He was really pissed.
That much was obvious.
Being told to move with nothing more than a glorified notification text, I wasn’t the only one annoyed—our CEO had been fuming too.
Even if they were still rookies, the Espers with me were, for now, my (temporary) partners.
Being ordered around so thoughtlessly rubbed me the wrong way.
Back when I was alive, at least they pretended to tread lightly around me because I was the one and only SSS-rank Guide with a special ability to boot.
Was it because I was only a D-rank Guide now? Or did they already suspect I was a potential criminal hiding my stats?
Either way, it was a shitty feeling.
Ra Ho-yeon shrugged off Seo Yoon-chae, who had been using his shoulder as a chin rest, and added:
“We’re annoyed too. I get the feeling they’re side-eyeing us just because we didn’t go the Hunter route even though we awakened as A-rank Espers.”
“…Didn’t they say recently that it’s okay to awaken and not become a Hunter? That we have the freedom to choose our careers?”
“Yeah, but people only think that applies to lower-ranked ability users. Deep down, everyone still believes it doesn’t apply to all Espers and Guides.”
Ra Ho-yeon shrugged.
“Even for us, when we seriously decided to train as idol trainees, our families were against it. People around us called us nuts.”
…That must’ve happened, huh.
It certainly wouldn’t have been an easy decision.
In this day and age, awakening as an Esper or Guide is like winning the lottery—at least for those in the higher ranks.
And not just a Guide—an A-rank Esper. That’s basically second-place in the lottery if not first.
So long as they didn’t get screwed over by scummy contract tricks, an A-rank Esper could rake in billions within a year of becoming a Hunter.
You got to be a hero, fighting off dungeon monsters to protect people, and earn a fortune fitting of that role.
Ra Ho-yeon, Shin Tae-boem, Seo Yoon-chae, and Cha Si-yoon had element-type abilities with high versatility, not to mention stunning looks. If they’d gone the Hunter route, becoming famous would’ve been a breeze.
But as idols? Their future was uncertain.
Their agency, HB Entertainment, was a small, new company.
Hundreds of idol groups debut every year.
To even be noticed, you had to claw your way into the top 1%—a brutal competition.
Even if you made it, there was no such thing as privacy. Sasaengs might latch on. Some idols barely got three hours of sleep during promotions. Comeback season meant strict diets. You had to sacrifice what you wanted and turn into the dazzling star the public wanted.
People wanted stars they could worship as idols.
To shine that brightly, you had to push yourself to the brink. Only then would people acknowledge you and show you love.
And trying hard didn’t even guarantee success. It was basically a gamble.
Idol life wasn’t a long-term career either. Even top idols eventually get pushed out by the next generation. Renewing contracts was tough, and even a single scandal from a fellow team member could send the whole group crashing down in a day.
All in all, a very unstable career path.
If I were their parent, I’d probably have told them to become Hunters too.
Not that I could talk. I’d died because of some no-name government bastard, so I wanted nothing to do with that world now.
Shin Tae-boem, who’d been listening, laughed and said it brought back memories.
“We had a huge fight. Me and my parents.”
“……”
“My dad hit me for the first time that day. Said I’d always been such a good kid, and now suddenly I was throwing my life away. He even cried. But I didn’t back down, and eventually, they gave in.”
Cha Si-yoon gave a subtle nod.
“Mine was similar… except when they tried to lock me up until I came to my senses, I ran away from home.”
…That’s the most I’ve ever heard him say at once.
Seo Yoon-chae, as usual, missed the mood and jumped in with his story.
“I was just bored. Needed something new. Turned out I had a knack for singing, so I said I wanted to be an idol. My family didn’t give a damn. Made it super easy.”
Smug little bastard.
“Didn’t ask.”
“What the hell~! Hey, I thought we were getting along now?”
“When did I say that? That’s all in your head.”
“Damn it.”
Ignoring Seo Yoon-chae as he whined about being hurt, I glanced around and noticed we were all gathered in a circle.
Our manager looked at us, eyes glistening with emotion.
“Kids… Seeing you all huddled together like this… This old man’s getting choked up.”
