Just as he reached for the door, a hand beat him to it and slammed it shut with a loud bang.
“Hyung, are you seriously not going to talk to me?”
“…I don’t want to right now.”
Eun-jo muttered, deliberately turning his head away.
He stared at Eun-jo’s flawless face. He looked even thinner than before, and the sight twisted something in his gut. Just making eye contact felt urgent—like he was starving for it. Jung Tae-seok barely held himself back from cupping Eun-jo’s cheeks and turning him to face him. Struggling to keep his voice even, he finally spoke.
“Talk to me anyway.”
At last, Eun-jo looked at him. His jet-black eyes were filled with raw resentment.
“…Talk about what? Why you didn’t say anything when you were struggling?”
“Anything.”
“Then go on. Say it.”
Eun-jo turned fully toward him, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white.
“What the hell were you thinking? How long were you planning to keep this up?”
“……”
“You knew you needed Guiding. And you still didn’t tell the Center? Because you thought I’d get in trouble?”
Eun-jo bit down on his lower lip, his voice low and steady but razor-sharp. A fresh bite mark appeared, and Jung Tae-seok’s face twisted in pain, as if he’d been the one hurt. He instinctively reached out to touch Eun-jo’s lip.
“Don’t pretend this is nothing, Hyung.”
“Don’t touch me!”
Who was the one lying in the infirmary just now?! Eun-jo slapped his hand away and stumbled back. His back hit the door with a dull thud.
“You think collapsing from pain is no big deal? You thought I’d be grateful just because you kept it a secret from the Center?”
Jung Tae-seok’s lips parted as if to answer, but the words caught in his throat. He exhaled slowly, as if forcing himself to stay calm.
Then he held out his hand.
Ever since Eun-jo lost his abilities, he’d grown hypersensitive to physical touch. Jung Tae-seok had always made sure to ask for permission first.
Eun-jo stared at the outstretched hand, unmoving.
So Jung Tae-seok stepped forward—and pulled him into his arms.
The sharp, sterile smell of medication filled the air. It was so strong, he couldn’t even guess how many rounds of Guiding injections and IV fluids had been pumped into Tae-seok.
A large hand gently brushed the back of Eun-jo’s head.
“You’re the one who’s hurting, Hyung.”
“……”
“I just… I’m fine as long as you’re not in pain when you’re with me.”
“……”
“I’ve never been more thankful for my ability than I am right now. As long as I still have it, you won’t be hurt.”
Eun-jo buried his face in Jung Tae-seok’s chest and closed his eyes.
No one hated their own power more than Jung Tae-seok. Because of his healing ability, no one ever took his pain seriously. To them, he was nothing but a weapon that wouldn’t break—an object that couldn’t die no matter what was done to it.
And no one knew that better than Tae-seok himself. Throughout the entire novel, he’d cursed his own power relentlessly. Wished he’d been born with a combat ability instead.
So when he said those words, they carried weight. Real weight.
Eun-jo twitched in his arms, and Tae-seok held him even tighter.
“I don’t regret it.”
“……”
“Even if I had to do it all over again, I’d make the same choice. You would too, right?”
A dull ache pierced his chest, and Eun-jo pushed him away.
“…Give me time.”
This time, Tae-seok didn’t pull him back. Eun-jo lowered his head and opened the door.
No footsteps followed.
Haah. A long sigh escaped his lips.
***
The Guiding Room was quiet.
Normally, with four Esper Imprints to his name, he would’ve been swarmed by Espers trying to get close. But this time was different.
Now, he was a Guide without powers.
So this is how they’re writing it now?
None of this happened in the novel. Eun-jo flopped into a chair and slouched so low it felt like he was sliding down a playground slide.
“What am I even supposed to do…”
Tae-seok’s unflinching gaze lingered in his mind. So did the curious stares from the Espers earlier.
If only someone had gotten mad at him. If Jin Mu-seong or Park Se-yul had even scolded him once—it would’ve been easier.
But no one did. They just brought him meals now and then. Asked how he was feeling.
Like that was the only thing that mattered.
Eun-jo let out a deep sigh and drummed his fingers on the table. Tap, tap. The soft sound echoed across the surface.
The only thing he had to give was Guiding. And now that was gone, too.
