A woman was idly scrolling through YouTube, casually browsing videos without anything in particular she wanted to watch. As she scrolled without purpose, a thumbnail caught her eye.
[They’re Real! A Rookie Guide’s Esper Observation Log.]
“What the hell is this?”
On a platform where clickbait was king, the video title was pure bait. They’re real? What’s supposed to be real? But then she saw the word Guide in the title, and her eyes widened.
“A Guide?”
The words Guide and Esper usually conjured images from movies or novels. They weren’t seen as real professions but more like fictional tropes. In other words, it all felt completely unrealistic.
“It was uploaded four hours ago and already has 700,000 views.”
The view count promised entertainment, and without hesitation, the woman hit play.
— One, two, three! Go, Class of 72 Interns!
— I’m K, the cutie from Field Support! Hiiii, hiiii~
— I’m working at the Guiding Center. Oh god, I’m so nervous. Can I—can I redo that?
— The Civil Complaints Division’s Espers are always here for you! Colorful~
— bzzt—
“Hi. I’m rookie Guide G.”
The scene cut quickly, static crackling over the image of what appeared to be a conference room. The man sitting there wore a green employee ID badge. Though his face was hidden, his gentle voice painted a picture of a kind and caring figure.
“E, would you like to say hello too?”
The camera on the table shook as if G had picked it up.
“Holy shit.”
Unlike G, E’s face was visible—and the woman paused the video. On her phone screen, the guy’s solid chest couldn’t be hidden even under his dress shirt. Above that was a face that could slap every current celebrity into obscurity.
It was already a known fact—proven by the few publicly revealed Espers—that they were ridiculously good-looking, but still, the woman couldn’t help but be stunned by this guy’s looks all over again.
“Why aren’t they giving us names? I’m about to stan this guy.”
Grumbling at the vague label E, she resumed the video. E seemed a little awkward in front of the camera, bowing his head slightly in greeting. G’s laughter came through the speakers. As the introductions wrapped up, the background music changed and a blue sky filled the screen.
“This is the Guide Corporation. I’m going to show you what Desk Guides do.”
The Guide, who’d introduced himself as G, walked straight into an office. The footage was from earlier in the video.
“I’m K, the cutie from Field Support! Hiiii, hiiii~ I’ll take it from here. This way, please.”
K did a casual walkthrough of the office, pointing out which departments and roles each employee belonged to whenever someone was at their desk. He finished by introducing his own department, Field Support.
Seeing that Guides actually existed—and watching them do real clerical work—naturally answered many of the woman’s questions and misconceptions. G played a huge part, acting as the viewer’s stand-in with his shared sense of discovery.
“So that’s why they titled it ‘They’re Real’.”
The next location was the medical center. The woman had always wondered what it meant for a Guide to be able to “heal” an Esper. But the moment the medical center appeared, it clicked. It brought back memories of her school days when learning about Guides and Espers was part of the curriculum.
She remembered being taught that Guides had healing abilities. Now she realized they must have worked in the Guiding Center inside the medical center.
“They’re totally gonna fall in love during a healing session.”
When the footage showed the Guide holding hands for the guiding process, the woman grinned like she was watching the first skinship scene in a drama. This show is getting good.
Even though the male Guide’s face was hidden, his build clearly looked strong. Meanwhile, the female Esper’s face was so stunning it belonged on a movie theater screen, not YouTube.
“Now I’m dying to see what the Guide looks like.”
But the Guide’s face was either hidden behind stickers or only filmed from the chest down.
“And now, we’ll show you what everyone’s most curious about—the Esper fieldwork scene.”
The ridiculously handsome Esper who’d made her heart flutter earlier returned to the screen. G seemed to be the main cameraman, and E was the one mostly shown on screen. They carefully opened a door labeled Civil Complaints Division and stepped inside.
“Wait—what’s the Civil Complaints Division?”
Suddenly, like a kids’ educational video, the Esper Association’s mascot appeared on screen. G’s voice came through, apparently pre-recorded.
He explained what the Civil Complaints Division did. Then with a cheerful chime, the video returned to normal.
The Civil Complaints Division segment was even more fun than everything before. Between the quirky Espers and variety show-style editing, it felt like watching a comedy show. The woman realized her gums were starting to dry from smiling too much and quickly closed her mouth.
“We at the Guide Corporation and the Esper Association will keep working to grow closer to the public.”
The closing video played, followed by a post-credits scene showing the Esper smiling while eating at a countryside-style meal table.
“What? That’s it? So short!”
Frustrated by how abruptly it ended, she opened the comments section, ready to write something like “I’m holding my breath until Episode 2 drops.”
[What’s up with the narrator Guide’s voice? Please make an ASMR channel T_T]
[I mean, what the hell with the Espers’ looks. So y’all just kept those faces to yourselves until now?]
[????? Thought it’d be just another promo video or a casual watch, but 15 minutes flew by… is this real life?]
[I’ve wanted to be a Guide or Esper since middle school. I’m in my 30s now, but this video brought me right back to those days. Also… how do people like that even get hired? That face should be illegal.]
[So it turns out he got hired by the Guide Corporation.]
Chuckling at the comments that mirrored her own reactions, she kept reading carefully. Then she spotted a familiar username.
