That was why Han Chul-yong had traveled the world in search of a Guide who could achieve a high matching rate with S-rank Espers. It was as if the world itself had decided that, in exchange for granting them immense power, their lives would be cut short—because there simply weren’t any suitable Guides to sustain them.
Then, almost by chance, one employee ran tests with Guides registered as D-rank. Even a 70% rate would have been a miracle, but the results showed a Guide with over 90%.
Across the entire Center, it was rare for an Esper and Guide to surpass 90% compatibility. The record had been 91%.
Yet this D-rank Guide had matching rates of 95%, 96%, and even 98%—and with three S-rank Espers, no less. Despite his low rank, the discovery was so extraordinary that top-tier Ability Users were immediately dispatched to retrieve him, no matter what it took.
Of course, being D-rank meant his Guiding mana would be too weak for sustained physical-contact Guiding, no matter the compatibility. But he was still better than a Guiding machine. Unlike with a human Guide, Espers grew resistant the more they relied on machines.
The devices also had hard limits on how much they could suppress Outbreak risk, and the more frequently they were used, the less effective they became. Not to mention the enormous Mana Stone cost for each session.
Just managing the Outbreak levels of three S-rank Espers consumed nearly 20% of the entire Center’s Mana Stone supply.
And even then, their Outbreak risk continued to climb by the day. Covering the cost of the Guide’s mother’s treatment would be expensive, but compared to the price of keeping those unstable Espers in check, it was still a bargain.
For the Guide, it wasn’t a bad offer either. A report on his life before coming to the Center suggested he should have been calling them his saviors. Outwardly, he seemed ordinary, but Espers had flocked to him at the establishment. Out of curiosity, Han Chul-yong had once shaken his hand.
The reaction had been immediate—his own compatibility with him was abysmal. The violent rejection that surged the instant their skin touched made it obvious even without a test.
Confirming that Kim Nabin was useless to him personally, Han Chul-yong dropped his mask. The arrogance he naturally showed to those beneath him hardened the lines around his eyes.
“Sit comfortably.”
His stiff posture on the sofa relaxed, slumping back into the cushions. He lifted the teacup from the table and gestured for Nabin to take one as well.
But Nabin, frozen under his contemptuous gaze, couldn’t even swallow. That look was all too familiar. The strange ones were Kim Su-hyun and Noh Si-woo.
Espers who visited the establishment—and even Kim Minsu himself—would lunge at him in frenzy, then sober up and look at him with the same gaze as the Center Director. Each time, Nabin felt less than human, like some filthy, worthless thing.
And he understood why. He thought of himself as filthy too. If he could, he would scrape the skin from his body with coarse sandpaper. His body was his own, but touched by countless hands, it only filled him with disgust.
If he could peel off his skin and wash away the filth, he would—pain be damned.
Like the scar at the corner of his lips that had vanished with treatment, his body was covered with countless marks. Most had been left by those who used him like an object, but many he had inflicted himself. Even now, he fought the urge to claw into his arms with his nails.
His hands clenched so tightly his palms throbbed as he lowered his gaze. Steam curled lazily from the teacup offered by the Director, but he didn’t have the strength to lift it.
Those who looked at him that way often despised even eye contact. Some would strike him, sneering that his eyes were filthy.
Nabin instinctively fell into the protective posture he had learned from enduring countless beatings—shoulders hunched, breath held so even that wouldn’t draw ire.
Whatever Nabin thought of himself, Han Chul-yong’s interest had already faded. As long as he properly Guided the S-rank Espers, there would be no reason for the two of them to meet again.
“I’ll be counting on you. As long as you Guide them properly, the Center will guarantee your safety—and your mother’s treatment.”
With that, Han Chul-yong pressed the call button. The office door opened, and a young woman with rimless glasses entered. Her hair was tied back in a flawless knot, not a single strand loose.
“Esper Kim Su-ryeon. Take Guide Kim Nabin to them.”
“Yes, Director.”
Kim Su-ryeon was one of Han Chul-yong’s closest aides, an A-rank Special Esper with the power of Allure. She stayed at his side, carrying out discreet missions under his command. A striking beauty, her blonde hair and blue eyes marked her mixed heritage.
She bowed, then tapped Nabin on the arm. Slouched deep into the sofa, he startled at her touch. Not wanting to touch him directly, she had prodded him with the end of a ballpoint pen.
Startled, Nabin scrambled to follow her. At the door, he turned to bow politely to the Director, but Han Chul-yong had already dismissed him completely.
Not even sparing him a glance, the man ignored him. That was the last thing Nabin saw before stepping out after Kim Su-ryeon.
The woman escorting him showed no hint of kindness either, but at least outside the oppressive air of the Director’s office, he could breathe easier.
He unclenched the fists he hadn’t realized he was holding so tightly. Deep nail marks marred his palms like scars. Stroking them, he tried to steady his breath.
“Guide Kim Nabin, focus and follow me.”
Her brisk command pulled him forward. The sharp click of her impossibly high heels snapped him out of his daze, and he hurried to keep up, afraid of losing her.
Yet as he trailed after her, he felt the eyes of everyone around him. Their stares were curious, like spectators at a rare animal exhibit.
Each gaze made his body lock up. He had been confined too long.
Except for weekly visits to his mother’s hospital, he had lived shut inside a windowless room, enduring relentless abuse.
At the Center, the first people he’d met—Kim Su-hyun and Noh Si-woo—had looked at him with warmth and sympathy, enough to ease his fear a little.
But today, neither the Director, nor Kim Su-ryeon, nor any of the countless passersby saw him as an equal.
It felt like they all already knew what kind of life he had lived. Some stared with curiosity, but many with contempt.
Some resented that a mere D-rank Guide had been granted a private audience with the Director and was to be assigned to S-rank Espers, glaring at him with jealous eyes.
A few looked at him with pity, like Kim Su-hyun and Noh Si-woo. But their sympathy was too faint to reach him, drowned out by the hostility.
Only when his breathing grew dangerously uneven did Kim Su-ryeon finally stop. Without checking on him, she opened a large door and stepped inside.
Click.
The door shut, and Nabin released the breath he’d been holding. Sometimes he simply couldn’t breathe, and this was one of those times.
He cupped his hands over his nose and mouth, forcing himself to breathe slowly. It was an emergency technique Mangchi had taught him—the only one at the establishment who had ever shown him compassion. Nabin never wanted to see Kim Minsu again, but sometimes he wondered how Mangchi was doing.
As he struggled to calm his breathing, the door opened again.
“Why are you just standing there?”
Seeing he hadn’t followed her in, Kim Su-ryeon stepped back out. Her scolding voice dripped with annoyance.
“I-I’m sorry…”
Nabin bowed low, wiping his sweat-slick palms against his pants. His expression was so abjectly guilty that her irritation eased.
The sharp tilt of her eyes softened. She pulled the door wide open for him.
Through the doorway, the room looked like a lounge, with soft sofas and a table. Nothing seemed out of place at first glance.
But Nabin froze. From the open crack spilled an oppressive energy so sharp it made his skin prickle. It was heavier, more suffocating, than even the Director’s office.
