“Make sure you watch if he comes back to the dorm later.”
“You’re fucking nuts! Like hell I give a shit. Ugh.”
As he made a gagging motion, he felt the stares coming from another table. Kim Young-woo quickly changed his expression and cleared his throat.
“Ahem. Ahem.”
“Anyway, I didn’t think Yoo Ji-ho was like that, but I guess even an S-rank isn’t anything special.”
“He’s seriously pitiful, though.”
“Pitiful? What’s pitiful about him? He’s just standing there getting it done for him. Must be fucking sweet.”
“Ugh, fuck! I hope you have to live like that for the rest of your life.”
The two of them snickered through their meal, tossing jokes back and forth with Hye-seong as the punchline.
Meanwhile, Hye-seong kept eating diligently, but he was clearly doing something else at the same time—so busy that now and then he just sat there with rice in his mouth, not even chewing. He tapped on the tablet next to his tray, then suddenly looked up, checking his phone again.
While Kim Young-woo’s eyes were quietly scanning Hye-seong from head to toe, Hye-seong abruptly set down his spoon with a clatter.
Then, after staring at his phone for a while, he suddenly flinched in surprise and jumped to his feet, hurriedly clearing away his tray.
He returned to the table just long enough to gather his things, arms full of belongings, then made a beeline for the exit. Wherever he was headed, he moved at almost a full sprint—it was clear he was in a rush.
Watching that flustered hustle gave Kim Young-woo a brilliant idea. The corner of his mouth curled into a crooked grin. Just in time, Hye-seong came walking straight toward him with that same clueless, innocent face.
“Hey, watch this.”
“Huh?”
Kim Young-woo tilted his head slightly, then went back to picking at his food with his chopsticks.
Just as Hye-seong passed by them, a foot casually slid out from beneath the table and into the walkway.
“Ah!”
Crash!
Everything he was holding spilled dramatically onto the floor, and Hye-seong fell—hard, with no chance to catch himself.
Kim Young-woo smoothly drew his foot back under the table and stifled a laugh as he glanced over at the scene.
“Pfft.”
“You bastard… puhh…”
As the two tried to hold in their laughter, Hye-seong, who had taken a noisy tumble, sprang right back up and began picking up his fallen belongings.
Two books, the standard-issue tablet PC provided to Guides by the Center, and his phone.
Hye-seong quickly gathered everything and clutched them tightly to his chest again, then resumed his hurried pace toward wherever he was going. He didn’t even glance to the side, let alone behind him.
Even through all of that, his face didn’t show the slightest bit of embarrassment—no shame, not even irritation. It was like the only thing on his mind was getting up quickly and continuing on his way.
“…What’s with that guy?”
The two of them could only stare blankly after Hye-seong, who disappeared like a soft breeze.
***
The helicopter carrying Yoo Ji-ho landed behind his private residence at the Yeouido Center—at a helipad known only to a select few within the facility. It was a concealed landing zone, not commonly known to the general staff.
Yoo Ji-ho, still pressing a hand to his forehead, glanced sideways and said in a low voice,
“Draw your weapon.”
“W-Weapon? What for…?”
It was Kim Han-seong, the Esper from the Gyeonggi Branch who had first noticed something was wrong with Yoo Ji-ho.
From the moment he’d helped support Yoo Ji-ho, he had sensed something was off, but never in his wildest dreams had he expected to end up here—at the Yeouido Central Headquarters, the heart of the Supernatural Management Bureau.
The Gyeonggi Branch Esper had hesitated, only to somehow get swept up and flown here in the helicopter.
“You gonna move or what?”
“Ah! Y-Yes, sir!”
Unable to watch him stall any longer, Yoo Ji-ho barked at him sharply.
Startled, Kim Han-seong scrambled to recover, fumbling as he hurriedly drew his gun from its holster. But even then, he had no idea where he was supposed to aim it.
……
Still, he got the distinct feeling that just standing there like an idiot with a gun in his hands was going to earn him a tongue-lashing any second now. That was just the vibe.
Terrified, Kim Han-seong shouted out a grunt-like noise and instinctively raised his arm.
He raised the gun—but where was he supposed to point it?
Eventually, he settled on the helicopter window. Peering outside, he saw a few figures approaching in the darkness, all dressed in white coats.
Who are they? What is this? What’s going on?
“…Hhk!”
The moment he turned his head back, cautiously, as if his homework was about to be checked, he locked eyes with Yoo Ji-ho—bloodshot eyes glaring at him like he was the dumbest thing on Earth.
“You’re supposed to aim it at me.”
“S-Sorry, what?”
“For fuck’s sake. Are you out of your damn mind?”
“Eek!”
There it was—the real scolding. Kim Han-seong couldn’t hide his sense of panic and replied in a voice that sounded like he was about to cry.
“M-Me? You want me to point a weapon at you, Esper Yoo Ji-ho?!”
“Haa… If you don’t move faster, I’ll put a hole in your skull. Probably won’t even need a gun to do it.”
There was no proof behind the words, but somehow it felt terrifyingly plausible. Kim Han-seong turned pale and slowly twisted his arm, stiff as a board, to aim the muzzle of the gun directly at Yoo Ji-ho.
Was Yoo Ji-ho always like this?
While the young Esper stood there swallowing dryly as if he’d stumbled upon some colossal secret, the group beneath the helicopter finally entered. The white coats he had seen—Dr. Na Hye-yoon and his assistant.
Dr. Na took the pilot’s seat while his assistant swiftly unpacked instruments from a bag beside Kim Han-seong.
