“You said not to take it off even if I died.”
“It feels like we’ve already been found out anyway.”
“True enough.”
His voice sounded completely unsurprised.
The moment the man everyone already knew but pretended not to recognize removed the mask hiding his face and stuffed it into his pocket, Choi Tae-hoon felt the crowd surrounding them ripple like shallow waves.
The sharp intake of breath that followed was only natural.
Tae-hoon quietly asked the man walking beside him with their fingers intertwined,
“How many pictures do you think they’ve taken of us by now? And could you maybe let go of my hand?”
“You wouldn’t want to know. And no.”
No matter how affectionate he acted, he was still a man who refused to lose even a single exchange.
Tae-hoon rubbed at his heated face, embarrassed by the strangely intimate feeling of hearing Gwan-young mimic his tone of voice back at him.
Maybe word had spread far enough that Ji Gwan-young was here, because more and more people carrying serious-looking camera equipment had begun appearing nearby.
For a moment, Gwan-young considered scrambling the insides of every one of those cameras. But this once, he decided he’d allow a few photos.
“So, what do you want to eat?”
“You’re buying?”
“You think I’d let you pay for me?”
“I’m going to ask for something really expensive.”
“Go ahead.”
It felt strangely surreal.
Almost as though Ji Gwan-young himself had become the protagonist from one of the dramas or films he always starred in.
Having this man, who drew the attention of every person around him, standing beside him smiling while holding his hand was somewhat frightening—and yet, at the same time, strangely satisfying.
Ji Gwan-young—that person really is my Esper.
His heart pounded louder and harder with every second.
It was right then that Gwan-young’s gaze landed on his Guide with faint confusion in his eyes. Ji Gwan-young was extremely sensitive to even the smallest changes in Choi Tae-hoon.
“Ji, Ji Gwan-young-ssi! We’re from ㅇㅇㅇㅇ. Is the person beside you your Guide?”
“Sorry. No interviews.”
“Wait a moment! Ji Gwan-young-ssi! Then the movement outside the city recently was—!”
As if removing the mask had been some kind of signal, reporters who had been lingering nearby watching for an opening began stepping forward one by one to block their path.
Because of that, Gwan-young’s brows curved faintly in irritation, as though he thought their existence had made his Pair uncomfortable. But the reporters, starved for anything beyond The Center’s robotic statements, pursued them persistently.
And from that moment on, Ji Gwan-young’s mood—which had been floating as though he were walking on air—began steadily declining.
To him, today was time meant solely for spending with his Guide. Any interruption was unwelcome.
Yet strangely enough, Tae-hoon found this situation somewhat relieving.
He signaled lightly to Gwan-young to let go of his hand, then slipped several steps back into the crowd.
The expression on Gwan-young’s face as he silently asked, “Why?” looked faintly sulky.
Still, getting rid of reporters was Ji Gwan-young’s responsibility.
If Tae-hoon tried doing it clumsily himself, who knew what might happen?
So Tae-hoon stepped subtly back and watched his Pair from a distance.
Even if his personality was far worse than anyone imagined and people found him terrifying, in the end, thankfully, he’d still been socialized well enough.
Even with that murderous look in his eyes, as though he wanted to rip someone apart, his face and behavior still belonged to the beloved top star adored by everyone.
Watching Ji Gwan-young sigh faintly as though carving the word patience into himself while dealing with the reporters was so different from how he acted at The Center that it actually made Tae-hoon laugh.
That was when it happened. A sticky scent, faintly like sugary candy, drifted through the air.
“Hello.”
Because he’d hidden himself in a strangely deserted alleyway, Tae-hoon jumped slightly and turned around at the greeting clearly directed at him.
The person speaking to him was a somewhat thin young man with pale light-brown hair that gave off an oddly washed-out impression.
Wearing a loose zip-up hoodie over a dark shirt and jeans with a similar casual feel, he looked around Tae-hoon’s age at most—possibly even younger.
“So you’re that person’s Guide right now?”
His deliberately bright and gentle voice sounded friendly enough to lower one’s guard and return the smile awkwardly.
Maybe because of that, Tae-hoon failed to catch the strange phrasing hidden in what he’d just said.
Thinking the man might simply be another reporter, Tae-hoon merely forced a vague smile and tried to leave. But the young man knew more about Tae-hoon than expected.
“You’re Choi Tae-hoon-ssi, right?”
“……Do I know you?”
“We’ve never met before. But you have no idea how badly I wanted to meet you.”
Behind the young man—no, behind Lee Hansol—a man with an expressionless face appeared almost like a shadow.
There was definitely no one there just now.
Choi Tae-hoon’s eyes widened.
The man whose gaze met his looked somewhat pale.
No matter how beautiful a shell someone wore, human instinct occasionally pierced through it anyway.
For Tae-hoon, this was one of those moments.
The thought that causing a scene might create trouble for Ji Gwan-young, who was already tied up with reporters, tangled together chaotically with the danger signals triggered by the sense of wrongness he felt from these people.
Hansol smiled with curved eyes as he watched Tae-hoon slowly backing away, every trace of humor gone from his face.
Lee Hansol hadn’t lied. He truly had searched endlessly for them. That Esper. And this Guide.
“Thank you for finding my Esper, Tae-hoon-ssi.”
“I’m sorry, but I think you’ve misunderstood something. I never—”
“Haha. Look over there. He’s coming now.”
Tae-hoon flinched unconsciously at the warm presence suddenly touching his back. But the person connected to that Name was not the one who possessed Tae-hoon’s Name.
Clap.
Lee Hansol brought his hands together as though delighted.
Tae-hoon slowly turned his gaze toward the direction Hansol pointed.
He saw his Esper striding through the crowd toward them with a frightening expression.
In a cheerful voice that sounded seconds away from bursting into laughter, Lee Hansol continued.
“Ji Gwan-young, that person. My Esper.”
