The thin page turned. A breeze drifting through the slightly opened window swept across the open book. The page that had been marked by its owner fluttered aimlessly before flipping to a completely unrelated section.
Yet the book’s owner remained oblivious, wholly focused on the person before him.
“Teacher….”
“Tired, aren’t you?”
The man, who looked as though he’d only just shaken off boyhood, nuzzled his cheek against Banteon’s knee. It was a desperate motion, as though touching the other was the only way to survive. Banteon watched him calmly and ran his fingers along the nape of the man’s neck. With every pass of his hand, the man’s body trembled in tiny shivers.
‘Cute one.’
The way he reacted so honestly to his touch—no matter how many times he saw it, Banteon never got tired of it. A strange thrill sparked in his eyes. He brushed gently over the plump earlobes and the prettily flushed corners of his eyes, then pressed against the slightly parted lips. The man whimpered instinctively.
When he soothed and patted these immature Espers who couldn’t even regulate their own energy, they always reacted adorably. It was a small pleasure that helped Banteon endure this hellish center.
“Teacher, can’t you give me a kiss?”
“That’s not allowed.”
Unless one was a matched guide, sexual contact was strictly forbidden. It was a rule imposed by the center to manage guiding rigorously, just in case of unexpected variables.
When the man’s face fell in disappointment, Banteon gently pressed a finger to his lips.
“Keslan. You know what that means, don’t you?”
Apparently understanding right away, Keslan flicked out his lovely tongue and licked Banteon’s long finger. From the fingertip to between the joints, he savored every sensitive spot as if intoxicated by a sweet candy.
Banteon let out a faint chuckle at the soft texture of his tongue and stroked Keslan’s head. The wet, squelching sound clung to the library like a sticky haze.
“Good boy.”
“I wish you were my guide… Or even just a temporary one.”
“Yeah. That’d be nice.”
Apparently not satisfied with just licking his finger, Keslan gripped Banteon’s wrist and kissed his palm. Like a kitten suckling, he suckled the soft flesh beneath the thumb. Starting from the palm, he trailed kisses up the wrist toward the elbow, and Banteon’s eyes narrowed in amusement.
It was always a satisfying moment.
He swallowed the urge to carry him to the bed and roll with him all night long.
Keslan, having reached the inside of Banteon’s elbow, buried his head there, nuzzling into him like a child seeking affection. Banteon subtly held him up, supporting the wobbling boy. Even with the slightest touch, Keslan clung and moaned. As the sensations slowly escalated, Banteon glanced at the clock.
4:45.
‘Time to start wrapping this up.’
Unfortunately, class was about to begin. Banteon lifted his foot and pressed against Keslan’s thigh as if to gently push him away. The firm, muscular body didn’t budge easily, but when he nudged upward to the half-swollen center, Keslan let out a choked sound and took a step back.
“You’re so mean.”
“You got hard in just that short time? You must be really pent-up. Didn’t that guide you tested with recently do anything for you?”
“You’re better. Please, just one more matching test next time.”
“We already did one.”
“But still….”
The matching test they’d done before had yielded a mere 32.8% compatibility—far too low for a temporary guiding relationship.
Recalling the results, Banteon tousled Keslan’s head roughly and let out a meaningful chuckle.
“You’ve calmed down a bit now. Go to training.”
“It’s so weird. It feels so good, so why’s the score so low?”
“Machines don’t lie. Guess your sensor’s broken.”
“…It’s not.”
“Your energy’s settled, right? Then off you go.”
Banteon gave a light kiss to Keslan’s smooth forehead and ran his hand through the boy’s messy hair.
Grumbling as if annoyed at being treated like a child, Keslan nonetheless obediently opened the door and left. His awkward gait—clearly not yet fully calmed—was quite the sight. The door shut with a soft click, and the sunlit room finally grew quiet.
Sinking deep into the chair’s backrest, Banteon fell into thought.
This wasn’t the first time an Esper with low compatibility clung to him. Since he’d arrived at the center, something like this had happened five or six times.
The reason was obvious.
That damned noble family must’ve ordered the compatibility results to be lowered.
Even within the Royal Esper Center, where only the elite nobles were admitted, the Esrante family stood out. The Esrantes had produced countless high-ranking Espers. Judged by numbers alone, they might even outstrip the royal family.
Banteon was the first Guide born to the Esrante family.
Unlike other Guides, he couldn’t just be paired with a random high-compatibility Esper. No—there was no such thing as a “suitable partner” for someone from the Esrante line.