Meanwhile, I was deeply uncomfortable.
Ugh.
What’s with this cheesy group bonding moment?
I took a cautious step back and asked:
“…Are you guys really okay sharing this kind of deep, emotional stuff with me?”
I mean, you all used to hate Yeon Yu-jin.
All four of the baby-chick Espers burst into hearty laughter.
“Too late now.”
“You promised to come back to the agency no matter what the results were. That’s enough.”
“…You seem like the kind of guy who keeps his word.”
“Same as Cha Si-yoon. Seconded.”
“……”
Weirdos.
My lips itched to say it.
That Yeon Yu-jin—the one they used to hate and despise—was gone. Probably dead.
That the person standing here now wasn’t him.
That I was a ghost—a soul that died twenty years ago.
That once I caught the bastard who got me killed, I’d vanish without a trace.
…But I couldn’t say any of that.
Because the Bureau staffer we’d been waiting for finally walked up.
“Number 8, Guide Yeon Yu-jin!”
“Ah, yes.”
“Please head to Room 1. We’ll begin with your basic stat evaluation.”
When all five of us moved to follow the staffer, he stopped the others, saying there was no need for them to come.
“Huh? We’re not all being tested together? We got a text saying all of us—Yu-jin’s team and partners—needed to show up, so we assumed it was a group evaluation.”
Seo Yoon-chae asked in confusion.
The staffer responded calmly.
“There are various types of evaluations. I’m sure you’ve all experienced that before.”
“…Yeah, we’ve had a few.”
“Today’s primary subject for full evaluation is Guide Yeon Yu-jin. The rest of you will wait in Room 5.”
Ra Ho-yeon raised an objection.
“Hold on. If we’re just waiting, wouldn’t it make more sense to wait in the lounge?”
Or better yet, don’t call us here at all.
They didn’t drag us here for a wild goose chase, did they?
To our unspoken skepticism, the staffer answered dutifully.
“Just as you suspected, there’s a special evaluation that involves both the Guide and their Esper partners. Since there are four Espers, it’ll take some time to prepare, so we’re guiding you to your room early. No need to worry.”
What kind of test were they prepping for that needed so much setup?
I hadn’t even known there were tests that Guides and Espers took together.
“Can you tell me what the test involves?”
I asked the staffer directly. He looked apologetic and shook his head.
“Sorry, but revealing the test details beforehand would be a violation of protocol. I’m afraid I can’t share that.”
“…Excuse me?”
“You’ll find out once you begin, Guide Yeon Yu-jin. Your Espers will too. And then you’ll understand why we couldn’t tell you in advance.”
***
I was assigned to Room 1. The other Secreti members were sent to Room 5.
“See you in a bit.”
Shin Tae-boem waved as he said goodbye. When I raised a hand back, he flashed me a big thumbs-up.
It’s just a re-evaluation I’m hoping flunks me. What’s with all the fanfare?
Chuckling quietly, I stepped into the room. Inside, a cutting-edge ability testing machine greeted me.
A staff member in a white lab coat was already waiting inside—he looked like a researcher or a doctor.
He greeted me warmly.
“Welcome, Guide Yeon Yu-jin.”
“…Hello.”
“Please remove your shoes and take a seat in the machine’s chair. Make yourself comfortable.”
“Understood.”
The equipment hadn’t changed much from what I remembered in my past life.
Just a cleaner, more streamlined design. A little less intimidating.
The helmet-like device was wired with dozens of connected nodes. I knew well what they were for.
They extracted energy from the brain to evaluate one’s abilities.
Which means I need to focus all my strength in my head.
Not a joke. Scientists who’ve studied Espers and Guides for years believe that the source of their seemingly magical powers lies in the brain.
So to measure ability levels accurately, you had to draw energy straight from the source—the brain.
Good thing I researched this in advance.
I sat in the chair calmly.
The staffer applied a special gel to both my temples, then placed the helmet over my head.
The machine powered on, and the staffer’s hands moved with brisk efficiency.
“Alright, we’ll begin the evaluation.”
