Seeing Do In-ho still standing there blankly, Kwon Ho-eun couldn’t help but wonder if the guy didn’t trust him. He gently motioned for Do In-ho to sit next to him.
“I’m not exactly a famous YouTuber or anything… but I did upload videos pretty regularly.”
Even though Ho-eun had stopped all activity, likely thanks to the last video he posted, all of his uploads—from the earliest to the most recent—had racked up tens of thousands of views. The unexpectedly high numbers made him briefly wonder what might have happened if he’d kept going, but he quickly shook the thought away. He picked a random video and played it for Do In-ho.
“It’s not like I made super entertaining content or anything. Mostly food videos, really.”
Scratching his cheek in embarrassment, Ho-eun cast a cautious glance at Do In-ho. Contrary to his assumption that the other wouldn’t care, Do In-ho was watching the video intently.
“This many people watched that?”
“Ah, yeah. Pretty much. I wasn’t exactly popular, so getting that many views is kind of embarrassing, honestly.”
The videos never showed Ho-eun’s full face—just the lower part, up to the nose, since the content focused on food. Since he had no prior exposure to food-focused content, Do In-ho couldn’t tell whether this was done well or not.
But the sight of those red lips parting and closing, with a flicker of tongue occasionally appearing, made his stomach twist for some reason. He suddenly wanted to delete every single video.
The thought that someone might still be watching these right now made his body feel like a firework was going off inside—heat flaring and fading over and over.
Do In-ho naturally turned to glance at Ho-eun, who was sitting beside him. The other’s hands were fidgeting awkwardly, as if he were flustered. One hand that had been touching his cheek now moved to the smooth nape of his neck.
Do In-ho tried to figure out the source of the unease bubbling inside him, but he wasn’t used to feelings like this, which made it all the more difficult. For a moment, he even wondered if this was a side effect of the Esper Enhancer he’d taken.
“I was thinking… since the PR Department’s goal is to introduce Espers and Guides to the public, what if we focused more on the jobs themselves?”
“Jobs?”
“Yeah. Showing people what we actually do here—just to the extent the general public can see. The goal is to improve how Espers are perceived, right? So we approach it in a more friendly, relatable way.”
Do In-ho debated whether to tell Ho-eun the truth. The PR Department was basically a dumping ground for problem employees. Instead of being officially disciplined, they were exiled to the closest thing to the front lines in the war against anti-government forces. “PR Department” was just a surface label—what they really did was anti-government sweeps.
So then what’s the point of making these pointless PR videos?
From Do In-ho’s perspective, it felt like they were just marking a hostage target to be used against the anti-government faction.
A provocation via video. If the bait worked, the anti-government side would likely retaliate against the employee who appeared in the footage.
Judging by the last incident, the anti-government group didn’t seem to have any proper Guides on their side. Even if they had someone of a high grade, at best they’d be Grade A. That would explain why they’d tried to use an S-Class Guide as a bargaining chip last time. It’s likely they’d target another Guide this time, too.
Ho-eun, sitting beside him and looking at him expectantly with sparkling eyes, made Do In-ho frown slightly. On the green employee ID card hanging around Ho-eun’s neck, the grade listed was D+.
If an employee’s task level matched their real ability, it was marked with a plus. If it was set lower, a minus.
But no matter how you looked at it, Ho-eun’s guiding ability was clearly at least A-grade. Do In-ho had no idea why he was marked as D, but if it came out that he was actually S-Class…
Do In-ho’s lips tugged downward. No matter how he looked at it, everything about this situation seemed to be targeting Ho-eun.
“First, maybe we should check out what the other teams have prepared?”
“Ah, good point! We don’t want to overlap content. Let’s go take a look.”
Do In-ho smoothly steered the conversation in a different direction. After figuring out who the other team members were, he planned to shift the target away from Ho-eun.
Just as the two began tidying up and moving to stand, a knock came at the door. The meeting room opened, and Jinny stepped inside.
“Do you need my help with anything?”
“Yes, actually! Your timing’s perfect. We were just about to meet the other team members…”
“The PR team has six people in total, split into three teams of two. Which team would you like to visit?”
“Are any of them nearby?”
At Ho-eun’s question, Jinny nodded right away.
“The closest team right now would be Team 2. I’ll guide you.”
Jinny’s twin braids bounced in rhythm with her steps as she walked. Ho-eun, matching her pace while staring at her hair without much thought, murmured curiously as they neared a familiar building he used to visit often.
“Why would anyone be filming in the training hall?”
The three of them stepped into the building and stopped in front of a steel door. Jinny stepped aside and gestured for them to go in. As soon as Ho-eun opened the door, a wave of humidity hit him, like it had just rained.
The moment he spotted a human figure inside, a dolphin lunged at him.
“Uh—!?”
At the startled gasp from Ho-eun, Do In-ho moved fast. He roughly grabbed Ho-eun’s wrist, yanking him behind himself, and raised his free hand to summon a circular wall of blue flame. The dolphin was engulfed within it and vanished in a burst of steam.
