“Thanks for your hard work.”
“For what?”
“For carrying me around all day.”
“That’s nothing.”
Though he brushed it off as no big deal, Delroz’s expression noticeably relaxed. Under the flickering firelight, he looked different than usual. The usual arrogance and imposing demeanor had softened into something calm and gentle.
“Come to think of it…”
“Yes?”
Banteon, who had been lounging comfortably against a rock, straightened up.
“When did you awaken?”
“It was normal. I awakened as a Guide at sixteen.”
“I see.”
Banteon then asked the question to Delroz, who had fallen quiet again.
“When did you awaken?”
“Me?”
Delroz tilted his head slightly, as if the ordinary question was somehow difficult to answer.
“I don’t remember.”
“Excuse me?”
“I have no memories of my childhood. From the moment my memory begins, I was already an Esper.”
Rarely, people lost their memories due to the trauma of awakening. Even when that happened, they typically returned within a year or two. Was the severity of the aftereffects proportional to the strength of his powers?
“What about your family…?”
“I have no memory of having one. After that, I just became a mercenary to survive.”
Did that mean he awakened as an adult? Considering most people awakened around the age of fifteen, that would’ve been considered late.
“Then you’ve lasted several years without a Guide?”
“About seven.”
Even regular Espers would struggle to endure that long. To go through it alone, without a Guide, would have been excruciating. Banteon’s mouth fell open at the sheer length of time.
“That must’ve been rough.”
“Didn’t know any better at the time. I thought that’s just how everyone lived. I’d heard Espers could be helped by someone, but I didn’t think it was something I needed.”
If what Delroz said was true, he had lived with that pain from the very beginning of his conscious memory. Never having known a world without it, he had never truly realized how hard it was.
“Thanks to you, I can live comfortably now.”
“Is the difference that big?”
“Big enough that I finally understand those pathetic fools who used to cling to their Guides.”
Delroz spoke of what he had felt when he first arrived at the Center.
“The first time I came to the Center, I thought everyone was a joke. All those Espers had bloodshot eyes locked onto the Guides, and the Guides were picking through them like breeders choosing prize studs. It all looked so ridiculous. To me, all Guides were the same.”
For Delroz, the match rate with any Guide had always been about 60%. At that level, even for an A-rank Esper, it meant living with constant migraines and a pounding pulse—functional in daily life, but constantly uncomfortable. The higher the Esper’s rank, the worse those symptoms got. For someone like Delroz, it would have been unbearable.
As much as Banteon didn’t want to admit it, the match rate between him and Delroz had to be high.
Even in the cave, Delroz’s aura had stabilized without any deliberate Guiding from Banteon. Just being near him, without any conscious attempt, had brought noticeable change.
If unconscious guiding between them was possible, the match rate had to be over 80%.
‘Over 80%…’
With that level of compatibility, even high-ranking Espers were said to feel as if they had no powers at all—like ordinary people. This was probably the first time Delroz had ever experienced complete comfort, free from pain.
If it were someone else, Banteon could’ve easily clapped and congratulated them. To find peace after a lifetime of suffering was something to celebrate—not something to mock. But because he was the one at the center of it, the taste in his mouth turned bitter.
He added fresh fuel to the dying campfire. A handful of dry leaves sent the low flame flickering high once again. The heat washed over his face, turning it a shade redder.
He draped the well-dried jacket lying nearby over his shoulders. Maybe it was just the nighttime chill, but he felt a shiver pass through him.
“I think I’ve got a rough sense of direction now, so we should start moving quickly tomorrow.”
“……”
“We’ll need to send out a distress call too…”
Delroz’s voice gradually faded. It sounded distant, like a microphone submerged underwater. As the sound blurred and stretched, Banteon leaned his head back. His head, resting against a hard rock, grew heavy beyond endurance. The flickering fire dimmed, and his eyes slowly drifted shut.
***
It was hot. Stifling. His body felt heavy, as if trapped inside a massive egg.
He shifted against the suffocating sensation, like being encased in a shell. The lack of sensation in his arms, as though they were bound by something, prompted him to slowly open his eyes.
The scene before him wasn’t much different from before he’d fallen asleep. The faint light of dawn was rising slowly. As he glanced around at the dim surroundings, he lowered his gaze.
He distinctly remembered falling asleep with a well-dried white t-shirt and a jacket draped over it, yet now, nothing covered his upper body. Instead of clothing, a large forearm was sprawled across his chest.
