Tearot lunged forward at a speed too fast for the eye to follow, but Rohan casually stopped him with a mere flick of his fingers.
It was only natural. From the beginning, there was a chasm between them that couldn’t be crossed—a difference in power that was absolute.
“Hgh…!”
With just a light push to the chest using one hand, Rohan bent Tearot’s waist backward. Tearot collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. His pupils, half-unfocused from a single blow, trembled violently.
It all happened in such a brief moment that he couldn’t even comprehend what had taken place. Tearot, now bracing against the ground with trembling limbs, looked like an old man drained of every last drop of strength.
A pitiful ending, considering how boldly he had charged in.
Rohan, one hand resting on his hip, looked more at ease than a cat toying with a mouse. Smirking, apparently in good spirits, he spoke with arrogant leniency.
“Thanks for the help until now. I’ll let you live.”
“You… bastard…”
“Don’t collapse now. You have to stay conscious. Otherwise, once your body changes, you won’t be able to save the person you care about.”
What utter nonsense. The boy encased in ice already looked lifeless, his face stiff and pale. Even if the bodies switched, it might last only a few minutes—or he might die instantly.
Even with the Center’s medical technology, the situation was grim. All they had here were a few pitiful pills.
Even if Tearot miraculously kept his mind intact, there was only one future left for Banteon.
A faint, almost ridiculous smile slipped from Banteon’s lips, completely out of place for the moment.
Born into a life anyone would envy, only to die with his body stolen by a villain. It was such a joke, it wouldn’t even make the cut for a third-rate script.
They say when you’re truly angry, your head goes cold. With a suddenly sharp calm, Banteon viewed the situation like it wasn’t even happening to him.
Was there a way out of this?
In the middle of a desert, facing an SS-Rank Esper trying to steal his body, a collapsed A-Rank Esper, and himself—trapped in the body of a helpless Guide.
Losing interest in Tearot, who trembled with his head down, Rohan turned to Banteon and spoke with haughty amusement.
“If you’ve got any last words, better say them now.”
“I don’t need any.”
“Hahaha. I really like you. Right up to the end. My kid used to be bold like you too. I’ve missed that sometimes. Guess I’ll see him soon.”
Chatting away about the past to someone on the brink of death, Rohan abruptly stopped laughing. In an instant, his expression changed.
The snake in human skin had shed its mask.
“Alright, enough jokes. Let’s get started.”
Rohan yanked Banteon’s arm hard.
Banteon tried to resist, tensing his body, but was easily dragged forward.
As soon as Rohan touched him, water began to trickle from the ice. It started as a faint stream, then grew stronger like rainfall, and finally surged like a waterfall, soaking the ground.
Banteon’s hand was pressed onto it.
When the ice melted just a little more, his hand would touch Rohan’s true body.
Whether he wanted it or not, the Guiding would initiate. Once it ended, his body would switch with that boy’s.
Banteon’s gaze turned to the fallen Tearot. Their eyes met—Tearot couldn’t even lift himself from the ground.
The madness in his eyes had twisted into agony.
It was a familiar look.
Tearot always wore that expression when he blamed himself. Like when he awakened as an Esper alone and tearfully apologized.
“Say your goodbyes.”
“……”
At the mention of goodbyes, it wasn’t the Tearot in front of him who came to mind.
Black hair overlapped with that distorted face.
Piercing golden eyes, twisted in pain.
If he’d known this body would vanish so soon, maybe he should’ve dropped the stubborn pride and guided him—just once more.
Given him something to hold on to.
If only he hadn’t clung to pointless things like contracts and bargains.
The regret sank deep into his chest like a weight.
Finally, the melted ice revealed Rohan’s true form.
As Banteon’s hand touched the man, he squeezed his eyes shut.
Rohan’s arm, long frozen, was cold and stiff—ice-cold to the point of pain.
In the moment that Rohan’s red aura—something Banteon had never seen before—flooded toward him, the world spun upside down.
“Bante!”
The power twisted his insides, and nausea surged.
A choking pressure clamped around his neck, and every vein in his body pulsed like they’d burst.
The pain was sharp and vivid. His clenched eyelids burned.
Tears mixed with the water streaming across the ground, and his head, too heavy to hold up, fell forward.
Blacking out was becoming a familiar sensation. But this time, it wouldn’t end with just fainting.
