo Eui-woo let out a guttural cry, struggling to suppress the energy bursting from him.
Kwon Jae-jin didn’t waste a second—he grabbed him, pulling him into an embrace.
The moment their bodies connected, countless incomprehensible mysteries unraveled at once.
Kwon Jae-jin could guide Seo Eui-woo.
He saw it.
Clearly.
A bright, open path—a way to lead him back.
Up until now, he had been stumbling blindly through a tangled maze with no end in sight.
But now, it was like holding a map in his hands, a lantern lighting the way to the exit.
It was so simple. So easy.
He almost felt foolish for never realizing it before.
Because Kwon Jae-jin was a Guide.
“Come here.”
Seo Eui-woo. Come here.
He cupped Seo Eui-woo’s face with both hands, pulling him closer.
Their lips met—pressing against the darkness consuming Seo Eui-woo’s face.
And in that moment, their two cores resonated as one.
The wild, surging waves of energy calmed.
The raging ocean settled, and the forces that had spiraled out of control returned to their rightful places.
The untamed beast lurking in the abyss softened.
The coiled, wicked energy unraveled, scattering into the air.
It bloomed like petals, rising skyward, piercing through the clouds.
The unleashed power, once crackling like a thunderstorm, finally dissipated.
And when Kwon Jae-jin opened his eyes—
Seo Eui-woo’s face…
Was turning white.
Slowly.
Gradually.
His face returned to how it had once been—clear, youthful, pure, and breathtakingly beautiful.
His eyes seemed a shade darker at first, but when Kwon Jae-jin stared intently, they faded back into their familiar, soft gray, as if nothing had changed.
Kwon Jae-jin looked at Seo Eui-woo.
And Seo Eui-woo looked back at him.
“Jae-jin…”
Seo Eui-woo of the first timeline.
Seo Eui-woo of the second timeline.
A Seo Eui-woo who now carried the memories of both—the four months and the four years—within a single body.
He had returned to Kwon Jae-jin.
Whole.
Complete.
***
Afterward, it was officially concluded that Seo Eui-woo’s rampage had been caused by an unauthorized attack order issued by Brigadier General Oh Sung-hwa and other high-ranking conservatives.
To those unaware of the full circumstances, it appeared as if Seo Eui-woo had lost control after being ambushed by security forces.
A public hearing was held. Under the leadership of Vice Commander Hwang Bo Gi-cheon, severe disciplinary action was taken, and even Brigadier General Oh—the very tail end of the chain of command—was punished.
With the head of the conservative faction cut off, the remaining officers who had resisted change began shifting their stance, gauging the winds. Some voluntarily retired, while others defected to the reformist faction.
The transformation happened rapidly, too fast to stop.
And naturally, along with the changing tides, news of the Center’s restructuring spread.
Public perception of mutants completely reversed.
The emergence of an S-rank Guide was a major event, widely broadcasted, making headlines even among civilians.
To the general public, awakened individuals were celebrities.
There was no need to spell out how massive Kwon Jae-jin’s impact had become.
News stations flooded him with interview requests, his image played on a constant loop, and the revenue from exclusive awakened-only data transmissions alone deposited an unfathomable amount into his account.
With that, the existence of mutants—the fact that ordinary humans could awaken into something more—became widely known.
The Center officially established protocols for mutant treatment and pledged to correct its past failings.
Commander Choi Yul personally issued an apology to the families of the mutants who had died needlessly.
Humanity had finally taken its first steps into the next paradigm.
***
“This… wasn’t the original intent.”
It was a warm afternoon in the height of spring.
Seo Eui-woo and Kwon Jae-jin were at the Military Strategic Command Headquarters.
And the person speaking to them was none other than Commander Choi Yul himself.
Not a hologram.
But in the flesh.
Seo Eui-woo and Kwon Jae-jin had been summoned discreetly to Choi Yul’s private chamber—one of the most hidden, classified rooms within the Military Strategic Command Headquarters.
“You call it inhumane guiding—guiding focused purely on efficiency. But that was never its intended purpose.”
Commander Choi Yul lifted a steaming cup of green tea to his lips, blowing on it lightly. For a brief moment, a faint trace of regret flickered across his face.
“In truth, it was implemented to protect Guides.”
“…Protect?”
“Yes. I imagine that’s hard for you to believe. Impossible for you to understand, even.”
“…….”
“Guiding isn’t an infinite resource, you know. A Guide who pushes themselves too hard will burn out quickly. They need time to recover. But imagine—what happens when Espers, driven by pure instinct, start demanding guidance without restriction?”
Kwon Jae-jin, seated in front of the low table, slowly lifted his head.
His pitch-black eyes gleamed with a different light.
A brief silence passed before Commander Choi Yul continued, speaking as if reminiscing.
Like an old veteran sharing war stories with the younger generation, casual yet heavy with history.
“It was the Guides themselves who made that choice. Guiding through mucosal contact was simply more efficient. Rather than struggling with depletion, rather than suffering through exhaustion, they sought a faster, more effective way to guide and be done with it. Back in the early days of the New Military, this was considered a breakthrough.”
“…I see.”
“Of course, that was all a long time ago. Back then, as you’ve said yourselves, substitute guiding agents hadn’t even been developed yet. The number of awakened individuals was laughably small.
Even an A-rank Awakener was as rare as a drop of rain in a drought.”
“…Yes.”
“Guides made contact. Again and again. And eventually, that method became standard practice.
The Center itself solidified into an institution built on efficiency, and in the end, the system we have now—one that over-controls, isolates, and withholds information from Awakeners—was born from it.”
“…….”
“I’m not saying our predecessors were entirely right. But at the very least, it didn’t begin from pure malice. Even I… never intended to let things spiral out of control. I never intended to lose sight of our humanity.”
Change is organic. History is a living entity. What is outdated today was once considered enlightenment in the past.
“I suppose I’ve spent too long overlooking the fact that no virtue is absolute… no justice is ever truly complete.”
What is celebrated as a golden achievement today may become a disgrace tomorrow.
Sacrifice is inevitable.
And for that sacrifice not to be in vain, it must be mourned, remembered, and honored.
Humanity—civilization—could only continue by marching forward, step by step, toward progress.
Without arrogance.
Without blind faith.
With a conscious effort to carry meaning through each passing day.