“What the hell…?”
Delroz was clinging to Banteon like a mother bird brooding her egg. Banteon had heard that people could be so shocked they couldn’t even scream. Apparently, that was true—his voice caught in his throat, and he could only swallow his horror.
At his slight movement, he felt a stir behind him.
“You’re awake?”
“What the hell are you doing?”
Delroz, who had been embracing him from behind with bare skin pressed against his own, looked down with a mildly annoyed expression.
“Your fever?”
“Is that really what matters right now?”
“Looks like it’s gone down.”
Whether Banteon was stunned or not, Delroz didn’t seem to care. He placed a hand on Banteon’s forehead, obscuring half his vision with his large palm. Banteon shoved it away irritably.
Even that didn’t seem to bother Delroz. He casually lifted Banteon into his arms and started walking. Being picked up so effortlessly, like a child, Banteon stared at him in disbelief.
“You had a high fever all night.”
“And you couldn’t wake me if there was a problem?”
If something was wrong, waking him up would’ve sufficed. Just like in the cave, Delroz never asked—he simply acted on his own and moved him without permission. The habit was exhausting. Banteon’s sweat-drenched body felt sticky, and his eyes grew sharp in irritation.
“I tried. You wouldn’t wake up.”
Delroz, who stood a step away, was also shirtless. His upper body, slick with sweat, gleamed in the dawn light. From his waistline to his abs, the tightly coiled muscles rippled with every movement.
Realizing they’d been skin-to-skin all night sent a chill of revulsion down Banteon’s spine.
His bare torso felt cold. His ankle felt even wetter. He glanced down at the unpleasant sensation and found a soaked white cloth wrapped around it like a bandage. It was Delroz’s shirt—the one he had carefully dried by the fire yesterday.
It must’ve been soaked in cold water and wrapped around him to lower his fever.
“Your ankle looks okay too.”
Delroz carelessly unwrapped the shirt and examined the ankle. Thankfully, there was no fracture. The severe swelling from yesterday had gone down a bit. There was still some puffiness and sharp pain, but with caution, it would likely heal quickly.
“……”
Delroz himself didn’t look so great either. His hair was damp with sweat, and dark shadows hung under his eyes, hinting at fatigue.
An SS-rank shouldn’t show any outward signs of exhaustion after a single night. The wear on him suggested a different kind of strain—emotional, perhaps. Banteon swallowed hard; his mouth tasted bitter. He knew he should thank him—but what came out was something else.
“I want to wash up.”
He wanted to get himself together. He probably looked just as rough as Delroz. Everything he’d dried by the fire yesterday was soaked through again. Delroz poured sand over the faintly smoldering embers to extinguish the fire.
Without a word, Delroz picked up the clothes he’d set aside and lifted Banteon once again. At this point, being carried had become familiar. Banteon gave up resisting and let his body go limp. Apparently satisfied with that, Delroz marched on with confident strides.
Before long, a cool waterfall came into view, cascading into a wide basin below. The opposite side of the valley was shrouded in misty forest. It looked like a lake, calm and broad. The water flowed gently, creating an idyllic, storybook scene.
Bracing himself on a tree, Banteon stood and stared at the view, entranced. It looked like something straight out of a fairytale.
As he stepped forward to dip his feet in the clear water, a splash exploded beside him.
Water droplets hit his face. Delroz had leapt into the stream.
“If you’re coming in, hurry up.”
Banteon wiped the splashes off his face in irritation. Getting sprayed out of nowhere wasn’t pleasant. Oblivious, Delroz dunked himself completely underwater before emerging again, droplets clinging to his sculpted muscles and sparkling in the morning light.
‘He’s having a blast.’
Delroz looked more like the one who had asked to wash up. Still, Banteon stepped slowly into the water.
It wasn’t as deep as he expected—submerged up to his waist, he could clearly see his toes through the transparent stream.
He washed his face in the cool water, watching his reflection ripple with the current. The sticky sweat was rinsed away, and he felt refreshed. He ducked his head underwater, letting the cold soak into him slowly.
As he emerged and shook his head, clear droplets flung from his silver hair. He slicked back the stray strands clinging to his forehead and stepped carefully back into the stream.
With the water up to his shoulders, he let himself relax into the slow current. The gentle flow rocked his body, and he let himself drift, savoring the calm.
But behind him, he could feel someone’s gaze.
