What material the meeting room floor was made of—or what pattern it had—was something Ho-eun had never cared about. Yet here he was, his head bowed, examining it in unnecessary detail, all because of the hand pressing down on the crown of his head.
“What class are you?”
“Class of ‘72.”
“Right, ‘72. I’m ‘65. Back in my day, we couldn’t even look the ‘64 seniors in the eye. Things sure have gone to shit around here.”
With every word Bae Yeon-woo spoke, the pressure on Ho-eun’s head increased. Gritting his teeth, Ho-eun had no choice but to lower his head further. He’d only ever seen this kind of crap on TV. Usually in exposés or investigative shows about hazing in college clubs.
Ho-eun had never experienced anything like this in college. Maybe it was different in the arts or athletics departments, but his business major had always been relatively chill. The most seniors ever expected was polite language and a proper greeting.
“When you get a mentor, you’re supposed to come to them first and bow your damn head to say hello. Where’d all your manners go? And what kind of half-assed greeting was that anyway? God, kids these days have it easy.”
Yeon-woo finally removed his hand. The pressure on his head disappeared, but Ho-eun didn’t dare lift it just yet. If he straightened his back now, he had a hunch Yeon-woo would just kick his legs out from under him next.
Wait… does real adult life come with hazing too?
He thought back to the Guide Corporation’s office where Kim Se-hee worked. It had never had this kind of vibe. Then he remembered the Guiding Center, where Ryu Yoon-jae had been. Sure, there was a sense of seniority there, but not this toxic.
“…I’m sorry.”
He wasn’t sorry. He didn’t even understand what was going on. But he said it anyway, just to read the room.
“It’s just that… I wanted to greet you, Assistant Manager, but I honestly had no idea where you were.”
Ho-eun slowly lifted his head, forcing his lips into a straight line to suppress the twitch threatening to rise. Saying this now was basically declaring war. Not that he wanted to start anything—but he felt the need to correct the record.
If he’d met Yeon-woo on his first day, he absolutely would’ve greeted him properly. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t even seen Team 1 around much, and during that video meeting, there hadn’t been time for introductions. He just never got the chance.
Ho-eun had hoped to explain his side. But to Yeon-woo, it sounded like nothing more than a cocky comeback.
“Oh, I see. I’m supposed to be so damn free that I come find Guide Kwon Ho-eun myself?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“See this? This is what I’m talking about. Can’t even say two words without snapping back. Kids these days are terrifying.”
“…”
“You’re out in the field now, so you better start learning how this place works. This ain’t your average desk job. Out here, experience is everything. And the gap between a newbie ‘72 and a veteran ‘65? You don’t even get how wide that is. That’s why you’re such a little shit.”
“…I’m sorry.”
It was the only way to end this. Ho-eun squeezed out the apology with a strained voice.
“From combat training to paperwork, I’m your official mentor now. You’ll be learning everything from me.”
“…Yes, sir.”
“This ain’t school. You’d think they’d at least teach you this kind of thing during the intern period.”
Muttering bitterly, Yeon-woo turned toward the door. Ho-eun, reading the room, rushed to open it for him.
“Tomorrow, 10 a.m. Be at my desk.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You smoke?”
Pulling out a cigarette as they exited the building, Yeon-woo seemed ready to invite him for a smoke break. Ho-eun shook his head.
“I… no. Doesn’t really agree with me.”
“Tch. And you call this socializing? Don’t even smoke.”
“…I’m just not compatible with cigarettes, I guess.”
“Whatever. At least carry a lighter.”
“Y-Yes, sir!”
Yeon-woo dug into his pocket and pulled out his lighter while holding the cigarette in his mouth. He waved his hand dismissively—get lost.
“…”
Ho-eun stared blankly at the spot Yeon-woo had just vacated. Is this what working life is really like? A few minutes ago, he’d been silently resenting the fact that no one had taught him anything about filing reports. But this… this wasn’t the way he wanted to learn.
“Even Assistant Manager Hosoo doesn’t say anything like that. What the hell’s his problem…”
The thought slipped out before he could stop it. Horrified, Ho-eun slapped a hand over his mouth. He looked around, eyes wide—but thankfully, neither Yeon-woo nor Nam Woon-soo were anywhere in sight. He exhaled in relief.
Still, the ominous feeling that he’d be taken out before the anti-government Espers ever got the chance clung to him. Wiping the cold sweat off his forehead, Ho-eun stopped by a café and ordered an iced café latte.
“Here’s your iced café latte!”
“Thanks.”
He took a long sip of the bitter drink and squeezed the plastic cup tighter in his hand. Is this what it feels like to be a villain wishing for the world to end?
“I already don’t want to go back to work.”
He was already at work—but somehow, he didn’t want to go even more now. The moisture on the outside of the cup clung to his palm, and the heat in his chest fizzled out. Tossing a few ice cubes into his mouth, he crunched down hard.
No matter how desperately you beg, time never stops for anyone. For the first time in a while, Ho-eun woke up before his alarm. With a soft sigh, he gazed out the window at the sky, still tinted in pre-dawn blue. Then, sensing the warmth beside him, he turned his head naturally.
