It happened due to what was commonly referred to as the “Guide’s Dominance.” It was a symptom where an Esper became overly synchronized with a Guide’s energy, leading to excessive intimacy and possessiveness toward them.
Because it was hard to distinguish from a naturally developing partner relationship, young Espers who had just been matched often intentionally kept their distance from their Guides for a while.
Delroz’s sudden change—especially considering his known aversion to men—was a textbook case of Guide Awareness Syndrome.
“Wait.”
Delroz raised his hand, halting the conversation. His brow furrowed in confusion. Every movement made the cuffs on his wrists rattle. They looked fairly heavy too.
“So what you’re saying is… that’s all this is? That I’m just suffering from that syndrome right now?”
“Exactly. You’re going through the same syndrome that typically affects younger Espers.”
Banteon shrugged and continued explaining.
“You start becoming overly conscious of everything the Guide does. You can’t take your eyes off them. If it starts interfering with daily life, they recommend treatment or taking some distance from the Guide.”
“Taking distance, huh…”
His quiet murmur carried clear discomfort.
“Luckily, you won’t be seeing me for the next fifteen days, so it might be a good chance to get over this.”
Delroz’s lip curled at Banteon’s indulgent tone, as if offering him a favor.
“So you’re calling me a patient now. That I’ve gone mentally unhinged and that’s why I’m reacting this way to you?”
“It’s not that serious. It’s something a lot of people go through.”
Delroz had never liked Banteon. No, it was closer to rejection—clear and firm. And yet within days, he had flipped his stance and was saying it didn’t matter if he became lovers with a male Guide he had previously despised.
The speed was unheard of—even faster than what was found in the records.
Unlike Banteon, who was calmly explaining Guide Awareness Syndrome, Delroz made no effort to hide his disgust. With a displeased expression, he drew up one knee and rested his arm on it, his gaze drilling into Banteon with a predator’s fixation.
That look only reaffirmed Banteon’s conviction. If it wasn’t Guide Awareness Syndrome, then there was no reason for Delroz to look at him like that.
“Quite an entertaining hypothesis.”
“It’s a diagnosis based on facts.”
Banteon countered Delroz’s refusal to acknowledge the truth.
“Does this seem normal to you? The great Delroz obsessing over a male Guide, clinging to him?”
“……”
“Didn’t think so.”
There was no reply. Based on all the things Delroz had said in the past, there was really nothing left to argue. He’d rejected male Guides more times than one could count.
“That’s…”
Seeing the confusion flicker in Delroz’s eyes, Banteon chuckled faintly. For all his size, he was still inexperienced—someone who’d spent his life roaming mountains as a mercenary.
He probably had never even experienced genuine romantic feelings. So he was mistaking this sudden attraction to a Guide—this desire to monopolize—as something sincere.
“You think things will change if I get treated?”
“Yeah. Want me to prescribe you something?”
“Medication, huh…”
Delroz, his energy slightly deflated, pondered for a moment before giving a small nod. His tone was still gruff, but the edge had softened a little.
“And if I take the meds and nothing changes, then what?”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
Straightening his back, Banteon lifted his chin confidently. Honestly, this was something he’d wanted to say from the very start—ever since Delroz started acting strangely.
“You’re not my type.”
Banteon delivered the words with absolute composure, unshaken.
Delroz’s eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t know what was so shocking. Had he really thought that just because he showed interest, Banteon would be flattered and go along with it?
Sure, maybe other Guides would have. They might’ve gotten on their knees and offered thanks to be noticed by an SS-Rank Esper. But if that’s what Delroz was expecting, then he had picked the wrong person.
Banteon had lived his whole life enjoying everything he wanted without needing the glow of an SS-Rank’s favor. He wasn’t about to change his taste now for a “better” life.
“I like partners who are small, cute, and lovable. And who have basic manners and common sense, of course.”
He held up a baton that one of the guards had handed him. Threading the slim rod through the iron bars, he slowly pointed it toward Delroz.
The tip of the sharp pointer nudged at Delroz’s chest, tapping at the unbuttoned shirt that hung loosely and sloppily.
The thin fabric fluttered with the rod’s motion, revealing the hard contours of his chest.
“A barbarian who walks around looking like this? Definitely not my type.”
“You…”
Delroz opened his mouth, about to protest, but Banteon didn’t wait. He stood up and smoothed out his outfit, returning to his perfectly pristine appearance—without a single wrinkle, just as it had been before sitting down.
