The entrance door creaked open gently, and inside the auditorium, the induction ceremony was already in full swing.
“Ah?”
As Baek Hye-seong glanced around for a seat near the VIP section, Secretary Kang, seated just behind Director Shin, gestured toward him, signaling where to go.
Given that he was the Guide of an S-rank Esper, the seat reserved for Hye-seong was a bit too much—it was right next to Director Shin.
Approaching the seat, Hye-seong let out a soft sigh when he saw the director. He was already slumped back, fast asleep.
“Director…”
“Snrk!”
At that moment, Director Shin let out a choking snore and abruptly jolted awake. He probably woke up from the sound of his own snoring. Hye-seong could feel the sharp glances from those around them and gave an awkward smile as he took his seat.
Looking to the side, he saw the rows of new Espers sitting upright, all staring ahead. The rumors were true—this year’s incoming class really was one of the largest ever assigned here.
It felt like just yesterday that he’d sat through his own induction at Yeouido, heart pounding with anticipation. Watching the new recruits now filled him with a strange sense of nostalgia.
Lost in thought, his attention snapped back as flashes suddenly exploded from the press seats on the second floor. The moment the reporters had been waiting for had arrived, and the new Espers began murmuring among themselves in excitement.
The top-ranking new Esper stepped onto the stage, and then, guided by the host’s cue, Yoo Ji-ho made his entrance.
The applause died down, and Ji-ho gave a crisp salute to the Jeju Branch Director before receiving the oath document.
Standing before the podium, Ji-ho paused, waiting for the flurry of camera clicks to subside.
But the clicking didn’t stop—it kept going for quite a while. Caught in an awkward moment, Ji-ho finally gave a small smile and ducked his head slightly. Laughter rippled softly through the audience, and Hye-seong couldn’t help smiling along.
They all had to wait for the camera flashes to resume, just so they could capture that rare moment of him smiling.
Hye-seong couldn’t take his eyes off the stage.
“He looks like a different person…”
“Right?”
Apparently, Director Shin had heard Hye-seong mumble under his breath, and grinned as he replied.
“Yeah. It’s really strange…”
“Every time I see that brat like that, I can’t help thinking how surreal it is. He’s annoying, sure, but damn if he isn’t something else.”
“…”
Hye-seong slowly nodded, still unable to tear his eyes away, but unlike the director, he wasn’t smiling.
It was the first time he’d seen Ji-ho standing in front of such a crowd in person. What he knew was the Ji-ho from articles, TV clips—and the Ji-ho he saw when it was just the two of them.
Even in the waiting room, Ji-ho had been dressed like usual—in a simple shirt.
Normally, he couldn’t be bothered to wear a jacket properly, and he outright refused to wear a tie or button up all the way.
But now, every button was fastened, and he had a tie on. His hair looked neater too—he must’ve brushed it again after Hye-seong left the room.
“He looks like a different person.”
That’s what Hye-seong had just muttered.
But he knew that wasn’t true. This—this figure standing before him—was the real Yoo Ji-ho. The one he’d temporarily forgotten during the brief time they’d grown closer. The one who was South Korea’s one and only S-rank Esper.
A being who shone from a place far too high above.
“…Oh.”
His mouth fell open without him realizing. It felt like Ji-ho was looking straight at him.
Frozen like ice, Hye-seong let out a breathless laugh a moment later.
No way.
There was no way that someone standing up there, in front of hundreds of people, was looking specifically at him.
But Hye-seong knew—he could find Ji-ho in a crowd no matter where he was. It wasn’t even an effort. It just happened.
That kind of ability only came to someone who liked another person.
As the oath ceremony continued, it sank in just how delusional it had been to think they existed in the same world.
If Hye-seong were to suddenly leave, the only way to contact Ji-ho would be via pager. They hadn’t even exchanged phone numbers yet.
And even that connection would be severed the moment Hye-seong was no longer paired with Ji-ho or transferred out of headquarters. The line would be blocked immediately.
He was, after all, just a temporary Guide. Someone who was supplying energy only for a limited time. A bond more official than any other, and nothing more.
“…”
He’d always known that. But somehow, it still managed to hurt.
To love someone who was too far away to even look at properly—how pitiful was that?
Even now, he couldn’t take his eyes off him. Like someone under a spell, Hye-seong just stared at Ji-ho.
The atmosphere sank back into solemnity as the host resumed speaking. In unison, the new Espers stood to begin their oath.
“One! As an Esper of the Republic of Korea, I swear to dedicate myself to the safety of the people!”
“One! As an Esper of the Republic of Korea, I swear to dedicate myself to the safety of the people!”
