When Ho-eun was in middle school, he was so tied up preparing for the National Youth Sports Tournament that he barely showed up to class for several months.
Even when he did come, he was usually too busy catching up on sleep to participate. But after sustaining a wrist injury during the tournament, he suddenly found himself focusing solely on school life.
Up until then, he’d had the reputation of being the scary kid who slept in the back of the classroom. But thanks to his naturally friendly demeanor, Ho-eun quickly found himself blending in with the rest of the class.
Whether it was the quiet students or the loudmouths who dominated classroom chatter, everyone seemed to like Ho-eun—likely due to his easygoing personality and likable appearance.
If there were any who felt uncomfortable around him, it would have been the group of school bullies. Their issue wasn’t with Ho-eun himself, but rather with the imbalance he introduced by refusing to fall into their hierarchy.
Of course, even they had no choice but to act friendly with him. The classroom’s unspoken hierarchy had Ho-eun at the very top.
After finals were over and summer arrived, the pecking order for the first years became more clearly defined.
The predators still roamed at the top of the food chain, hunting for new prey to torment. It made one question whether humans or animals inhabited this school.
They called it “hunting,” but in Ho-eun’s eyes, it was just plain bullying—several students ganging up on someone weaker.
Small, scrawny kids who couldn’t even speak up for themselves were automatically marked as prey and targeted.
Neither teachers nor students could stop the hunts.
This was the animal kingdom. Everyone had accepted it as nature’s law and just hoped they wouldn’t become the next target. So they stayed silent.
The strong bullied the weak. The weak were expected to take it.
It wasn’t a world defined by good and evil, but by a completely different set of rules.
Ho-eun had decided as a child that he wanted to live as a good person. But in this place, it felt like the only choice was between living as a beast—or becoming prey.
As he mulled over which philosophy to adopt this time, it happened. A scene exploded in the cafeteria.
It was summer.
A tray came flying at Yeoreum, the smallest and most fragile boy in the class. His white dress shirt was ruined by spilled soup and side dishes.
The cafeteria fell into stunned silence before erupting in murmurs. All eyes turned to Yeoreum.
Ho-eun had assumed Yeoreum wasn’t being bullied since there had been no obvious signs. But apparently, that had just been his own naïve assumption.
Yeoreum had been quietly suffering all along, out of sight. And now, after all that pent-up abuse, the bullies had grown so bold that they didn’t even feel guilt or shame about assaulting someone in front of a crowd.
Still, it was strange that even the teachers didn’t step in. Then, amidst the chattering, a word floated into Ho-eun’s ears.
“The chairman’s son.”
Among the group bullying Yeoreum was a second-year upperclassman.
Even Ho-eun, who rarely showed up at school, knew him—the only son of the school’s chairman.
That explained why the teachers pretended not to see or hear anything. They didn’t want to risk angering that boy.
“Fucking animals.”
Ho-eun, holding an empty tray that had been licked clean down to the last drop of soup, walked straight toward the group without hesitation.
One of the boys from their class, acting cocky now that he had backup, stepped up and tried to stop him.
“Kwon Ho-eun, think real hard. If you help Han Yeoreum, you’ll be the next one covered in that food garbage. Don’t tell me you don’t know who that senior is?”
Maybe he thought having the chairman’s son on his side made him invincible. This same classmate, who’d never dared to say a word in front of Ho-eun before, even shoved him in the chest.
Of course, that weak push didn’t budge Ho-eun an inch.
“You know what? Wednesdays are Chat Days.”
The cafeteria was hot, even with the air conditioner and fans running. It was over 30°C outside, yet the boy who’d just pushed him suddenly felt a chill.
Ho-eun’s slightly upturned eyes looked down at him like he was nothing more than a bug. The gaze alone sent goosebumps down the classmate’s arm.
“Chat Day doesn’t mean a day for chatting, like you losers.”
Every Wednesday, the cafeteria served the best meals. It was the one day of the week with virtually no leftovers. But Yeoreum was now drenched in the very food meant to be enjoyed.
“Wednesday’s Chat Day because it’s the day everything gets eaten.”
Bullying people is vile. Playing with food? Even worse.
Wham!
Ho-eun hurled the tray at the chairman’s son. Chaos instantly erupted in the cafeteria.
The biggest kid in the group tried to grab Ho-eun by the collar and beat him up. But instead, Ho-eun decked him square in the face with a punch.
It wasn’t until fists had flown and the students were scrapping on the floor that someone finally called the PE teacher.
By then, the gang was sprawled out across the floor—and Ho-eun was the only one still standing on two feet.
He brushed a slice of orange off Yeoreum’s hair and said,
“Hey, Yeoreum. The animal kingdom sucks, right?”
“Huh?”
“Hero genres are way better, I’m telling you. Look at me—don’t I look cool right now? Champion of Justice!”
Ho-eun chuckled as the PE teacher dragged him off by the scruff of his neck toward the faculty office. Yeoreum just stared blankly at him as he disappeared into the distance.
The incident eventually died down, and everyone’s parents were called in.
Thanks to an overwhelming amount of evidence and witness testimonies proving that the chairman’s son and his gang had been bullying Yeoreum, Ho-eun got off with nothing more than in-school community service for throwing the punch.
But, just like in real life, this wasn’t some kind of movie ending with a perfect happy ending.
Ho-eun’s parents, furious that their son had used what he’d learned in martial arts to beat someone up, pulled him out of the training center permanently.
As for the real culprits—the chairman’s son and his cronies—their punishment was a mere suspension.
And in a final twist of cruelty, the one who suffered the most—Yeoreum—was the one forced to transfer to another school.
And just like that, the case was closed.