“I get what you’re thinking, but handle it yourself. Take your meds properly too.”
That way, they could go on without any more awkward encounters—peacefully, with no more flushed faces.
After all, unless they found a new Guide compatible with Delroz or resolved the current situation, Banteon would be stuck seeing his face constantly, even if it was tiresome. A strained relationship would be a disadvantage for them both.
Just as he was about to leave the solitary cell, Banteon’s footsteps halted.
Ah, right. He had forgotten to say this.
Turning halfway, he glanced back at Delroz’s fierce expression and smiled.
“Unless you’re reborn, you’re never going to be my type. So don’t get your hopes up. Got it?”
With that final bit of mercy, he gave Delroz a bright smile and exited the cell. The thick iron door clanged shut with a metallic groan and locked again.
Clack clack. The sound of his neatly polished shoes echoed through the bleak hallway.
Delroz kept staring at Banteon’s retreating figure through the small window cut into the iron door until his silhouette finally disappeared. In his clenched fist, the chain connecting the cuffs was crushed and twisted out of shape.
***
Despite concerns that Delroz might break out of the solitary cell within days, he remained quietly locked up.
Banteon figured the man had finally matured a little and decided to enjoy the peace while it lasted.
Unfortunately, things weren’t going to go that smoothly.
Today again, he let out a sigh at the growing stack of boxes arriving at his door.
Even before this, gifts directed at Esrante weren’t uncommon, but things had gotten so intense lately that he had to turn off the notification alerts on his terminal.
When news first spread that Banteon and Delroz had been temporarily matched, the general sentiment leaned toward skepticism: “There’s no way Delroz reacted to a male Guide.” “They probably just stuck together for the matching rate.” Those were the more grounded rumors.
But when word got out that Delroz had secretly gone to see Banteon and ended up being kicked out, the story flipped. Now people were saying Delroz was pursuing Banteon—and that Banteon was rejecting him.
A much closer approximation of the truth.
Those who believed that version quickly assessed who held the power in the dynamic and began showering Banteon with gifts—desperate to curry favor. Annoyingly so.
Banteon shoved the pile of boxes off to the side with little interest. He didn’t even feel like unwrapping them. Sooner or later, one of the household staff would come clean them up, and the ever-picky elders would gauge the sincerity behind each one themselves.
“Hm?”
While pushing a box aside, something caught his eye—a particularly curious one.
Just like all the other gifts, it was wrapped in elegant packaging, but for some reason, this one stood out.
Why?
He slowly approached and picked it up with both hands. It had a solid weight to it, and its long, rectangular shape resembled a whiskey box.
His curiosity piqued, he opened it, revealing a liquor bottle wrapped in crimson cloth, just as he’d expected.
As he started untying the tightly bound cloth, Banteon’s hands suddenly stopped.
Once the wrapping came off, he saw that it wasn’t crimson after all—it was black.
‘What the hell is this?’
He blinked and peered closer.
Sure enough, the cloth wrapping the bottle was black velvet. The red glow had been coming from the bottle itself. The liquid inside was so vividly red that it made the outer fabric seem a different color.
As he slowly lifted the bottle, the shimmering light within grew stronger.
His brows furrowed as he observed the flickering movement of the liquid. That energy—it felt familiar.
It moved just like the auras that surrounded Espers.
Was he now able to see energy contained within objects, not just people?
When he had first come to the Center, Banteon had spent countless hours in the library, trying to find anyone with abilities like his.
He’d practically torn through the place from end to end, but hadn’t found a single sentence describing anything similar.
Maybe if he could get access to the Forbidden Archive—restricted to only a select few—he might find something. But he hadn’t felt the need to go that far. His life wasn’t particularly inconvenient, and he didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention by digging through forbidden texts.
That’s why Banteon still knew so little about his own power. And honestly, it wasn’t something you could just ask someone about.
He rewrapped the bottle and sealed it in the box exactly the way it had been.
Even with the lid closed, the faint red glow still bled through the packaging.
That must’ve been why this particular box had caught his eye.
As he shut the lid, he finally noticed the design embossed on the front of the box.
Three different kinds of flowers, all facing away from each other, encircled by a twisted vine of sharp thorns.
A soft whistle escaped his lips.
“It’s my first time seeing one in person.”
He looked at the flower emblem with genuine admiration.
The blend of wild rose, common rose, and pinwheel blossom was the symbol of Madam Ressot—a name well-known in certain underground circles.
