The early morning air was biting cold. Perhaps because of that, Do In-ho pulled the person nestled in his arms even closer.
The warmth of bare skin. Pressing a kiss to Ho-eun’s nape, he offered a silent morning greeting that Ho-eun would never know.
After nuzzling against his neck as if smearing his lips across it, Do In-ho carefully slipped out of bed so as not to wake him.
Tidying up Ho-eun’s tousled bangs—this quiet moment was the most peaceful part of Do In-ho’s day.
He stepped out of the bedroom, washed up quickly, then moved to the kitchen like he’d done it a thousand times. The old him would’ve never imagined getting used to the smell of food—something he used to find nauseating.
Now, with the skill and consistency of a professional, he chopped vegetables in even, practiced motions, recalling a recipe he had studied carefully the day before. A little sesame oil in the pot, stir-fry some beef, beat the eggs and pour them in… One by one, he followed the steps, and the meat soup began to take shape.
Bzzzzt.
Feeling the vibration in his back pocket, Do In-ho pulled out his phone with one hand and answered.
“This is Do In-ho.”
He glanced toward the bedroom while pulling some side dishes out of the fridge. It was still quiet inside. Confirming that Ho-eun was still asleep, In-ho set the food on the table and stepped out onto the living room balcony to continue the call.
—Yes, this is the Information Department. We’re following up on the inquiry you submitted. As for the anti-government group Tiger, we’ve confirmed that there are currently five core members. There’s no existing intel on the wind-type Esper you mentioned.
“Understood.”
—Just in case, we’ve sent over a profile summary of all five members via email. Please refer to that.
“Thank you.”
After hanging up, Do In-ho stared at the phone in his hand.
“This part’s nice.”
Back when he didn’t have an employee badge, he had no authority to make direct inquiries with other departments. The name Do In-ho didn’t belong to any official department. But now, things were different. With a badge and department assignment, came privileges and access.
Even after ten years as an Esper, he’d never known what an employee badge was actually for. He hadn’t realized you needed one to enter HQ, or that being assigned to a department was required to submit official work requests or receive a team guide.
Leaning his elbow on the railing, In-ho looked out over the quiet Incheon branch. It was so early that the whole building felt deserted.
“You sleep well?”
He heard the rustling of blankets and the sound of footsteps approaching the balcony, but pretended not to notice. Ho-eun, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, greeted him with a sleepy smile.
“Yeah. You?”
“I thought I wouldn’t sleep since I was so restless yesterday, but I must’ve dozed off without realizing.”
Two days had passed since they sent the video. Yesterday, when Ho-eun received the final version, he smiled in satisfaction—only to worry again moments later, wondering what if it gets rejected?
“Are you tired?”
“No, I’m good.”
In-ho closed the balcony door.
He had considered trailing Wolrang, the anti-government Esper they’d encountered before, but found nothing of use. In hindsight, Wolrang hadn’t even been at the 63 Square incident, and her reaction to seeing Ho-eun seemed like it was her first time meeting him.
Back at 63 Square, Ho-eun had been sent in as a substitute for Choi Yoo-bin. He’d been wearing a helmet, so his face had never been exposed. Wolrang’s reaction indicated that even within the anti-government group, no one knew who the Guide was that had their blood drawn.
In-ho’s gaze drifted to the nape of Ho-eun’s neck. The injection marks were long gone. In their place, hidden from Ho-eun’s sight, were traces left by In-ho. And yet, something still felt missing, leaving him quietly agitated.
“In-ho, something wrong?”
“…No, nothing.”
Ho-eun, perhaps sensing the stare, tilted his head curiously, spoon in hand. In-ho shook his head and picked up a side dish, gently placing it in Ho-eun’s mouth. With his cheeks puffed full, chewing away, Ho-eun looked just like a squirrel.
After finishing their meal, Ho-eun cleaned up and followed his usual routine before heading to the office. Unlike In-ho, who worked elsewhere, he had nothing particular going on—but felt awkward staying at the dorm, so he made himself show up at the office anyway.
One thing he’d noticed in the last two days: he hadn’t seen a single PR Department employee with a green badge in the office.
The newly established PR Department, according to Hosoo, had six official members. Besides Jinny, who belonged to the Planning Department, the other Esper staff were temporarily stationed in the Planning Department office until the PR team’s video project was completed.
“Um, Jinny—can I help you with anything?”
Trying to be helpful, Ho-eun approached the one person he’d grown somewhat comfortable with. Jinny gave him some light admin work.
“You don’t have to come into the office, Ho-eun. Wouldn’t it be better to prep for your upcoming anti-government mission instead?”
“Prep?”
“Usually your mentor would explain all this.”
“I have a mentor?”
“Yes, Assistant Manager Bae Yeon-woo from the PR Department.”
“Huh? This is the first I’m hearing of it.”
Ho-eun blinked in surprise. He’d seen how other office workers had supervisors to teach them and distribute work, and had always wondered why he didn’t experience that part of corporate life.
If he finally had a mentor, did that mean the awkward scavenger-hunt-like office life would end? His cheeks brightened a bit with excitement, and Jinny covered her mouth with a shy giggle.
“You’ll get to meet the full PR team at today’s meeting.”
“The one at 3? Is the Planning Department attending too?”
“No, it’s just the PR Department.”
Finishing her sentence, Jinny glanced at the Excel sheet on Ho-eun’s screen.
“You can stop helping us out. Consider the time before the meeting as your break.”
“Oh, but I’d feel bad not finishing—”
“It’s fine.”
Though she was smiling, Jinny’s tone left little room for argument. Ho-eun reluctantly shut off the computer. He’d only been at work for an hour and wasn’t sure where to spend the rest of the time.
