Your skin’s tougher than a water buffalo’s—guess you don’t feel a thing.
Muttering under his breath, Banteon pulled his hand away and wiped the blood off his fingers with a handkerchief.
The sight of blood helped his surging emotions settle. It was too trivial to get genuinely worked up over. Like a paper cut—just a kiss, nothing more.
What a waste of time and energy, dealing with him. Just think of it as a snake bite—temporary, and now it’s over.
What, is he feeling guilty now?
Banteon silently cursed as he looked at the subdued Delroz.
As awful as it had been, the violent kiss had worked. The crimson aura that had refused to dissipate even when their hands were joined for so long—gone in an instant.
Then there’s no reason to stay any longer.
Banteon adjusted his clothes and stood. He’d forgotten about his lip, but the spot where they’d bumped still stung. Thankfully, it wasn’t split.
Rubbing the grazed corner of his mouth with his hand, he muttered,
“Some skills you’ve got.”
He didn’t spare Delroz a glance as he opened the door and walked out with composed dignity.
The door slammed shut with a loud bang.
***
White skin and silvery hair shimmered in the mirror. Deep blue eyes blinked slowly as he studied each of his features.
He knew he was blessed with good looks. The deep-set eyes and straight, elegant nose—those were features he could be satisfied with. And the well-shaped lips below that—those were perfectly fine too.
“Tsk.”
He traced the corner of his mouth with a finger.
His lower lip was swollen and red, with a faint bruise forming. Anyone could tell—he’d gone at it hard and wasn’t shy about showing it.
He applied an ointment known to reduce swelling and brushed his hair aside.
If he’d at least enjoyed it, it wouldn’t feel so frustrating.
If it were a wound left after a good time with someone he actually liked, he’d wear it like a badge of honor.
But of all people—it had to be Delroz.
He pulled out some makeup he rarely used, lightly covering the cut near his mouth. Unless someone looked closely, it was nearly invisible.
One of the two annoyances was now dealt with. Only one remained.
Throughout the grooming process, the dull ache in his finger made itself known. He glanced at it.
The end of his finger was awkwardly wrapped in a thin bandage.
It wasn’t a serious wound, but every time he moved his hand or picked something up, it tore open again, so he’d had it fixed in place.
Both injuries—caused by the same person.
He calmly rewrapped the bandage one more time, then looked at the pile of papers on his desk.
Delivered early that morning through a courier.
He’d skimmed the cover already—bold letters stared back at him.
[Bio-Signal Report: Esper Delroz]
He absently tapped the paper with his finger. As if that would change what was written inside.
Without hesitation, his fingers flipped to the last page.
There, stamped with the seal of the research director, only a few massive words were printed across the blank section:
[INCOMPATIBLE]
– The subject’s biometric fluctuations do not correspond with “Guide Awareness Syndrome.”
Sitting back on the sofa, Banteon slowly closed his eyes and reached for the cigar case beside him.
Snipping off the cap, he lit up. The swirling smoke cleared the chaos from his head.
Hoo—
A long exhale sent the curling smoke up, wavering as it rose and dispersed. His vision blurred, then cleared again.
He’d thought about the possibility.
What if—by some slim chance—Delroz didn’t actually have “Guide Awareness Syndrome”?
That moment Delroz kissed him so effortlessly—something had screamed in his mind that something was wrong.
Even though he’d tried to prepare himself for the results, it still hit like a gut punch.
Delroz couldn’t stand seeing him with Keslan. That’s why he’d come at night, escaped isolation, grabbed him by the hair, and kissed him like a madman. And all of that…
Had been done in full awareness.
Too damn perfect for his own good.
Even as he told himself not to dwell on it, his expression remained grim.
He scanned the report’s detailed findings. No notable changes in Delroz’s biometric data during isolation or after being guided. Barely any reaction to medication.
[There was minor fluctuation in AT-05s and V-R71Y, but it was a temporary anomaly that returned to baseline within 30 minutes.]
Despite that, Delroz’s standard values listed in the report were several times higher than other Espers’.
Banteon clicked his tongue.
The researchers must’ve been thrilled. An SS-Rank who’d normally ignore such long, annoying tests had sat obediently for a whole month—what a jackpot for them.
What should’ve been a simple one-word verdict—”incompatible”—had turned into a report as thick as a small book.
At this very moment, Delroz must’ve received the report too—and he’d be feeling proud, certain that he’d been right all along.
The researchers were ecstatic.
And the devotees who wanted the two of them paired?
They’d be celebrating.
Everyone’s happy.
