Just now, Ji Gwan-young and he had seemed almost like lovers.
It had been the kind of ticklish, heated kiss shared after spending the night together and opening your eyes to the person you loved.
The word he’d come up with himself suddenly made the inside of his throat burn hot.
It was a relief he’d barely managed to suppress the stupid question that had been pressing down on him for over a month before it could spill out.
Ji Gwan-young-ssi… do I matter to you at all?
Tae-hoon became curious.
Lately, he really had been acting like an idiot.
He’d spend entire days blankly staring at the man on TV with a face so handsome it seemed impossible not to fall in love with him. He’d also keep his phone constantly in hand, waiting in case it rang.
Because their matching rate aligned and their Names had become connected, he’d spent all this time agonizing alone over someone with whom kissing and having sex had become part of the job.
By now, Tae-hoon had learned well enough just how indifferent the man who was his Pair truly was toward everything.
He didn’t even properly keep up with the works he himself starred in, and there wasn’t a single person he stayed close to. The reason he’d gone so long without even considering taking matching tests was probably heavily influenced by his personality that rejected keeping people around him in the first place.
“Choi Tae-hoon?”
Tae-hoon knew well that the man before him only allowed him alone inside those solid boundaries of his. And because of that, he felt just a little proud.
Seeing the Esper—stronger and more beautiful than anyone else, someone who ignored the words of everyone at The Center—change his actions over a single passing remark from him gave Tae-hoon the strange illusion of holding some kind of power.
But there was only one reason Ji Gwan-young obeyed his words so absolutely.
…….Because he was his one and only Guide.
Ever since he was five years old and barely old enough to even understand concepts like matching, Tae-hoon had been a Guide. But now that label, once so familiar and natural, felt suffocating, like holding a puzzle piece that no longer fit.
Part of him even wished that man would treat him more coldly. If he had, Tae-hoon wouldn’t have had to agonize alone over misunderstandings like this.
As the eldest child, Choi Tae-hoon had always received everything before anyone else.
The shiny new books, the pristine new clothes without a wrinkle, the spotless soccer ball—all of it had belonged to Tae-hoon first.
But among all those things, not a single one had ever truly been “Choi Tae-hoon’s.”
The book he loved most would become tattered beyond recognition after his younger siblings Woojin and Seungyu finished reading it, as though it had been read hundreds of times. The clothes he treasured too much to even wear properly would eventually lose a few buttons after being passed around between all his siblings.
Having lived as a Guide for so long, Tae-hoon had learned to never completely possess anything. But for the first time, Choi Tae-hoon now had something entirely his own.
His Esper, marked forever with a Name that could never be erased, was more wonderful than anything Tae-hoon had ever possessed before.
More than the robot whose broken wings he’d wrapped over and over with tape. More than the soccer ball that wheezed strange noises whenever he pumped air back into it.
Little by little, Choi Tae-hoon was losing confidence in himself.
He’d come to know the selfish satisfaction of being the only warmth held onto by a man who had severed every other relationship and become completely alone.
He’d learned the arrogant feeling of standing above everything that belonged to him.
If Ji Gwan-young—if that man—even weren’t an Esper, I would still………
Tae-hoon stopped there, clicking his tongue inwardly at the self-loathing that surged up at himself for even lifting his thoughts that far.
The fundamental principle of being a Guide, something he’d heard countless times, came to mind.
‘A Guide must truly understand an Esper and support their heart.’
Choi Tae-hoon felt pathetically ashamed of himself for continuing to harbor such horrible thoughts while failing to even uphold the most basic virtues expected of a Guide.
Tae-hoon swallowed faintly as Gwan-young’s fingertips traced along the line of his face before finally speaking.
He was relieved his slightly hoarse voice hid any possible trembling.
“……You did sleep at least a little, right?”
“I slept.”
“Don’t lie. Seriously.”
Gwan-young’s mouth, which had answered smoothly without even a moment’s hesitation, abruptly shut tight.
Tae-hoon, who’d been wearing a stiff expression, finally let out a faint laugh.
Ji Gwan-young fixed his gaze stubbornly on that tiny smile.
Truthfully, Tae-hoon didn’t smile in front of his Pair as often as one might expect. Gwan-young cared about that more than he let on.