If I can’t Guide, doesn’t that mean the Imprints will fade soon too?
His powers had already vanished. There was no reason the Imprints would be any different. For all he knew, they were already gone, and the others were just pretending not to notice.
“Then what use am I?”
The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them. And the moment he called himself useless, a shiver ran down his spine. The weight of it crushed him.
Just then, a knock echoed through the Guiding Room.
He glanced at the clock—it was already time. His appointment with Heo Nan-gyeom.
Eun-jo straightened in his seat.
“Come in.”
The door opened, and Heo Nan-gyeom stepped inside, bowing his head politely. He scanned the room with a quick glance.
“May I come in?”
He was always like this—absurdly polite. You’d think this was his first time getting Guiding, the way he acted. Eun-jo gave a half-hearted nod.
As usual, he was dressed in a full Esper uniform. Maybe it was his round, potato-like face, but he looked more like a mercenary than an official Esper. Eun-jo’s eyes lingered on the taut stretch of fabric across his chest—until their eyes met.
“…Have a seat.”
Feeling awkward, Eun-jo slid the chair across from him toward Heo Nan-gyeom. It was usually the seat where Espers sat during hand-contact Guiding sessions.
Nan-gyeom sat down quietly and looked at him.
He had a surprisingly tall presence, even while seated. It wasn’t just his size—he gave off the impression of a boulder, solid and unmoving. But more than anything, it was those still, waiting eyes that made it hard to breathe. It felt like being left alone with a puppy in someone else’s house—just the two of them, with nowhere to hide.
“…You sure you’re not busy?”
“I’m fine.”
“……”
“……”
Silence settled between them again.
Wasn’t he supposed to be the affectionate type? Eun-jo felt like punching the author and made another attempt at conversation.
“You didn’t get caught by the team leader?”
“He doesn’t really pay attention to me. Unless something’s wrong.”
“……”
“……”
And silence again.
The man sitting in front of him felt completely different from the Heo Nan-gyeom in the novel. Maybe he was just the type who needed time to open up? Eun-jo sighed, giving him a once-over.
But the priority right now was Guiding. If he could just get that back…
Then nobody else would have to suffer anymore.
Eun-jo reached across the table.
“Alright, let’s start with hands.”
He turned his palm upward, and Nan-gyeom slowly placed his hand on top. As their skin touched, the familiar feeling returned—an energy trickling in, faint but steady.
Is it because the contact area’s too small? Eun-jo tilted his head, then stood. He stepped around the table toward him, and Nan-gyeom visibly flinched, his entire body jolting like he’d just come face-to-face with a wild beast.
“Excuse me.”
But Eun-jo didn’t have the luxury of hesitation. He had to confirm whether his Guiding still worked. Straddling Nan-gyeom’s lap, he sat down, and the man instantly froze.
Without a second thought, Eun-jo pulled their linked hands closer. Nan-gyeom went still, barely breathing.
“Hmm. Feels like the same output.”
Even with their thighs and hips pressed together, the energy flow hadn’t changed. So it wasn’t about the surface area—it might be the intensity. As he mulled it over, Eun-jo suddenly hugged him tight.
“……!”
Nan-gyeom flinched hard. That’s when Eun-jo finally noticed just how stiff he was.
Why’s he acting like this? This isn’t his first time, is it?
Given how long he’d been active, Nan-gyeom had to have done plenty of Guiding sessions. And since they were on the same team, it wasn’t even his first time with Eun-jo.
There was only one explanation left—he didn’t like touching someone he wasn’t close with.
And he said he’d help me with anything…
Pouting, Eun-jo muttered under his breath.
“Just bear with it for a bit. Even if it’s uncomfortable… you said you’d help.”
“……”
“Is it that bad?”
“……”
Still no answer.
Not realizing the man he was hugging was basically short-circuiting, Eun-jo pouted even more.
“I’ll make it quick.”
Eun-jo leaned his head back, staring past Nan-gyeom—and their eyes met. The man was staring at him with the expression of someone holding his breath, face flushed red.
“Should we start with a kiss?”
“……”
A soft sigh escaped Nan-gyeom’s lips.
The word hit like a bolt of lightning, and heat surged through him. Hoping Eun-jo wouldn’t notice, he gave the smallest, most reluctant nod.
