Feeling confused, Hye-seong turned to Dr. Na and asked,
“Is this where Yoo Ji-ho usually gets his guiding?”
“Ah, usually, yes. He doesn’t get guided often to begin with, and for protection… no, I mean, for security and data reasons, it’s just better to do it here when it takes longer.”
“Ah, I see.”
“There are too many eyes and ears in the standard guiding rooms. This entire floor is only used by my research team.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that…”
Nodding with a bewildered expression, Hye-seong shifted his gaze back to where Yoo Ji-ho was.
“Especially since you’re here today, Hye-seong, we should go all out and run a full precision scan. His condition’s getting worse again, so I’m counting on you.”
“Okay…”
When Hye-seong looked at Yoo Ji-ho again, his expression had grown more serious. Whether it was the cool lighting or something else, Ji-ho looked unusually pale. His face was far stiffer than it had been at the office.
“You know Yoo Ji-ho’s information is classified, right? I’m sure you understand. But I’ll say it again—don’t talk about this anywhere, not even in passing.”
“Yes, I’ll be careful.”
Espers’ basic wave patterns are displayed in real time on devices that look like smartwatches, and that data is collected at the Center’s main headquarters for protection purposes. Most of the research and guiding management for Yoo Ji-ho was also dependent on this data.
Collected information was accessible to team guides or, in cases like Hye-seong’s, to a select few others. But since this data could potentially expose weaknesses, strict confidentiality was essential. Even authorized access was limited to the specific Esper they were assigned to.
“Just be careful with everything. Even saying something like ‘he looked tired today,’ or ‘he said he had a headache’—try not to let even small things like that slip out. There was a time someone leaked a comment about Ji-ho having a headache and it caused chaos—rumors about an out-of-control Esper and whatnot… The whole country was in an uproar.”
“Oh…”
Hye-seong had already learned during his training that Espers’ information was treated as national security, but he also vividly remembered the incident Dr. Na had just mentioned—he’d seen it with his own eyes.
When an S-rank Esper had first appeared in South Korea, it hadn’t been long since then. At the time, Yoo Ji-ho was still young, and his striking looks only made him more of a media sensation. Back then, even the Supernatural Management Research Institute had actively tried to capitalize on his popularity.
That intense public fascination—like a fire that wouldn’t die down—eventually became a more manageable ember, and only then did the Institute begin to shift toward actually protecting Espers.
It had all started with a baseless tip-off—someone claimed Yoo Ji-ho had a headache. That was all it took for the public to treat him like a ticking time bomb.
Some news outlets pushed the narrative that the popular, celebrity-like Esper was, in fact, no different from a monster. They stoked fear about rampaging Espers day after day. What followed was a prolonged, heated public debate about Yoo Ji-ho.
Some even argued that every “high-risk Esper” should have a kill-switch chip implanted that could end their life instantly, just in case.
All of that had happened after Hye-seong owed his life to Yoo Ji-ho.
Thinking back to that time when the entire country was in an uproar, Hye-seong answered in a heavy voice.
“…I’ll be careful, Doctor.”
“Then let’s begin. Head out to the hallway and go through the door on your right.”
“Okay.”
As he opened the lab door, Hye-seong reminded himself just how heavy the responsibility he now carried truly was. From the data he’d reviewed earlier that morning, it was clear that Yoo Ji-ho’s condition was in a severe state. Hye-seong had wondered whether he’d shown signs of Chronic Guiding Deficiency even before he was assigned a Pair Guide, and how long it had lasted. But that kind of historical data wasn’t accessible to him.
Still, he’d wanted to help, even if only a little—that’s why he’d sent the message, even though he’d hesitated. He hadn’t expected they’d prepare a space for him in the lab like this. Obviously, the research team had their own thoughts about Ji-ho’s wave patterns.
Now it was clear: Yoo Ji-ho’s guiding wasn’t just between him and Baek Hye-seong. That made Hye-seong want to do even better.
But the moment he stepped into the lab, something felt… off. More uncomfortable than it had looked from outside. Something was just—
“Ah, hello…”
“Yes.”
Hye-seong quickly turned his head toward the glass wall he’d looked through earlier. From the inside, that glass wasn’t a window—it was a mirror.
“……”
Yeah, this place didn’t feel like a lab. It felt more like… an interrogation room.
He turned back to watch the researchers attaching patches to Ji-ho’s body.
No matter how much he tried to see it from the Center’s perspective, this didn’t look like the right place for guiding at all.