‘If I die… they’ll grieve a lot, won’t they…’
In the fading fog of consciousness, a light fell from the sky.
***
The sunlight by the window was warm.
He couldn’t remember exactly, but it must’ve been late spring.
“Bante is such a strong boy. You’ll be okay on your own, right?”
His mother had always been frail.
With bony fingers and a pale face, she would smile gently.
There was always sorrow in the corners of her sickly eyes.
“I’ll be fine.”
He gave the same answer every time.
He didn’t want to burden someone who was already suffering.
Even if he wasn’t okay, he smiled bravely as if he was.
Back then, little Banteon didn’t know—that every time he said those words, her face grew darker.
“Please take care of Baiheron. I’m sorry to ask so much of you when you’re still just a child…”
“Don’t worry.”
Banteon never considered himself a child. He could eat on his own, and he could climb trees. He wasn’t like his younger brother, who had only just learned to stand by holding onto pillars. Naturally, Baiheron was the fragile one—someone Banteon had to take care of.
Despite his mature answer, their mother only nodded with a somber expression each time. Was it because she didn’t find him reliable? A pang of frustration welled up inside him.
“I’m all grown up now. Right, Father?”
“Yes.”
His father answered bluntly, without looking at him. Throughout the exchange, his gaze remained fixed solely on their mother.
His father and mother were different. His father had never once looked at Banteon or Baiheron.
But Banteon hadn’t felt hurt by it. Their mother was ill. He and his brother were healthy. They didn’t need medicine, didn’t have fevers. So their father’s actions seemed reasonable.
And their mother had always told them, “Your father loves you too.” That was enough.
That day, their mother was very sick. A fever that usually came and went now lingered for three days without breaking, and she coughed far more than she spoke.
The three resident physicians in the estate had all shaken their heads and left her room one after another.
Banteon refused to go back to his room, ignoring the nanny’s gentle urging, and squatted in front of the closed door for a long time. Something was different. Even a young child like him could tell that much for certain.
“Hyung…”
Baiheron, now able to run and talk quite a bit, approached with a clumsy voice. Come to think of it, this would normally be the time they played together.
Realizing he’d lost track of time, Banteon stood up. He reassured the anxious nanny fidgeting nearby and picked up his little brother in his arms.
“Is Mommy sick?”
“No.”
He patted the small round back. The softness of Baiheron’s chubby cheeks brushing against his own calmed the storm in his chest.
Their mother had been sick for years. She’d be fine this time too. Just like always, by tomorrow, she’d smile and call their names gently again.
“I wanna see Mommy.”
Baiheron tugged at Banteon’s hair, whining. His clear, wide eyes met Banteon’s, and the unease in his chest eased further.
Maybe their mother would feel stronger if she saw their faces.
She loved both her sons deeply.
If they went together and cheered her on, perhaps like magic, she’d sit up and hold them tight in her arms.
Banteon slowly opened the door.
Inside, their mother lay in bed, and his father sat by her side with his back turned toward them.
Holding his brother’s hand, Banteon stepped carefully into the room.
“GET OUT!”
The roar struck like thunder.
They hadn’t even taken three full steps when they froze in place.
It was the first time their father had shouted.
He was never warm, but he’d never been harsh either.
The unfamiliar fury caught Banteon completely off guard.
“W-We just wanted to see Mother…”
“If it weren’t for you two, she wouldn’t be like this! What use is filthy blood like yours?!”
What was he talking about?
The words made no sense.
Banteon’s young mind couldn’t grasp the meaning, couldn’t interpret any of it.
All he knew was that his father, for the first time, was shouting at them.
The shock of it hammered through his body like a blow.
“WAAAHHHH!”
If Baiheron hadn’t burst into tears in fright—
If the nanny hadn’t rushed in and quickly pulled them both out—
Banteon might’ve remained frozen there like a statue for the rest of his life.
No…
Maybe half his heart turned to stone that day.
The memories after that were hazy.
He didn’t remember how he got back to his room, or how the rest of the day passed.
But one thing was clear:
His mother had lied.
His father did not love them.
Hugging his crying brother tightly, Banteon made a promise to himself.
I’ll protect him.
I’m fine.
I’ve already grown up, just like Mother said. I can be strong.
But my little brother isn’t there yet. He’s still small. Still needs someone to care for him.
So if he was going to keep the promise he made to their mother—
He had to become even stronger.
