When Ho-eun opened his eyes that morning, he found himself alone in the hospital bed. The spot beside him was already cold, suggesting Do In-ho had left a while ago.
After stretching out his stiff body, Ho-eun washed up quickly. He debated whether to wait for Do In-ho before heading to the cafeteria or just go on his own—when multiple voices approached and the door opened.
His fellow interns, Kim Se-hee and Ryu Yoon-jae, entered with flowers and a fruit basket for their hospital visit.
Around their necks hung blue employee badges instead of the yellow intern ones. The weight of the past month suddenly hit Ho-eun.
“Hey, welcome.”
Ho-eun smiled and welcomed them. The two of them stood dazed for a moment before suddenly dropping the flowers and fruit and rushing into his arms. Each took a shoulder and sobbed into it. It hadn’t been long, but the bonds they’d formed were clearly real. For some reason, Ho-eun felt a lump rising in his throat, too.
“Why were you so reckless…”
“Exactly. Interns were excluded from that mission, you know…”
“Haha… Yeah, well. One thing led to another…”
After the emotional reunion, the three of them sat, nibbling fruit from the basket while catching Ho-eun up on everything that had happened at the Association since his collapse.
Apparently, the anti-government faction hadn’t made any suspicious moves since the incident—no new threats, no war efforts.
Instead, Hosoo had taken full responsibility for what happened and was now being disciplined for allowing a guide intern to intervene at the scene, despite knowing about it.
That was something Ho-eun hadn’t expected at all. He set his fruit down momentarily.
“Looks like I caused trouble for a lot of people…”
“You’re telling me.”
Hosoo stood beside them, casually munching on an apple he’d somehow snagged. His feather-shaped earring swayed slightly, catching the light—he’d clearly used his ability to snatch the fruit unnoticed.
“Every single action’s logged on the guide watch, so there’s no dodging responsibility. In the end, I got hit with disciplinary action too.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. You’re up for disciplinary action too.”
The room chilled instantly, but the crisp crunch of the apple clashed awkwardly with the mood, echoing through the space. All eyes followed the sound. Finally, when he finished eating, Hosoo spoke.
“What kind of punishment do you think an intern gets for screwing up? In a regular company, you’d just hand in your resignation, and that’d be it.”
He reached into the fruit basket again and pulled out a banana this time.
“We don’t really have the concept of quitting here, you know? So, ta-da. You get the job no one else wants to do.”
“……”
“Congratulations on becoming a full-time employee.”
With a jingling sound, a lanyard with an ID badge was slipped around Ho-eun’s neck. But it wasn’t blue. He looked at Hosoo with confusion, who chuckled and explained.
“A green badge means you’re in a special government-designated department.”
“They say if a guide or Esper gets that green badge, it means your cushy office life is over…”
Kim Se-hee muttered like she’d heard the rumors before. Hosoo mimed a ding-dong-deng sound with his mouth. It somehow managed to sound annoyingly smug, and Ho-eun stared at his new green badge with uneasy eyes.
“We erased the hostages’ memories from the 63 Square incident, but public sentiment is really bad right now. Some countries had similar ‘shows,’ but the difference is real harm was done to civilians in this case. It’s like walking on thin ice. Korea might not be far behind.”
“Most regular people don’t even know what Espers and Guides are.”
Ho-eun nodded at Kim Se-hee’s remark. After getting accepted, he’d looked it up online—Korean media coverage was tightly restricted. Throwing intense information at people with zero context could only lead to fear and panic.
“That’s why a new Public Relations Department was established to improve awareness of Espers and Guides.”
“PR Department?”
“Yup. The PR team’s job is to share information with the public about Espers and Guides. Officially, anyway.”
“……”
“But unofficially? The PR team handles anti-government clean-up operations.”
“Anti-government… clean-up?”
“Exactly. The Anti-Government Sweep Team. Think of it as a collection of misfits and disciplinary cases.”
“So if we’re being disciplined…”
The door opened just then—and in walked Do In-ho. Sensing something was off, Ho-eun quickly scanned him. Sure enough, Do In-ho had the same green badge.
“At least you two are on the same team. Guiding will be easy.”
Just when the hospital room was starting to feel like a warm scene from a youth drama between interns, Hosoo tossed in a bomb and turned it into a war film. Grabbing an orange on the way out, he vanished, leaving his stunned disciples behind.
“Anti-government sweeps? Isn’t that too dangerous…?”
Kim Se-hee’s voice trembled slightly, and Ryu Yoon-jae nodded in agreement.
“When we became full-timers, we had a choice between office and fieldwork. Isn’t this basically forced?”
“Right? During our intern rotation, we tried both for a week, and I totally understood why most Guides want desk jobs.”
Glancing warily at Do In-ho, Kim Se-hee cautiously voiced her concern to Ho-eun. He thought back, recalling that he never got to experience the office side of the job before becoming a full-timer.
“It’s fine. I was prepared for this. I’d have picked fieldwork anyway.”
“Why?”
“Hmm… Espers save people. And Guides save Espers. So… I figured I could save more Espers if I worked in the field.”
As he said this, Ho-eun looked at Do In-ho. The man who’d been silent with a stiff expression quietly toyed with his badge after hearing those words.
