“Yeah… it is a little hot.”
Fanning himself with one hand, Kwon Ho-eun forced a smile as he tried to cool his flushed face. His heart thudded violently. Who the hell handed his heart a microphone? Any Esper with decent hearing could probably hear it pounding like crazy.
I can’t lie twice.
Clenching his eyes shut, Ho-eun cursed his own racing heart. He’d done what he did for both himself and Do In-ho, but with how guilty he felt now, he wasn’t sure he’d live to see old age.
“Shall we get going?”
Ho-eun drained what was left of his drink and stood up in a rush. Do In-ho, who still had some left, didn’t bother finishing it—he just placed both cups on the tray and handed them to the counter.
“Should we head to the gym?”
A firm hand wrapped around his. Trapped in that grip, Ho-eun could only nod while swallowing back a lump in his throat.
So much for that plan to “run off after pretending he had work at the office.” It failed spectacularly.
The heat in his body had faded, but the warmth of their clasped hands didn’t go anywhere. The dampness between their palms—whose sweat it was, he couldn’t tell—but neither of them mentioned it.
“The suspect we’ve been watching lately… he’s a kid.”
The one to break the heavy silence was none other than Do In-ho.
“He was reading a fairy tale, and it got me curious. I don’t remember ever reading fairy tales myself.”
It wasn’t often that Do In-ho talked about his childhood. Without realizing it, Ho-eun found himself listening intently.
Was it because he’d been brought here so young that he didn’t remember? Or… did he just not have those memories? Ho-eun swallowed the questions that wanted to escape.
“So I bought a few books yesterday and read through them. One of them… had a different ending.”
“An ending? Aren’t fairy tales supposed to end happily?”
“That’s what I thought too.”
Do In-ho’s stride matched Ho-eun’s perfectly—calm and unhurried. His voice sounded unusually soft today. When he paused before speaking again, Ho-eun couldn’t help but look up, impatient.
“In that story, the main character lost everything precious to him… and ended up completely alone.”
“A fairy tale like that exists? What’s it called?”
“The title was, I think…”
“…?”
“The Boy Who Cried Wolf.”
“…!”
A chill ran down Ho-eun’s spine from head to toe.
He froze mid-step. Do In-ho’s piercing gaze clung to him, pinning him in place. He couldn’t even move a finger.
Why that story, of all things? Out of all the fairy tales—Heungbu and Nolbu, Kongjwi and Patjwi, all those traditional Korean ones—why a Polish folktale that somehow became famous enough in Korea to be easily found at a bookstore?
Unable to lift his head, Ho-eun stared at the floor. He didn’t need a mirror to know—he probably looked like someone caught doing something wrong.
“R-right, that one. It teaches kids that lying’s bad, haha.”
“Lying is bad, isn’t it?”
Sneaking a glance upward, Ho-eun tried to read Do In-ho’s expression, but their eyes met immediately. That gaze pierced straight through his chest, stabbing at his guilty conscience.
“Well, yeah, but… sometimes lies can be told for good reasons. You know, like—white lies…”
His voice trailed off, softer and softer, as if someone had picked up a remote and started turning down the volume.
“We’re here.”
Only when he saw the entrance to the training building did Ho-eun finally exhale. He’d never been so grateful for a place breaking the tension before.
Bzzzzzt—
Both of their phones vibrated at once as they reached for the door. The sender: Team Lead Nam Woon-soo. The message said that, starting next week, Guides would also be dispatched to the field alongside Espers as part of a joint operation approved by the HR Department.
“Looks like we have to come in this Saturday for a final field inspection.”
“Come in?”
Ho-eun glanced at the message Do In-ho held out. His contained an extra line—he and Nam Woon-soo were to check the site in advance to see if it was suitable for a full PR Department participation. The date struck Ho-eun as familiar.
Right—the Chairman’s secretary had mentioned filming that same Saturday.
“So I’m not going?”
“No. Only Espers are.”
Ho-eun asked again just to be sure, and Do In-ho gave him exactly the answer he wanted. The boy who cried wolf had lied for fun; Ho-eun, though he had no lighting, temperature, or humidity to blame, decided to lie simply because the “weather felt nice.”
“Guess there’s no helping it then. Since we can’t meet Saturday, let’s have some fun on Sunday.”
Do In-ho looked at him quietly, his thumb brushing gently over the back of Ho-eun’s hand.
“Sure. Let’s have fun.”
The way he said it—those eyes burning like the noonday sun—made Ho-eun’s pulse skip. Just as their gazes locked, the automatic door slid open with a loud whoosh, pulling their attention away.
“What the—what’s with the ritual at the entrance?”
“Assistant Manager Bae!”
Inside the entrance stood Bae Yeon-woo, dressed more neatly than usual, and behind him, Nam Woon-soo. They must’ve come straight from work.
“Here to train?”
Bae’s eyes flicked—unintentionally—down to their clasped hands. He didn’t know how long they’d been holding on, but judging from Do In-ho’s condition, his guiding balance seemed excellent.