He’d learned at school that guiding required both the Esper and the Guide to be emotionally stable. Especially for Espers suffering from guiding deficiency, emotional reassurance was supposed to be the foundation.
That’s why the Yeouido Center’s guiding rooms were designed to be comfortable and cozy.
But this… this wasn’t what he’d learned. No other Espers received guiding in conditions like this.
While Hye-seong was still looking around in confusion, Yoo Ji-ho, seated in the chair, looked sharply at the researcher.
“You want me to take it off?”
“Yes, we’re using a different machine today, so…”
And as if to prove everything Hye-seong had been taught, Ji-ho looked visibly uncomfortable. Like someone who’d been dragged here against his will.
Then Ji-ho’s gaze landed on Hye-seong.
“……”
“……”
Ji-ho looked him up and down, then turned his gaze away again. He began undoing the buttons on his shirt, one by one. His eyes stared into the air, sharp and intense—completely different from the ones Hye-seong had seen earlier that morning.
“Right. As if I have any say in this.”
“Ha ha…”
“Isn’t that right?”
“Ha ha ha ha.”
He turned his gaze away from the awkwardly laughing researcher and looked back at Hye-seong. When their eyes met, Ji-ho raised the corner of his lips.
“Is this fascinating to you?”
“Ah, n-no. Not fascinating at all…”
But even as he said that, Hye-seong couldn’t take his eyes off the scene. Unlike the usual patch that was placed only on the arm, this time patches were being attached all over Ji-ho’s exposed upper body. When the researchers finished, they all quickly exited the room.
Now Hye-seong stood awkwardly in front of Ji-ho, who was covered in wires.
“Go ahead and do whatever you want, Hye-seong. I don’t have any authority here.”
“…Huh?”
He asked the question instinctively, startled.
Ji-ho was leaning back in the chair, slouched, looking up at him. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, hands in his pants pockets.
“What do you mean, you don’t have any authority?”
“I’m not allowed to touch a Guide.”
“…Why not?”
“Beats me. I don’t know either.”
“……”
“What can I do? Just have to do what I’m told.”
Ji-ho ended with a faint smile.
It was beautiful—just like always—but it also looked a little tired. That made Hye-seong’s heart feel unbearably heavy.
“Th-then, I’ll…”
He was flustered, but he’d guided Ji-ho once before when he was asleep. This time, he was just awake. Nothing else had changed.
Maybe Ji-ho had been asleep that time because he was used to receiving guiding in this kind of atmosphere. Because he knew all too well that he could be dangerous to Guides.
Because the world had never let him forget it—over and over again, in the harshest ways.
Slowly, Hye-seong reached out to him. He didn’t even think to sit down. All he could think about was calming Yoo Ji-ho—their hero.
And under the pale fluorescent light, Hye-seong’s slender fingers touched Ji-ho’s hair. Stroking gently as his fingers threaded through the strands, Hye-seong murmured softly,
“You’ve done really well.”
“……”
“You’ve held on so long.”
But instead of continuing to stroke his hair, Hye-seong’s hand barely lingered before pulling away.
“Yoo Ji-ho.”
He couldn’t meet the other man’s eyes—those eyes looking up at him in stunned confusion. It made sense. He hadn’t even properly started the guiding, and now he was stopping. But even so, Hye-seong couldn’t bring himself to give a proper answer. He just took one step back.
Then he turned to face the mirror. The glass wall that was watching them.
“I… I don’t want to do the guiding right now.”
The words slipped out in a quiet, muffled voice.
“…What?”
“I’m sorry. I just can’t right now.”
He met his own reflection in the mirror. His lips were drooping in a way he hadn’t noticed before.
***
As soon as Hye-seong stepped out into the hallway after halting the session, Dr. Na came rushing out in a panic.
Before Hye-seong could even begin to explain, Dr. Na was already scanning him with a serious expression.
“What happened? Did Yoo Ji-ho say something to you?”
“Huh? No! Not at all. It’s not that…”
“Wait, wait.”
He barely got a word out before Dr. Na suddenly grabbed his arm, speaking rapidly.
“If you’re being threatened in any way, tell me. I’m not part of the Guide Division or the Esper Division—I’ll help you however I can. The Center has a duty to protect not just Ji-ho, but Guides too. It won’t be easy, but…”
“What… What do you mean?”
“If it’s difficult for you, I can even keep it secret from the Director. Hye-seong, please. Talk to me. Hurry—there’s no time!”
For a moment, Hye-seong’s eyes shook.
What… is going on?