Trying to lift the heavy mood, Kim Se-hee lightly elbowed Ryu Yoon-jae’s shoulder and chirped in a cheerful voice.
“We’ll be in the office, but we’ll help however we can! Once a team, always a team!”
“You’re more mature than most adults, Se-hee.”
Ho-eun smiled, and Se-hee grinned back. After chatting a little longer, the two visitors said their goodbyes and left.
Now, only Ho-eun and Do In-ho remained in the room.
“They say things get busy once you’re discharged.”
Seeing Do In-ho still wearing that serious look, Ho-eun teased playfully.
“In-ho, let’s go somewhere before we get busy. We never got to last time.”
Do In-ho was lost in thought and taken aback by the sudden reminder. He’d thought Ho-eun had forgotten—but no, he was the kind of person who always kept his promises. That simple truth lifted the weight that had been dragging Do In-ho down.
Ho-eun changed into the civilian clothes Do In-ho had brought and stepped out of the hospital.
“Anywhere you wanna go?”
He fully expected Do In-ho to say, “Anything’s fine,” but instead, the man stopped walking.
“P… Pork cutlet.”
Standing in front of the pork cutlet restaurant where they’d first met, Ho-eun suddenly remembered the umbrella. It had been a long time since it was separated from its owner.
“You don’t even remember leaving your umbrella, do you? We ran into each other on a rainy day.”
It felt like he was the only one who remembered that moment, and an odd sense of injustice welled up in him.
When he stepped inside and saw the menu, Ho-eun gasped in recognition. This was the same place he used to frequent as a kid. He’d stopped coming after moving into his high school dorms, and with all the shops around it having changed, he hadn’t realized it until now.
“I used to come here all the time. I even came here alone on Christmas, you know?”
Do In-ho nodded as if absorbing every word. But the moment they entered the shop, his heart twinged, and his fingertips buzzed.
Fragmented memories clicked into place, forming a complete picture. He remembered further back than even Ho-eun did. A faint smile crossed his face as the mental fog finally cleared.
“I remember…”
He said it softly, so quietly that Ho-eun—distracted by the menu—didn’t even hear it.
Until Ho-eun was discharged, Do In-ho stayed off duty as well. Since he was no longer freelance but part of the PR team, he had no individual assignments. As a result, they got to enjoy plenty of little dates before the official discharge.
On the day of discharge, after receiving a clean bill of health, Ho-eun returned to his familiar dorm and flopped onto the bed.
He’d gone home to visit his family for a week and taken care of everything that needed doing, but the thought of working as a full-timer now filled him with nervousness.
His first day as an official employee.
That night, tangled in a mix of anxiety and anticipation, Ho-eun couldn’t fall asleep easily. He pulled the blanket over his head.
It was time for Guide Kwon Ho-eun to return to reality.
The next morning, dressed stiffly in an uncomfortable suit, Ho-eun walked to work—this time, not alone. Do In-ho was beside him. They entered the central headquarters building and made their way to the meeting room Hosoo had mentioned.
The lights were on, but the room was empty. A laptop and camcorder sat alone on the table. The two of them hesitated at the doorway, unsure—when a woman’s voice called from behind them.
“Hello. You must be Do In-ho and Kwon Ho-eun?”
She had her black hair braided in twin tails and wore round glasses. With a gentle push, she ushered them inside and began introducing herself.
“I’m Jinny from the Planning Department, here to assist the PR team.”
“Oh, hello. But… what’s this camcorder for?”
“I thought you’d need it for PR work, so I prepared it for you.”
“Are we really going to use a camcorder?”
“Didn’t anyone tell you? We’re producing promotional videos to raise awareness about Espers and Guides. Teams of two are working on them. Some people have already finished filming and are editing. Since you two joined late, I’ve gone ahead and prepared what you’ll need!”
“Promotional… videos?”
Still imagining field missions, Do In-ho stood silently behind Ho-eun, watching it all unfold. Ho-eun tried to ask more questions to get a grip on the situation.
“One video will be selected from all the team submissions, and the chosen team will receive a special reward—so give it your all! Initial proposals are due this Friday at 6 PM!”
With that, Jinny disappeared. Do In-ho muttered to himself while eyeing the camcorder, “They seriously want us to do PR?”
Meanwhile, Ho-eun bowed his head—and then burst out laughing, his shoulders bouncing.
“This is a full-course meal handed to us on a silver platter. In-ho, just leave it to me.”
Ho-eun grabbed the camcorder from the table.
Ah… I missed this feeling.
He grinned brightly, half-hiding his face behind the camera.
“I’m a YouTuber now!”
He playfully aimed the lens at Do In-ho and admired the shot. Physique: approved. Just standing there, he looked like he could pull 100K views. Ho-eun was already dreaming up ideas for how to shoot the video.
“……”
Do In-ho twitched an eyebrow as he watched Ho-eun testing out the camera with excitement.
This was a trap. The PR department was just a cover—their real mission was anti-government sweeps. That meant the purpose of this video was obvious: a provocation against the anti-government faction.
No matter what, their video must not get selected. Whatever the “reward” was, there was a good chance the chosen video would become a target for retaliation.
One of them was fired up with passion, eager to make the best video possible.
The other was already mentally grabbing a fire extinguisher.
They stood in the same room—but they were dreaming entirely different dreams.
