“No need to hide it. Everyone knows anyway.”
“…?”
“That I’m an Esper.”
At Seo Won’s reply, Han-gyeom blinked, confused for a moment. Seeing his expression, Seo Won added, sounding annoyed.
“I mean, the higher-ups at the Esper Association already know I’m an Esper. The reason I’m going there in person instead of sending a clone is out of basic courtesy.”
Han-gyeom, who had been picking up his pants, flinched. Then came Seo Won’s chilling words.
“Your Imprinter’s heart was found in the Association’s unofficial research facility. They’ve been keeping it all this time. You don’t seriously think it was just some random coincidence that I was able to receive that heart, do you?”
Only then did Han-gyeom begin to grasp that the reason Seo Won’s status as an unregistered Esper hadn’t been exposed wasn’t something so simple.
Of course he’s connected to the Association. I knew it, but still…
As Han-gyeom recalled the letter he had burned, a shadow passed over his face.
There were rumors that certain “silver-spoon” families would bribe officials conducting the ability tests with ridiculous sums of money, manipulating the results so their unregistered Esper children could avoid a life under the Association’s control.
But Seo Won was on a completely different level.
Thinking back on it, no matter how vast his information network was, some things just didn’t add up.
The Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility, although technically under the Association, was an extremely clandestine operation—so secretive, in fact, that even many of the current executives had no idea what kind of research went on there.
And it made sense. Of the four facilities, it was the one conducting the most brutal, inhumane experiments. The level of security was absolutely insane.
Research reports were restricted to once every five years, and both test subjects and researchers were barely allowed outside—maybe once a year, if at all.
If a researcher became too horrified by the cruelty of the experiments and tried to quit, they were thrown into the Esper ability testing chambers the very next day under the pretense of maintaining confidentiality. The number of mangled corpses that were cremated afterward was beyond count.
That’s how desperate the Association was to hide the existence of the Fourth Facility, and following a certain rampage incident, they had wiped out what little experimental data remained.
It was precisely because of that incident that Cha Han-gyeom—the only survivor—was able to live in hiding without being caught by the Association.
The outburst had been catastrophic enough to obliterate the entire facility. Everyone inside had been reduced to grotesque, mangled corpses, and the one who had lost control had turned to black ash after burning out completely.
The Association must have assumed no one could possibly survive such a scene. Anyone who had seen the site firsthand would have agreed.
The only reason he had survived was because of the overwhelming, one-sided protection from his rampaging Imprinter. He had emerged alone—unscathed, completely intact, and walked out of that place on his own two feet.
Recalling that moment, he couldn’t keep the darkness from overtaking his expression.
Seo Won frowned as he looked at Han-gyeom’s face.
He’s letting it get to him again.
Seo Won assumed the dark expression was because of the Association, and let out a short sigh.
“No one expected that this heart would already be bonded to a Guide. The Association bastards still don’t know, and I never bothered to tell them. So, you won’t be showing up in their reports any time soon.”
Seo Won glanced at Han-gyeom as he recalled tomorrow’s agenda.
“But if they find out that Black Vein is spreading inside me, even the Association—contract or not—will try to arrest me on the spot.”
An Esper infected with Black Vein was a ticking time bomb. And if they saw the state Seo Won was in, with his entire body covered in black streaks except for his head and limbs, it would spark utter chaos.
“That’s why you’re coming with me to guide.”
“What?”
Han-gyeom flinched.
A peculiar smile formed on Seo Won’s lips.
“It’s clearly written in the contract. You’re to stay within a 100-meter radius of me at all times when outside.”
“But…”
Han-gyeom’s fingertips trembled.
All the researchers who had worked at the Fourth Ability Analysis Research Facility were dead. And among the current executives, there were barely any who would remember what happened there.
Han-gyeom bit his lip, his eyes flickering.
Barely didn’t mean none. That slim possibility coiled like a snake around his heart, squeezing until it left an icy chill in his limbs.
In a rare moment of hesitation, Han-gyeom forced himself to sound calm, though his voice trembled.
“I’ll guide you thoroughly before you leave. I’ll pour in enough to last for days, so just go alone—!”
“Cha Han-gyeom.”
Seo Won cut him off coldly, standing up and striding over. He loomed close, looking down at Han-gyeom’s frozen face.
“Are you mocking the contract?”
“It’s not that…”
“Then what? Are you hoping to pay the price of dissatisfaction again?”
