“Se-min, sit.”
“…Uh, yeah. Hyung too… and Deputy Chief Jeong….”
Unlike Cha-hyeon, who offered a seat as if nothing were out of the ordinary, it was Se-min who got clumsy and self-conscious. Shaking his head, Deputy Chief Jeong pulled three bottles of orange juice from the small fridge beside the conference room. He’d apparently lost any desire to ask about drink preferences.
“Th-thank you….”
Creaking into his chair, Se-min bowed his head. After handing a bottle to Cha-hyeon as well, Deputy Chief Jeong moved to the door. Only after pressing the manual lock on the auto door did he take the chair opposite them.
“We can use the room for two hours. I’ll organize what we discuss today and pass it on to the Director.”
Like last time, there was no intent to record or take notes. It was probably because they’d be discussing information tied to the publicly undisclosed issue of Cha-hyeon’s memory loss. Fingers interlaced, Deputy Chief Jeong studied Se-min.
“Nothing’s changed much from what you told us before, right, Mr. Se-min?”
In his updates, Se-min had already shared everything that could be said by message. He nodded.
“Yes, just like I said before.”
The situation back then. The brief return of his memories. The guess that maybe clearing a specific Dungeon Gate would grant a Clear Reward that brought them back.
Nodding, Deputy Chief Jeong picked up his juice. Seeing the man across from him go to drink, Se-min reflexively reached for his own.
But before he could, an arm shot out in front of him. It was Cha-hyeon, intercepting the bottle. The veins stood out on the back of his hand as he tightened his grip, then he twisted the cap open for him.
Pop— A crisp sound rang through the quiet conference room. Startled, both of them stared at Cha-hyeon.
The target of their looks was brazenly nonchalant, as if nothing had happened. From Deputy Chief Jeong’s gaping mouth slipped his unfiltered reaction.
“Holy—….”
Heat rushed into Se-min’s cheeks. He felt exactly what the Deputy Chief felt, and belated embarrassment layered on top.
“What is this, you two—no, I mean….”
Still unable to close his mouth, Deputy Chief Jeong pointed at them. On a normal day, he’d have realized how rude that was and lowered his finger, but right now he had no bandwidth for such thoughts. His lips worked, and he asked in a wavering voice:
“Are you two dating? I mean—actually dating?”
“You were right next to us last time and heard it. If we’re dating, we’re really dating—what, would it be fake?”
Unruffled, Cha-hyeon answered. The Deputy Chief’s mouth fell even wider, and in a higher pitch he pressed on:
“So it’s not rigged, not for show, not coerced, not a prank or a joke—you’re actually dating?”
His flustered gaze swung to Se-min, demanding an explanation. Se-min was turning into a roasted sweet potato.
“Mr. Se-min?”
As if urging him to be the one to say it, he called his name with the earnestness of someone begging for confirmation. But with his face flushed beet-red, Se-min offered no excuse at all. The Deputy Chief’s jaw opened to its limits. Only after a long beat did he mutter, hollowly:
“Why?”
His eyes went round and flicked back and forth between Cha-hyeon and Se-min.
“Why?”
Even before Cha-hyeon lost his memories, in Korea it had been practically an open secret that he and Se-min were together. Most people said they were obviously dating—though the two never admitted it—while a small minority disagreed.
The ones who’d had no choice but to watch them up close—top aides like Deputy Chief Jeong—fell into that minority. Seen in person, even if Cha-hyeon behaved in an extreme way where only Se-min was concerned, it felt less like romantic affection and more like an obsessive, overprotective fixation on his last remaining family.
Strangely, the moment a camera got involved—or once words began to pass from mouth to mouth and hand to hand—they started to look like secret lovers. That was the problem. In any case, that’s how it had been.
“Why would you really date…? Why with that…? Was life so dull you were craving the thrill of fugu poison…?”
He spoke in a daze. Se-min’s head drooped, while Cha-hyeon smiled faintly and stared straight at the Deputy Chief without so much as a blink.
Even under a look that would cow most people, the Deputy Chief didn’t flinch. Wearing a face that said he simply could not understand, he regarded Se-min the way a father might look at his late-born youngest daughter bringing home as a fiancé some rake thirty years older with three divorces behind him.
“What’s wrong with me?”
Deputy Chief Jeong looked at Cha-hyeon exactly as if he were that thrice-divorced rake thirty years older.
“Ugh,” he grimaced, then chugged the orange juice. The bottle emptied in a single go. Letting out a satisfied “krr—” like he’d downed soju instead of juice, he suddenly came to his senses. He remembered they weren’t here for relationship counseling.
“No, this isn’t the time… Ah, sorry. Ahem.”