Seeing Do In-ho asleep was a rare sight. Despite Ho-eun not being a late riser, In-ho usually got up even earlier.
“That’s… rare.”
His expression was peaceful, without a single furrow in his brow. But even with his eyes closed, he still looked oddly cold. They say sleeping faces look angelic, but Ho-eun wasn’t sure about angelic—though handsome, absolutely.
Watching the slow, steady rise and fall of In-ho’s chest, Ho-eun reached out, almost on instinct. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat brought both comfort and tension.
“To people who want an Infused Ability Product, someone like Do In-ho must be incredibly tempting…”
He couldn’t shake the words he’d heard at Hosoo’s house. He’d saved In-ho from an Ability Overload. But “saved” wasn’t the same as “cured.” The risk still existed. It could happen again at any time.
He touched In-ho’s chest. All he felt was the soft cotton of the white T-shirt. There was no physical sign of the crystal implant scar beneath. But somehow, it still felt like his fingers were tracing that uneven scar.
“Did you sleep well?”
Eyelids that had been sealed shut twitched and fluttered open gracefully. Unlike Ho-eun, whose hair was a mess from sleep, Do In-ho looked the same as he had before bed. He stared at Ho-eun for a few seconds and then his eyes curved into a soft smile.
“…”
It was a smile born unconsciously, without intent.
“…!”
For a brief moment, time slowed. The delicate shape of that smile shifted quickly, but to Ho-eun, it lingered. A light flush crept up his cheeks. He parted his lips, trying to say something—but nothing came out.
He stood, half with the intent to flee. Seeing a face like that first thing in the morning was dangerous to his heart. If he were someone who needed fetal education, he’d be staring at Do In-ho’s face every three minutes. But sadly, he wasn’t.
“T-Today I’ll make breakfast!”
He’d wanted to sound natural, but his voice cracked badly from disuse. Clutching his poor bangs like they were to blame, Ho-eun cleared his throat and quickly bolted out of the room.
Hearing the shower turn on, Do In-ho slowly sat up. He stared at the spot Ho-eun had just vacated with a strange, wistful expression. Even while living together, Kwon Ho-eun still felt far away.
They weren’t even spending time together—except when in bed. Just yesterday, Hosoo had dragged him outside and told him there would be official Guide training starting now, so Espers were not to interfere no matter what happened between them.
“Assistant Manager Yeon-woo’s a good guy… Don’t worry…”
Nam Woon-soo had tried to reassure him awkwardly, but In-ho hadn’t bought it. Something about that guy’s behavior rubbed him the wrong way.
He had wanted to keep Ho-eun at home by slowing down his onboarding process. But apparently, people just thought Ho-eun was a clueless rookie. Now they were even taking it upon themselves to “train” him.
How long had he been brooding? Eventually, the sound of footsteps came from the kitchen—Ho-eun must’ve finished his shower. Taking that as his cue, Do In-ho got out of bed.
He pulled the curtains all the way open and cracked the window. The cold dawn air rushed in, filling the room. His amber eyes shimmered with anxiety and unease.
Ho-eun’s face had already been exposed via video, and people at the Incheon branch were starting to recognize him. If he wasn’t by Ho-eun’s side, something was bound to go wrong. Ho-eun was kind and polite to everyone. He wouldn’t know how to push back.
“I wish he’d just stay inside the dorm.”
His voice was low and ominous, like a dark incantation. No matter what Ho-eun had said about taking responsibility, words weren’t absolute. Breaking a promise wasn’t a crime. There’d be no punishment.
Not that In-ho would ever punish Ho-eun—but if someone else were involved, their life couldn’t be guaranteed.
A faint tremor ran through his cheek. He’d only imagined someone else standing next to Ho-eun, and already it felt like his insides were twisting.
He focused on the sound of Ho-eun walking around, and the moment the door opened, his face returned to normal. No actor could change expressions that fast.
“Let’s eat!”
That dark, clingy emotion had disappeared without a trace. If you gave it a color, it would’ve been murky black. But now it was hidden behind a fresh white canvas. Oblivious to it all, Ho-eun took In-ho by the hand and led him to the table like nothing had happened.
Sigh.
Ho-eun stepped into the office carrying a coffee carrier with two drinks. The time on his guide watch read 9:50 a.m.
Okay, I might’ve pissed him off yesterday, but with this much prep, I shouldn’t get chewed out this morning…
His face hopeful, Ho-eun walked into the office—and immediately tensed up at the sight of that light-pink hair.
Should’ve come even earlier, huh…
Picking up the pace, Ho-eun rushed to Bae Yeon-woo’s desk and bowed deeply at a 90-degree angle.
“Good morning, Assistant Manager!”
“Late?”
“Sorry? I came ten minutes early…”
“If your boss is already here and you’re not? That’s late. Isn’t it? You’re a rookie, aren’t you?”
“A-Ah… I’m sorry.”
“Wouldn’t it be better not to do things you have to apologize for?”
Ho-eun couldn’t even muster a fake smile anymore. It felt like a fishbone had lodged itself in his throat.
He couldn’t believe it.
This was how his morning greeting was going.
