The heavy stench of cigarette smoke clung to Hosoo as he reentered the training hall.
Without missing a beat, Hosoo walked straight over and pretended to retest Kwon Ho-eun’s guiding capacity. He didn’t even bother printing a new results sheet and, feigning sympathy, told Ho-eun he had scored 18%.
Hearing his low percentage didn’t faze Ho-eun in the slightest. But watching Hosoo put on that insincere, concerned act—“Oh no, what are we going to do with a result this low?”—sparked nothing but contempt in him. Has this bastard lost his mind?
To Ho-eun, the first test result didn’t matter. What really mattered was the second one.
While Hosoo had been gone, Kim Se-hee had leaned in and, with a worried tone, told him something shocking.
Apparently, Ahn Oh-hyuk—the one he’d put in the hospital—was now going around warning Espers stationed at the Incheon branch. He was telling them that any Esper who got assigned to intern with Guide Kwon Ho-eun would be marked by his group.
Now that he’d lost the chance to work with Do In-ho, Ho-eun desperately needed to find a new Esper to complete the second test. But things were looking bleak.
If I can’t find an Esper to guide for the second assessment… what happens to my score? Does that mean I get zero?
Damn it! I should’ve just punched that Ahn Oh-hyuk in the mouth when I had the chance! Eating would be hell, and his whole life would be misery right about now.
Just wait till I see you again, Ahn Oh-hyuk…
While he was stewing in rage, burning with thoughts of revenge, Hosoo’s voice sliced through the silence.
“Alright. That’s it for today. You might think we didn’t do much, but there’s a physical assessment tomorrow. So get plenty of rest and show me what you’ve got. Don’t show up half-dead.”
He handed out two sheets of paper to each of them. The first listed the categories for the physical test. The second was a Guiding Practice Application Form—presumably to be filled out by an Esper.
“Some of you have already chosen your practice partners for Friday’s session, and some haven’t. Don’t think you’ve got all the time in the world. Make your decision now. If you haven’t found someone yet, I’ve got a list of Espers who can help with training. If you need one, stick around and I’ll give it to you.”
Like a lifeline suddenly tossed to a drowning man, Ho-eun immediately lifted his head.
A list of Espers who could help with the practicum. Maybe fate wasn’t entirely against him after all.
No need to go begging Espers around the branch, asking for favors until his throat went raw. If the names were on that list, all he had to do was pick one and ask.
Deciding to grab that lifeline, Ho-eun waited until the others had cleared out of the training room and stepped forward, hand outstretched.
“I’ll take the list.”
“Hm. So you’re the only one of the three who couldn’t find a partner, huh?”
“I’ve got my reasons.”
“Sure you do. And I happen to know exactly what those reasons are. The guy I’m gonna suggest is the kind who’ll do whatever I say, no matter what.”
“Seriously? I figured no one would want to work with me right now.”
“That doesn’t matter. This guy doesn’t have a single friend in the world. You two are a perfect match.”
Something about that rubbed Ho-eun the wrong way, but he bit his tongue. Getting through the second practicum safely was more important.
Hosoo glanced sideways, noticing Ho-eun’s clenched fists trembling, and let out a faint smirk.
“Well? Give it here.”
Ho-eun gritted his teeth and pressed the request again. Hosoo casually raised his baton and flicked it through the air. A single sheet of paper fluttered down in front of Ho-eun.
He grabbed it and read the name printed on the page.
“…Do In-ho?”
Staring blankly at the profile before him, Ho-eun was startled by the sound of the metal door creaking open behind him.
And there he was—Do In-ho, who had already turned him down twice, claiming he couldn’t be his practicum partner. Upon spotting Ho-eun, In-ho tilted his head slightly, looking confused.
That’s the face I should be making right now, not you.
As Ho-eun’s expression twisted into disbelief, Hosoo’s shoulders began to shake with amusement.
“Ahem. Come on, now. Aren’t you two going to say hello?”
Hosoo covered his mouth with his hand, but he was clearly laughing. Just as Ho-eun turned to protest, the baton sliced through the air in front of him—dangerously close—shutting him up instantly.
“First, let’s deal with this.”
Hosoo tapped Ho-eun’s Guide Watch with the baton. The watch on his left wrist vanished.
“We’re about to have a private conversation. That Guide Watch has a built-in recorder. Can’t have it picking up what we’re about to discuss.”
That made no sense. A private conversation? Then this wasn’t about introducing Do In-ho as a practicum partner?
Even In-ho seemed confused, his body language betraying a flicker of unease.
Hosoo sat them both down on the sofa and began pacing in front of them, then raised his baton to point at In-ho.
“First off, Do In-ho. I told you to stay put and keep quiet until the designated Overload date.”
“……”
“You got reported to the Disciplinary Committee over an altercation with a Guide. Your punishment’s been finalized—no more official Guiding and no more prescribed stimulant meds.”
Ho-eun’s eyes widened in shock. This was the first he’d heard about In-ho being disciplined. He couldn’t even imagine In-ho fighting with a Guide. The last time he saw him, In-ho was the one being harassed by a group of Guides, and Ho-eun had stepped in to help. That guy got into a fight with a Guide?
