“You’re holding up pretty well, aren’t you? Quiet and composed, just the way you like it. I’m doing my best not to go against that rigid taste of yours, so why don’t you stop testing me? It’s already hard enough as it is.”
Then why, claiming to want to please Banteon, was he rejecting being near him? He had thought Delroz had canceled their guiding sessions just because he was upset about being turned down. It wasn’t like he told him to stop following him around completely—just not to tag along needlessly. It hadn’t meant severing all official ties.
“You didn’t have to go that far…”
Ding
The terminal lit up. It was the notification sound that played when a private message arrived. Both of their gazes simultaneously shifted to the device lying on the table. In his rush upon entering the study, Banteon had left it closer to Delroz’s side. Delroz stretched out his long arm and picked up the terminal, then froze.
When Banteon took the terminal back, the screen displayed a familiar code—one he’d been seeing a lot lately.
[Sir, I think I’ll have time to stop by the Center this evening. Even just for a moment—could I see you then? There’s something I really need to say. I’ll wait for your reply. I really want to see you soon.]
“Must be that little brat.”
“…”
“Or is there someone else?”
“No, it’s Keslan.”
He couldn’t afford a misunderstanding by denying it. Especially since Delroz already had a history of threatening Keslan.
“Looks like you’ve summoned him back to the Center.”
Delroz believed Banteon had been hiding Keslan. He’d suspected that while the boy was receiving treatment in isolation, Banteon had snuck him off somewhere safe for secret meetings. Delroz had thought it pathetic that he wasn’t even aware of his own followers’ movements, but hadn’t bothered to explain—it didn’t seem worth the effort.
It was the same now. Keslan would be dealt with soon enough. Whether Delroz meddled or not, Banteon no longer cared. Telling Delroz that just felt petty. They weren’t close enough for that kind of exchange.
Delroz stared intently at the hand Banteon used to hold the terminal. His anxious gaze, masked by indifference, eventually led him to set the device back on the table.
“Just a simple greeting.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
He replied without a hint of emotion. His hardened gaze made it impossible to ask even half-heartedly if he was okay. No—asking if he was okay would’ve been absurd. After all, Banteon had practically served both the cause and effect on a silver platter.
“Then I guess I’ll make myself scarce.”
A bitter smile curled on Delroz’s lips as he said his farewell. Make myself scarce, huh? It meant he wouldn’t get in the way even though he knew Banteon was going to meet Keslan. Funny, coming from someone who used to hate having any Esper—whether Tearot or Keslan—anywhere near Banteon. He’d changed a lot. Enough that it felt almost strange to be surprised anymore.
The sound of footsteps leaving the study was heavy. His fists remained clenched, his shoulders still stiff as he exited the room. The noise gradually faded. Only then did Banteon rest his elbow on the armrest of the sofa, propping up his chin.
“Am I really that appealing?”
Anyone overhearing might’ve grimaced at the sheer arrogance of the question, but he let it slip out anyway. He was well aware of his own charm. But was he really someone worth sticking around for, even when an Esper had to hold back their guiding urges?
His deep gaze dimmed slightly. Consideration born of affection wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. His life had been filled with more acts of kindness than he could count, to the point that expressing thanks for each was impossible—but seeing someone go this far stirred a buried sliver of conscience that hadn’t surfaced in a long time.
Banteon picked up the terminal again. Keslan’s message still stretched across the main screen. Without hesitation, he began typing below it.
Maybe I should check in on him. It wouldn’t hurt to deal with this a little sooner than planned.
***
“Sir, I really missed you.”
Golden curls and rosy cheeks, glowing with innocence. Despite having come of age, Keslan’s demeanor remained just as bright. As Banteon sat waiting in the study, he calmly snuffed out the cigar he had lit earlier.
There was no point in making a show of changing locations—they were going to cut ties anyway. And meeting somewhere other people might overhear would be needlessly risky. The warm scent of tea that usually filled the study had been replaced with the bitter tang of cigar smoke.
“Sir?”
“It’s been a while.”
Hesitating at the unfamiliar atmosphere, Keslan brightened slightly at Banteon’s voice. Even so, his eyes darted nervously around the room. He had arrived at the Center just before midnight. Such an obvious ploy—once endearing—now felt tiresome.
“Would you like to sit?”
The table was completely bare. The surroundings empty. The window wide open.
I do not welcome you.
Any noble would understand the implications of this setup. Keslan swallowed hard. He sat down hesitantly, perching at the edge of the chair. His hands, folded tightly on his lap, rustled from the tension.
