Right after Kim Se-hee entered the interview room, Kwon Ho-eun and a man were seen in the hallway exchanging signatures and small talk. Moments later, Ho-eun rushed into the waiting room with a startled look, and the man, who had remained still, followed slowly behind him.
“That’s the assistant assistant director.”
Shin Eun-hye, zooming in on the footage, spoke while staring at the man whose face was mostly hidden by a mask. As if she had the man’s entire profile memorized, she opened a file containing the staff members’ profiles and continued.
“His identity’s verified. He used to work at an Ability Product company we’ve partnered with and has assisted during several of the Chairman’s shoots.”
“You said used to. So, he’s no longer with that company?”
“Correct. He resigned two years ago. Since then, he’s helped out as a freelance assistant on shoots related to us.”
Shin Eun-hye answered Do In-ho’s question without a hint of hesitation, as if she’d anticipated it all along.
Ho-eun found himself wondering if that level of speed and accuracy was what it took to be the Chairman’s chief secretary.
“From here on, I think Mr. Kwon Ho-eun should explain the rest.”
“Ah… yes.”
Do In-ho’s eyes briefly landed on Ho-eun’s face before sliding away again.
“First off, Ban Seol-ah told us there would be an interview post-shoot and naturally led us to the interview room. I went in first and told Kim Se-hee to come in about ten minutes later. During those ten minutes, I was asked a few light questions, and the interview wrapped up quickly.”
Ho-eun recalled the situation again. Every move Ban Seol-ah made had been flawlessly smooth. She casually took out her phone, turned on a recorder, and started with small talk, asking if the shoot had gone well—as if to help him relax.
Her questions had been oddly hollow. Coming in expecting queries about the Guide Corporation or Espers, he was instead asked about his shoe size and favorite food—questions so trivial they left him feeling like a soda gone flat.
It wasn’t until the last question—“What advice would you give to a junior Guide?”—that he even realized he was being interviewed as Guide Kwon Ho-eun.
“When I came out, Kim Se-hee was waiting in the hallway. I was about to leave the area when someone who said they were a fan stopped me for an autograph. That’s when I heard the scream from inside.”
“……”
Bae Yeon-woo rubbed his temple, deep in thought. Very few people had known about this shoot. Even he wouldn’t have known if Ho-eun hadn’t told him. It was clearly organized with only a handful of individuals close to the Chairman, which made him wonder—how had the anti-government faction caught wind of it?
“Chief Shin Eun-hye. Did you share the profiles of the people involved in today’s shoot?”
“I’ll send them over now.”
“Oh, and… has there been any update on Kim Se-hee’s condition?”
Ho-eun couldn’t help but be impressed. Though technically just a shoot location, this place had quickly become a live scene, and Bae Yeon-woo handled it like a veteran cop directing rush-hour traffic—methodically sorting the chaos. His composure made it clear just how seasoned he was in the field.
“Yes. The external injuries have been treated. Based on current tests, it seems the sudden drop in Guiding flow might’ve caused her to faint.”
“Kwon Ho-eun. When you went into the room, what condition was she in?”
“Ban Seol-ah had her by the arm, and she was screaming, clutching her head. I forced her arm away just in case, but even after that, Kim Se-hee kept holding her head like she was in pain.”
“Holding her head the whole time…”
Murmuring to himself, Bae Yeon-woo rubbed his brow.
“None of this adds up. If her goal was Guiding, she wouldn’t have needed to come somewhere with such low-level Guides.”
Shin Eun-hye nodded in agreement. Kwon Ho-eun was a D-rank, and Kim Se-hee a C-rank—not high at all.
“Ma—maybe Guiding wasn’t her goal… It could’ve been revenge for the last PR video… or something like that…”
Nam Woon-soo finally spoke, his words hesitant, having listened silently for most of the discussion. Hearing him, Ho-eun suddenly remembered what the Chairman had said previously.
“Maybe… we took the bait.”
“Looks that way. Like they not only baited the trap but left it behind too.”
Bae Yeon-woo tapped his shoe against the ice-covered floor, inspecting where the frozen path had ended. It still hadn’t thawed completely.
“If it’s someone like Ban Seol-ah, it’s practically like having the right-hand of the anti-government faction walk in. You didn’t get hurt, did you?”
“Huh? Oh… thankfully, the guy—”
Ho-eun stopped mid-sentence. He remembered the man’s warning—what he had was an Ability Product and it was supposed to be a secret. Turns out, buying those illegally for such high prices wasn’t exactly legal.
“The guy… he came in and startled Ban Seol-ah. She ran off, so I didn’t get hurt.”
As he spoke, Ho-eun glanced toward Do In-ho. Their eyes met for just a second. Those golden eyes that he’d once found so striking seemed dim and muted today, as if reflecting In-ho’s mood.
I keep piling on lies.
Guilt prickled in his chest, and just like a thief with a guilty conscience, he averted his gaze once again.
