“Why do you hate Espers so much, Assistant Manager?”
Wiping the blood from his neck and smearing the mess on his thigh, Ho-eun posed the question. Watching the sheer disgust on Bae Yeon-woo’s face, he couldn’t help but wonder—what on earth had an Esper done to him to make him hate them this deeply?
Sure, there probably were Espers who treated Guides like disposable power banks, just like Bae Yeon-woo said. But not all of them were like that.
The Espers who came to Ho-eun’s mind right now… they’d been good people. One had taken time out of his day to help a new recruit unfamiliar with the layout of the Incheon Branch. Another had gone out of his way to assist civilians in a rural village during a job with the Civil Complaints Division.
“Because I’m a Guide.”
“Sorry?”
“Because I didn’t choose to be one.”
Bae Yeon-woo pulled out a cigarette and stuck it between his lips. He seemed to realize belatedly that they were indoors and didn’t light it.
“Being a Guide wasn’t in the future I wanted for myself. But when those fucking Espers started dropping dead without one, I got hauled into this shit by the government. They stole my dream—my future.”
Even if you get hired by the company you always longed to work at, not everyone stays there for life. People switch jobs, follow dreams, resign for personal growth. The news says more young people are quitting these days to pursue their passions.
But that didn’t apply to Guides. Not any of it.
You couldn’t quit to follow a dream. You couldn’t switch jobs to try something new. Nothing was allowed.
Stack up enough of that oppression, and it becomes a heavy burden—a sack filled with injustice.
But still—was it really the Espers he should be directing that hatred toward?
“Then the one you should be angry at isn’t the Espers, it’s—”
Whack.
A dull thud rang out as Ho-eun’s head snapped to the side.
“Back when we still had the military, kids had a proper sense of discipline.”
Bae Yeon-woo dropped the cigarette by Ho-eun’s feet.
“Get down. Push-up position.”
Ho-eun blinked. Did he really just say push-up position?
What kind of backwards command was that to hear in a corporate setting? Wasn’t this more something you’d hear in the military or athletics? He wanted to refuse, but Bae’s face had gone deadly serious. If he didn’t obey now, it wouldn’t just be his face getting hit next.
With no choice, Ho-eun dropped into the position—wondering if the Ministry of Labor accepted workplace abuse reports from Guides.
“I liked the military way of doing things. It was all about hierarchy. You didn’t question your superior. All you had to say was, ‘Yes, sir.’”
“Ugh—”
Ho-eun winced as he felt weight pressing on his lower back. Bae Yeon-woo had casually perched on him like he was just a chair.
“If that Esper Overload incident hadn’t happened in the army, you’d be there right now too.”
“Esper Overload?”
“Yeah. The Esper Association missed an unidentified Ability user who enlisted. He awakened during service. Didn’t even realize he was an Esper. Never got guided—ended up overloading. That’s when the military abolished conscription.”
Ho-eun could feel sweat starting to bead on his palms as he tried to stay focused. He remembered learning in school that men over 20 used to serve in the army, but he hadn’t known why that changed.
Maybe if he furrowed his brows hard enough, he’d remember. But no, that didn’t help.
“Luckily, it wasn’t an attack-type ability, so no one died. Still, it was the end of the military. Now then. On ‘one,’ we push down and shout ‘focus.’ On ‘two,’ we push up and shout ‘get it together.’ Let’s try.”
“Phew…”
“What’s that? A sigh? One!”
“Focus!”
Who knew how many times he shouted ‘get it together’ while doing push-ups. It wasn’t until after nearly an hour of this so-called “training” that Ho-eun was finally allowed to stand. He massaged his shaking arms as he tried to catch his breath.
He was known for being in decent shape, but doing push-ups for an hour while supporting a full-grown man? Yeah, exhausting was putting it mildly.
“Got your head on straight now?”
“……”
Ho-eun didn’t reply. His throat was dry as paper. If Bae was asking whether he was mentally clear now, he wanted to say he was too physically wrecked to think at all. But something told him that wasn’t what Bae meant.
“Take it.”
Staring at his stubbornly clamped-shut mouth, Bae went over to the weapons cabinet and tossed Ho-eun a handgun.
Catching it with surprising reflexes, Ho-eun looked it over curiously. It was his first time ever holding a real gun.
“Follow me.”
Past the weapons room was a shooting range, split into handgun and rifle sections.
“Spread your legs. Hold it with both hands.”
Ho-eun adjusted his stance and raised the gun with both arms. Bae came up behind him, correcting his grip. Once his posture was proper, Ho-eun took aim.
“Cock the hammer.”