“Was the training manageable?”
“Huh? Oh… yes, there wasn’t anything too difficult. But I couldn’t really focus… I was more worried about you, being here in the capital. I was so anxious since I hadn’t heard anything from you. Was something wrong…?”
“Nothing happened to me.”
He cut off the rambling sentence. Keslan’s lips shut into a straight line. Even seeing him so thoroughly deflated didn’t inspire pity. Instead of sympathy, annoyance came first—and that made Banteon laugh to himself.
‘He knows it himself, yet he really can’t be a good person.’
“Keslan, do you know why I called you here today?”
“I… I’m not sure. I don’t understand why you’re acting like this all of a sudden…”
Keslan lowered his head, on the verge of tears. His round crown came into view as his chestnut hair trembled helplessly, thrown into confusion by the reality that had just hit him.
“Did I do something wrong? Please tell me the reason. I’ll fix everything. I can change it all.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I did.”
It was Banteon whose heart had changed. He’d simply been struck with a bout of fickleness, triggered by how different Keslan had seemed during their date. It wasn’t Keslan’s fault. Every person has sides they don’t show. To blame someone for revealing that part would be too cruel.
If someone needed to change, it wasn’t Keslan—it was himself. Not that he had any intention of doing so.
“It must’ve been partly my fault too. Really, I’ll do anything you want. If I can just keep seeing you, I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Keslan. Why are you so sure you can change my mind?”
At Banteon’s arrogant remark, Keslan bit his lower lip hard. The purer they are, the harder they let go. Half-hearted kindness only becomes poison. There was no need to waste more time on each other.
“You’re a smart kid, so you’ll understand what I’m saying. You’ve graduated now, which means you’ll soon be officially assigned to a unit. It’s time to find your permanent Guide. If you delay any longer, it’ll only hurt you.”
Many of Keslan’s peers had already found their Guides. The longer he waited, the harder it would be to find one with a high match rate. And if the person who’d been guiding him temporarily ended up with a permanent partner, Keslan would be left behind like discarded tea dregs, forced to wander from one temporary guide to another.
Tearot alone was enough of a cautionary tale—an A-rank Esper reduced to that. This may have started from Banteon’s whim, but it was something Keslan needed to hear too.
He spoke more coldly, more cruelly, to help sever the bond. A faint light flickered in Keslan’s eyes as his head hung low.
For just a moment, his eyes glinted, but the light vanished as he closed them tight. Was it just his imagination? Keslan pleaded in the same tearful voice as before.
“I don’t want to part with you like this, sir.”
“Don’t be stubborn. You’re not a child anymore.”
“……”
Keslan stayed silent, lips pressed tight, and eventually gave a weak nod. He probably never truly expected Banteon to become his Guide. The long game was simply coming to an end.
“Could I at least have one last cup of tea? Just one. For the last time.”
It wasn’t a difficult request. If not a welcome drink, then at least a parting one.
One more cup, like the many he drank each day, wouldn’t change anything. As the water heated in the kettle set aside on the table, Keslan said nothing. He sat still, his head bowed, fingers fidgeting with unease.
Thin white steam curled upward from the kettle. The first steep was poured into a cup to warm it, then discarded. The second brew settled into a clear, gentle hue.
A soft clink rang out as the teacup was placed on the table. Keslan stared at it blankly. No elaborate tea set, no special ceremony—just a perfunctory gesture. It was the kind of cup served with the clear message: Drink it and go. Staring down at the tea, Keslan bowed his head again. His shoulders trembled faintly. Was he crying? Even before he’d lowered his head, his eyes had already been red and warm with unshed tears.
Crying wasn’t a bad thing. It meant acceptance. Letting go. It was better than clinging and making a nuisance of himself. With a small sniffling sound, Keslan wiped his eyes with his sleeve. The stiff fabric quickly turned damp.
Banteon walked over to the coat rack and pulled a soft handkerchief from his jacket pocket. He’d hoped to end things quickly, but it had dragged on. He handed it to Keslan, who took it with a trembling hand.
“Sniff… Thank you.”
Watching him press it to his eyes, trying so hard to hold back tears, Banteon swallowed a sigh and picked up the teacup. But just as he was about to lift it, something felt off, and his hand paused.
He was certain he’d just brewed a black tea—light, with a delicate orange tint. It was made from young leaves grown in a limited region, carefully dried over time to remove toxins and leave only a smooth fragrance. He knew it well—it was one of his favorites. Which meant…
There was no way it should be this vivid, blood-red color, dyeing the entire cup.
