“Delroz isn’t going to do anything.”
“What?”
“I submitted periodic reports, but at some point, he just said he wasn’t interested and refused to hear more. Since the person involved didn’t care, the investigation team started backing off too. And over time, it all just kind of fizzled out.”
It was an unexpected statement. Delroz didn’t seem like the type to let go of grudges so easily.
“When did that start?”
“Maybe after he returned to the Center? I mean, he got thrown into solitary and everything was chaotic, so maybe he just lost interest. Did something happen when you guys got stranded?”
Banteon had been stranded with him, but nothing came to mind. Other than passing through an old village and fending off a monster attack, nothing unusual had occurred. There was no clear reason for Delroz to suddenly have a change of heart.
“Then I guess the investigation into that Guide stopped too.”
“Well, the investigation team is about to disband anyway. So probably, yeah? It’s a good thing. You’re not at risk of getting exposed anymore.”
The Center’s investigation wasn’t just about identifying the suspect. They had also been focused on tracking down the Guide who had saved Delroz from his rampage. Because of that, Banteon had spent countless days on edge, his heart racing with anxiety.
“Which brings me to this.”
Tearot tapped Banteon on the shoulder and leaned in close to his ear. Even though they knew the library was protected against outside Esper eavesdropping, he whispered carefully.
“What if he already knows?”
That Banteon was the Guide who saved him.
Banteon swallowed at the cautious hypothesis. Tearot’s theory held weight. If Delroz had figured out that Banteon was the one who saved him, that might explain his lukewarm response to the investigation’s end.
“No way.”
Banteon shook his head. If it were yesterday, he might’ve agreed with Tearot. But not now.
When they were stranded in the cave, the two had made a promise.
If they found the Guide who saved Delroz, Banteon would cancel their temporary Guide contract and Delroz would match with that Guide officially.
In reality, the one who had saved him and Banteon were the same person. If Delroz had realized that, he could have demanded an official match on the spot, and Banteon would’ve had no choice but to accept.
He remembered Delroz’s figure from earlier—walking away, drained and dejected. If he truly knew the truth, there was no reason for him to leave so forlornly. He would’ve confronted Banteon and asked for the official match immediately.
An official match changed many things compared to a temporary contract. From the Esper’s perspective, it gave him much more leeway to make demands of the Guide.
He could use his physical condition as leverage to move their lodgings closer together, or to increase the frequency of Guiding sessions. He wouldn’t need to threaten Banteon to avoid seeing Tearot or Keslan—he could simply stay close and keep a watchful eye.
“I don’t think he stopped the investigation because he found out my identity.”
“Then what other reason is there?”
Tearot, unaware of the full picture, voiced his doubt. Banteon was equally tangled in confusion. He bundled the documents together, tucked them deep into the drawer that held his personal files, and locked it.
“Let’s just wait and see for now. There are too many variables.”
“I don’t get what the hell is going on. I don’t understand the Center, or Delroz either. I swear, I’m about to go learn mind reading.”
“Same here.”
He genuinely wanted to know what was going through Delroz’s head. What kind of calculations were always churning in that twisted mind? He’d always wanted to understand Delroz’s intentions, but today the curiosity was especially unbearable.
“I heard there’s a pretty famous fortune-teller in the capital. Should we go?”
Tearot’s playful tone carried an oddly sincere edge.
“You actually believe in that stuff?”
“Well, they’re surprisingly accurate. Pretty damn sharp.”
Tearot raised his arms enthusiastically, clearly enjoying himself.
“All the predictions they made so far have been right! Let’s see—like when they said it would rain last Wednesday, they were spot on. And they also predicted that a bird would poop on the central plaza fountain, and that happened too. Oh, and…”
“Truly life-changing revelations.”
Every single prediction was petty and pointless. Banteon gave him a look full of exasperation, and Tearot protested the injustice.
“This time it was a big prophecy! Under a crimson sky, a couple will share a passionate kiss. I’m really looking forward to seeing which Esper has the guts to pull that off with their lover.”
He waved Tearot over as the other swore to keep his eyes on the sky for the foreseeable future. When he came trotting over, Banteon tugged on his ear and muttered under his breath.
“If you’re gonna keep talking nonsense, get out. I’m tired.”
Deflated, Tearot lowered his head and finally left the room.
***
“They said the Harvest Festival’s happening soon.”
“Didn’t they postpone it after that regional festival got attacked? They’re going through with it anyway?”
“The capital’s not the countryside. The royal family announced it’ll proceed as scheduled.”
“Yeah, and they said it’ll be even bigger this time. They’re going to keep the lanterns lit for ten whole days.”