Although Ho-eun grew distant from sports afterward, he never once regretted what happened that day.
Out of the two prevailing philosophies, he had simply chosen the one grounded in good and evil. On Yeoreum’s final day before transferring schools, he handed Ho-eun a Monster bread bun and quietly said thank you.
***
“……”
The moment his eyes met Do In-ho’s discomforted gaze, Ho-eun snapped out of his thoughts and back into reality.
No longer in the short-sleeved school uniform of his past, present-day Ho-eun stood in a crisp white dress shirt, staring at Do In-ho as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.
“Sorry? What are you sorry for? You’re not free next Friday?”
“Even if I were free, I still couldn’t do it. I’m sorry for refusing, but I can’t.”
Ho-eun blinked several times in confusion, clearly not understanding what was going on.
‘“Can’t”? Did I just get rejected?’
It was the first time Ho-eun had ever been turned down after offering goodwill. The rejection hit hard.
‘If I helped you, shouldn’t you help me in return?’
It was a childish, unreasonable thought—but not all kindness is reciprocated.
If In-ho were to say he never asked for help in the first place, Ho-eun wouldn’t even have a comeback.
Snapping himself out of his daze, he quickly stepped in front of Do In-ho, who was trying to leave. It felt uncomfortably similar to how the intern group had behaved earlier, but he couldn’t let it go.
“Hey, Mr. Do In-ho? It’s just workplace camaraderie—what’s so hard about being teammates and helping each other out? Besides, I’ve got something I need to give you.”
“…It’s not that I don’t want to. I can’t. As a teammate, or as a training partner. It’s not something that suits me. And there’s nothing I need to receive in return.”
In-ho mumbled in a voice as dry and cold as his expression—so lifeless it seemed not a drop of blood would spill if you stabbed him. Then he walked past the frozen Ho-eun, growing more distant with every step.
“What does that even mean—‘doesn’t suit me’?”
Not won’t do it, but can’t? Why? Are Espers and Guides not supposed to get along or something?
Ho-eun ran through multiple theories in his head, but none of them seemed to fit.
Wherever In-ho had disappeared to, he had left Ho-eun in place, frozen solid. And since the person who froze him didn’t bother shouting “unfreeze,” he stayed there for quite a while, blankly standing in place.
Growl—
Only after his stomach growled did Ho-eun realize it was dinnertime. He’d used his brain so much, he was starving.
The cafeteria was free for employees, so he figured he might as well go there—eat something and mentally chew over what just happened with Do In-ho. Reluctantly, he moved his feet.
***
Ho-eun woke to the touch of morning sunlight.
Even though he hadn’t done much the day before, just sitting through class again after so long had apparently tired him out. He’d adjusted to the unfamiliar dorm faster than expected and had fallen asleep almost instantly.
The alarm clock hadn’t gone off yet—it was 6 a.m.
He debated staying in bed longer, but his eyes were already wide open. He gave up and got up to wash and change.
He’d noticed the park yesterday and thought it looked like a good place to run, so he figured he’d try a quick jog.
Even if he landed a desk job, field work still required physical fitness. Since he didn’t know which department he’d end up in, he wanted to be prepared.
The park looked even quieter and more peaceful than it had during the day. Maybe because there was a gym nearby, no one else seemed to be jogging.
Huff… huff…
After about three laps around the park, Ho-eun sat down on a bench to catch his breath. He suddenly sensed someone behind him and turned in surprise.
“…!!”
A can of sports drink was flying toward him in a smooth arc.
Clack.
“Nice reflexes.”
Ho-eun reached out and caught the can. Turning toward the voice, he saw a strikingly handsome man leaning against a vending machine.
His voice was as refined as his looks, and his flawless white skin glowed under the morning light. His blonde hair fell to his collarbone, and his pinkish eyes gleamed like a crimson moon. His long lashes fluttered every time he blinked.
Compared to any celebrity Ho-eun had ever seen, this man was on a completely different level.
Just from his looks, Ho-eun assumed he might be an Esper, but then he noticed the man had a blue employee badge hanging around his neck.
“First time seeing your face. Around here, even if you’re naked, you’d better be wearing your badge.”
“Nobody told me that. And I saw people without badges just yesterday.”
He wanted to point out how silly it was to wear a badge with a tracksuit, but the man didn’t exactly look like he was dressed for work either.
In a navy T-shirt and beige shorts that showed off his long legs, he wore white slip-ons carelessly, the backs crushed down.
The outfit was simple enough, but Ho-eun couldn’t focus on it at all—his attention kept getting drawn back to the man’s dazzling appearance.
Ho-eun pressed the cold can to his forehead.
‘So refreshing.’
As he closed his eyes and soaked in the chill, the man pushed off from the vending machine and sat down beside him.
“You’re an intern, right?”
“…Yes?”
“It’s just—your attitude. I don’t get how you can act like that even after seeing me.”
He had a point. That kind of face was hard to forget after just one glance.
Was this just arrogance from being so good-looking? Or did he really hold some kind of position at the company that gave him the right to speak so casually on first meeting?
The man pointed out Ho-eun’s lack of manners.
“To us, a badge is basically an ID. Whether it’s the Guide Corporation or the Esper Association, you’ll need your badge anywhere you go. The color of the strap tells you who’s who. Yellow for intern Guides, blue for certified Guides, black for Espers.”
The man casually took the drink from Ho-eun’s hand and took a swig himself.
Ho-eun looked down at his now-empty hand in dismay.
‘Who does that—takes food after giving it away?’
This guy had a 99.9% chance of being a terrible person.
“And if you ever see an Esper without a badge, just ignore them. That’s not a person—that’s a monster.”
Crushing the can in one hand, the man smiled—a cool, unsettling smile.