Not knowing what the hammer was, Ho-eun fumbled a bit, then used his thumb to press down on the raised part of the gun. Everything was ready. One pull of the trigger, and the bullet would fire.
That realization made his fingers tremble slightly.
He’d never served, never handled firearms. This was as close to zero experience as it got.
Just as the numbness in his outstretched arms started creeping in, Ho-eun slowly pulled the trigger.
Bang!
The gunshot echoed through the room like lightning had struck right in front of him. Ho-eun flinched, eyes squeezed shut. His ears rang. He slowly lowered the gun.
“Huh.”
The bullet had struck dead center on the target.
Bae raised a brow in surprise. First-time shooters never nailed the bullseye. Probably just a fluke, he thought—until Ho-eun kept firing, each shot hitting the center with pinpoint accuracy until the magazine was empty.
Wordlessly, Bae took the gun back and handed him a wooden practice sword.
Ho-eun tilted his head, confused, but followed Bae into another room.
This one had humanoid robots with target panels on the head, chest, arms, and legs. They were mounted on wheels and moved quickly.
Ho-eun swung the wooden sword.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Each hit triggered a sound. Despite never learning kendo, his strikes were clean, precise, and perfectly aligned with his footwork.
Impressed, Bae handed him a pair of boxing gloves next. Ho-eun dropped the sword carelessly and slipped them on.
“Hit me.”
Bae wore mitts on both hands and began shifting them around, light on his feet.
Unlike the elegant footwork he showed earlier, Ho-eun bounced in place, ducked low, and launched punches from both arms in quick succession.
Bae internally clicked his tongue. Ho-eun’s shifts in angle and rhythm were clean.
His personality might be a blooming field of flowers, shouting, “Let’s not hate Espers! Espers are people too!”—but physically, this kid was no joke.
“You sure you’re really not involved with Do In-ho?”
Ho-eun’s punches froze mid-air. His face flushed red like a boiling kettle. Looked like steam might shoot out of his ears any second.
“W-what are you talking about?”
“Most Guides who defend Espers are dating one.”
“What? No, that’s not why I—no!”
“Then are you pitying them?”
“Maybe at first… I did.”
“You pitied Do In-ho?”
Bae raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
Crystal Implant Recipient. That’s the label at the top of Do In-ho’s file.
Finding compatible subjects for crystal implantation is hellishly difficult. Genes must match over 90%. Do In-ho was the first successful case in decades.
His starting line was different from Espers born with power. But in the end, he was still just another Esper.
“You were in a coma for a month because of that guy.”
“Huh?”
When Espers absorb guiding, it feels like they’re sucking out your life force. But when a Crystal Implant Recipient does it—it’s more than violence.
Just being near one causes them to siphon off massive amounts of broadcast guiding. Any normal Guide would naturally hate and resent them. It’s instinctual.
“Ever think that you only woke up because you got lucky? What if next time, when you stop him from overloading, you don’t end up in a coma—but die? Will you still pity him then?”
But Kwon Ho-eun was different.
Bae recalled Do In-ho’s disciplinary record: Assault on Intern Guide.
It claimed Do In-ho seduced and assaulted his Guide during training. His punishment? A ban on direct guiding and any use of enhancing drugs—an extreme penalty, especially for someone with massive guiding needs like a Crystal Implant Esper.
He should’ve overloaded long before the 63 Square incident. But he didn’t.
Why? Simple. He’d been getting guided anyway—by intern Kwon Ho-eun, under the guise of training.
Bae had been out on anti-government suppression missions at the time and only learned of the situation after PR was established.
It was a bizarre pairing—a stable Crystal Implant Esper and a brand-new Guide.
“I…”
Meeting Bae’s icy gaze without flinching, Ho-eun finally said what he’d been holding back—his voice calm, but resolute.
“I’m not some saint, and I don’t have a savior complex. I’m just trying to keep a promise I made—to myself. That I’d save him.”
“……”
“Back when I didn’t know better, maybe I did pity Espers. I thought if I did my best, I could help. But after going out in the field… I realized something.”
“When you’re staring death in the face, it doesn’t matter if you’re a Guide or an Esper. Everyone’s equal then. I wasn’t saving him because I’m a Guide. I did it because he’s a person—just like me—who wanted to live.”
“Equal, huh…”
The softness on his face from earlier had vanished. Now, Ho-eun looked strikingly determined.
Bae scoffed and threw his gloves to the floor. He didn’t agree with that “equal” nonsense—but he also didn’t feel like dirtying that spotless sense of justice.
In his view, field Guides didn’t need ideals. The ones who stuck around longest were those chasing a paycheck. That belief hadn’t changed.
But now he was curious—
Could a field Guide really survive on nothing but a sense of justice?
