The old man’s tightly sealed lips parted with a faint tremble. His eyes, fixed on Han-gyeom, could not hide their surprise.
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
As was his habit, the old man pretended not to understand Han-gyeom’s words. As if he were just another ordinary person, incapable of grasping what was being said, he gave a belated, gentle smile and feigned composure.
“I’m just an ordinary man. A non-Ability User.”
“I know. But I can still feel it—so that’s why I’m saying this.”
Han-gyeom was fully aware that, unlike Seo Won, the old man was just an ordinary person with no abilities whatsoever. He didn’t need to hold someone’s hand to transmit GP to tell if they were an Ability User—his keen instinct and heightened sensitivity to ESP allowed him to sense most users with ease.
But even for someone like Han-gyeom, this was the first time he’d seen an ordinary person with such faint threads of ESP bound to them.
An unusual trace of ESP that couldn’t be detected unless he was completely focused and had his senses on full alert.
Invisible to the naked eye, and yet, without a doubt, several thin strands of it were wound tightly around the old man’s neck.
‘What the hell did someone do to him?’
He couldn’t guess the intent behind leaving behind such a mark.
‘Were they planning to kill him?’
The traces of ESP coiled so tautly around the old man’s throat that they looked ready to strangle him at any moment. It was natural to wonder if their owner bore resentment toward the old man.
Han-gyeom reached for the man’s neck. His fingers touched the dry, pale skin, etched with wrinkles.
“Grandpa. Should I get rid of this for you?”
In an instant, Han-gyeom’s irises were washed in crimson. Though the old man, being an ordinary person, couldn’t perceive the red gleam forming in his eyes, he could easily tell that something in Han-gyeom’s gaze had changed.
“I don’t know which Esper left this here, but if it’s me, I can remove it.”
Even if it couldn’t be seen, Han-gyeom felt confident he could decipher the logic of the ESP strands that had been left behind. It would take some time, but if he carefully analyzed the structure and let GP seep in between the threads, he could gradually cause them to crumble like sand.
As he traced the delicate remnants of ESP with his fingertips, Han-gyeom waited for the old man’s answer.
The old man didn’t push Han-gyeom’s hand away, nor did he scold him. He simply continued to gaze up at him with eyes full of nuance.
From that reaction, Han-gyeom realized that the old man was already fully aware of the ESP coiled around his own neck.
Then, the corners of the old man’s mouth curved into a clear smile. His withered throat let out a quiet chuckle.
“It’s fine. Leave it be.”
“Are you really sure about that?”
The old man nodded gently and lightly clasped Han-gyeom’s hand, which was still touching his neck.
“Yes. Because it’s a ‘contract,’ you see. If you tamper with it the wrong way, it might cause problems with the contract itself.”
Since the man in question said it was fine, Han-gyeom had no choice but to back off. He reined in the GP he had begun to summon and withdrew the red gleam from his eyes.
‘A contract, huh…’
There were countless Espers in the world, each with wildly different powers. Among them were those who handled ESP in the form of contracts.
Han-gyeom didn’t know what kind of Esper the old man had made a deal with, nor the terms of that deal. But if he had willingly allowed something like that to be wrapped around his neck, then there was no reason to interfere further. The only thing that lingered was a faint curiosity about the nature of a contract that required one to bare their throat to someone else.
Stroking the spot where Han-gyeom’s fingertips had touched his neck, the old man laughed once more.
“Now I understand why Won chose to keep you by his side. If you’re confident enough to say you could remove this, you must be quite the skilled Guide.”
Han-gyeom found himself unintentionally acknowledged by the old man.
Perhaps because of that, the edge in the old man’s voice softened considerably.
“Tell me your name.”
“Cha Han-gyeom.”
“Cha Han-gyeom…”
The old man repeated the name softly under his breath. The way it rolled off his tongue—smooth at first, then colliding with a hard consonant—wasn’t unpleasant.
“Han-gyeom, you’re the first to ever notice what’s been wound around my neck. I’ve come across countless Espers and Guides, yet no one’s ever caught it.”
It made sense.
Han-gyeom himself wouldn’t have noticed the strange discord unless his senses were heightened to their sharpest edge.
And yet, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Maybe it was due to the effects of all the experiments he’d endured in the research facility. Or perhaps it was a talent honed by the days he’d spent suffocating under countless crushing ESPs. Either way, thinking about it didn’t leave him feeling any better.
“The mere fact that you noticed it speaks volumes of your ability. But… before anything else, there’s something I want to confirm.”
The old man’s once-gentle eyes darkened, turning cold and grave. And yet, in eerie contrast, his lips held the same mechanical, tender smile as before—like a mask affixed to his face.