“She came in through a portal, but left through the window, huh.”
By the window now, Bae Yeon-woo scoffed, examining the broken glass.
“I checked outside—there’s a portal formation drawn out there too.”
At Shin Eun-hye’s remark, Yeon-woo leaned out to survey the weed-covered lawn.
“This whole thing was meticulously planned.”
“…Does that mean we have a mole inside?”
Nam Woon-soo’s grim tone silenced the room. If his guess was right, it was a serious issue. This operation had only involved close associates of the Chairman—people whose identities were verified. A betrayal would be no small matter.
“Let’s hope not.”
Bae Yeon-woo reached for his cigarette pack, then ran a frustrated hand through his hair as if recalling something.
“Can you show me where that portal formation was found?”
“Right this way.”
Shin Eun-hye led the PR staff to a cluttered corner filled with discarded supplies. Ho-eun, unsure of what a portal formation even looked like, spotted a red circular marking on the floor that resembled paint. That must be it.
Inside the circle were shapes that, on closer inspection, looked more like letters than pictures.
“Unlike teleportation Espers, portal Espers can create personal portal marks in their own symbolic language.”
As if anticipating Ho-eun’s question, Bae Yeon-woo explained.
“These marks are called portal formations. The distance they can travel varies by rank, but judging by how detailed this one is, it was likely drawn by someone fairly high-ranking.”
“So… does that mean we can use this portal to track the anti-government group’s location?”
“We can’t use a damaged formation like this.”
The markings were smeared, like someone had deliberately messed them up.
“When we reviewed CCTV, there’d been a lot of foot traffic around here. It likely got damaged naturally.”
“What about the grass area?”
“Also destroyed. But that one seems to have been erased when Ban Seol-ah’s ice melted.”
At that, Bae Yeon-woo sighed without realizing it. They’d come all the way out here, but the anti-government group had covered their tracks too well. There was nothing to salvage.
“Looks like there’s nothing more to find here.”
Agreeing with Yeon-woo, Nam Woon-soo quietly nodded and stepped closer to Shin Eun-hye.
“Wh—when do you think we can get the… report on all this…?”
“I’ll have it sent before midnight.”
“Th-thank you…”
It was easy to forget that Bae Yeon-woo wasn’t the team lead here, the way he took command of the scene. But technically, the PR Team Lead was Nam Woon-soo.
Ho-eun couldn’t help but wonder: Why wasn’t Yeon-woo the team lead? He clearly fit the role so much better.
“Let’s do one last sweep, then wrap it up.”
Yeon-woo’s voice carried finality, and the PR staff all responded in unison.
***
By the time they finished scouring the building, evening had fallen. No one had discovered any new information during the sweep.
It was only after everything was over that Ho-eun finally got to change out of his embarrassing hunter costume and back into normal clothes. He wiped off his makeup with cleansing tissues and looked at himself in the mirror. A worn-out man stared back.
Knock knock
A knock on the waiting room door pulled him from his reflection. He opened the door.
“The Assistant Manager and Team Lead had to leave early for another engagement.”
“Ah. They… left already…”
Opening the door, he saw Do In-ho standing there. Ho-eun licked his dry lips, his eyes darting awkwardly.
He didn’t know where to look. Why wasn’t In-ho saying anything? Shouldn’t he be angry? Ask why Ho-eun hadn’t told him about the shoot? Or call him out for all the lies?
The silence was unbearable. If In-ho didn’t react, Ho-eun felt like he’d explode from the tension.
Was he angry beneath that blank face? Or worried, like last time? Or maybe disappointed, like he’d seen this coming?
“I brought the car around. I’ll drive you.”
“I could’ve driven. You were working too, you know.”
“…You worked too, hyung.”
“I guess… but I didn’t do much, so it’s fine.”
All the way to the parking lot, Do In-ho stubbornly refused to hand over the car keys. Left with no choice, Ho-eun climbed into the passenger seat and watched the engine start.
“In-ho, are you really okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine to drive.”
“No, I mean…”
It was like his mouth had been sealed shut. The words that had come so easily earlier just wouldn’t come now. He clenched his pants, and when he let go, wrinkles remained.
Maybe the fabric would smooth out with time, but until then, it looked messy—just like them.
Do In-ho never spoke about his feelings unprompted. You had to ask, and only then might he offer a glimpse inside. If Ho-eun didn’t ask, those thoughts would stay buried forever.
But if those emotional creases kept forming… when he finally tried to smooth them out, would the marks be gone? Or would they still show?
Ho-eun looked at In-ho’s profile—so cold, so distant. It reminded him of the old Do In-ho.
Just as In-ho gripped the wheel to pull out, Ho-eun grabbed his hand.
“In-ho. I’m asking if you’re okay with all this.”
His voice trembled, despite his best efforts. In-ho, who had been staring straight ahead like a statue, finally turned to look him in the eye.