Bae barely suppressed a groan. Usually, even when he casually released Broadcast Guiding around Do In-ho, the man absorbed it instantly like a black hole. But now, no matter how much guiding he spread, it wasn’t being absorbed at all.
Because Do In-ho was already full—with Kwon Ho-eun’s guiding.
“Tsk.”
A D-rank Guide handling a Crystal Implant Esper that well? The numbers had to be wrong. Clicking his tongue, Bae Yeon-woo gave Nam Woon-soo a little tug—then released him.
The startled Nam Woon-soo stumbled, his footing tangling in a blink, and ended up tipping right between Do In-ho and Kwon Ho-eun. Shocked, Ho-eun let go of Do In-ho’s hand and grabbed Nam Woon-soo’s shoulder to steady him.
Bae, watching their separated hands, looked quite satisfied.
“If you’ve got enough energy for guiding, you’ve got energy for training.”
Stepping past Nam Woon-soo, who was still stammering out thanks, Bae Yeon-woo grabbed Ho-eun by the wrist and tugged him along.
“Espers train with Espers, right?”
“Ah… y-yeah, we should go too.”
Do In-ho met Bae’s cold stare head-on. Bae tilted his chin slightly upward—an unspoken beat it.
“In-ho, see you at the dorm!”
“Train well.”
Waving a hand, Ho-eun followed Bae into the building. The sudden pull made him bump into the Assistant Manager, and Bae, startled, quickened his steps too.
“What’s with you?”
They walked down the hallway until Ho-eun was sure they were out of an Esper’s hearing range. Only then did he finally release Bae’s arm.
“Ugh, my heart… How did the boy who cried wolf lie so easily?”
“What the hell are you on about?”
Giving him a puzzled look, Bae stopped—not at the outdoor training field, but in front of an elevator. Curious, Ho-eun followed silently.
Without saying a word, Bae pressed the button for Basement Level 2.
It was the same floor where he’d done his field training as an intern—only this time, they were heading to the opposite wing, Section A.
“Keep up your speed training.”
Opening the heavy steel door, Bae said that just as Ho-eun stepped inside—and stopped, words dying in his throat.
The entire wall was lined with weapons: knives, handguns, rifles. Even knuckles and what looked like baseball bats of unknown purpose—every kind of weapon meant for close combat.
His hair stood on end.
“You should get an Ability Product made for yourself.”
“An Ability Product?”
“Yeah. Didn’t Do In-ho tell you?”
“Hmm…”
Ho-eun rubbed his chin, trying to recall. Nothing came to mind.
Seeing his blank look, Bae grimaced as if he might gag.
“Ugh, what is this, some kind of surprise gift?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know only Espers can make Ability Products, right? They infuse tools with their ability.”
“Yes.”
Ho-eun nodded, remembering the various Ability Tools Hosoo had used.
“They use a special material called Diamond Main—it absorbs Esper abilities. But the process is like slicing off a piece of your lifespan. Transferring the ability hurts like hell, and it drains a ton of guiding, so most Espers don’t even try.”
“Then who does make them?”
“Those who want to make up for weak control—or…”
“…?”
“To seduce a Guide.”
Bae whistled, eyes fixed on Ho-eun.
“So that’s what it was about…”
Instead of blushing or flustering as he’d expected, Ho-eun just grimaced in disgust and shook his head. He had no idea who Bae was implying, but the first face that came to mind was Hosoo’s.
If anything, he was probably the one tricked into giving them away, not the one doing the tricking.
Lost in thought, Ho-eun barely noticed Bae clapping his hands to bring him back to focus.
“Alright, alright. Anyway, you’ll be getting one too, so let’s figure out what kind of weapon suits you best.”
“Assistant Manager, I don’t think I need an Ability Product. Especially if Do In-ho’s the one making it.”
“What?”
“You said it eats away at his lifespan.”
Ho-eun stepped up to the display and picked up a dagger. Swinging it left and right, he tested the balance before stabbing forward to feel the grip.
“If it’s a leftover one, fine… but otherwise, what’s the point?”
The blade flashed sharply through the air, slicing it cleanly with a crisp shhhk.
Bae mulled over his words for a moment, then burst out laughing, bending back at the waist. After several seconds, he straightened again—expression gone cold.
“Fuck, here we go again.”
In the single second Ho-eun blinked in confusion, Bae slammed an arm across his chest, pinning him against the wall, and with the other hand, wrenched the dagger from his grip. The cold edge pressed against his neck.
Ho-eun swallowed hard.
“What kind of mental training did you even get during your internship? If you’re a Guide, then act like one.”
His voice was icy, drilling right into Ho-eun’s ear.
“Use Espers. They use us plenty already.”
“Ugh—”
“You know what they call Guides? Portable chargers.”
The blade dug deeper into his skin, biting in just enough to sting.
“We’re treated like walking backup batteries, and you’re worried about them?”
The dagger clattered to the floor.
Ho-eun’s hand rose shakily to his throat—sticky warmth smeared across his fingertips.
Blood.