The state offered two paths for protected Guides: to find a matching Esper or to remain at the center and work in a related field.
Banteon had chosen the latter—becoming a teacher at the center.
In doing so, he was also exempt from the obligation of serving as a temporary guide.
The only requirement was to undergo periodic matching tests.
Even the Royal Esper Center, so proud of its fairness, meant nothing in the face of power. Whenever Banteon took a matching test with an unremarkable Esper, the result would always be released as a low compatibility rate—below 40%—regardless of the actual score.
‘I wonder what the real number was.’
It had been a while since someone clung to him so persistently. The actual compatibility rate might’ve been quite high. Considering they were more compatible than the temporary guide Keslan was currently matched with, it was even possible that they would have been formally paired.
Banteon turned his head without a shred of regret. His current lifestyle was dictated by the family’s decision, but he found it rather agreeable. He’d long since accepted that he wasn’t the type to be tied down to one place. The idea of settling with a single Esper didn’t suit him. He preferred to enjoy his freedom. That was exactly why he overlooked the family’s interference with his match results—because it aligned with his tastes.
‘Keslan’s like a little puppy—cute, but way too clingy.’
Murmuring a brief judgment on the boy who’d just left, Banteon leaned back in his chair.
“What a mess.”
Only now did the desk come into view. Seeing the scattered papers and pages flipped by the wind, he sighed. With practiced ease, he rearranged the documents and slipped a bookmark between the pages. The newly purchased bookmark failed to hold firm and flopped loosely with every touch.
As expected, someone else’s recommendation was never to be trusted. Irritated, he yanked the bookmark out and tossed it into the trash can.
Through the quietly opening door, an uninvited guest entered.
“What’s with the sour face? You looked like you were enjoying yourself just a minute ago.”
Dark brown hair tinged with red. A sturdy build that made it obvious at a glance that he was an Esper. The man gave a teasing smile. Banteon’s brows furrowed instinctively.
“Tearot. Aren’t you tired of playing watchdog?”
“That’s harsh. I went out of my way to visit, and you won’t even greet me properly?”
“Tch.”
Clicking his tongue, Banteon turned away from the unwelcome guest. Tearot, unfazed by the cold reception, leaned against the doorframe and casually scanned the study. Judging by how he showed up right after Keslan left, he must’ve come to snoop again after hearing something.
He didn’t even bother hiding the fact that he was surveilling. Tearot wandered around the very spot where Keslan had been kneeling just moments ago.
“He didn’t even bother to hide his energy before leaving. Must’ve been really good, huh?”
“Do you need a refresher on Esper sexual ethics?”
“Coming from the great Banteon, who lives like the rules don’t apply—that’s rich.”
Tearot smirked as he scraped his foot against the floor. The sensation of another Esper’s lingering energy wasn’t exactly pleasant. If it was properly suppressed, there’d be no conflict. But when it reeked with this kind of sticky possessiveness, it was flat-out disgusting for other Espers.
After rubbing the spot for a bit, Tearot looked satisfied and plopped down onto the nearest chair with an audible thump. Banteon’s expression tightened.
“That chair wasn’t easy to get.”
“With all that money, don’t be so stingy.”
“I’ve got no reason to be generous with you.”
“Ugh, fine.”
Tearot stood up, theatrically dusting off the chair as if to make a show of being careful. His exaggerated manner, holding his fingertips up and pretending to wipe gently, was clearly mocking.
Banteon ignored the bait. Reacting would only lead to some idiotic back-and-forth, and he wasn’t in the mood for it.
“You didn’t come all the way here just to scold me, did you.”
“Of course not. I brought you some fun news, Bante.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Well, I’ve got something you’d like to hear. Interested?”
That childhood nickname, “Bante,” was something Tearot always used when he was up to no good.
Though Banteon didn’t particularly like it, Tearot did have a habit of showing up with interesting news whenever he used it. Stories even Banteon, who typically had little interest in the world, found worth listening to.
Only now did Banteon feel inclined to hear him out. Pushing aside the tidied desk, he looked toward Tearot.
“Sit.”
“Finally letting me, huh? Getting a seat around here is harder than pulling teeth….”
“If you don’t like it, you’re free to leave.”
“Wow, harsh. I’m telling you, you won’t regret hearing this.”
With a smug expression, Tearot sat down and stretched his shoulders—every bit as playful as ever.
