Delroz, curiously enough, matched with every Guide at roughly the same rate—around 60%. Far too low a percentage for an official pairing. That 60% threshold was merely the minimum required by the Center for a temporary Guide contract.
It was a phenomenon the Royal Esper Center had never encountered before. Equal matching rates with every Guide? The researchers could only speculate that it was due to his SS-rank status, but no one could pinpoint the exact reason.
Because of this, the Center felt like it was in a hushed state of wartime tension.
If things continued as they were, the Guide Delroz personally selected would become his temporary Guide. That was why, each night, the battle of those sneaking into Delroz’s bedroom grew even more intense. Desperate to win the favor of an SS-rank, people were resorting to every possible method and tactic to get close to him.
On the flip side, some Espers began expressing disappointment—did Guides even have that kind of passionate side? The behavior of these usually high-and-mighty Guides had taken many by surprise. Still, there was nothing to be done about it. Some accepted, however bitterly, that it was simply a result of their own inadequacy.
He was the first quantifiable SS-rank since the founding of the nation. With his overwhelming capabilities, curiosity naturally outweighed jealousy for most. Even those who had initially resented him eventually gave in and began to eagerly speculate which Guide he would ultimately pair with.
After finishing his class, Banteon cradled his textbook and pointing stick as he opened the lecture room door.
When the noise from inside the classroom ceased, only the echo of his footsteps rang through the quiet hallway.
Tomorrow was the promised day when Delroz would choose his temporary Guide. Once that happened, the loud chatter sparked by the SS-rank’s appearance would finally settle down—at least somewhat. Of course, the topic wouldn’t truly die down until a formal Guide emerged. Still, the current overinflated atmosphere would at least simmer down.
As he walked the corridor, he gazed blankly out the window at the setting sun.
The crimson sunset spread gradually across the sky, washing over the white outer walls of the Center. From afar, the darkness began to seep in like shadows devouring the light. It was the same sky he’d always seen, yet it felt especially deep and red today. Like something was about to happen—an unsettling, heavy kind of dusk.
His reflection in the window mirrored the stiff expression on his face. Nothing enjoyable had happened lately. With the SS-rank’s arrival, everyone was on high alert, watching their surroundings with sharp eyes and anticipating any incident that might arise. That had made Banteon more cautious as well. He glanced at the main screen of his device and opened the calendar. A completely empty month lay before him—no events, no markings.
‘Maybe it’s time for a little outing.’
The turbulent atmosphere had kept him unintentionally abstinent for quite a while. With a mind to visit Yasen again, he powered off his device.
***
Banteon attached a wig made from energy-dissolving mana stones to the ends of his hair. Once fully affixed, his neat short silver hair transformed into a long, glamorous cascade. Even running his fingers through it, the connection point was imperceptible—flawlessly natural.
Unfamiliar with the sensation, he ran a hand down the back of his neck. Instead of the smooth skin he was used to, soft, swaying strands brushed against his fingers. He couldn’t visit a pleasure district looking like a strict educator, so this disguise was his go-to whenever he visited Yasen.
He folded the glasses that covered half his face and placed them on a small table, then put in dark brown contact lenses.
Next, he took off his buttoned-up, prim outfit and changed into something more comfortable. A few ornate accessories completed the look—enough to alter his appearance so much that even those who knew him would have trouble recognizing him. Banteon grinned at his reflection in satisfaction.
Finally, he put on earrings designed to interfere with facial recognition. By morning, the memory of Banteon’s face would fade into a hazy image. It was a tool he used regularly when heading out for nightlife.
Tossing aside the cumbersome terminal he always carried at the Center, he left the room.
He had been born on a golden carpet—never lacking in anything, never denied anything he desired. Raised in such luxury, he saw no reason to suppress his desires.
Sexual desire was no exception. The only reason he never touched the students was to avoid unnecessary complications, not out of any personal moral restraint.
Instead, he made occasional visits to the pleasure district a little ways off from the Center. Among the most exclusive venues—only accessible to a very limited clientele—Yasen was Banteon’s favored playground.
Upon arriving at Yasen, he saw masked nobles strolling the venue, cloaked in the false elegance of aristocratic grace and propriety.
In a dimly lit space defined by indirect lighting, ornately dressed patrons pretended at decorum, their eyes flickering discreetly and rapidly as they scanned one another.
Banteon casually took a seat, comfortably enjoying the attention he drew. He ordered a drink with a relatively high alcohol content from the waiter.
