“And the more I think about it, the more suspicious it seems.”
He muttered with a chilling grin.
“Why would a Guide be outside alone at that hour? Either they’re in on it with the bastards who drugged everyone, or they knew the plan ahead of time.”
Banteon, who had simply gone out for a midnight stroll at that late hour, clamped his mouth shut. Unaware of the subtle change in his expression, Delroz lowered his voice further and continued.
“If it were a female Guide, they might keep her alive even if she was the culprit. But if it’s a man, there’s no need to go easy. Well, there are plenty of ways to make someone talk without killing them.”
The cover of the textbook in Delroz’s hand crumpled. The thick leather-bound cover wrinkled like it was made of flimsy paper. His energy was menacing, as if he were already crushing the male Guide in his mind.
As Delroz said, no Guide would leave the center that late at night, risking penalties—unless they were Banteon, who received blatant preferential treatment.
Banteon, pale as a sheet, forced himself to maintain a composed expression. His fingertips were cold. If an SS-rank Esper like Delroz seriously started suspecting him, how far could the center really protect him?
The thought of revealing his identity and finding freedom was neatly folded away and sent drifting into the sky.
“…I see. I should be going now.”
“Ah, I’ve kept you longer than I meant to.”
Apparently finished with the reason he had sought Banteon out, Delroz handed over the item he’d been holding without resistance. The textbook that had seemed light just moments ago now felt like a boulder in Banteon’s hands.
He hurried to leave. Forcing his weary legs to move properly, he walked as steadily as he could. Only once he turned the corner and was out of sight did he finally lean against the wall and exhale.
Delroz quietly watched his retreating figure. His gaze, now somewhat subdued, stayed locked on Banteon until he completely disappeared from view.
***
I’m screwed.
Muttering an uncharacteristically harsh curse, Banteon dropped the object on his desk with a clatter. He removed his glasses that were obscuring his vision and pressed his sore eyes. As his warm palms swept over his brow and temples, the throbbing in his head slightly subsided.
Lately, he’d often found himself dragged into situations he didn’t want any part of, plagued by constant headaches. All of it stemmed from Delroz.
If someone saves your life, you should just be quietly grateful and move on. But from his arrogant tone during their first meeting to his presumptuous behavior, everything about Delroz was a mess. Crude, abrasive, and someone Banteon never wanted to deal with again.
“What the hell am I supposed to do now…”
The words slipped out in a groan. It wasn’t just that he didn’t want to get entangled with Delroz. This went far beyond worrying that he might suffer simply for being a male Guide. If Delroz found out Banteon was that Guide, he’d be immediately suspected of colluding with those who had administered the drugs. And there was no reasoning with that man.
Fortunately, Delroz had assumed Banteon was a woman, only because the Guiding didn’t make him uncomfortable. But Banteon couldn’t feel safe.
Right now, Delroz was being irrational and had made that assumption—but once time passed, he’d realize it. That he hadn’t felt discomfort precisely because he’d been unconscious, and thus unable to react to being touched by a man.
If they started investigating male Guides too, the net would close in fast.
And there was another reason. Because he was pretty… Delroz probably thought he was a woman too.
….
Ever since reaching adulthood, Banteon hadn’t heard such comments, but as a child, he’d often been told he looked like a girl or that he was pretty. He had always hated and rejected those words. And yet now, to find relief in being called pretty?
That saying about not knowing what life will throw at you was right after all. Nodding to himself with that newfound insight, Banteon leaned his stiff face on his hand as the weight of reality bore down on him once again.
‘Matching… maybe I should even consider forming a temporary Esper pair?’
It was the first time since entering the center that the thought had crossed his mind. He had always hated the idea of being tied to one person and had refused up until now—but in the face of danger, a flood of possibilities began to surface. It seemed like a good idea to leave the center and follow an Esper engaged in field operations.
But no matter how hard he racked his brain, no suitable Esper came to mind. Those in Banteon’s age group had already found partners and were active in various parts of the world.
With no clear way forward, Banteon tried to sort through his thoughts. Heavy silence blanketed the study as the moon slowly rose, until his terminal blinked with a new notification.
With a listless flick of his fingers, Banteon turned on the screen and checked the message. A new private message was glowing. It was from Instructor Sodel, who had gone back to her hometown.
The message wasn’t anything special. She thanked Banteon for covering her classes, saying it allowed her to be at her father’s deathbed. She promised to properly express her gratitude once she returned in a few days. Banteon didn’t even have the energy to reply and let the terminal drop onto the desk with a thud.