Instantly, a clause from the contract flashed through Han-gyeom’s mind.
Party A must provide Party B with adequate food, shelter, and living conditions, while Party B must devote themselves to fulfilling Party A’s guiding needs to their satisfaction. If this clause is violated, the violator must bear the consequences of dissatisfaction as determined solely by the non-violating party.
It was that clause which had forced Han-gyeom into humiliating situations, sandwiched between Seo Won and his clones.
“How do you know what price I’ll demand this time?”
Han-gyeom couldn’t speak. His mouth stayed tightly shut.
Seo Won’s icy blue eyes glared into him, sharp and merciless.
Seo Won’s fingers reached out and brushed against Han-gyeom’s pale cheek. He didn’t like how Han-gyeom still flinched at every touch, every point of contact trembling as though recoiling from pain.
“It hasn’t even been a full month since we signed the contract, and you’ve already made me punish you several times. That’s not a good look.”
His hand slid down from Han-gyeom’s cheek and reached for his tightly closed lips.
“What if I go alone and lose control there?”
Han-gyeom’s eyes quivered violently.
“You wouldn’t let your Imprinter die again, would you? You’re not that cruel, right?”
Seo Won had no qualms about using the words that would shake Han-gyeom the most.
“If you’re my Guide, then act like you’re mine.”
He gently pried open the gap that had been stubbornly shut and slowly slid his thumb inside. Obediently, without resistance or a word of protest, Han-gyeom opened his mouth.
Pressing down on the softly trembling tongue that had swallowed its pride, Seo Won flattened it with his thumb. The saliva-slick, tender flesh yielded to his touch, radiating warmth even as it quivered submissively beneath his fingertip.
A faint reddish hue bled through the lowered lids of Han-gyeom’s fluttering eyelashes.
Feeling the soft guiding energy emanating from Han-gyeom’s mouth, Seo Won smiled faintly.
That’s it. That’s how it should be.
As he felt the delicate waves of Han-gyeom’s guiding, Seo Won focused on his heartbeat. Every time he looked at Han-gyeom, his heart would pound relentlessly—but now, for some reason, it throbbed with a dull ache.
But that ache wasn’t his own.
Get lost.
Sometimes it writhed and screamed like it was still alive, even though it was long dead. So presumptuous.
Seo Won withdrew his fingers from Han-gyeom’s mouth and suddenly pressed his lips against his. Han-gyeom flinched at the unexpected kiss, but quickly settled into silent guiding. He knew that if he didn’t willingly offer it, it would only be taken from him—violently, without care or regard.
Seo Won’s eyes softened at Han-gyeom’s compliance.
Whether it was because of the contract, a sense of atonement, or a desperate need to cling to him for survival—it didn’t matter.
All that mattered was that Cha Han-gyeom no longer guided anyone but him.
***
They had finally left the suffocating confines of the mansion, but Han-gyeom’s expression was still far from cheerful.
“Fix your face. It’s annoying.”
“…Okay.”
Responding weakly to Seo Won’s words, Han-gyeom lifted his head.
[Next-Generation Secondary Battery Technology Demonstration]
[A New Collaboration Between Prism BioBattery and J-Cell]
A large banner with the event name and subtitle caught the eye.
As did the seemingly endless stream of people pouring into the exhibition hall.
I’m already dizzy!
Even now, perhaps due to Seo Won’s status, they were completely surrounded by men in black suits—bodyguards stationed all around them. Among them were Jung Ah-young, and the fierce-looking Lim Du-hyuk, who always guarded Han-gyeom’s room. The rest appeared to be members of the estate’s private security detail, and judging by a few subtle cues, some of them were clearly unregistered Espers.
So the rumors were true—he’s so deeply entangled with the Association, he’s bold enough to use unregistered Espers as bodyguards.
Even though I’m an unregistered Guide…
The anxiety surged just thinking about possibly encountering people from the Association today. But truthfully, there was something even more primal, more immediate, gnawing at him.
Han-gyeom hated crowded places. It was only natural, given his need to live in hiding—but it also just came down to his personality. He had always avoided noise and chaos.
And in places where loud sounds are likely…!
A few people shouting was tolerable. But venues like this—these events usually involved synchronized applause, fireworks, or painfully loud background music that could leave your ears ringing. There was no way to predict when something dangerous might happen.
Han-gyeom halted near the entrance, hesitating for a moment. Seo Won noticed and stopped as well, turning back to look at him.
“What is it now?”
That look again—already irritated.