“Han-gyeom, what do you think of Won?”
“What do you mean, what do I think?”
Even as he replied, Han-gyeom flinched, once again struck by that creeping sense of unease.
‘It’s not because of what’s wrapped around his neck…’
His nerves stood on end, sharp as needles.
The source of that disquiet was clearly the old man’s eyes.
In stark contrast to his corpse-like appearance, his eyes were piercing—clear and sharp.
There wasn’t any detectable ESP, just as you’d expect from an ordinary person, but within that gaze, Han-gyeom felt as though he were being dissected, piece by piece.
“Ability Users are prone to misunderstanding. They convince themselves it’s for survival, or for work, or for money… All sorts of selfish and calculated reasons drive them to seek each other out—and yet, they always mistake that for something emotional.”
Han-gyeom immediately understood what the old man was implying.
And more than anyone, he could relate.
“It’s not like that. Whatever you’re imagining… it’s not happening.”
A faint trace of self-mockery flickered across Han-gyeom’s face, eyes clouded with emotion.
“The reason I’m by Seo Won’s side is because of a contract—as a Guide. That’s all.”
Contracts were such a convenient excuse. In moments like this, you could always lean on them and make it sound convincing.
Maybe that was the answer the old man had expected—but it wasn’t the truth he was looking for.
“I wonder why…”
The old man sighed, his gaze filled with disappointment.
At that very moment, Han-gyeom felt a crushing weight press down on his shoulders. So intense, he couldn’t remain standing unless he dropped to his knees.
Thud. Both knees slammed to the floor.
Han-gyeom couldn’t immediately grasp what had just happened to him.
‘What the hell is going on?’
It was only the two of them in the room—Han-gyeom and the old man. No one else.
The old man was a non-Ability User, and Han-gyeom himself was a Guide.
Which meant no one in the room should be capable of using ESP-based abilities. So why was he suddenly kneeling, completely collapsed?
‘Just now… for the briefest moment, I definitely felt ESP!’
He wondered if it could have been the work of someone standing guard outside.
But one of the two people posted outside was a telepath, and the other was a combat specialist—likely a close-combat reinforcement-type Esper.
Neither of them would have the ability to see through walls, let alone apply pressure with pinpoint accuracy to force someone to their knees. An Esper with such a wide range of abilities would be extremely rare.
More importantly, if it had been a standard type of ability, Han-gyeom would have been able to defend against it from the start.
He focused on the oppressive force that had just crushed him, turning his attention inward.
‘The pressure’s gone, but I still can’t move.’
His entire body felt paralyzed—only the area above his neck remained under his control.
‘It’s faint, but I can feel ESP lingering. It feels… similar to what was wrapped around his neck…’
Han-gyeom managed to detect traces of ESP drifting around him like a thin mist.
He’d only been able to notice it because he’d kept perfectly calm and focused. If he let his concentration slip even a little, he’d lose it entirely.
“What you said earlier… that was the truth.”
Han-gyeom looked up at the old man’s eyes as they stared coldly down at him. With the sunlight behind him, the man’s face was cast in a deep shadow, exuding a chilling stillness.
“So why are you lying now?”
Han-gyeom flinched at the old man’s words.
“Cha Han-gyeom, let me ask you again.”
Then, the words that followed flowed from the old man’s lips, laced with a dark, unmistakable ESP that shimmered in the air.
“What do you really think of Won? What are you staying by his side for?”
Han-gyeom could clearly feel the intense ESP imbued in the old man’s voice.
‘How can a normal person…?!’
The ESP pouring from the old man’s voice gripped Han-gyeom’s throat like a monstrous, unseen hand.
He held his breath, overwhelmed by the terrifying sensation that words were about to be dragged out of him—thoughts forcibly conjured in his mind, rushing to erupt from his throat without his consent.
The reason he stayed by Seo Won’s side.
What it was he so desperately hoped to gain through guiding him.
The true answer to how he felt about the man named Seo Won.
Every single one of those things, rising up vividly in his mind, felt like they were about to pour out of his mouth—unfiltered, raw, and unhidden.
‘Now it makes sense. What Seo Won said back then…’
“It’s best not to lie to that old man.”
Han-gyeom bit down hard on his lips, trying to suppress the words struggling to escape on their own.
‘He knew. That bastard knew the whole time… and still sent me in there. Fucking asshole!’
As he silently hurled razor-sharp curses at Seo Won, the pressure finally broke his resistance—and a trembling voice slipped out between his lips. As if something had seized him by the jaw and was forcibly dragging the truth out of him.
