“Don’t think you’ll be calling me.”
“You never know. Might end up calling me all night.”
“You’ve got the wrong guy.”
This kind of thing happened now and then. Even though he was said to be on the smaller side among physical-type Espers, Banteon still towered well above the average height, and yet some people came along harboring bizarre desires toward him.
He couldn’t understand why people passed over truly cute and small types to fixate on him. It was a mindset Banteon would never grasp for the rest of his life.
Raising his hand, he pointed in the direction the last guy had disappeared to.
“The decent-looking one went that way. Try your luck with him.”
“Ah, I’ll pass. I’ve found something even better.”
Without permission, the man slid into the seat beside him and tilted his head, locking eyes with him. That bright, toothy smile was already grating on his nerves.
“If you don’t have anyone, how about me?”
“You’re definitely not my type.”
“That’s too bad. But you heard my name—won’t you at least tell me yours? Or maybe your number?”
The guy shamelessly kept hitting on him, showing not a trace of disappointment. Under the half-mask, his straight nose and sharp jawline were visible. He was good-looking enough that finding someone shouldn’t have been hard. Yet here he was, wasting his time.
Banteon pushed the half-melted vodka aside. It was turning into a thoroughly disappointing evening.
“Not interested. Go find someone who is.”
Even with Banteon’s blunt rejection, Rohan didn’t budge. He just kept smiling at him like a fool, eyes fixed on him.
Even when Banteon turned to look elsewhere, the persistent gaze from the adjacent seat kept gnawing at him. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, he spoke up.
“Why waste your energy on hopeless causes?”
“Because it’d be a real shame not to try. What is it you don’t like about me? It can’t be the face.”
Rohan acted genuinely shocked, like it was unthinkable someone would reject him. Even in the dim lighting of the club, his golden hair shimmered brilliantly. He clearly had the kind of self-assurance to match that appearance. There was a natural magnetism to him—strong yet soft—that only fueled his confidence.
“I like them small and cute.”
“So it’s the size? That doesn’t matter once the lights are out. Though it’d be a pity not to see your pretty blue eyes, I’m willing to sacrifice lighting for you.”
“I’ve got no interest in being the one holding down someone bigger than me.”
“Ahh, no worries then. I’ll be the one holding you.”
Why was it that lately, it felt like only the most annoying and deranged people came near him?
Even after being turned down directly, this guy had no sign of backing off. The type who shut his ears and pretended not to hear was the worst—utterly exhausting.
Banteon pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingertips, trying to stay calm. He’d come here to clear his head, but now it was just putting him in a worse mood.
“Pretty sure I’ve said no several times already. Why don’t you go? There’s no shortage of people here who’d be happy to entertain you.”
“I’m serious. I’m not usually this clingy.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“No, seriously—”
As if anyone would admit to being clingy from the start. Banteon ignored Rohan’s wounded puppy eyes and got up from his seat.
If the guy wasn’t going to move, then Banteon would just change locations. Judging by the type of creeps hovering around tonight, there was no chance of having a good time anyway. He’d just have a quiet drink in a private room and then head home.
“Leaving already?”
“……”
“Just once—come with me. I promise you won’t regret it.”
“You’re really persistent.”
“I’m good at this, I swear.”
People’s eyes started drifting toward them. They looked like they’d found something entertaining. Banteon didn’t like becoming the center of attention.
“Move.”
“What do you like? Booze? Sex? If you’re into small types, we could do a threesome with one.”
“……”
No point in replying. The more he talked, the filthier it got. As Banteon headed for the VIP room, Rohan reflexively reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. In that instant, Banteon’s body reacted on its own.
Grabbing the wrist resting on his shoulder, he pulled Rohan’s upper body forward, flipped him over his back, and slammed him down hard.
The loud thud rang through the club, silencing the ambient music and drawing every eye in the room.
Beneath the half-mask, Rohan’s wide, stunned eyes stared up at him. Banteon pressed his foot onto Rohan’s chest. He looked sturdy enough—this much pressure shouldn’t be a problem. Rohan didn’t resist. He simply lay there, dumbstruck, gazing upward.
“Don’t act like a fucking dog in heat. Get lost.”
“Ugh…?”
Everyone on the opposite side of the floored Rohan was now staring. A few security guards rushed over, clearly panicked. One opened his mouth to shout, but upon assessing the situation, he quickly stepped between the two men instead.
As the guards hesitated, not sure what to do, Banteon walked past them without another glance. A bothersome idiot had latched onto him, and the security had reacted far too late. Disappointed in the club he’d once liked, he had no desire to stay any longer. From behind, he could hear the belated scuffle as someone tried to lift Rohan from the floor.