Ji-ho’s voice rang out over the microphone, followed by the echo of the new Espers, filling the auditorium.
“Every time I see this, I think about the old days,” came a soft murmur beside him.
Pulled from his thoughts, Hye-seong turned his head.
“The old days?”
Director Shin leaned in, speaking seriously. It was the first time Hye-seong had seen him this solemn. He couldn’t help tensing up.
“When I recited that oath, I was just some country bumpkin shoved into the back row. I wasn’t top of the class or anything. I barely scraped by with an A-rank by sheer luck. Who would’ve thought that same Shin Hyung-cheol would end up as Director of the Central Headquarters?”
“Wow…”
The director was truly impressive. In a society where ability reigned supreme, he had climbed to the top through sheer effort. Hye-seong genuinely respected him for that.
Of course, Director Shin was still an A-rank Esper with a powerful family backing him, but Hye-seong didn’t know those details.
Absorbing the unintentional moral of the story, Hye-seong nodded, deeply impressed—just as serious as the director.
Then a thought hit him.
He’d been the top-ranking graduate himself.
“Then… what about the top student back then? Where are they now?”
“Oh, that guy? Super diligent one. Didn’t last long, though—ended up running off to some private center in the countryside. Probably couldn’t stand the politics. Things were even messier back then. With fewer people, you had to start playing the game from day one.”
“Whoa, I see…”
“The Guide who ranked top ended up getting recruited by the Ministry of Defense, of all places.”
At that moment, Hye-seong silently thanked the universe that he wasn’t born back then. It felt like hearing a piece of history—completely fascinating.
Even now, there weren’t that many of them, but Espers could still work at private centers.
They still had to be licensed and remained under government oversight, but the pay was lower, and the atmosphere was said to be far more relaxed.
“Huh? It’s over already.”
“Eh?”
With a burst of loud applause, Yoo Ji-ho exited the stage in a hurry. He gave a quick wave toward the audience, and somewhere in the corner, someone let out a high-pitched squeal they couldn’t contain.
While he’d been chatting with Director Shin, Ji-ho’s part had ended, and now the Jeju Branch Director—an A-rank Guide—was stepping up to recite the Guide’s oath.
Hye-seong blinked, stunned. Everyone else who’d finished their turn had taken a seat nearby to observe the rest of the ceremony. Naturally, he’d assumed Ji-ho would do the same.
But the seat that was clearly meant for Ji-ho was still completely empty.
“Director, where did Ji-ho go?”
“Probably the waiting room or back to the hotel. He never sticks around for stuff like this.”
“Oh… I didn’t know that.”
It was a new bit of information. It hadn’t been that long since they’d last seen each other, but Hye-seong already missed him. Still, he turned his gaze forward again.
“Over there, near the door.”
A short while later, someone tapped Hye-seong on the shoulder. He turned to see a stranger pointing toward a spot near the wall by the VIP section.
“Huh? Yoo Ji-ho…!”
Just below the stage, near a temporary side exit, was a familiar face. Without thinking, Hye-seong called out his name—but then quickly slapped a hand over his mouth.
Ji-ho had poked his head through the slightly opened door and was looking right at him. This time, it was undeniable.
He raised a finger to his lips in a shh gesture. Hye-seong blinked and nodded, eyes sparkling.
It felt like seeing someone again after a long time—just plain glad to see him.
Hye-seong straightened up and beamed. Ji-ho waved his hand, signaling him to come over. Surprised, Hye-seong mouthed:
“Right now?”
Ji-ho nodded.
Was that okay?
This was still part of the scheduled event… It felt like he was ditching, and the thought made him uneasy.
Hye-seong shrank his shoulders and glanced nervously around. Sure enough, everyone was watching him with amused curiosity.
“…!”
So many eyes met his at once that he flinched and whipped his head back toward Ji-ho.
He was smirking like this was all ridiculous. Honestly, leaving quickly was probably less disruptive at this point.
Flustered but with no better option, Hye-seong got up and scurried toward him.
Director Shin, meanwhile, had drifted off into another peaceful nap.
***
Ji-ho walked briskly down the hallway, tugging Hye-seong along by the arm until they reached a suitable door. He pushed it open and stepped inside.
“Huh…?”
Without even realizing it, Hye-seong had followed him in—and saw that the room looked like some kind of supply storage.
He glanced around in confusion.
“Why here—mmph!”
Before he could finish, his words were swallowed.
Ji-ho shoved him gently against the wall beside the door and kissed him, his movements urgent. He slid his knee between Hye-seong’s legs.
