All Baek Hye-seong had brought back from the dormitory where he’d stayed for the past month was a few changes of clothes—hardly anything to speak of.
“Ugh…”
He let out a deep sigh as he looked at the small pile of bags stacked in a corner of his home.
Even though it was objectively a small amount, he hadn’t been able to touch it all weekend. His heart had been too heavy. At this point, if he ended up getting transferred to another regional branch, he figured he could just take it all with him then.
When he submitted his transfer request, Hye-seong also used the chance to put in for all the vacation days he’d saved up. Now that his designated Pair period had officially ended and he’d stepped down from his post, he didn’t even have a team to return to. It would be good to rest up while he waited for reassignment.
Packing up his dorm room overnight and returning to a house that should’ve felt familiar—he’d lived there since he was a kid—strangely felt empty and unfamiliar.
Though he hadn’t managed to unpack, the time passed fairly smoothly as he spent it tidying the house, which had sat empty for a month, and brushing up on studies he’d neglected since joining the agency.
Leaving a job—even briefly—was never easy, especially when that job was at the Yeouido Center, a place that had been his long-time dream.
Still, there was one undeniable relief: he no longer had to see his roommate, who’d spat nothing but cruel words every time they crossed paths.
In some twisted way, Kim Young-woo was someone Hye-seong felt oddly grateful to. He’d been the one to snap him out of his delusions and bring him back to reality.
If not for him, Hye-seong would’ve kept lingering by Yoo Ji-ho’s side, shamelessly clinging to the warmth and kindness he’d been shown.
“All enthusiasm and no use. Just dead weight…”
A celebrity gossip program was playing on the TV, flashing trivia about public figures.
Today’s feature was on Yoo Ji-ho. Hye-seong hadn’t wanted to watch, but he couldn’t bring himself to change the channel.
Clips from various media appearances of Yoo Ji-ho flashed by one after another, spliced together, until a big caption suddenly appeared.
[Yoo Ji-ho Can’t Drink Coffee?!]
“…That’s not true.”
The words slipped out of Hye-seong’s mouth before he realized.
As the oversized caption scrolled off the screen, the footage shifted to a related video.
It was from a recent press conference—a lighthearted clip that had gone viral, with the exception of the advertiser, who presumably wasn’t as amused.
Yoo Ji-ho had been the first to arrive at the press hall set up by the Yeouido Central Headquarters. Amid the camera flashes and murmurs, he calmly took his designated seat with practiced ease.
Once the rest of the officials had entered and the press conference began in earnest, Yoo Ji-ho—who’d been quietly waiting—casually grabbed a convenience store-brand coffee placed nearby, part of the event’s sponsorship, and took a sip. He immediately grimaced.
The event was meant to promote changes in gate management policy ahead of an upcoming period of dormancy, but all attention turned to Yoo Ji-ho’s expression.
Flashbulbs fired as his face twisted, and then—accustomed to the media frenzy—he gave a small laugh, relaxed his expression, and leaned toward the mic.
—“I’m actually not great with coffee. Ah… what do I do now?”
—Hahahaha!
His sheepish smile, eyebrows drawn together in slight discomfort, was genuinely endearing.
It was a charming, humorous moment that made everyone laugh—a rare, human glimpse into the usually perfect S-rank Esper, making the footage all the more valuable.
It was also the first time Yoo Ji-ho had appeared in public since Hye-seong left his post as his Pair.
I’m really glad he’s doing well.
Though Hye-seong had rewatched the footage enough to memorize every frame, he never got tired of it. He found himself smiling at the sight.
Just like always, Yoo Ji-ho looked perfect—if not more so. He seemed much healthier now, which gave Hye-seong a deep sense of relief.
The intense character scrutiny surrounding him had completely died down ever since he rescued Pastor Jang Min-seop from the Faith Love Church Gate incident.
Now that Hye-seong himself had returned to his rightful place, it felt like everything had settled into balance—like peace had finally returned.
—“A surprisingly human side of the seemingly flawless S-rank Esper—doesn’t it just make you smile? But that’s not all. There are more unexpected facts about Yoo Ji-ho coming up!”
The program continued discussing the foods Yoo Ji-ho liked and disliked.
And on that topic, there was one thing Hye-seong knew for certain: Yoo Ji-ho absolutely could drink coffee. He drank it before every guiding session.
