I swear, I had no idea it was this serious.
“Hyung! You’re awake? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Does anything feel off?”
“…Who are you?”
If it was some kind of prank where he pretended to have amnesia after waking up in a hospital, maybe—just maybe—that would’ve made sense.
Ji Se-min, who had been anxiously waiting for his Pair Esper, Sung Cha-hyeon, to regain consciousness, had thought just that.
“Wh-who? You’re asking me that… Ah, seriously, hyung….”
At the time, Se-min had let out a sigh that was half frustration, half a sob. He thought Cha-hyeon was joking around even after seeing how worried he was. After all that fear and anxiety, and now this?
Thinking back on it, even if it was Cha-hyeon, he should’ve realized that there were times and places for jokes. But there was a reason why Se-min had believed Cha-hyeon was just messing with him.
The reason S-rank Esper, that Sung Cha-hyeon, ended up hospitalized in the first place was because of a dungeon gate that appeared near Bukhansan.
It had been classified as a C-rank gate. A special-type dungeon gate that allowed entry to only one person.
With only a single person permitted to enter, it wasn’t particularly difficult to clear for its rank, but in contrast, failure to clear it resulted in a massive gate overflow.
If such a gate were to overflow near Seoul, the damage would be catastrophic. It was only natural that headquarters dispatched S-rank Esper Sung Cha-hyeon.
Simulation results predicted that Cha-hyeon would clear the gate within an hour. This was the expected outcome not only for Cha-hyeon himself but also for the Center that issued the order. So the on-site team was making preparations in a relatively calm and composed atmosphere.
“Five, four, three, two, one. At exactly 13:00, Bukhansan Special-Type C-Rank Dungeon Gate clearance begins.”
The problem occurred in the next moment.
“W-wait…!”
“Over there! The gate’s color!”
About an hour after Cha-hyeon entered the gate alone, it suddenly shifted to a sinister, dark crimson.
A crimson-hued, S-rank dungeon gate.
Though it was extremely rare, there had been cases where a gate’s rank was reclassified after it had closed. And unfortunately, one of those rare occurrences happened—right then and there, with Sung Cha-hyeon inside.
An Esper entered a gate that turned S-rank after they were already inside—alone.
The support team, who had been rather relaxed, instantly fell into panic. Cha-hyeon may have been a powerful S-rank Esper, but solo-clearing an S-rank dungeon was an entirely different matter.
A second simulation was immediately run in haste. The results: Sung Cha-hyeon’s survival rate in an S-rank dungeon gate clearance—solo—was just 7%. Estimated clearance time: a full 24 hours.
In other words, within 24 hours, there was a 93% chance that one of South Korea’s few S-rank Espers would die. A 93% chance the S-rank special-type gate would overflow.
It was a full-blown crisis. All Espers in the Seoul Metropolitan Area were ordered to stand by in preparation for a possible overflow. And due to Cha-hyeon’s strong request, his Pair Guide Se-min, who hadn’t even been planned for the scene, was called to the site.
“Hyung! Cha-hyeon hyung!”
Se-min, forced to wait on site, felt like he was going to die from sheer mental anguish.
And rightfully so—what did Sung Cha-hyeon mean to Ji Se-min?
His Pair Esper, his parent, his guardian, his only remaining family, and the person he’d quietly cherished for so long.
That Cha-hyeon had entered an S-rank gate alone. With only a 7% chance of survival.
The thought of a gate overflow wasn’t as terrifying to Se-min as the chilling possibility that Cha-hyeon might die in there. That alone tormented him relentlessly.
He kept trying to reassure himself that if it was Cha-hyeon, he’d clear it. But he couldn’t help breaking down, sobbing and collapsing from the mental strain over and over again.
It was an agonizing wait, knowing full well that the man he loved didn’t even have a 10% chance of surviving—and he could do nothing. Nothing but pray to every god he could name.
How much time had passed?
“L-look over there!”
“Oh my god, the gate’s—!”
The once crimson gate gradually turned blue, then burst into a brilliant white light as it oxidized.
A sign that the dungeon gate had been cleared.
Total clearance time: three hours. A solo clear completed twenty-one hours earlier than predicted. Everyone on site was stunned, unable to believe what they were seeing.
And it wasn’t just the clear time—the gate now shone the same blue as it had originally. Could it be that a C-rank gate had mutated into an S-rank and then somehow reverted back?
The question was shoved to the background the moment Cha-hyeon emerged from the oxidizing white light. He limped forward with heavy, exhausted steps—but otherwise looked no different from when he’d first entered the gate.
Except for his eyes. They were bloodshot, flushed with such a deep red that they looked almost black.
“…Hyung!”
But for Se-min, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that he had come back alive.
Cha-hyeon scanned the unfamiliar crowd with bloodshot eyes, his gaze restless and frantic. At the sound of Se-min’s voice, he jerked his head in a sharp motion.
……
He stared blankly as Se-min ran toward him—then, suddenly, Cha-hyeon clenched his jaw. His entire face tightened as he moved toward Se-min with wide, urgent strides.