Hosoo turned to face him.
“What? Got something to say? Feeling guilty?”
“Not guilty—just confused.”
“No guilt, huh? Then maybe jog your memory a bit. Like that time you butted into someone else’s business—say, an Esper being harassed by a bunch of Guides?”
Hosoo’s words dripped with sarcasm, and a gnawing suspicion crept into Ho-eun’s mind.
No way… Was that group of Guides from Ahn Oh-hyuk’s crew?
He’d once asked if charges of assault between Guides would actually stick—and now they were answering him through action.
But it wasn’t Guide Kwon Ho-eun being punished. It was the innocent Esper, Do In-ho.
A crushing sense of guilt weighed on his chest. He glanced at In-ho, but the man just sat there, expression unreadable. No judgment in his eyes—just blank indifference. As always, it was impossible to guess what he was thinking.
“In-ho, I have a vested interest in collecting your Ability Core. But now that you’re under restriction, the odds of you Overloading early have skyrocketed. Since I can’t officially Guide you, I can’t step in myself. And if you get sent on missions in the meantime, the meds you’ve got left won’t cut it.”
Muttering as he rubbed his jaw, Hosoo raised his baton and pointed it at Ho-eun.
“But… you can still be Guided by intern Kwon Ho-eun. Since he’s not a full-time employee, this doesn’t count as official Guiding. And even if he accidentally releases some Broadcast Guiding without knowing it, no one can say a word about it. Plus, Kwon Ho-eun—you’ve got a reason to Guide Do In-ho, don’t you?”
“……!!”
“If you list him as your practicum partner, you can even do a direct Guiding session under the guise of training.”
“Wait, hold on. Are you saying I should Guide him to time his Overload properly?”
“Yup. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
Hosoo looked completely innocent, like a child wondering what the problem was. He plucked the application form from Ho-eun’s hands and held it out to Do In-ho.
Unlike Ho-eun, who kept asking questions, In-ho hadn’t said a single word so far. And true to form, he signed the form without comment.
Then, without prompting, he passed the paper to Ho-eun—apparently the Guide’s signature was required too.
Ho-eun stared down at the form, now crumpled in his hands.
He said no when I asked him to partner with me for the practicum. But now, because he’s planning to die on a schedule, he agrees?
The bitter taste in his mouth was unbearable.
“What happens if he Overloads before the scheduled date?”
“Hmm? Well, if he goes off somewhere other than the stage we’ve set up, civilians might get caught in the blast. And if someone else snatches the Core, the aftermath depends on whether they’re affiliated with the government or not.”
“……”
“So yeah. It’s best for everyone if he just explodes on schedule, nice and clean.”
“…Ha.”
Ho-eun let out a laugh—dry, bitter, incredulous. Not a single word about what Do In-ho might suffer if his Overload comes early. That part just gets swept under the rug.
They didn’t see Do In-ho as a person. Just a container holding a valuable Core.
Maybe that’s why.
Maybe that’s why what made Ho-eun angriest was Do In-ho himself. Why are you letting them treat you like this? Don’t you have even the slightest hesitation about dying like this?
Ho-eun didn’t know much about Espers. Didn’t really know what they did, or how their powers worked.
But even without that knowledge… Espers could help people just by being alive. So why was In-ho so focused on helping others by dying?
“…What’s wrong? You getting cold feet?”
It was like Hosoo had read his mind. This time, Ho-eun wanted to say yes. If not for Ahn Oh-hyuk, he would’ve found a different partner—someone who wasn’t Do In-ho.
This felt… dirty. Like he was participating in harvesting In-ho’s Core.
If I were just a little smarter… If I understood Espers and Guides better… If I were S-rank, like the man in front of me… would I be able to help properly? Would I be less of a clueless pawn?
“It’s the Guide who decides whether an Esper lives or dies.”
The words Hosoo had once flippantly tossed at him resurfaced in his mind.
Ho-eun didn’t know what the hell he was doing as a Guide. He had no idea what kind of person a Guide had to be if they were the one choosing between life and death for Espers. So of course someone like Hosoo could manipulate him so easily.
But… just like last time, he wanted to save Do In-ho.
Even if Do In-ho didn’t want to be saved—Ho-eun couldn’t accept a death like this.
“I’m the reason he got punished. So why is he the one paying for it?”
Ho-eun signed the form.
He handed the wrinkled paper back to Hosoo, who smirked like he knew this would happen all along.
With that, Hosoo left the room, apparently done with his business.
Now the two of them were alone in silence, the air thick with awkwardness. Ho-eun finally broke it, speaking softly.
“Do In-ho… do you still want to die?”
The only sound in the training room was the soft hum of the ventilation system. In-ho’s expression hadn’t changed from the moment he entered.
“Yes. That’s the only reason I’m alive.”
“Who gave you that reason? Not someone else. You’ve never asked yourself what you want?”
“My opinion doesn’t matter.”
“If you never think for yourself, you stop being you. So… what I mean is… at least while you’re with me, can you try to think for your own sake?”
Ho-eun’s voice trembled. He wanted to drag the people who had reduced In-ho to this—this empty shell—and punch them one by one. And even then, he doubted the rage would fade.
