Hye-seong gently took hold of Na Hye-yoon’s hand, which was still gripping his arm tightly, and guided it down. Despite the force that had felt almost harsh, the hand released him surprisingly quickly.
“Uh, it’s not that… I think there’s been a misunderstanding…”
“…A misunderstanding?”
Na Hye-yoon gave an awkward cough, perhaps realizing he’d overstepped. Hye-seong responded in a calm tone.
“Yoo Ji-ho didn’t threaten me or anything like that. Nothing of the sort happened.”
“……”
“It’s just that the atmosphere in the lab… I’m not saying it was wrong, but Yoo Ji-ho seemed really tense, much more than when I’d seen him before…”
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the hallway as someone burst out of the lab. It was Director Shin Hyung-cheol.
“What the hell—what’s going on! What, why, what happened?!”
Despite his dramatic entrance, Director Shin’s voice was barely a whisper, like he was afraid of being overheard.
Hye-seong, momentarily frozen, quickly bowed politely.
“Ah, hello, Director.”
“Oh—yeah, I was hiding out for a bit. So? What happened, what’d that bastard do?”
“Excuse me?”
“I haven’t heard the full story yet either.”
“Unbelievable. How could something happen already, to someone who just started?”
Startled by the strange reactions of the two men, Hye-seong instinctively took a step back. His gaze darted nervously between Dr. Na and Director Shin.
“Hye-seong, are you okay?”
“What happened, Hye-seong?”
“……”
A rare expression of discomfort crossed Hye-seong’s face. His eyes couldn’t settle, flickering anxiously. Eventually, he dropped his gaze to the floor and bit down on his lip.
A flood of thoughts rushed in—foolishly, presumptuously. But even with all those thoughts, there was nothing he could say. Nothing he could do.
The bravery he’d mustered earlier vanished the moment Director Shin appeared, shrinking into nothing.
He felt so small, standing in front of these two men.
All he’d wanted was to get Ji-ho out of that place. That’s all he’d been focused on.
He’d forgotten, even if only for a moment, that he was just a rookie Guide who didn’t know anything, with an unremarkable rank, easily replaceable at any time.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s just that I…”
Maybe that’s why—before he even realized it, Hye-seong’s lips moved on their own, doing something he’d never dared to consider.
“My condition wasn’t great today… so I stopped to ask if we could start properly from tomorrow. I know it’s a serious matter, and I’m really sorry.”
“Ah, is that so?”
“Ahh.”
Hye-seong wasn’t the type to act alone like this. And he wasn’t good at lying.
“Well, what do we do now?”
“Jeez, I thought it was something serious…”
“I’m really sorry. I’ll go apologize to Yoo Ji-ho myself. I should’ve told him beforehand that I wasn’t feeling well. It was irresponsible…”
And yet, his lips kept moving. But thinking it was for Ji-ho’s sake made it easier.
“Guide health is super important. Don’t worry about it! That brat’s had guiding deficiency for ages anyway! He can suck it up. He’ll probably be grateful, even.”
“Exactly. You don’t have to worry about Ji-ho’s opinion. He’ll say it’s fine, no doubt.”
“……”
Those stunningly dismissive comments made Hye-seong’s lashes tremble as he stared at the floor.
They really don’t care about Ji-ho at all, do they?
That wave chart from earlier had looked so serious…
Biting his lip, Hye-seong bowed once more.
“…Thank you for understanding.”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Take care of your health.”
“Exactly. You can always try again later.”
“Thank you. Really.”
He bowed deeply again. His face, full of timid deference, wasn’t an act.
His heart pounded heavily. To lie in front of people like this… it felt like committing a grave sin.
“Dr. Na, I’m heading out before I run into that guy.”
“Ah, yes. Oh, wait! Then who’s going to talk to Yoo Ji-ho…?”
“I’ll do it!”
Hye-seong’s voice cut in urgently, prompting both men to turn their eyes toward him. A tense silence followed.
“…Will you be okay? You came all this way and we got everything set up…”
“We’re not rescheduling—just canceling. I think that alone should be fine.”
“Right, right. Let’s do that. Then I’ll leave it to you, Hye-seong.”
“Get some good rest.”
“Thank you. I’ll take care of it. Safe travels.”
Bowing politely to the two men who now looked oddly relieved, Hye-seong quickly turned and walked off—headed back to Ji-ho.
Each hurried step sent his light brown hair fluttering through the air.
I have to tell him fast!
He just wanted to get Ji-ho out of there. That was the only thing on his mind.
***
“So basically, you’re not doing it today?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
All the anxiety about what to say vanished into thin air. Ji-ho got up and walked right out of the lab, looking lighter than air. He even smiled.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Hye-seong.”