“When you see the people at The Center, don’t get angry. They’re all just trying to help things go well.”
“That ‘crazy training’?”
“……Still, a lot of it’s actually useful. Ji Gwan-young-ssi, did you know the first ‘unmeasurable’ Esper at The Center was an intelligence-type?”
“Not useful at all. Why would I care about something like that?”
Tae-hoon glanced meaningfully toward the empty space beside him.
Though his expression clearly said he wasn’t thrilled about it, Ji Gwan-young still couldn’t refuse. He lifted himself off his Guide and lay down tightly against his side instead.
It was an action that naturally assumed they belonged together.
The feeling of sharing warmth beneath the same blanket was pleasant enough to make his skin tingle.
Holding Tae-hoon, who’d turned slightly away, in his arms, Gwan-young slowly pressed kisses from the back of his neck down to the firm slope of his shoulders.
“Isn’t it fascinating? For an intelligence-type to become that way, just how smart would they have to be?”
Tae-hoon’s voice, now slowly relaxing, drifted out drowsily.
Instead of answering, Gwan-young chose to lightly lick at the Guide’s ear. No matter who it was, talking too long about another Esper didn’t suit his personality.
“Want to sleep a little more?”
At Ji Gwan-young’s low question, Choi Tae-hoon answered with half-closed eyes,
“Yes.”
***
The Pair formed by Esper Ji Gwan-young and Guide Choi Tae-hoon was unquestionably an immense power possessed not only by The Center, but by the entire country itself.
The fact that no one had been able to stop Ji Gwan-young from openly spitting razor-sharp words at a government minister proved as much.
Because of that, The Center’s researchers worked tirelessly to keep information about the Pair from leaking outside. Publicly releasing regular academic reports was unavoidable, but thanks to the Esper choosing—out of all possible professions—to become an actor, their goal became trying to dilute at least some of the overwhelming domestic and international attention constantly pouring in.
But today, The Center’s years of effort had completely gone up in smoke.
[Top Star Ji Gwan-young’s Pair Guide Is a Male?]
[Guide Finally Reveals Himself]
Meanwhile, the Pair at the center of all this buzz was happily enjoying a date in the already overcrowded Gyeongridan-gil in Itaewon.
After the uproar caused by their recent public movements, everyone’s interest had already reached a boiling point, and now they were actively throwing more firewood into the flames.
Lee Mihyun let out a small sigh while tapping through the articles prominently displayed across the shared network.
Honestly, this was practically half resignation on her part.
Though their actions were somewhat infuriating, the security team was surely already scrambling desperately to suppress Tae-hoon’s photos and profile, so just for today, she wanted to step away from that chaotic Pair.
With a slightly exhausted face, Lee Mihyun spoke toward Oh Yeon.
“Even if Ji Gwan-young has always lived doing whatever he wants, what suddenly got into Tae-hoon-ssi?”
“He must’ve felt stifled. He’s spent months going back and forth only between the residence hall and The Center, to the point he couldn’t even comfortably see his family.”
It was a reasonable point.
Ever since gaining his Pair Esper, Choi Tae-hoon had lived an extremely monotonous daily life. Honestly, The Center should have been grateful he quietly followed along without protesting or expressing dissatisfaction.
From the moment winter faded into spring until early summer arrived, accepting a life that had suddenly changed beyond recognition couldn’t have been easy.
“Ugh. Just thinking about what happened the other day gives me a headache. I’m ignoring it today.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to send the security team?”
“Security? To protect who exactly? ‘That Esper’ and ‘that Guide’?”
No one in the lab could refute Mihyun’s words.
There wasn’t a single Esper in The Center capable of protecting Ji Gwan-young. And there wasn’t anyone who could protect Choi Tae-hoon better than Ji Gwan-young himself.
Oh Yeon tilted his head slightly as though considering something before quietly answering that he understood.
Unfortunately, however, that overly rigid sense of responsibility of his was exactly what Choi Tae-hoon desperately needed right now.
Even Mihyun, who had casually dismissed the idea of bodyguards for Ji Gwan-young, would probably have changed her mind if she’d actually been present where the Pair currently was.
In truth, Tae-hoon hadn’t come out carelessly without any preparation, just as the researchers feared.