He knew it wasn’t right to resent Instructor Sodel, who had gone to care for her family—but if it hadn’t been for those substitute classes, he wouldn’t be in this mess. It would have taken Delroz years to qualify for the advanced course. The center was vast, and Banteon never left his designated zones, so he could’ve easily avoided him.
Delroz would’ve had to go years without a Guide while he worked up to the advanced class. He likely would’ve given up and gotten matched with someone else in the meantime. The real issue had been that substitute class.
No—actually, it started even earlier. With the Subjugation Squad that had recklessly pulled personnel from the center, to the point that Banteon had to take over the substitute class in the first place.
“Ah.”
A single thought surged through Banteon’s mind with fierce clarity. He picked up his terminal again and navigated to the past announcements.
He could volunteer for the Subjugation Squad. It was a legitimate way to leave the center for several months without needing to find a matched Esper.
The decrepit western mines, abandoned due to aging infrastructure, were choked with dry, stagnant air—conditions that had always made him dismiss the idea of volunteering. But now, they seemed like the perfect refuge. Banteon carefully read through the rather long notice, not skipping a single word. Below the formal greeting at the top, the conditions and timeline for Subjugation Squad recruitment were laid out in detail.
Thankfully, the recruitment period wasn’t over yet.
He opened the address book on his terminal and tapped on a familiar name. A few rings later, a voice came through.
Going to those rough mines alone would require too much attention to too many things—he needed a reliable pack mule.
***
“What kind of wind blew through your head all of a sudden?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve always hated things like the Subjugation Squad.”
“Did I?”
“What do you mean, ‘Did I?!’”
Tearot stomped his foot in frustration. Though it would be easy to scold him for acting like a child despite being a fully grown adult, Banteon felt a twinge of guilt—maybe about a gram’s worth—so he simply sipped his tea in silence.
Barely a month had passed since Tearot returned from his last mission, and now he was being dragged into another subjugation operation. Of course he’d be upset. Despite sometimes acting like a child, Tearot was an indispensable asset—an A-rank Esper critical for difficult missions. The higher the mission’s danger level, the longer the leave granted afterward. Tearot had recently completed one of those high-level missions and was still on vacation, which Banteon had now cleanly ruined.
He did feel a little guilty. But his own situation was far more urgent.
“I’ll make it up to you next time.”
“With what? How? No—more importantly, what the hell made you sign up for this?”
More than his lost vacation, Tearot was curious about why Banteon had volunteered for the Subjugation Squad. Aside from the dungeon expeditions required during their trainee days, Banteon had never once signed up for a mission voluntarily.
Hadn’t he always hated the idea of living in those makeshift giant tents? Hot, cold, hard to bathe—it was the worst possible environment for Banteon.
“To fulfill the duties of a nobleman?”
“You know damn well that kind of line won’t fly.”
“Seriously, what’s with your tone?”
“Try standing in my shoes and see if you can speak politely!”
Tearot’s tone was always terrible, even without situations like this—but Banteon generously refrained from pointing that out.
He gave Tearot a pat on the shoulder, the one who had been called in early that morning by the Subjugation Squad leader and put through the wringer. His already stiff shoulders felt like solid rock. Since he was a late addition to the team, Tearot had to work twice as hard from dawn. Slapping a medicated patch onto his back, he gave it a sharp smack with a thwack.
“If I’d known it’d be this rough, I should’ve signed up alone.”
“Say something that makes sense, will you?”
Tearot’s voice had settled down a bit compared to earlier.
“You’re always bitching about me being your watchdog or your keeper, but if you leave me behind this time, I swear I’ll be pissed.”
Banteon gave a light chuckle and shrugged in response to Tearot’s firm warning. He teased him—What, did I come just to spy on you again? Gonna file a report or something?—but he knew it wasn’t the truth.
Tearot had been born the same year as him and had been by his side since childhood—closer than any sibling.
“Aren’t you gonna get a matched Guide?”
“I’ll decide after you pick an Esper.”
“I told you, I’m not going to match with anyone.”
“Then I guess I’ll be stuck with a temporary Guide for life.”
‘What a stiff bastard.’
Banteon gave a bitter smile at Tearot’s words, remembering a distant past when the two had once promised to awaken as Espers together and go on adventures.
Thinking about it now, it left a sour taste. Banteon had grown up believing—without a doubt—that he would become an Esper. Not just the Esrante family, but everyone around him had thought so. He was the child with the purest Esrante blood. It was assumed he would be at least a B-rank Esper.