He just had a refined palate, used to freshly brewed coffee, so convenience store stuff probably didn’t suit his taste. But as always, he’d handled the moment with grace. His consideration for the advertiser shone through—it was such a Yoo Ji-ho thing to do.
“Krrrh…”
Letting out a small sound of admiration, Hye-seong found it all so strange. That even in such a short time spent by his side, he’d come to know these little details. It felt like a gift—something precious Yoo Ji-ho had left behind for him.
He could still remember the taste of the coffee Yoo Ji-ho had brewed himself, as clearly as if it happened yesterday. Though he’d foolishly spat it out and never got the chance to try it again…
There’s a saying: Things are most beautiful from afar.
It’s something he’d heard before—how meeting your idols in real life usually leads to disappointment.
But Yoo Ji-ho, the hero he’d met in real life, was even more beautiful up close.
He’d not only offered a Pair Guiding opportunity to someone as unreliable as Hye-seong but had even suggested they continue working together.
Despite clearly struggling with the decision, Yoo Ji-ho had ultimately chosen to extend his hand.
And that was exactly why Hye-seong had decided to leave.
“Hey, do you even realize you’re dragging down the entire center right now?”
“……”
“No, scratch that. You’re dragging down the whole country, clinging to an Esper way out of your league just because you’re too selfish to let go. What happens if a major Gate breaks open and something happens to Yoo Ji-ho? You think you can handle that? If people die because he can’t perform at his best thanks to you, are you gonna take responsibility for all of that?”
“……”
“See? You can’t even answer. That proves you’re just dead weight. Fucking pathetic. You piss me off so much I’d beat your ass if I could, goddamn it…”
He’d already been struggling with the limits of his own ability, trying his hardest to make up for it. And then Kim Young-woo’s words hit the mark with brutal precision.
No matter how he looked at it, Hye-seong couldn’t be the kind of capable Guide who deserved to work with South Korea’s only S-rank Esper.
“Give it a month. Yoo Ji-ho’s gonna drop your ass.”
Maybe that’s why he’d been able to prepare himself so calmly.
Even on the last day, he gave his all, completing the guiding session to the best of his ability. He even stayed for the farewell party Director Shin arranged.
Though there was a bitter aftertaste to knowing he’d never get to see Yoo Ji-ho up close again, he was still genuinely grateful for how the day had gone.
But then, Yoo Ji-ho didn’t let him go.
“Hye-seong, let’s stay paired.”
Yoo Ji-ho was far more generous—and far kinder—than he’d ever imagined.
Hye-seong had to steel his heart.
He was already hearing nasty rumors because of him. They hadn’t spread much yet, but if that kind of baseless gossip leaked outside the Center…
He couldn’t let himself become a burden to Yoo Ji-ho. That was the only thought in his mind.
He’d left behind a bouquet and turned away, pressing the sleeve of his shirt to his tearful eyes.
He hadn’t had the courage to say goodbye face-to-face—and that was something he’d have to live with.
“He might be a little disappointed, but he’ll forget soon enough.”
Or maybe he already had. Seeing how perfectly fine he seemed now, that was probably the case.
“Then that’s good…”
That was what Hye-seong had wanted, after all.
He couldn’t be a burden to Yoo Ji-ho. That would help no one.
From the very start, he’d been nothing more than a tiny, common shell buried in the sand.
And in this moment, he was grateful for that.
***
Yoo Ji-ho was pacing the lab, his breath coming in harsh bursts.
He tilted his head back and exhaled deeply, as if trying to cool off the heat burning in his chest.
After standing still with his eyes closed for some time, he turned abruptly to face the darkened glass wall.
“I told you I’d cooperate.”
—We’re sorry. We’re doing everything we can…
“Yet every fucking person you bring in—”
He cut himself off midsentence and closed his eyes again.
His chest, visible through his unbuttoned shirt, rose and fell as though trying to suppress something.
When he opened his eyes again, he spoke. His voice was low and cold, each word weighted with controlled fury.
“Why is every single one you bring in this useless?”
—Esper-nim, if you could just give us a little more time, we’ll compile a new list—
“No. I’m not asking for more people. I’m asking why.”
Yoo Ji-ho let out a hollow laugh, as if even he couldn’t believe how absurd this was.
His lips curled upward, but there was no joy in the expression.
He lowered his head, exhaled slowly with his eyes closed, and then spoke again.
“It doesn’t make sense. This worked just fine not that long ago—why is it like this now?”
—……
“You seriously think it makes sense? That none of them can do what that idiot managed to pull off?”