He’d said his name—so gently.
“Yes…”
“I think we’re going to get along really well.”
It was the first time Yoo Ji-ho had smiled at him so warmly.
As Ji-ho buttoned up his shirt and walked away, Hye-seong could only watch, full of thoughts.
***
The next morning, bright and early, Hye-seong requested a private meeting with Dr. Na.
“That’s… it’s really for your own protection, Hye-seong!”
Na Hye-yoon tried to turn the stubborn rookie around, even setting aside time to talk him out of it.
What Hye-seong had asked for was simple: freedom in guiding Yoo Ji-ho.
Normally, guiding at the Yeouido Center required official matchmaking and scheduling through the central system. But depending on the situation, individuals could sometimes adjust schedules more freely—as long as it didn’t interfere with the Esper or Guide’s main duties and a report was submitted within two days.
However, Ji-ho’s guiding was different. Every session had to be reported in advance, scheduled, and conducted in restricted locations.
So Hye-seong was asking to loosen that rule—just a little.
Like other Espers and Guides, he wanted the flexibility to guide whenever they were both available, and to file a report afterward.
“Sigh.”
“Is it really that difficult…?”
“It’s just… This whole thing became the norm before we even realized it, but I can’t explain the reason right now…”
But wasn’t the whole point of the Pair Guide system that they didn’t need to wait for center-mandated matchmaking?
What was the point if every single session still had to be reported to the higher-ups and conducted in a designated space?
The goal of this system was to give one dedicated Guide the freedom to support and stabilize Yoo Ji-ho however he needed. But with the current restrictions, even if Hye-seong became his Pair, he wouldn’t be able to fully support him.
“Besides, the basic wave pattern data is always recorded through the call device. Unless it’s a precision scan, we don’t need to set everything up like yesterday every time. Doctor, please… just trust me, this once.”
The environment Hye-seong had seen yesterday haunted him. Even lying in bed last night, he’d turned it over in his head again and again.
For managing the wave patterns of Yoo Ji-ho—an S-rank Esper who was himself a national treasure—what was needed wasn’t layers of red tape, but an environment where his Guide could adapt freely and keep the process minimal.
“I get it. I know how pointless all of it is. But this isn’t a simple issue. You don’t understand, Hye-seong. This is all about protecting the Guides.”
“Doctor… I…”
After hesitating, Hye-seong spoke carefully.
“I’d like you to protect Yoo Ji-ho more than me.”
“…What?”
Dr. Na blinked, momentarily stunned.
“Sorry. That came out wrong… It’s just, as you know, psychological factors are so important. If the environment is more comfortable, I think his guiding efficiency will improve, too. Please. I’m asking for his sake.”
“……”
“If it’s like yesterday every time—with you and the Director watching—I don’t think I can focus properly. And it’s Ji-ho, after all.”
Dr. Na looked long and hard at him, then finally spoke again like he’d made up his mind.
“Listen carefully, Hye-seong.”
“Yes.”
“You’re absolutely right. Doing it like yesterday every time is inefficient. Simplifying the process is essential. But here’s the thing—there’s no guarantee you can guide him regularly either.”
“Because he doesn’t like being guided?”
“Yeah. He hates it. A lot.”
Hye-seong nodded gravely. He’d suspected as much.
He’d heard that some Espers disliked guiding, even if they were in a good mood. Apparently, Ji-ho was one of them.
“Any idea why…?”
“No one knows. Not even me—and I’ve been studying him day and night.”
Faced with another wall, Hye-seong stared seriously at Dr. Na’s desk.
“It’s going to be really hard. The only reason he even came yesterday was because both the Director and I begged him to.”
“Then…”
That was serious. Emotional readiness was key in guiding.
If he only showed up because he was guilted into it, even though he hated it…
And his guiding efficiency was steadily dropping… And he still hadn’t found a good match… And the weight on his shoulders kept growing heavier…
The pressure he must be under—Hye-seong couldn’t even imagine. Thinking that Ji-ho had been living like that for years made him realize: this couldn’t wait any longer.
“Doctor. I’ll do it.”
“…What do you mean?”
“I’ll try to convince him. Even if it takes days, I’ll do it.”
“……”
“Please let me. I want to be the one to convince Yoo Ji-ho.”
The longer Hye-seong spoke, the more Dr. Na’s expression shifted—something between amazement and disbelief as he looked into those clear, determined eyes.
“So please, just give us a little flexibility. Ji-ho’s time is valuable. I’ll work around him. I’m staying at the dorms right now, so I can see him after hours too. If there’s no location, I’ll just go wherever he is.”
“So you’re saying… you’ll follow him around? Anytime, 24/7?”
“Yes.”
“Like a little puppy?”
“Yes!”
“……”