Guess I’ll just go to a café… again.
He said his goodbyes to the office staff and stepped outside.
“Nice weather.”
Autumn was creeping in, turning the once-green leaves into a mix of fall colors. I wonder if they sell fish-shaped pastries here too. Lost in a silly thought, Ho-eun headed into a café.
“One iced sweet potato latte, please.”
Drink in hand, he took a seat by the window. Watching people from the Association bustling about, Ho-eun began to wonder: Am I really okay with becoming a nobody in this career? He was still mulling it over when a small commotion broke out behind him.
“Ah—are you okay?”
“Yeah… I’m used to it.”
A man stood awkwardly, holding an empty cup. It looked like he’d spilled his coffee on the spot. Slouched shoulders and a defeated aura—the guy was the same one Ho-eun had seen in the hallway before.
“I told you I’d order it, dumbass.”
“…Sorry.”
The guy beside him scolded him with a sigh and returned to the counter to place another order.
“Green badge…”
Catching a glimpse of the green lanyard under the man’s collar, Ho-eun mumbled quietly. Is that Bae Yeon-woo? Stealing a glance at the man with soft pink hair tied in a half-ponytail, he quickly looked away.
Wait. If that really is my mentor, should I go say hi? But we haven’t even introduced ourselves yet… Wouldn’t it be weird for me to just walk up to him?
Still debating, Ho-eun cautiously raised his head. The two had already gotten their coffee and left. Relieved that they hadn’t noticed him, he let out a quiet breath and sat up straight.
“He looked kinda scary.”
Trying to wash away the poor first impression with a sip of his sweet latte, Ho-eun let the drink soothe his nerves.
Later, when lunchtime came, Do In-ho called, and they met to eat together before heading to the library. Since In-ho loved reading, it was the perfect place for them to pass the time. Before 3 o’clock, they put away their books and headed toward the main conference room.
When they entered, Leo and Choi Yoo-bin welcomed them. At exactly 3 p.m., the door opened again and Nam Woon-soo and Bae Yeon-woo stepped inside. Ho-eun greeted them with a slightly awkward smile, but only Nam Woon-soo returned it.
—Thunk.
As soon as Nam Woon-soo sat down, his chair wheels must’ve been broken—the chair slipped and he landed flat on his butt.
That’s the third time I’ve seen this guy fall. Talk about bad luck.
While others looked on with concern, Bae Yeon-woo just snorted and took his seat.
“Looks like everyone’s here.”
After about ten minutes of awkward silence, the door opened and Hosoo entered. It felt like it had been ages since they’d seen him. Always radiating like he had his own spotlight, today he wore a scarf—a new fashion statement, maybe—as he sat at the head of the table.
“Let me announce the results you’ve all been waiting for. The selected video will go live on the Esper Association’s official YouTube channel tomorrow at 6 p.m.”
When Hosoo powered on the projector, the preview screen appeared.
[Newbie Guide G’s Vlog]
—Real-life stories! A rookie guide’s diary of observing Espers.
[One, two, three. Go 72nd intern team!]
[I’m K from the field support department—hi, hi!]
[Currently working at the Guiding Center. Uh, I’m really nervous. Can I, um, start over?]
[Civil Complaints Division Espers are always with you! Colorful~]
[Bzzt.]
Upbeat music played over a rapid-fire montage of footage Ho-eun had filmed so far. It felt like a movie trailer, giving a taste of the video’s contents.
As requested, all guide names were muted and shown only as single initials in captions. Faces were covered with animal stickers—both Kim Se-hee and Ryu Yoon-jae’s identities were protected.
The last clip showed the conference room they’d visited multiple times. A close-up of Ho-eun’s torso—green badge clearly visible—filled the screen, though his face was cropped out.
[Hello. I’m rookie Guide G. Uh… it’s been a while since I filmed, so I’m a little nervous. In this video, I’ll show what guides and Espers do, from a new hire’s perspective.]
Ho-eun’s footage had been polished with music, captions, and transitions into a tight, well-edited 15-minute feature. While it played, members from both Teams 1 and 2 gave positive reactions, and Ho-eun felt his heart flutter with anticipation.
“Congrats, Team 3.”
Hosoo’s words made Ho-eun beam with pride. He’d done something real at this company—finally. His chest swelled with excitement.
“So… I didn’t say this earlier, but everyone already knows, right? The team whose video got picked gets one request granted. Team 3—have you decided?”
Ho-eun and In-ho exchanged looks. Their request had been clear from the moment they met Leo and Choi Yoo-bin.
“Team 2. Parental leave.”
“You think Teams 1 and 3 can handle the work?”
“Team 1’s two members are more than enough.”
Before Ho-eun could answer, Bae Yeon-woo cut in with a snide tone. Hosoo looked over at Team 2, who appeared flustered and were staring at Ho-eun and Do In-ho in disbelief.
“I never asked for some family drama ending, but fine. I’ll notify upper management.”
Hosoo touched the tip of his nose. As soon as he finished speaking, Leo rushed in to hug Do In-ho. If In-ho hadn’t raised an arm to block it, it would’ve been the perfect ending scene for a movie.
“Thank you, Ho-eun.”
“No problem. Be sure to show off the baby when it’s born.”
As if allergic to the warm atmosphere, Bae Yeon-woo stood up with a sour look. Hosoo just rubbed his temple and let both him and Nam Woon-soo leave. His eyes then drifted back to Ho-eun, who was still smiling brightly.
“This isn’t the time to be smiling.”
The only one in that room who truly understood the weight of those words… was Do In-ho.
What Ho-eun didn’t yet know was that this video—this one little rookie vlog—was about to cause a massive uproar across Korea.