“Oh my goodness! Are you two okay?!”
A woman’s panicked voice echoed through the training hall. Looking over Do In-ho’s shoulder, Ho-eun spotted her and immediately wriggled out of his hold.
“Wait—weren’t you the one who was pregnant last time?”
He recognized the woman in the pale yellow maternity dress. At his words, she covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide with surprise. As Ho-eun stepped forward, Do In-ho followed like a magnet, refusing to leave his side.
“It’s nice running into you like this. I know it’s a bit late, but should we properly introduce ourselves? I’m Choi Yoo-bin, Leo’s partner Guide.”
“Ah, right. We never actually exchanged names. I’m Kwon Ho-eun. And… this is Esper Do In-ho.”
No wonder the water-based ability had felt familiar. From across the room, Leo approached, looking flustered.
“You too? Got hit with disciplinary action?”
“…”
Do In-ho looked as expressionless as ever, but Leo could tell something was off. It was faint, but unmistakably—killing intent.
Leo still carried guilt over sending his Guide into a dangerous field op just to protect his wife. But that guilt had slowly faded, thanks to the simple relief that his wife was still alive and breathing by his side.
Even when he heard Ho-eun had been unconscious for a month, his first feeling hadn’t been sympathy—it was relief. Relief that it wasn’t his wife lying there. It was almost as if Do In-ho had seen right through that, because the killing intent pouring off him made Leo break into a nervous sweat.
Anyone looking would think I tricked Kwon Ho-eun into going into the field… He asked me for the favor first, dammit…
Leo swallowed his excuses and wiped away the cold sweat as Ho-eun approached.
“So that means you’re part of Team 2, right, Assistant Manager Leo?”
“To Do In-ho, I’m an assistant manager. But between us, you can just talk casually. Right, babe?”
“Yeah, of course! Ho-eun, you’re working on a video too, right? We’ve already planned out the whole thing, and we’re filming now.”
Looking around, Ho-eun saw a tripod set up in the center of the room, with a camcorder mounted—just like the one he’d been given.
“Was that ability just now for the video too?”
“Yup. It was tough settling on a concept, but our little Blessing gave us the idea.”
Choi Yoo-bin gently rubbed her belly with a loving smile. Leo smiled too, watching her.
“Every night, my husband reads fairy tales to our baby. We thought—why not turn that into our video? We’re making a water-powered fairy tale. Want to see?”
“Yes, please.”
Closing her eyes, Choi Yoo-bin began in a soft, soothing voice, like she was reading a story to a child.
“A long, long time ago, there was a boy who possessed a power unlike anyone else.”
As her voice flowed, Leo moved his hands. Falling raindrops gathered and transformed into the shape of a child.
“The boy used his special power to help those in need. He brought rain to drought-stricken villages, and water to the thirsty. He traveled wherever someone needed him. Helping others made him happy. But one day, the boy realized something was wrong with his body…”
Not knowing he was an Esper, the boy kept using his ability until he was on the verge of Ability Overload from lack of guiding.
Even as he approached death, he decided to help one last village. He pushed his sick body to its limits and brought rain.
Just as he collapsed, a girl from the village found him and nursed him back to health. Miraculously, he recovered, and the two fell in love.
The boy, now healthy again, set out on adventures with the girl to help others in need.
But just as every fairy tale needs a villain, a dark counterpart emerged—a boy with powers of his own, but who used them for evil. He tried to steal the girl away.
The good boy fought the bad one fair and square, defeated him, and reclaimed the girl. And the two lived happily ever after.
Though the structure was familiar and the story was simple, that made it easier for people to understand.
A boy who uses his powers to help others—that’s a government Esper. The girl who supports and helps him—that’s a Guide. And the villain trying to take the girl away? That’s the anti-government faction. Anyone watching would immediately connect the dots.
Ho-eun clapped his hands in admiration.
“That’s great! I don’t think I could’ve come up with something like that. And Yoo-bin, your voice is so nice.”
While Ho-eun and Choi Yoo-bin chatted warmly, Leo sidled up next to Do In-ho.
“When are you taking partner paternity leave?”
“I was supposed to start last month. But you know. Got hit with disciplinary action, so it’s out the window.”
“…”
“If I’d had more connections… or a higher grade… or better performance scores… I wonder if Yoo-bin would be the one stuck in this place right now.”
Leo clenched his fist, clearly in pain. Do In-ho recognized that expression. It was the anguish that came from self-loathing. Leo exhaled hard from deep in his gut, then flashed a bright smile.
“If our video gets picked for the project, I plan to cut a deal—have Team 2 move forward without Choi Yoo-bin.”
“So you do know what this project is really about.”
“Of course I do. I might be an idiot, but when it comes to the person I love, I think fast.”
Ho-eun had assumed Leo was just working hard to get good results. But he, too, knew the project’s true purpose.
Leo snapped his fingers. Water droplets appeared in front of the camera, dancing like they were alive.
Happy Ending.
The classic fairy tale finale.