“Hyung, hngh…?”
It was a desperate embrace. Like a man who’d wandered the desert and finally stumbled upon an oasis, Cha-hyeon clung to Se-min with a desperate strength, veins bulging across the back of his hand.
……!
Se-min’s impression wasn’t wrong. The moment their bodies touched in that crushing hug, Cha-hyeon began absorbing Se-min’s energy with ravenous greed. It was an aggressive act, like something tearing into him and digging its way through every inch of his body. Se-min let out a strangled gasp.
“Ghk—It hurts… Hyung…!”
“…I… fuck…!”
Normally, Cha-hyeon never let even Se-min’s smallest reaction pass without notice. But now, he was different. His breathing—like that of a dying beast—stabbed sharply into Se-min’s ears.
“I… I… you… I…”
Whatever had happened inside that gate—it was far beyond comprehension. The energy radiating from Cha-hyeon was unstable, desperate, even terrifying. Se-min could hardly breathe under the sheer weight of it.
“H-Hyung! Cha-hyeon hyung!”
Still holding onto Se-min, Sung Cha-hyeon collapsed unconscious.
The scene left only questions behind. Judging from Cha-hyeon’s condition and the previously crimson hue of the gate, it was clear that the C-rank special-type dungeon gate had transformed into an S-rank. But then the cleared gate reverted from its deep red back to its original appearance.
So what had Cha-hyeon cleared—a C-rank or an S-rank? Or was it perhaps a completely new kind, the likes of which humanity had never seen before? If so, what was the internal structure of that dungeon, and what kind of mechanism had created it?
But the only witness—Cha-hyeon—was in no condition to answer. He was rushed to the hospital and subjected to every test available.
The final diagnosis?
Simple guiding deficiency symptoms.
Not even the kind of deficiency that could trigger a rampage—just a mild lack, on par with what he normally experienced. In short, Cha-hyeon’s physical state was essentially unchanged from his usual baseline.
Even the doctor tilted his head in confusion as he delivered the results. “Less severe than expected,” “not as bad as imagined,” “considering all the worst-case scenarios”—it turned out to be… nothing.
No injuries, no trauma—nothing on his body even remotely reflected the ordeal he’d supposedly endured. For someone who had just solo-cleared a dungeon never seen before in recorded history, Cha-hyeon’s only prescription was: avoid stress and get plenty of rest. The typical, almost laughably mundane advice, plus a few supplemental ampoules.
Everyone was left dumbfounded by how absurdly fine Cha-hyeon looked—and relieved beyond words. But Se-min… once again burst into tears.
Relief that Cha-hyeon was safe didn’t last long before it was overtaken by a flood of regret.
No major injuries… yet he was diagnosed with a guiding deficiency? If only I had guided him better… The regrets that began with that assumption became painfully detailed.
What if he hadn’t been in a state of guiding deficiency? Maybe Cha-hyeon wouldn’t have collapsed after clearing the unprecedented gate. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to struggle inside for so long.
If he’d been able to exert 100% of his strength… no, even if he could’ve drawn just 10% more power than usual, things might’ve gone so much smoother.
Even if Cha-hyeon rejected it, Se-min should’ve persisted with regular guiding. Never before had he felt so useless, so pathetically insignificant.
‘If I could’ve done more. If I’d been better. If only I’d tried harder…’
Se-min was lost in those thoughts, blaming himself over and over, when Cha-hyeon finally opened his eyes—and they fell directly on him. On Se-min, with a face still swollen from crying, filled with guilt and remorse.
And then, the man who had returned alive after clearing the S-rank gate that had stunned the world—diagnosed with nothing more than “mild guiding deficiency”—looked at tear-streaked Se-min and asked who he was.
In this situation, with all eyes on him and everyone relieved he was unharmed—if the patient suddenly asked that, wouldn’t anyone assume he was joking? No one would immediately scream, Oh no! He’s got amnesia! That kind of reaction wouldn’t come so easily.
Especially not for Se-min, who had known Cha-hyeon since childhood—had seen firsthand how, whenever Se-min cried, Cha-hyeon would say the most ridiculous things to make him stop. So of course, he thought it was some kind of melodramatic memory-loss joke.
That’s why Se-min gave the classic response to someone pretending to have amnesia.
“…Cha-hyeon hyung, don’t tell me… you don’t remember me?”
He quickly wiped the lingering tears from his eyes and, as if nothing had happened, put on a theatrically shocked expression and covered his mouth.
“I’m your Pair Guide and your fiancé, Ji Se-min. Why… why are you saying that?”
His voice trembled, matching the tone of a drama, which only made it sound more like a joke. But despite the playful delivery, Se-min could feel his cheeks flush with heat.
Because of what he’d said—“your fiancé.”
He wouldn’t deny that it was a bit self-indulgent. But he’d said it expecting Cha-hyeon to laugh and go, “Oh really, Se-min? Getting cheeky now?”
Instead, what he got was—
“…Ah, that’s funny.”
A response he never saw coming.