He filtered out the few stares that hit with intent. He loathed anything that lingered too long. What he needed was someone clean and uncomplicated—someone who could be enjoyed and discarded in a single night.
Who should it be? He sought someone attracted to him, yet easy to shake off afterward, someone who wouldn’t leave behind any mess.
“Can I sit here?”
A man approached him, his fair cheeks visible even beneath the mask. When Banteon didn’t refuse, he quickly settled in beside him.
The man’s soft, wheat-colored hair bounced lightly with every movement. Flashing a loose, flirtatious smile, he gave Banteon a once-over, then tilted his head curiously.
“Are you an Awakener?”
“How do I look?”
“Esper? A cognitive-type Esper?”
About half the clientele here were Espers or Guides. With his height over 180 cm and that distinctive, solid aura, Banteon was often mistaken for a cognitive-type Esper.
“Why won’t you tell me? You are one, aren’t you?”
“Who knows.”
Rather than correcting the man’s wrong assumption, Banteon ran his eyes slowly over him.
His appearance was quite to Banteon’s taste. Even compared to the others here, the man stood out. Banteon smirked. Confident, huh? Must’ve come over thinking he had a shot.
Contrary to his bold demeanor, the man gave a shy little squirm as if feigning embarrassment. That deliberately suggestive behavior wasn’t unpleasant, though.
“If you don’t want to tell me, how about we talk about something else? What do you think I look like?”
At those words, Banteon studied the man closely, his pretty smile not escaping notice. There was none of the distinct aura that typically leaked from Awakeners, and the air around him remained crisp and undisturbed. That meant he wasn’t an Esper.
“You’re unawakened.”
“Ah, how’d you know?”
“There’s a way.”
“That’s amazing. Most people can’t tell. You don’t even need a machine to figure it out?”
If he wasn’t an Esper, the remaining options were Guide or non-Awakener. Since Guides were relatively few and always busy comparing the numerous Espers at the Center to choose the best option, it was unlikely one would be wasting time in a hidden bar like this. He was probably just an ordinary civilian.
“It’s not a very interesting story.”
“Really? But you speak so casually, like it’s totally natural.”
Even with that curt response, the man cheerfully asked his question without the slightest trace of offense. Banteon smiled subtly, reading the obvious subtext behind the question. At Yasen, it was rare to hear someone use casual speech. Though anyone with a membership could technically visit, the clientele was almost exclusively nobility.
And even among nobles, status and influence varied. To avoid complications, people generally used formal speech and tried to gauge each other’s standing. For someone to speak so comfortably without knowing the other’s status—it was an unspoken sign that he hailed from a high-ranking family and wouldn’t have to bow to anyone once identities were revealed.
“Wanna leave with me? If you’re okay with it, we could meet more often. I’ve been alone for a while.”
“Not sure.”
The man’s eyes sparkled, having apparently visited Yasen enough times to quickly deduce Banteon’s position. But in contrast, Banteon’s interest cooled in an instant.
Under normal circumstances, this small, cute type was right up his alley. Skin soft and fair, fingers unmarked by a single wrinkle—if the man looked like that, Banteon would usually welcome him with open arms.
A personality that revealed ambition with every glance was fine too. He liked relationships where he could hand over a suitable reward and walk away without baggage. But tonight, he just wasn’t feeling it.
Maybe it was because he’d seen too many leeches lately—people fluttering around Delroz like moths to flame, trying to gain something from the SS-rank. Seeing that kind of naked greed sapped his desire to play along.
Ignoring the chatter from his companion, Banteon scanned the room again. He gave vague responses, tossing out half-hearted acknowledgments.
The man, who had started off so full of energy, eventually trailed off, discouraged by the lack of replies. With a disappointed slump of his shoulders, he stood and walked away, disheartened by Banteon’s blunt rejection.
A brief stillness fell over the seat beside him—then a large shadow fell across it.
“No manners at all, are you?”
“……”
A new guy this time. As soon as the seat opened, another man swiftly claimed it. A glance sideways revealed a clean, sharply defined neck. Even seated, he looked like he might be taller than Banteon.
Unlike before, this stranger also spoke informally from the first word. As Banteon turned to look, the man’s lips curled into a playful grin.
Under the lighting, golden hair gleamed vividly, and deep red eyes completed a look that matched his easygoing, careless air. If anything, he gave off a frivolous, annoying sort of vibe.
“That guy wasn’t your type? He looked decent enough.”
“……”
“Oh, right—should I introduce myself first? You can call me Rohan. Not my real name, of course.”
Even without a reply, the man kept talking on his own, and Banteon’s brow creased in annoyance.