Except Banteon.
He stubbed the finished cigar into the ashtray with a firm press.
***
People’s interests shift rapidly.
Each day brought new stories, new distractions. Their gazes were always moving, chasing the next bit of stimulation, ears perked up like instinct.
“Hey, look over there.”
“How many days has he been following him like that? What’s going on?”
He’d been under the spotlight since birth—attention followed him like destiny. Living a life rarely free from the gaze of others, this kind of thing should’ve felt familiar.
Something he could easily shrug off.
“…How long are you planning to keep following me?”
“I’m just walking where I always walk.”
Normally, if it were anything else—if it weren’t him—Banteon would have had no problem ignoring someone following him or watching him from the sidelines.
But that only applied when the person in question wasn’t a man over 190 centimeters tall, dark as midnight.
“Then go on your way.”
“…This is my way.”
“Of course it is.”
Even after turning in the opposite direction, the steady sound of Delroz’s footsteps continued behind him.
Their footsteps echoed together.
Banteon walked down the hallway as usual, while Delroz followed two paces behind.
Everyone’s eyes were glued to the scene. Even those who deliberately turned their heads away to avoid staring would eventually look back at their retreating figures. Banteon could practically feel their gazes drilling into the back of his head.
The reason for this sudden behavior was obvious.
Delroz had no doubt received the same report Banteon had.
Having confirmed the results validated his claims, it was only natural to expect Delroz would march up to Banteon and gloat to his face.
What he hadn’t expected was this irritating, roundabout way of confronting him.
Since the report had come out, they’d been bumping into each other repeatedly—on the way to meals, during walks, in the corridor near the library.
Not always in the same place—Delroz kept appearing in a variety of locations.
He hovered near Banteon silently, as if the results he’d received from the research institute meant nothing.
Like a duckling trailing after its mother, he followed two steps behind.
It wasn’t hard to find Banteon.
Wherever he went, attention naturally followed, so locating him was easy.
The real question was: Why follow him?
And every time Banteon asked why, Delroz would just respond that he was on his way somewhere.
It was exhausting.
Honestly, it would’ve been less stressful if Delroz had just come at him and said, “See? I was right.”
With a sigh, Banteon changed direction from the garden path.
Two pairs of footsteps echoed through the quiet corridor.
His patience—never especially long—had already run dry.
Delroz’s behavior, which he’d tried to ignore to avoid unnecessary trouble, was now unbearable.
“What the hell is your problem?”
When he stopped walking, the footsteps behind him halted as well.
“I told you, I’m just passing through.”
“Then go ahead and pass through first.”
“My shoelace came undone. Go on ahead.”
The answer came so casually that Banteon pressed his lips together, then let out a slow breath.
It was the flimsiest excuse—if he just turned his head to check, he’d know whether it was true.
But even if he caught Delroz in a lie, he’d just offer up some half-baked excuse again.
Banteon didn’t even want to see his face.
He resumed walking, and sure enough, the shadow that had been waiting followed close behind.
Banteon paused again, this time in front of his study.
The room was one of his most treasured spaces, decorated entirely to suit his taste.
He didn’t want to bring an unwanted guest into it—but at the same time, it was the only place he could get away from prying eyes.
“This place is…”
“My study. I handle personal affairs here. Now that we’re here, how about you tell me the real reason? Why are you following me?”
“I really did just run into you by chance.”
“You’re not seriously going to claim you had business near my study, are you? Every room around here is vacant.”
His study was located at the end of a corridor, and all rooms around it—including those adjacent, opposite, and diagonal—were empty.
This setup was deliberate, to prevent even accidental visits, since the study often contained confidential Esrante family materials.
Delroz’s quiet eyes locked onto Banteon’s, as if trying to read through him, measuring the weight of the words he hadn’t said aloud.
Then, finally, his lips parted.
“Is your finger okay now?”
Out of nowhere, he brought up Banteon’s finger, lowering his gaze to the bandage wrapped around it as Banteon held the door handle.
It was nothing serious—just a bit of blood from that day. The bandage was only there to keep it dry.
“It’s already healed.”
“Then why the bandage…”
“That’s what you came all the way here to say? Just to ask if my finger is okay?”
“…Because I’m the one who hurt you.”
The oddly deflated tone—was it guilt?
Did he feel bad that Banteon had injured his finger because of him?
After all the reckless behavior and rude words, it was absurd that a mere drop of blood would suddenly make him seem remorseful. His mindset was baffling in more ways than one.
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“…Does that kind of injury happen often?”