A moment later, the general manager came rushing down from the upper floor and bowed to Banteon at a perfect ninety-degree angle. His face had gone pale—he clearly knew who was behind the mask.
“A-Are you all right, sir?”
“Seems like your management’s slipping these days.”
“I sincerely apologize. If you’re heading out, at least allow me to assign a guard…”
“No need.”
Leaving the bowing manager behind, Banteon stepped through the door with a bitter feeling. He’d come out to enjoy himself for the first time in a while, only to end up in this kind of mess. His luck was abysmal.
He shook his head, thoughts weighed down by the string of misfortunes that had plagued him recently. When things go wrong, nothing seems to work—this was a textbook case of that.
His palm tingled from having slammed someone just now. Maybe it was just the strain of moving after so long, he thought—until another realization struck him. No, this wasn’t from the impact of that throw.
“Shit…”
He muttered a curse under his breath and stared down at his palm. He felt it again—familiar vascular pressure, rapid circulation, and the strong, rhythmic pulse pumping all the way to his fingertips. Slowly, it began to settle.
No wonder that guy had been all over him. This was the exact same aftereffect as a freshly completed Guiding.
Even the place he’d gone to clear his head ended up a mess thanks to another Esper. Banteon replayed the image of that man in his mind.
In a world where neither Guides nor regular people could visually detect whether someone had awakened, Banteon had a unique ability.
He could see the presence of an Esper—not just sense it, but clearly distinguish its form, unlike others who could only feel an aura. Only two people knew about this: his younger sibling and Tearot. Even the Center had no idea.
The lower an Esper’s grade, the more visible their energy appeared. But even at close range, he had sensed nothing from Rohan.
That meant Rohan’s aura was managed so precisely that even Banteon couldn’t detect it. And with just a brief touch, it had caused this level of physical backlash in his hand.
At the very least, he was a high-tier A-rank—maybe even S-rank.
His mood soured further. There were only five S-rank Espers in the entire kingdom. What the hell was one of them doing acting like a damn rock in the road?
Naturally, that made another “rock” come to mind—an SS-rank Esper. The most troublesome one of all.
It reminded him of the situation back at the Center, something he’d managed to forget for a moment. Tomorrow, that SS-rank would be selecting a temporary Guide, which meant another whirlwind of chaos was inevitable. The already noisy Center would descend into further madness. He’d hoped to relieve some stress beforehand, but now this.
Banteon inhaled deeply, drawing in the cold night air. He tried to force a positive spin on things.
Disgusting as the whole situation had been, it wasn’t entirely bad news. Once a temporary Guide was officially selected, the covert warfare happening behind the scenes would settle down, at least a little. Since it was a storm that had to be weathered anyway, better to get it over with sooner rather than later.
He stood for a moment in the open area in front of the club, letting the cool night breeze brush his cheeks. The heat in his head gradually faded. He was about to summon a driver to return to the Center when he noticed a hazy moon halo above him.
Like a gentle curtain draped across the sky, the quiet atmosphere made the earlier chaos inside the club feel like a lie.
His evening plans were already wrecked, but the breeze was nice, and it had turned out to be a perfect night for a walk. Banteon turned his steps toward a shortcut leading to the Center along a neatly maintained road.
The path, not often used, was overgrown with ankle-high grass and weeds. A faint earthy scent rose from the damp soil between the cobblestones, mist lightly veiling the trail. The ground beneath his feet was moist and yielding.
It would probably rain tomorrow.
He didn’t mind rainy days. A strong downpour could drown out all the noise and ground any unsettling energy—much like the sound of his own footsteps now.
As he followed the dirt trail, the Center’s loosely constructed outer fence came into view. It looked rusted and flimsy, as if it hadn’t been repaired once since it was built. He bent at the waist and slipped through a gap in the mesh. Being a back route that connected to a mountain trail, the scenery inside the Center wasn’t much different from what lay beyond.
Grass brushed against his ankles, and thick underbrush obscured his line of sight as he walked the narrow shortcut at a leisurely pace. For the first time in a while, he let himself enjoy the calm.
But then, something felt off.
On overcast nights like this, the woods usually echoed with annoying animal cries. But now, there was nothing—no frogs, no forest birds, not even the buzzing of grass insects. Just complete silence.
He stopped walking and listened closely.
And then, riding on the breeze, came a sound—not the usual noise of the forest, but a small, unfamiliar moan.