He also understood very well the level of impact Ji Gwan-young carried with him, and because of that, he’d mobilized every possible method he could think of before leaving.
The slightly unfashionable horn-rimmed glasses Ji Gwan-young wore, the black mask, the navy cap, even the cardigan with faint pilling all over it—Choi Tae-hoon had worked desperately to erase his Esper’s overwhelming presence.
After dressing him completely opposite from usual, he actually looked enough like a different person that Tae-hoon had even confidently patted his shoulder and told him not to worry when Gwan-young stared at himself in the mirror with a strange expression.
Of course, that confidence rapidly crumbled the moment the taxi driver glanced at them in the rearview mirror, hesitated, and finally asked, “Aren’t you someone who appears on TV?”
It got even worse once they reached Gyeongridan-gil.
The moment they stepped out of the taxi and looked around, someone nearby already went, “Huh?”
And before they’d even walked ten steps, Tae-hoon clearly heard:
“Isn’t that Ji Gwan-young?”
That’s right.
Choi Tae-hoon had severely underestimated the popularity of the male lead from the highest-rated Wednesday-Thursday drama currently airing.
“Choi Tae-hoon.”
Even with his mask pulled all the way up beneath his eyes, the man famous throughout the entertainment industry for his excellent voice projection spoke clearly enough for every word to be heard perfectly.
Certain he’d just heard a camera shutter click somewhere behind them, Tae-hoon looked at his Esper with a face on the verge of tears.
Right now, he didn’t have the luxury to enjoy this long-awaited outing. His head was completely filled with only one thought.
We’re screwed. Isn’t this going to end up online?
Truthfully, Tae-hoon’s worries had already become reality quite some time ago.
But the clever Esper had made Tae-hoon leave his phone back at the residence before they came here, using the excuse that he didn’t want interference from The Center.
“…What?”
“Give me your hand.”
Ji Gwan-young could hear every whisper from the people murmuring about him without missing a single word.
He also knew he’d already had his picture taken over twenty times. But honestly, he simply didn’t care.
His agency would probably panic. His manager would definitely nag him endlessly. Most of all, the researchers at The Center would absolutely lose their minds, but……..
They couldn’t keep Choi Tae-hoon locked away forever inside that patient-ward-like Center.
If he had to step out into the world someday anyway, then rather than some other day—today was best.
Right now, his mood was far more buoyant than Tae-hoon could ever imagine. Even Ji Gwan-young himself hadn’t realized he could become this foolishly relaxed.
With slightly curved eyes, Gwan-young held a dark reddish-brown leather bracelet against his Guide’s wrist.
“What is this?”
“It suits you.”
Whether he knew it or not, this place’s sales today were basically guaranteed.
Choi Tae-hoon reflexively became certain of that.
The leather bracelet Ji Gwan-young picked out had already long since been neatly fastened around Tae-hoon’s left wrist.
Fidgeting with it, Tae-hoon blankly watched his Esper pull out his wallet to pay.
He’d assumed someone who hated even a speck of dust touching him would dislike street vendor items too, but unexpectedly, he had a rather cute side.
More than anything, that picky man looked genuinely happy right now.
Truthfully, Tae-hoon had imagined situations like this countless times before—coming outside together and enjoying the breeze.
But every time, he’d pictured Ji Gwan-young standing beside him with a disinterested expression, indifferent to everything, while he himself awkwardly lingered nearby, and because of that he’d never dared suggest going out together.
If he’d known Ji Gwan-young could make such visibly happy expressions, he would’ve asked him out much sooner.
Tae-hoon lightly scratched his chin.
The moment they returned to the residence, he’d probably need to contact not only The Center but also his parents and younger siblings to apologize for causing such a commotion. But to him, what mattered most had always been the present moment.
“……Isn’t the mask uncomfortable?”
The unfashionable horn-rimmed glasses were something Tae-hoon himself had bought years ago; if he wore them, they’d definitely look painfully dull.
But that strikingly handsome man who stood out no matter where he went somehow managed to make even those look like a brand-new trend.
Gwan-young curved his eyes faintly behind the lenses, then lowered the mask covering his face and whispered low beside Tae-hoon’s ear.