The entire Center was abuzz with excitement over the long-awaited festival.
The Harvest Festival, which celebrated the kingdom’s prosperity and glory, was one of the biggest events of the year. People would flock in from distant provinces to honor the last golden sunlight before the coming of winter, while those worn out from the long summer’s labor would use the remaining grains to brew liquor.
Since a recent festival in a nearby village had been attacked by monsters, people had assumed this year’s Harvest Festival would be canceled. But instead, an official royal proclamation declared that the festival would be held on an even grander, more extravagant scale. It was framed as a gesture of compassion for the wounded citizens and a declaration of renewal in the face of crisis.
Banteon gave a bitter smile when he heard it.
‘Crisis, huh.’
Not even a single pebble had been displaced in the capital, and yet they made a grand show of it. Meanwhile, the actual wounded villages had barely even heard the news. Only those comfortably seated by cool windows, watching the flames from afar, got to play savior.
Truly, the height of noble arrogance.
“Looks like the royal family’s getting desperate.”
There was, of course, a separate reason for staging such a loud celebration. They clearly wanted to assert that the monarchy still stood strong. Smirking at the transparent ploy, Banteon unfolded the official letter in front of him. It was a royal request for the cooperation of the noble houses during the festival.
Masquerading as a simple request, the letter outlined in detail the support they expected—goods, manpower, and various other resources.
Each noble house was assigned different roles and expectations, with the scale of support varying. Every year, the Esrante family received a letter written in the most polite tone—but with demands so high, they bordered on coercion. Though fulfilling them left no dent in Esrante’s wealth, the paper he normally signed without a thought felt oddly significant today.
The royal family still existed, but its actual power was limited. Their decision to ban inbreeding in order to curb hereditary diseases had pushed them down the path of decline. The stronger the bloodline, the stronger the Esper born from it.
Ironically, it was Esrante—who had expanded its power through extensive marriage ties with the royal family—that ended up with a thicker, more powerful lineage than the royals themselves.
From that struggling monarchy’s perspective, Delroz was a godsend. A naturally born Esper appearing for the first time in centuries—an SS-Rank, no less, never before seen since the kingdom’s founding. They would have done anything to tie him to the royal bloodline, but in the end, he was bound to Esrante.
What was a minor nuisance for Banteon would have felt like a catastrophic disaster to them.
The nearly doubled list of supplies and strangely convoluted demands in the letter seemed less like a request and more like a probing question—Do you still swear loyalty to the crown? It wasn’t a threat, not even a needle’s worth, nor was it necessary. But being suspected like that was anything but pleasant.
“I wish they’d just take him already.”
Banteon scribbled his signature carelessly on the form, barely glancing at it, then folded it and slipped it into an envelope.
Since returning from the mining dispatch, he’d taken on more of the family’s affairs to fill the void left by canceled classes. Not just managing his personal assets as he always had, but even handling major responsibilities that had previously belonged to the elders.
It wasn’t because the work was fun or urgent. Frankly, he never imagined this would happen—but now, he simply had too much time on his hands.
He looked at the unfamiliar calendar before him. After Delroz’s recent visit, the administration office had contacted him. They wanted to adjust his guiding schedule, and provided a new one. As a result, Banteon’s calendar for the next two weeks was completely blank. Ordinarily, such an unexpected break would be a cause for joy—but he couldn’t relax as easily as that.
‘He’s avoiding me, isn’t he.’
What other reason would Delroz have to cancel the guiding sessions? After leaving the study that way, he’d stopped tailing Banteon like a little chick, and now even the guiding sessions were being postponed. Everything about him defied expectations.
He recalled their last meeting—Banteon speaking firmly, and Delroz walking away with slumped shoulders. He also remembered Tearot’s reaction, saying he felt more hurt just hearing it. Had he gone too far?
Banteon tried not to dwell on it, but the unfamiliar response kept drawing his attention back to Delroz.
‘Hmph…’
The bothersome thought made him absentmindedly draw lines across a blank sheet of paper with his pen. Delroz had said he would change everything about himself if that’s what Banteon wanted. That pitiful, pride-less submission wasn’t something easily forgotten.
Banteon, being human after all, felt a twinge of guilt—just a gram of it, weighing on his conscience. He shook his head, trying to cast off the creeping guilt before it grew heavier.
‘It’s for the best.’
Unsettling though it may be, the outcome was ultimately for the best. Thinking that, he set down the terminal he’d been holding and began moving his pen again with brisk determination.
Didn’t Banteon receive a glowing red (ie drugged) bottle of alcohol awhile back? Is it drugged with the same thing? Hmmm