“Huh? BreadBoy. Where have I seen that…”
She racked her brain and opened her subscriptions to check.
HOKET. A YouTuber who said almost nothing and just ate. He hadn’t uploaded in over two months, his last video left untouched. Curious, the woman clicked into the final video and opened the comments.
[Congrats on the new job ^^. Your videos were a real comfort to me, so it’s a shame. Please stop by again once you’ve settled in. I’ll be waiting.]
“It’s the same person.”
— “I tried filming something a little different today. A daily vlog.”
While she was checking the comments, autoplay had started a new video. The voice was instantly familiar.
“Wait—hold up.”
She replayed HOKET’s video, then pulled up the previous one again to double-check.
***
From the morning, Ho-eun had been summoned by Hosoo. The conference room was cold as ice, but sweat was already beading down Ho-eun’s back.
[The Guide in the Viral Video? None other than Mukbang YouTuber HOKET!]
“What the hell is this?”
Last night, after wrapping up a meeting, he’d gone out for a casual farewell party with Leo and Choi Yoo-bin. It was fun. Since the two of them couldn’t drink, he’d had more than a few on their behalf. Was he… still drunk?
Ho-eun looked down at the paper Hosoo had tossed at him.
It was a printout of an online news article—with a low-resolution image of his own face. If they were going to screenshot, why not do it in 720p? Why the hell was this 360?
“Answer me.”
“…That’s me.”
“So you’re confirming it.”
“Yes…”
BAM! Hosoo slammed the desk. Ho-eun tried to keep a calm face, but his heart rate shot up.
He wanted to drag his past self into this room. He was the one who made the mistake, so why was he the one getting chewed out now? Cursing himself for not deleting all his HOKET videos, Ho-eun hung his head.
“Your info’s completely exposed. Voice, upper body, side-by-side comparisons with the guy in HOKET’s channel—there’s videos of it everywhere.”
Like a ripened stalk of rice, Ho-eun’s head kept bowing lower. Just this morning, he’d been bombarded with messages. From people he barely knew to distant relatives—he’d never seen a number like 300+ before.
“That video probably reached the anti-government groups too. Now what? You used a sticker and a fake name for nothing—your identity’s out.”
“…I’m sorry.”
There was nothing he could say. Aside from apologizing, he didn’t dare open his mouth.
He felt bad toward Hosoo, yes—but what made his stomach twist with guilt was the thought of Do In-ho finding out. In-ho had worked hard to make sure Ho-eun’s face didn’t appear during the PR shoot.
“And of course, the damn video’s doing ridiculously well.”
Hosoo stared at the view count, which had already passed a million, and fell into thought. The response was better than expected. This wasn’t just fixing public perception post–63 Square—it was almost like these people were ready to debut as celebrities.
Every online forum was buzzing with talk about Ho-eun and the Esper. This wasn’t something that would die down over time.
“Espers can protect themselves even if their identities get exposed. But you?”
“I… did take martial arts when I was younger…”
“Martial arts. Sure. So why didn’t you beat the crap out of the anti-government guy instead of getting your ass handed to you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You were in a coma for a whole month, remember?”
Ho-eun pressed his lips into a straight line, the memory of being beaten by anti-government forces flashing back. As a civilian, if he got into a fight with an Esper, he’d probably be dead in less than ten minutes. No, wait—maybe he could last 30 minutes with his training?
“A weak Guide can be trained. And if he’s a target, why not use that to our advantage?”
The door opened, and a deep voice rang out. A silver-haired man entered, speaking as if he’d overheard the entire conversation.
“…Huh? Esper Baek Woo-gyeong?”
There was something familiar about the man’s face. Then Ho-eun clapped. One of the most media-exposed Espers.
Whenever anyone talked about the face of Korean Espers, Baek Woo-gyeong was always at the center. He was so good-looking, he’d even done commercials unrelated to Espers. His popularity rivaled that of Korea’s top actors.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Baek Woo-gyeong, Chairman of the Guide Corporation.”
With a breezy smile, Baek Woo-gyeong extended his hand. As Ho-eun reached out to shake it, Hosoo abruptly stood and yanked him back by the collar.
“Don’t you have better things to do, Chairman? What are you even doing here?”
“I’m here partly on personal business. But also work.”
As if expecting the pushback, Baek withdrew his hand.
“Guide Kwon Ho-eun’s gotten popular. Can’t waste the momentum now, can we?”
“…What?”
“Guide Kwon Ho-eun. Let’s film another video—with his face this time.”
“Excuse me?”
“Starting next month, the government’s rolling out official Guide screenings. We can’t keep secretly testing hemoglobin levels with blood draws forever.”
Hosoo scowled, clearly displeased. He stepped forward and shoved Baek’s chest.
“He’s not doing it. So get lost.”
“As Chairman, this is an official order. PR’s goal is anti-government eradication. We need bait if we want them to take the bait.”
“Bait…?”
“Yes. Guide Kwon Ho-eun. If he were S-Class, we might’ve treated him differently. But as a D-Class—”
Something in Hosoo’s expression twitched.
“He’s perfect bait. If he gets caught up in something, that rank isn’t much of a loss. The anti-government groups wouldn’t hesitate.”
“…”
“Because they’d be able to kill you.”