“Administering medication.”
Na Hye-yoon, wearing a hardened expression, took the syringe from his assistant and injected Yoo Ji-ho’s arm several times in quick succession. All of the injections were emergency Guiding agents and painkillers.
Guiding drugs were only administered in the most extreme emergencies. Even the Yeouido Center, which was known for bending to Yoo Ji-ho’s will in most things, would never allow these lightly. Everything was done solely for the purpose of protecting Espers.
Tomorrow, Yoo Ji-ho would no doubt suffer severe side effects.
Inside the helicopter, a strange silence took hold. Yoo Ji-ho sat with his arm outstretched, veins bulging, eyes closed. The doctor’s hand was trembling faintly.
Kim Han-seong watched the scene unfold, drenched in cold sweat.
He was holding a gun because Yoo Ji-ho had told him to, but that didn’t make the situation any more real. No—what made it real was this suffocating, unnatural silence. It was that stillness that drove home the fact that this was no ordinary scenario.
When the fourth injection pierced the swollen veins in Yoo Ji-ho’s arm, Dr. Na finally noticed the young Esper standing next to him, still holding a gun at Yoo Ji-ho, trembling like a leaf.
Without pausing the injection, Dr. Na let out a short, dry laugh.
“Don’t be scared. Even that ridiculous little toy is helpful. Makes this whole situation a bit less terrifying for us regular people, doesn’t it?”
“I-I suppose it does…”
While monitoring Yoo Ji-ho’s condition after administering all nine emergency injections, Na Hye-yoon asked a few brief questions.
“You said he was on the verge of going berserk?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Guess you were right. That’s a fair call.”
“Heh…”
The young Esper assumed the comment was just a kind-hearted gesture from an experienced researcher trying to ease his nerves.
Na Hye-yoon counted the remaining pill bottles and gave his assistant further instructions.
“I’ll finish up here. You take him out. Follow the same procedure as with the pilot earlier—and of course, keep him under watch.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Watch? The word made Kim Han-seong go rigid. He immediately shut his mouth and meekly exited the helicopter. His breathing grew more and more ragged, but he repeated to himself a hundred times:
This must just be the suffocating atmosphere of the Yeouido Center. That’s all it is. It has to be.
“Director Shin Hyung-cheol is waiting for you.”
“Me? Wait—me? The Yeouido Center Director?”
“Let’s go.”
And just like that, the bewildered witness disappeared into the swirl of chaos. Dr. Na turned to Yoo Ji-ho, who still had his eyes closed.
“Same as last time. It’s going to be hard to move—between the Guiding drugs and the painkillers, you’ve got a dose that would be lethal to any normal person. But your nerves will start to dull, and you should be able to sleep. If it gets too bad, take the pills I slipped in your pocket, okay?”
“……”
“Your pulse has dropped a lot. That’s good. But don’t move yet. Stay here as long as you can. Be careful not to let anyone see you.”
Dr. Na waved his hand like he couldn’t be bothered anymore. A clear gesture: We’re done here. Get lost.
“I’ll wait for your call tomorrow. Get some rest.”
Get some rest. With those final words, the helicopter door slammed shut.
Once everyone in the backyard was gone and only darkness remained, Yoo Ji-ho finally staggered out of the helicopter.
The constant hum in his ears still spun his head, and even the sound of his own footsteps and heartbeat felt deafening.
He wanted to rip his eyeballs out. Pressure squeezed his entire skull, and his heartbeat raced at a dangerous speed. As he endured the crushing throb in his head and body, a soft rustling sound at the door grated on him like nails on a chalkboard.
It was probably just a small sound. But to him, it was like thunder booming inside his skull. He clamped his hands over his ears and groaned, and only after some time did he finally manage to open the door and step inside. His body collapsed against the cold wall.
The cocktail of Guiding drugs and narcotic painkillers had dulled his mind, but not enough to free him from the sensory overload. He’d entered a state of rampage risk, but not quite at the tipping point. If he had gone completely berserk, there’s no way the sedation would’ve already kicked in like this.
To feel this worn down from such a brief skirmish… He hadn’t felt this level of physical strain since the near-death battle during that Catastrophe-class Gate years ago.
His Chronic Guiding Deficiency had worsened, yes—but it still shouldn’t have pushed him to the edge so easily. Something felt off. Could Director Shin’s offhanded remark have been right? Was he really nearing his limit?
It was all a mess. Just thinking about the people who’d start nagging about his health again made him want to drop dead on the spot.
“There are Guides who live without Espers, but no Espers live without Guides.”
Of all times, that phrase surfaced now.
“…Fuck. What the hell am I supposed to do, then?”
Cursing under his breath, Yoo Ji-ho closed his eyes and waited. The drugs were beginning to take hold.
As he surrendered to the silence, the ringing in his ears slowly faded, and the sensation of his skull shattering into a thousand pieces began to drift away.
He felt the stillness settle in. Like a wild animal hit with a tranquilizer dart, he let out a bitter laugh. Slowly, Yoo Ji-ho closed his eyes.
But just as he was drifting into unconsciousness, he overlooked one thing.
In his frantic state, he hadn’t properly locked the door when he came in.
Everyone else was gone, and only the darkness remained, filled with nothing but shallow, pained breaths. A cool breeze filtered in through the slightly ajar door.
And through that gap, a head of light-colored hair popped in.
“…Yoo Ji-ho?”
It was Baek Hye-seong—who had appeared, unannounced, on this hot summer night.