After a clearing cough, he put his usual expression back on. He lifted the empty glass bottle, realized he’d drained it, set it down, and spoke.
“Where were we? Ah… you said there haven’t been any additional developments. We had some thoughts based on what Mr. Se-min sent us.”
Lowering a hand under the table, he pulled a clear file from his briefcase. A small stack of papers landed on the tabletop. Se-min leaned forward.
Profiles—Espers’ ranks and photos, names, addresses, brief personal data, along with the most recent Dungeon Gates cleared, whether they had pair partners, and even their primary abilities, all laid out in detail.
“They’re all skilled, tight-lipped Espers. We can even double up on items to keep them strictly silent about Esper Sung’s current status.”
Adjusting the pages so they sat straight, he spoke while he worked. As he scanned the small print, Se-min’s eyes widened. They were all heavy hitters—names he’d heard at least once.
“Since we don’t know what kind of Dungeon needs to be cleared for the memories to return, I’m thinking we form a small, trustworthy team and go in. It’ll shorten the clear time, and compared to running solo the way Esper Sung Cha-hyeon has, it’ll obviously be safer.”
For a Dungeon Gate that had already opened beyond the Rift state, the standard strategy was to move as a team. That’s why the Center had countless raid teams composed of a leader and members under them, while Cha-hyeon, who operated alone, was the odd case.
“There’s been no reported Gate that offers a Clear Reward of temporarily restored memories. And I doubt a Gate like that would be low-rank. If we’re targeting higher ranks, several is better than one, right? If Esper Sung Cha-hyeon agrees, we could form a provisional raid team from the Espers shortlisted here. How does that sound?”
“Mm….”
With a perfunctory motion, Cha-hyeon picked up a random profile. A few seconds later, without even reading it, he arranged his face into that of someone very appreciative but declining.
“There’s something I didn’t mention beforehand. I don’t intend to take part in Dungeon Gate raids for the time being.”
“Excuse me?”
“Huh?”
Even Se-min hadn’t heard this. Looking at him fondly, Cha-hyeon continued in an apologetic tone:
“Sorry for not telling you first, Se-min. I’ve been thinking it over—what’s right…. Se-min’s really scared of me going into Gates. Just imagining it is enough.”
He added it almost in a whisper, then sighed like he was worried. Se-min’s shoulders flinched. Smooth as a snake, Cha-hyeon went on.
“I’m not saying I’ll slack off forever. I promised I’d actively cooperate to find my memories. But for a while—at least until Se-min isn’t afraid anymore—I’d like to stick to Rift management or Flood response. What do you think? Is that workable?”
“Guide Se-min. Since when… have you had symptoms like that?”
Concerned, the Deputy Chief looked to Se-min. His mouth opened and closed like a goldfish’s, then he spoke in a strangled voice.
“…I realized when we were talking after Hyung ran Gates alone over and over. But! I think I can bear it….”
His words petered out. For Hyung to regain his memories, he’d have to keep clearing Dungeons for a reward that might appear—or might never appear. Despite saying he could endure it, anxiety pounded harder in Se-min’s chest.
“Se-min, you can wait while Hyung clears Gates?”
Whether it was out of concern or to prod his anxiety was unclear. Swallowing hard, Se-min forced himself to continue, more desperate:
“…What if I wait on-site? Or—or what if I just go in with Hyung?”
He knew it was unlikely, but he said it like a plea. If he could see with his own eyes that Cha-hyeon was safe, maybe he wouldn’t be so on edge.
“You?”
But Cha-hyeon only gave a lukewarm shrug. As if he’d just heard something unrealizable, he barely suppressed a bored look and asked, trying not to sound like he was scoffing:
“I dunno. Honestly, I’m not even sure you can protect yourself, Se-min. Best case, you won’t get in the way. Do you have any weapons you can actually handle?”
His tone was gentle, but the facts were cold. Just as Se-min’s head drooped, glum—
“Ah,” the Deputy Chief said, and spoke up.
“That might not be much of a problem.”
The lazy fanning of the profile in Cha-hyeon’s hand halted. The Deputy Chief pointed to the Esper profiles spread across the table.
“If we go in as a team, bringing one Guide like Guide Se-min along is no big deal. Plenty of Esper teams enter the field with their Guide. With five Espers, there’s no way they couldn’t protect one Guide—”
The sentence never finished. Crunch— The profile in Cha-hyeon’s grip was mercilessly crushed in his fist. Both the Deputy Chief and Se-min turned toward him.
“…….”
“…….”
Clenching hard enough for veins to stand out, Cha-hyeon opened his hand again. The crumpled paper disintegrated like scorched ash and sifted to the floor.
He smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting.
“Please, go on?”
